Landry, Robert.  “Rebel Without a Cause.” Variety, Wed., Oct. 26, 1955.

            Robert Landry’s review of Rebel Without a Cause (1955) praises the performances of the actors while criticizing the film’s unrealistic treatment of the social problem of juvenile delinquency. Landry considers Rebel favorably against other films released at the time that dealt with similar subject matter, namely Blackboard Jungle (1955), and The Wild One (1951). He acknowledges that while all these films are populated by characters that engage in similar activities, fighting, racing, and other criminal behavior, Rebel is unique, and especially shocking because of the characters’ socioeconomic status. Unlike the youths of Blackboard, James Dean’s Jim Stark and his associates are suburban, middle class teenagers from what would traditionally be considered good homes which makes the film more interesting, but also less credible in Landry’s estimation. The film was released not long after the accident that took Dean’s life, and Landry acknowledges Dean as a talented young man who had an uncanny ability to portray those that were troubled. Both Sal Mineo and Natalie Wood earn kudos for their work, as the lonely and confused counterparts to Dean’s misery, and all manage to evoke some sympathy from the audience. Most problematic for Landry is the film’s reliance on family dysfunction as the source of the youth problem and what he considers to be a sensationalistic depiction of the youth’s violence, even though he was read reports of similar incidence in many newspapers.

            Landry’s generally positive review of Rebel Without a Cause demonstrates that the film was not immediately viewed as a classic. Instead, Landry considers it as a good film, but one that exploits the craze surrounding delinquency, as several other films before it have already addressed. Landry does recognize Rebel’s nuanced version of delinquency, that of a moody suburban teen victimized by his family instead of by socioeconomic circumstance.

            This is a review of Robert Lindner’s psychoanalysis of a juvenile delinquent, entitled Rebel Without a Cause. Edwin Lukas highlights the revelatory and pioneering nature of the work before him, from Lindner’s method, the rarely employed technique of “hypno-analysis,” to his Freudian analysis of his subject, “Harold.” Rebel Without a Cause is especially groundbreaking, according to Lukas, because it seeks to connect the delinquent behavior of youths, like Harold, with their mental turmoil. As others focused on the manifestations of delinquency, Lindner had successfully found its causes: in the dysfunction of Harold’s family, his homosexual inclinations, and in the impoverished environment in which he came of age. Furthermore, Harold’s ability to eventually understand why he engages in criminal and violent behaviors was seen as a sign that juvenile delinquents could be reached, and perhaps saved from themselves and society. The reviewer finds optimism in Harold’s progress, although the book does not state that Harold is “cured” of his anti-social behaviors. Lukas hopes the book will serve as an example to the callous court system which does not emphasize rehabilitation, and demonstrating the new primacy of its content, Lukas concludes that “this book is a necessity for sociologists, psychiatrists, criminologists, and others concerned with criminals.” (216)

            While Robert Lindner and his most famous work offered little more than the title to the film of the same name, this review demonstrates the seriousness with which the problem of juvenile delinquency was considered. The praise and endorsement Edwin Lukas offers to Lindner on the basis of his finding a cause, rather than examining the symptoms of delinquency, are indicative of a shift in the study of problem youth as well as in attitudes towards the burgeoning field of psychology.

Chris Fujiwara’s “The Rebel” is a great article which examines the contradictory nature of Rebel Without a Cause – and the way in which these contradictions continue to help shape its legacy fifty years after its original release.

The main contradiction that the article attempts to flesh out is centered around the implicit meaning of the film; whether at heart it is an attack on middle-class values or an advocate for society’s conformity to said values. Fujiwara presents evidence to support both notions. He cites film critic Peter Biskind, who poses that the film preaches conformity by instilling in its audience the belief that Jim Stark’s problems would be resolved simply “if his too-weak dad and his too-strong mom would assume their traditional gender roles.” And yet he also cites Corey Allen – the actor who played the role of Jim’s nemesis Buzz – who claims that the film’s message of rebellion can be proven in the context of his signature line: “you got to do something.” To Allen, this line best represents the film’s message, and the “underlying question of each generation. Here we are. What do we do?”

While Fujiwara does not attempt to reconcile these two polar readings of the film, he does provide an interesting anecdote which in many ways does exactly that: he explains how one of the primary causes for concern during the film’s pre-production was that co-stars Sal Mineo and Natalie Wood were both merely sixteen years old, and yet under the child-labor laws of the time period, “minors (could) not work at night except under emergency conditions…and (the) picture (was) approximately 80% night.” Ultimately, the filmmakers ignored the law and proceeded with shooting. To Fujiwara, this conflict (and it’s resolution) was greatly symbolic of how deeply-anchored (and uniquely so) Rebel was in the emergence of the adolescent voice in post-war America – regardless of one’s interpretation of what that voice actually wanted to say.

In his article “Film in the Classroom: Coping with ‘Teenpics,’” Harold M. Foster discusses the teenage filmgoing demographic, the films teens are most drawn to, and the reasons why they became such a “dependable (cinematic) audience.” (86)

According to Foster, the evolution of the adolescent crowd from afterthought to target audience really accelerated in the 1950’s, when teenagers found themselves the owners of “more leisure time and discretionary spending power than ever before.” And so while they’re parents were largely at home in front of the television, America’s youth was almost unanimously heading to the movie-theaters – as it was the easiest (and most entertaining) means of “(espcaping) mom and dad.” (86)

As far as the actual movies were concerned, the teen-genre spawned several, more specific sub-formulas: the “rock-n-roll” movie (Rock Around the Clock), the “beach party” movie (“usually starring Annette and Frankie”), and the “restless youth” movie (Rebel Without a Cause). However, the most common thread found throughout all of these films was that they appealed to the demands of the teen crowd at the time. And so years later, when a film like Animal House, for example, became a huge box-office success, the “formula” for adolescent films appropriately (or not) shifted toward “the grosser the better.” (86)

The teen-films of every era have always expertly treaded the line between reflecting realities of their time-period, and producing (arguably more entertaining) caricatures of those realities. According to Foster, some movies that succeed most at finidng this medium include Sixteen Candles, Karate Kid, The Flamingo Kid, Risky Business, and The Breakfast Club. Foster asserts that while not all of these films promote the purest of values, they each maintain a vitality of spirit that is quintessential to the “Teenpic” genre and to the American adolescent way of life. (87)

In his article “The Delinquents: Censorship and Youth Culture in Recent U.S. History,” Ronald D. Cohen emphasizes the similarity in the chronological paths between the perceived surge in American juvenile delinquency in the mid-1950’s, and the perceived surge in film “delinquency” in the wake of the movie industry’s newfound ability to “shake off the iron grip” censorship of the Catholic Church. According to Cohen, these events almost precisely coincided, creating something of a perfect storm for a pop-cultural shift, and (in spite of a generally declining filmgoing population at the time) an overwhelming audience for the "delinquency film" genre. (263)

The article displays the genre’s broad-ranging appeal: “an aroused public of parents, service club members, youth-serving agencies, teachers, adolescents, and law enforcers” all had a vested interest in these films. Yet even with it’s promising box-office potential, delinquency was still “a perilous subject to exploit,” for although censorship pressure from the Catholic church had waned, “public pressure on the film industry to set a wholesome example for youth remained unremitting.” (263)

For example, Rebel Without a Cause (1955), maybe the biggest box office hit of all the delinquent films, also generated one of the most lasting negative reactions (in some parts of the country at least). According the Cohen, the Chicago police actually went as far as to order that certain cuts be made to the movie if it was to be shown in their city. And the city of Milwaukee went even further, unconditionally banning the film. (263)

Yet objections weakened as the 1960’s arrived, and somewhat ironically, as a result of these weakened objections the power of the films also became weaker – they no longer carried with them the “sting” of their predecessors. Of course, new forms of delinquency would emerge to reject the new authorities that would emerge as well. This evolution of delinquency - and its dynamic timelessness - are still evident today. (263-4)

In his assembled collection of essays entitled The Cult Film Experience: Beyond All Reason, editor J.P. Telotte gathers assessments on the history, ideology, and appeal of the “cult film” in American cinema, and explores the challenge of finding a “supertext” from which to reconcile the diverse range of pictures which fit into the “cult film” spectrum.

According to Telotte, some films that fall into this semi-genre/semi-phenomenon include Casablanca, The Wizard of Oz, Rebel Without a Cause, Pink Flamingos, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, An American Werewold in London, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and The Harder They Come. Upon further investigation, Telotte then concludes through these essays that cult films can be categorized into two different groups: the “classical cult film” (a big-time Hollywood film that has grown into cult-status largely through old age), and the “midnight movie” (a relatively recent film, whose cult-status hinges more on its aesthetic and theme than on its release date). (6)

According to the essays, cult films are also famous for their transgressiveness, and the unusually active sense of personal association that the audience feels with the movie. This is very evident in films in which the “cult audience” can recite much of the dialogue by heart, or can closely imitate specific character mannerisms. The most notorious example of this cult-level of imitation has been with fans of the aforementioned Rocky Horror Picture Show – for many lovers of Rocky Horror, it is common practice to reenact the movie in its entirety, scene for scene, with other fellow cherishers of the film. (6)

It seems as though the most difficult aspect of analyzing the cult-film phenomenon is understanding the root of each film’s emotional appeal – and comprehending exactly which nuances distinguish these films from their other, less passionately revered counterparts. Through this collection of essays, Telotte in many ways transcends the idea of the cult-film altogether, and strikes a more universal tone – ultimately settling on the following, key question: how, and why, do movies give us pleasure?

In her essay “The Blind Run,” Marguerite Waller examines Rebel Without a Cause (1955) by scrutinizing the importance of the title itself. Waller analyzes how the implicit suggestions made by the title discourage the audience from more figurative interpretations of the film’s message. Furthermore, she explains the deep interplay of plot and character that allow this alleged misrepresentation to occur.

“The Blind Run” is a reference to director Nicholas Ray’s preferred, working title for the film (which, obviously, was ultimately scrapped). Waller poses that this title would have better served the film’s agenda, as it suggests precisely the same ideal as the story itself: that the audience should “look again for what is not made visible to parents and children in their own and each other’s explanations of their lives.” (60)

Conversely, Waller believes that the title “Rebel Without a Cause” invites the viewer to not in the least bit look “beyond the superifical explanations given in the film, usually by adults, for the behavior of their rebellious offspring.” (60)

The primary example Waller gives to support his assertion is the relationship between Judy (played by Natalie Wood) and her parents. When Judy becomes upset after her innocent efforts to kiss her father are demonstratively rejected, her mother rationalizes this rift by declaring “it’s just her age. She’s at the age where nothing fits.” From Waller’s perspective, the film’s title is misleading in this instance, because it gives credence to the mother’s words – giving us the impression that Judy is the “rebel” in this scenario, for whom nothing fits. (60)

Yet according to Waller – though we are primed to conclude otherwise – the complete opposite is true: it is in fact Judy’s parents (particularly her father) who rebel against what "fits." Waller argues that Judy has no choice but to accept that she is a sixteen-year-old, sexually developed young woman; it is a physical truth. Rather, it is her father, who rejects the notion that he has grown into “a sixteen-year-old woman’s parent,” who serves as the catalyst for this conflict. Rather than “relinquish (his own) role of potential partner to a sixteen-year-old,” he “rejects Judy’s sexuality."
And to Waller, this detail makes all the difference in the interpretation of the film. Because when one judges Rebel under the merits of the latter argument, one concludes that if we are to view the teens in the film as rebels, we must at least concede that they did have a cause. (60)

In his article “Race, Sex, and Nerds,” Ron Eglash details the background and evolution of the identity of the “nerd” in popular society. In Eglash’s described evolution, one of the key transitional periods of the “nerd” dynamic came in the post-World War II era. It was in this new, “Cold War” era that science-education became highly emphasized, and the distinctive gap between the math/science-related technologies and the more physical/masculine/labor-related technologies grew. Thus, while one who was well-versed in tractors or power drills may have been considered “cool,” one with more “bookish habits” was probably quite likely to be seen as a “nerd.”

Under the assumption that the culture depicted in films is often assimilated into normal society, Eglash then poses that “Plato” – Sal Mineo’s character in Rebel Without a Cause (1955) – may have been one of the very first incarnations of the post-war nerd. And Pluto’s character falls very much in line with Eglash’s description of this type of personality: he is very smart (which is the reason for his nickname), he rides a scooter (as opposed to a motorcycle), and there are many allusions made througout the film to his conspicuous lack of masculinity (one which borders on implied-homosexuality).

According to Eglash, Mineo’s character serves as more than the depiction of an evolving type. Rather, it also serves as “a warning for future generations of would be geeks,” that “nerd identity will come at a price, threatening the masculinity of its male participants.” And so in many respects, while Rebel Without a Cause is often seen as a glorifier of the social rebellion displayed by the (relatively) macho Jim, it could be argued that it actually condemns the more extreme counter-culture represented by his friend Plato.

In his article “Freaks, Aliens, and the Social Other,” Murray Forman attempts to examine the post-Columbine television landscape. His examination specifically focuses on the three new “high-school-based” television programs that were introduced for the season immediately following the shooting: Freaks and Geeks, Roswell, and Popular. Forman articulates how all three shows deal with the genre in an ultra-specific, non-generic sense; stressing an “otherness,” and the fundamental rift between the socially accepted and unaccepted.

Forman also speculates as to how America’s visual-media programming has historically influenced (and been influenced by) the adolescent bracket – and in turn, how the public’s reaction to the Columbine tragedy has then re-shaped this content as a result. Forman makes it a major point of the article to illustrate that neither the concept of teenage rebellion nor teen-based drama is without precedent.

An example of this precedent – and the work that probably best first related the two concepts (at least ostensibly, and to a wide audience) was the 1955 film Rebel Without a Cause, starring James Dean. According to Forman, Rebel was made in large part for the same reasons that the aforementioned television programs were: due to “increasing media reports about America’s youth ‘gone wild.’” The success of this film then led to a swell of similarly teen-based motion pictures, until a niche genre was ultimately (and rather permanently) carved.

What is maybe most intriguing, however, is the question of – in a chicken-or-the-egg sense – which influence has been greater: that of the media on current events, or that of current events on the media? Rebel Without a Cause can easily been seen as an isolated work-of-art – a response to the times in which it was made. And yet one cannot deny that it does contain a scene which precedes – and loosely dramatizes – the events at Columbine: when one troubled high-school student (Plato) shoots at classmates of his who, at one point or another, had made him their victim.

In his book Boulevard of Broken Dreams: The Life, Times and Legend of James Dean, biographer Paul Alexander gives a very in-depth, frank, and highly-sexualized look into exaclty what the title of the book suggests: the life and legend of James Dean. It paints a picture of Dean as a dynamic, layered, and talented individual, while providing additional information on the subject of Dean’s private life that I don’t think most of the public knows about, nor associates with Dean’s iconic “rebel” persona.

One of the most telling and fascinating sections of the book is Chapter 4, simply entitled “James Dean,” which deals with his time as a Hollywood actor in the 1950’s, particularly the making of what would prove to be his signature film, Rebel Without a Cause. In one entertaining anecdote, Alexander details the story behind Dean’s famous red vinyl jacket in Rebel: originally, Dean planned on wearing a black, leather jacket. However, it is also important to note that originally, Rebel Without a Cause had been slated in as a Warner Bros. “B” picture. Yet after the unexpected box-office success of Dean’s East of Eden the year prior, Warner Bros. changed their minds, and decided to make Rebel as an “A” picture instead – which is to say that they would be investing significantly more money into its production. One of the primary perks of its ascension to “A” picture status, was that the film would now be shot in color – as opposed to black and white, as was originally planned. And, as Alexander describes it, when Dean heard that the film would be shot in color, he decided to switch from a black, leather jacket to something with “more vibrant color” – ultimately deciding on the famous, bright red jacket that would forever be remembered thereafter as a symbol of ‘50’s “cool.” (187)

Alexander details much more about Dean’s life in Boulevard of Broken Dreams; details ranging from his rumored homosexuality, to his desire to eventually leave acting and transition to the director’s chair, to his almost complete blindness without the use of glasses. It is a completely engrossing, fast-paced read, which I highly recommend to anyone with even the slightest of interest in the life of James Dean, or the Hollywood Film Industry in general.

In “The Rebel Effect,” the afterword to their book entitled Live Fast, Die Young, Lawrence Frascella and Al Weisel discuss the continuing legacy of Rebel Without a Cause, fifty years after its theatrical release.

The chapter discusses how even on a level of pure surface imagery, the film plays an active role in our everyday culture. Posters and portraits of Dean in his famous red jacket have become synonymous with youth and rebellion, and are found hanging ubiquitously from clothing stores, restaurants, bars, record stores and many other venues. In the decades that have passed since the 1950’s, the movie as a whole has become one of, if not the most prominent American symbol for “cool,” and reference to the film has become a primary tool for anyone who seeks to affect this attitude or image. (288)

The chapter additionally asserts that even the movie’s title itself has reached iconic status. It cites Brewer’s Twentieth-Century Dictionary of Phrase an Fable, which contains the following quotation: “the label ‘rebel without a cause’ is resuscitated by the press with each new wave of teenage rebellion…It was even used by the National Westminster Bank in an attempt to persuade teenagers that opening a bank account is a cool thing to do.” Frascella and Weisel further demonstrate that the phrase has become a sort of “shorthand” for many other iterations on the concept of rebellion: “Colombian guerillas…Hezbollah suicide bombers…impoverished South African teenagers… recalcitant movie stars.” (288)

Of course, there are the obvious lineages as well: the film has greatly influenced later films of the same genre (Gus Van Sant’s Elephant is cited), as well as recent television programs featuring leading men quite ostensibly influenced by the Jim Stark persona (the book cites the character of Ryan Atwood on The O.C., played by Benjamin McKenzie). (291)

And yet it is the film’s transcendence of the traditional lineage – it’s inhabitance in our transcultural, transgenerational vernacular, that seems to be Rebel’s true badge of honor, per se. For fifty years, the film and it’s message – whatever that message may be – have been re-adopted, and re-adapted by almost every one of its viewers, to fit (as the book phrases it) their “own rebellious needs.” To say that Rebel Without a Cause has struck a universal chord would be a vast understatement. (290)

In his article “Autoexoticizing,” Soo Ah Kwon investigates the role of the automobile in adolescent popular culture. While he particularly stresses the automobile’s role amongst Asian teenagers, he makes many broadstroked points as well (which carry a much more universal tone).

One of these central ideas. is the examining of to whom exactly the credit is due for the glamorizing of the automobile as something inherently “cool.” In this regard, Kwon gives much of the credit (or blame) to the popularization of drag-racing, and to the growing practice (amongst teens in the post-World War II era) of modifying their cars to build them for speed. Given this notion, it then seems fair to conclude that much of the popularization of these practices can be attributed to the overwhelming success of the film Rebel Without a Cause, and more specifically, to the appeal of Jim Stark’s character – as portrayed by the late, idolized James Dean (that Dean himself died in an auto-accident – while “glamorously” speeding his Porsche down a California road – probably didn’t hurt the perpetuation of this car-driver-as-hero image either).

Rebel (which premiered in 1955) was – according to Kwon – truly the first time the idea of the “muscle car” or “hot rodder” had been brought to the big screen in an adolescent setting. Jim (the chief protagonist) engages in a battle of wills and "maschismo" with Buzz (the antagonist) when they go on a "chickie run" – racing their cars, side by side, accelerating toward an imminent cliff.

In their world, this is seen as the most natural and fair way to decide who is in fact more of a man. And while in literal interpretation, this may seem (in today’s world) to be slightly ridiculous, it is very easy to see how on the most basic level, these materialistically-grounded conclusions of masculinity have extended throughout many generations of many different cultures.