This article starts out with an excellent Introductory Note, in which Vladimir Pozner calls Vigo a rebel, and notes that “he used the camera as a weapon, not an anesthetic.” The article by Kracauer starts out with brief summaries of Vigo’s four films, and then discusses Vigo’s “relation to the screen.” The author makes note of Vigo’s indiscriminate treatment of humyns as related to objects when filmed, particularly in the mise-en-scene of “Atalante.” In this film, Vigo not only uses objects as “silent accomplices of our thoughts and feelings,” but also as a way to ponder the situations where their psychological “influence predominates.” Kracauer makes a brilliant observation that “since increasing intellectual awareness tends to reduce the power of objects over the mind, he logically chooses people who are deeply rooted in the material world” for leading roles. On “Zéro de Conduite,” Kracauer makes a few close-reading analyses, particularly about ways in which Vigo can communicate the feeling of isolation using placement of objects. He also observes that objects “participate in childish play.” Essentially, he argues that the role of the objects in his film was satire.

    This article presents a unique micro-perspective on the role of objects in Vigo’s film. It is especially valuable to my thesis because it notes how objects are used for satire, as a method of subversion. Sometimes, objects are also used in combination with mise-en-scene to give off feelings such as isolation, which is especially important because it focuses on the more individual character psychology, something my thesis leaves out but can surely benefit from, by paralleling the isolation of children in school to the institutional oppression of school which indoctrinates children to be competitive, angry, and ultimately anti-social.

full citation: Kracauer, Siegfried; Melnitz, William; Pozner, Vladimir. "Jean Vigo." Hollywood Quarterly. Vol. 2, No. 3 (Apr., 1947). 261-263. University of California Press. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1209412>.

This article, published a few years after the US release of “Zéro de Conduite,” provides a valuable historical account of Vigo as a person and director, written by a close friend and colleague. It quickly mentions that Vigo, like all geniuses, was shunned by mainstream society before being (posthumously) lauded for his brilliance. Zilzer argues that Vigo’s life of hardship influences his films by creating a “poetry of realism” on the screen, thus taking a much less political and more aesthetic analysis of his work. He mentions how Vigo’s work was never technically perfect, but never suffered from that fact either. He then summarizes Vigo’s political heritage, all the way back to his anti-war grandfather, who was assassinated under similar circumstances as his father was. He describes Vigo’s character as a blend of the energy of his lineage with the “carefreeness” of his Basque relatives in Pyrenees. After discussing the start of his film career, Zilzer makes an insightful observation that, while filming a documentary of Nice, Vigo shot the “boredom of the rich and the enthusiasm of the poor.” Zilzer then describes the public reception of “Zéro de Conduite,” which was controversial to say the least. In fact, during the screening the lights were turned on several times and a few open fights broke out. Most interestingly, the author points out that although parts of the film could be “called surrealistic…Vigo was never considered a surrealist-his search for realism was too deep.” The article ends with a lengthy description of the production of Vigo’s final film, “L’Atalante.”
    Much of this article is useful for my thesis, particularly the personal recollection and historical accuracy it presents. By giving a more detailed description of his heritage, he solidifies the notion that Vigo’s works are strongly motivated by his anti-authoritarian upbringing. However, his description of the film as poetic realism (as opposed to surrealism) challenges my thesis. I would argue, however, that poetic realism was a tendency rather than a movement, as many others have said, and that as such, his surrealistic touches simply add to the poetry of the realism that he is portraying, by focusing on school administration from children’s eyes. I believe that “Zéro de Conduite” achieved Vigo’s search for realism by portraying more than simply superficial aspects of the oppression in school; his use of the surreal allows the audience to empathize with the children in a way that enhances their reality, ultimately creating an absolutely-realistic film, by opening up new perspectives on a recognizable institution.

full citation: Zilzer, Gyula. "Remembrances of Jean Vigo." Hollywood Quarterly. Vol. 3, No. 2  (Winter, 1947-1948). 125-128. University of California Press. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1209357>.

     This source is of particular interest to the paper because it was written at the time of the films release. This is the original New York Times movie review that the makers of Casablanca were anxiously awaiting on November 7th 1942. Michael Curtiz and company certainly had nothing to worried about as Bosley Crowther gave the film a rave review and hailed it as “one of the year’s most exciting and trenchant films.” Crowther awards Casablanca for its flawless combination of sentiment, humor, and sorrow to create a film that is both entertaining and inspiring. The review also comments on the film’s underlying political message, particularly in Humphrey Bogart’s performance as Rick Blaine. Crowther states that the film uses Bogart’s role “to inject a cold point of tough resistance to evil forces afoot in Europe today.” This statement is so telling because it reflects the reaction of audiences during the actual time of the film’s debut; it shows that the film was viewed as a vehicle for propaganda to communicate support of the war effort and a fight against fascism. This review is extremely insightful because it puts the movie into its historical context by lending us the perspective of a movie critic of that specific time period.

In this article, James Agee writes a review in high praise for Jean Vigo’s daring experimentation and messages of “Zéro de Conduite.” He begins by warning the reader to not watch Vigo’s film if he or she is affronted by experimentation in film and other mediums. He then mentions that the role of Vigo as artist is to simply open the spectator’s eyes a little bit wider.  After a quick summary of the plot, Agee decides that full enjoyment of the film depends on the subjective perception of each viewer, and admits that he too shares many of Vigo’s “obsessions for liberty and against authority.” He then relates the ways in which Vigo’s film is a revolutionary expression, namely the lack of any sort of constructed “diagnosis and prescription,” which can be taken to mean linear plot line, as well as the “liberating force” of its whimsical, mischievous, childish humor and trickery.  Agee eventually describes what he sees as Vigo’s “trick,” that being the ability to blur the distinctions between objective and subjective, reality and the fantastic, with technical style and innovation. He decides that all the “levels of reality” presented are equal in value, but interconnected, an aesthetic point of poetic perception. He makes a point of stating that he does not take Vigo’s tactics to be unconventional, but rather simply expanding the audience’s concept of film with different strategies. He reinforces the role of the audience as sympathetic to the rebellious boys, who are portrayed sentimentally as creative, wild, beautiful children, while the teachers are portrayed as grotesque caricatures of authority. The article ends as Agee mentions a few of his favorite scenes from the film, particularly the sacrilegious “slurred” motion parade of the boys out of the dormitories, which he likens to the newsreel shots of the liberation of Paris.
    Although Agee may have been a biased reviewer, as he shared many of the same political instincts as Jean Vigo, his analysis of the film is nevertheless an excellent description of its subversive, anti-authoritarian tendencies. By pointing out the lack of a cohesively constructed plotline, with a problem and solution, Agee references Vigo’s truest subversive and anti-authoritarian act as not solely the content of the film, which is obviously anti-authority, but structure of the film itself. By producing a film that makes the audience feel uncomfortable about the differences between fantasy, the dreams of children, and the reality of the daily life of the school, Vigo takes an anarchist step towards questioning the basic nature of how we perceive our reality outside of the theater. Additionally, Agee deliberately mentions some of the film’s subversive content, particularly the whimsy of the students, as avowedly anti-establishment, since it is their childish humor and fancy that in fact does disrupt the alumni gathering at the end of the film, leaving the children victorious. Another specific example would be the boys’ parade out of their dormitories, a very anti-Catholic/anti-organized religion parody that subverted social and cultural norms, not just political ones. In general, Vigo's liberating portrayal of childhood instincts directly confronts the rigid, dummy establishment of teachers and adulthood.

Citation: Agee, James. "Films." The Nation. 5 Jul. 1947. 23-25.

unfortunately, I do not have the URL for where I accessed the article, but I do have a pdf copy if you would like me to send it.

Crowther, Bosley. "The Ambiguous 'Citizen Kane'" The New York Times 4 May 1941: X5.

This Bosley Crowther review of Citizen Kane accomplishes in highlighting several aspects that contribute to or impede the success of the film. The publicity created by the films possible connection to William Randolph Hearst and his tactics of yellow journalism created an attitude in the public that helped the film succeed. Their dislike of Hearst’s yellow journalism techniques made viewers eager to cling to any attacks on his character, which could be inferred through the portrayal of Kane. While the film fails to conclude that Kane was indeed guilty of yellow journalism or any other amoral actions, the eagerness the audience had to find such connections fueled the success of the film. Also, Crowther praises the innovative film techniques employed by Welles and Toland to make the film a visual masterpiece. The filmmakers mastery of and excitement toward the art of cinema was an incredible contributor to Citizen Kane’s success.

While Crowther does concede that Citizen Kane is quite above average and an overall success, he raises an argument against the film as truly great one. He states that the lack of clarity that the ending brings to the mystery of ‘Rosebud’ makes the theme of the movie ambiguous and vague. As relates to my thesis, the piece provides support for the idea that the intended meaning of ‘Rosebud’ is quite unclear, even to film critics such as Crowther. It pushed me to explore the idea that it’s significance is merely misunderstood as opposed to altogether ambiguous as is asserted by Crowther in this piece. This kind of feedback also pressured Welles to respond with evidence that 'Rosebud' is in fact clear.

Downes, Olin. "'Fantasia' Discussed from a Musical Standpoint--Sound Reproduction Called." New York Times 14 Nov. 1940: 28. ProQuest Historical Newspapers. ProQuest. Van Pelt Library Philadelphia, PA. 2 Dec. 2008. <http://proxy.library.upenn.edu:2082/>.

Downes’ article is a review of the film in the context of the interpretation of music. He describes that Fantasia proves that wonderful things can be done with the combination of image and music. However, Fantasia is an example of what not to do with such a medium. Downes criticizes the films very purpose. He explains that many musical authorities say that such pieces cannot be related in any other language but there own. Listeners should be free to imagine only what they can fathom and not preconceived, set interpretations. He asserts that nothing positive comes out of “scrambling” different art forms together. He argues that, had the animation been based on musically knowledgeable sources, the film could have been an outstanding creation. He acknowledges several moments in which the film does not harm the music, but for the most part, he disagrees with Fantasia’s depictions. He is utterly repulsed by the sequence of Beethoven’s Pastoral that renders the film worse than “footless.” Though Disney cut and modified the musical pieces to fit the animation, Downes notes that fortunately the music has survived, but such inappropriate representations should not encompass such acclaimed musicians.

From a musical standpoint, “Fantasia” is a monstrosity. Borrowing from already-established music, “Fantasia” attempts to invent a form of expression that it cannot sustain. Conceptually, Disney was on the right track with “Fantasia,” but it is impossible to nationally portray false interpretations of such acclaimed musical pieces without being reprimanded by musical authorities. Rightfully so, Downes and many others were “utterly repulsed” by scenes in the film. Instead of creating art within its medium and conventions, “Fantasia” tries to invent a new kind of art that combines abstract music and images. We can appreciate Disney’s attempt here, but still the studio cannot blend abstract music with childish animation (like with Beethoven’s Pastoral) and get away with it. “Fantasia” is more of a crime against art than a form of art

Crowther, Bosley. "The Screen in Review." New York Times 14 Nov. 1940: 28. ProQuest HistoricalNewspapers. ProQuest. Van Pelt Library Philadelphia, PA. 2 Dec. 2008 <http://proxy.library.upenn.edu:2082/>.

Crowther’s review in the New York Times praises “Fantasia” saying, “motion picture history was made at the Broadway Theater” with the premier of the film. He says that although “Snow White” and “Pinocchio” have charm, “Fantasia” goes the extra mile by creating an innovative film that cultivates the imagination to an unforeseen level. Crowther believes that the film goes even further by inspiring the viewer’s imagination with a “spellbinding” range of high-toned music merged with Disney’s fantastic imagery. Crowther expresses that the assigned imagery is actually quite appropriate as it complements the music to create an enchanting form of entertainment. He idealizes each sequence as he explains the high point of each movement, describing it as enchanting, brilliant, even lovable. He adds that the elaborate sound system increases the film’s beauty, though it is too harsh at times. He continues to say that the animation might be too perfect. He asserts that the enchanting images, at times, captivate all the viewer’s senses which ends up detracting from the music. Thus he acknowledges that “Fantasia” is a frank experiment. His final sentence urges the reader to go see “Fantasia,” “if you don’t mind having you imagination stimulated by the stuff of Mr. Disney’s fanciful dreams.”

This is an interesting example that fully justifies the many critiques of the film. In this article, Crowther, a clear advocate for the film, pinpoints “Fantasia’s” biggest problem. Despite his praises and elaborate descriptions, he still thinks the film is at times “too pretty” and clearly states that the viewer’s imagination is altered by the images. “Fantasia” is thus an “experiment” in which the animators have falsely assigned image to sound. “Fantasia” is then just a form of entertainment, exciting in its unconventional composition perhaps, but not to be viewed as truly artistic. Rather, it’s recognition stems from its technological advances in animation and sound and its imaginative depictions that are in themselves captivating but are not of the caliber of the music they are meant to portray.

    Ebert's review of Un chien andalou provides both a good analysis of the film to use as a comparison to The Seashell and the Clergyman and a good example of the main arguments put forth in support of Un chien andalou as the first Surrealist film.  According to Ebert, the idea for the film originated from a discussion between Dalí and Buñuel about dreams they had had, prompting them to make a film beginning with images from their dreams.  “In collaborating on the scenario, their method was to toss shocking images or events at one another. Both had to agree before a shot was included in the film. 'No idea or image that might lend itself to a rational explanation of any kind would be accepted,' Bunuel remembered. 'We had to open all doors to the irrational and keep only those images that surprised us, without trying to explain why'” (Ebert).  Ebert also asserts the historical primacy of the film: “It was made in the hope of administering a revolutionary shock to society. 'For the first time in the history of the cinema,' wrote the critic Ado Kyrou, 'a director tries not to please but rather to alienate nearly all potential spectators.'”
    Ebert's review provides much useful information for a comparison of Un chien andalou and The Seashell and the Clergyman and the theories behind them.  To begin with, the technique used by  Dalí and Buñuel in writing their film was quite different than those used by Dulac and those theorized by Artaud.  Ebert argues that Dalí and Buñuel sought to create a film entirely devoid of meaning with no rational connection between any of events or images, essentially a film of pure nonsense.  This varies considerably from Artaud's ideas of creating an experience that betrays a traditional narrative setting (requiring at least some connections between parts of the film) in order to include the spectator in the film.  The goal of  Dalí and Buñuel was to create a film that left the viewer with nothing and no ability to derive meaning from the experience; whereas, Artaud's goal was to force the audience to be a part of the dream world and create interpretations and conclusions on their own.  Additionally, the technique of throwing illogical, surprising images at the audience used by Dalí and Buñuel was a primary technique in Dulac's film as well.  Ebert and Kyrou advocate the uniqueness of Un chien andalou as film's first attempt to alienate an audience, but ignore the attempts of The Seashell and the Clergyman to alienate the audience from identification with the film and many other previous films such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Impressionist films.  While differences between Un chien andalou and The Seashell and the Clergyman may be noted from their difference in purpose, the theory and techniques used in both originated with Dulac's film.

Ebert, Roger. "Un chien andalou (1928)." Rev. of Chicago Sun-Times. Chicago Sun-Times 16 Apr. 2000.

           Inez Hedges's review of Linda Williams's book Figures of Desire: A Theory and Analysis of Surrealist Film argues that Williams's analysis of only films “that were a historical part of the surrealist movement and were developed in direct contact with surrealist theory” (824) works well as a method of analyzing Surrealist cinema.  Williams uses Un chien andalou as a case study for analyzing the relationship between images and desire in Surrealist works and delves into the methods used by Buñuel to “[place] the viewer's experience in the uneasy zone between the imaginary and the symbolic, and [force] a confrontation with the very psychic energy that enables [him or] her to enjoy films," a method she views as common in Surrealist films' attempts to “[break] up the spectator's process of identification with the characters” (825).  She goes further in this analysis concluding that the film “sets up a conventional narrative space and then violates it, leaving the spectator especially vulnerable to the surrealist message" (Hedges 825) and then extends this analysis to other films such as Le Fantôme de la liberté, Cet obscur objet du désir, and L'Age d'or.
          Hedges's article provides a means of clarifying Linda Williams's theory of Surrealist film goals and practices combined with Flitterman-Lewis's writings on Artaud's intentions enable a better analysis of The Seashell and the Clergyman and its place in Surrealist film history.  Flitterman-Lewis argues that Artaud's main objection to Dulac's film was the lack of an experience forced upon the viewer.  This experience, in the view of Williams, results from the lack of character identification; without being able to identify with a character in the film and thus experience the thoughts, actions, feelings, and ideas (or as Williams would characterize them, desires) of that character, the viewer is forced into his or her own experience, one which requires the viewer to interpret, experience, and judge events and actions in the film rather than relying on characters to do so.  Flitterman-Lewis outlines common techniques used to establish this situation (superimposition, split shots, lighting, etc.) and provides an analysis of how The Seashell and the Clergyman also establishes such a situation.  Therefore, by examining Williams's theory and Flitterman-Lewis's evaluations of Artaud and the film, it is possible to construct a framework for evaluating what constitutes a Surrealist film and whether or not The Seashell and the Clergyman fits into that framework (an argument which Flitterman-Lewis makes well when it is placed into Williams's theoretical framework.)

Hedges, Inez. "Review: [untitled]." The French Review 59 (1986): 824-25.

            Linda William's article reviews Steven Kovàcs's book From Enchantment to Rage: The Story of Surrealist Cinema and offers a method of examining the history of Surrealist cinema, namely “a return to the history of Surrealism proper: how the Surrealist poets and artists in the main phase of the movement (1923-1930) turned their talent and energy to film; how their painting, photography, and poetry found new forms of expression in this emerging art; the development of this new aesthetics of film from the 'enchantment' of the early twenties to the 'rage' typified by the 1930 L'Age d'or" (Williams 41).  William's chastises Kovàcs's lack of significant analysis of the role of dreams in Surrealist film, an element she views as extremely important to understanding the goals of the movement.  To illustrate this point, she takes the example of Kovàcs's examination of Dalí and Buñuel: "the issue points out a problem in the book's general approach: an assessment of Surrealist cinema is not a question of sorting out individual personalities and their contributions.  If Surrealism deserves its 'ism' then there is something more to Buñuel and Dalí's collaboration than the fortuitous encounter of two individual psychic obsessions.  To my mind that something is to be found in the formal procedures of the unconscious which Buñuel and Dalí so brilliantly adapted to the creation of their films" (Williams 42).
            Williams's review offers two important tools for the examination of The Seashell and the Clergyman: first, she argues that an examination of the history of Surrealist film should focus on how Surrealist artists turned their ideas into film and how film enabled a method of expression unavailable in other art forms; and second, she highlights the importance of dreams, their structure, and their natural functioning and the role they played in the making of Surrealist films.  The first tool lends more analysis to Flitterman-Lewis's examination of Artaud's paradoxical claim that The Seashell and the Clergyman was the first surrealist film despite his insistence that Dulac failed to recreate more than the material appearance of construction of dreams, without expressing an experience of dreaming.  William's method of analysis would factor in the exclusion of Artaud from the artistic direction of the film, separating Artaud from the ability to express through film and leaving it entirely up to Dulac.  To resolve this seeming paradox, the only logical conclusion must be that Artaud found the film to be an adequate Surrealist expression of the dream, though it was not an interpretation true to his understanding and visualization of the scenario.  Williams places the “main phase” of the movement within the period 1923-30, ending just after The Seashell and the Clergyman and Un chien andalou were made, thus reinforcing Flitterman-Lewis's agument that Dulac and Artaud's film was the first Surrealist film due to the amount in terms of technique and means of expression that later movies would borrow from it.

Williams, Linda. "From Enchantment to Rage: The Story of Surrealist Cinema." Film Quarterly 34 (1981): 41-42.

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.

Crowther, Bosley. "Run, Bonnie and Clyde." The New York Times 03 sep 1967 

Immediately following the release of Bonnie and Clyde on August 4th of 1967, the film began to receive both praise and chastisement from critics. No one was more vehemently against Bonnie and Clyde and all it stood for than Bosley Crowther. Crowther was a film critic for the New York Times from the 1940s until the 1960s, when he reviewed the film in 1967. Critics across the nation were torn by the revolutionary use of violence and glorification of criminality, but Crowther achieved prominence among them as the chief advocate that the film was mere fodder.
Crowther acknowledged the social and political context that the film was meant to play on, but states, “Bonnie and Clyde does not impress me as a contribution to the thinking of our times or as wholesome entertainment”. Crowther’s main complaint seems to be the films departure from historical accuracy. Arthur Penn’s use of Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway to portray the two criminals transforms them from ugly, murderous scoundrels into beautiful, exciting heroes, which upsets Crowther. “The performance that Beatty gives of a light-hearted, show offish fellow with a talent for stealing cars and holding up banks at gunpoint is mannered playacting of a hick that bears no more resemblance to Barrow than it does to Jesse James”. Crowther believes that by straying from historical accuracy, Penn is “cheating” and “spitting noise and sparks without much truth”.
Crowther admits the technical and cinematic success of the film, but fails to see its social or artistic importance. This review, and the following writings and statements of Crowther came to headline the critics that disliked the 1967 classic. While many other critics agreed with Crowther in the recent months following the film’s release, opinions started to change, and the film slowly climbed down from the fence and settled on the positive side as a masterpiece and social icon. Crowther’s contemporary, Richard Schickel of Time magazine agreed with Crowther at first, but eventually reversed his opinion and admitted that the film was both important and brilliant. Crowther, however, never came around to agreeing with the film and was subsequently fired from The New York Times because of the public criticism he faced because of his criticism of the film.

Kauffman, Stanley. "A Passion in the Desert." Rev. of Lawrence of Arabia, dir. David Lean. The New Republic 148.2 (1963): 26-28.

Stanley Kauffman’s review of Lawrence of Arabia, written shortly after the film’s release, provides an excellent example of the immediate critical reception of the work.  In this piece, the author covers a rather wide range of topics.  He analyzes the originality and depth of the scriptwriting by A Man for All Seasons’ Robert Bolt, the incredible impact of the photographic imagery of the desert, and the accuracy of the storyline to T. E. Lawrence’s real life.  Furthermore, he writes of the scope of the film’s plot, the potency of the musical score, and even scrutinizes the various acting talents of the diverse cast full of veteran actors like Alec Guinness and Claude Rains, and fledgling thespians like Peter O’Toole and Omar Sharif.  Through his study of the various elements that make up the film, he provides a balanced account of both its positive and negative aspects.

It is particularly intriguing for a modern-day reader of this review to see Lawrence of Arabia being evaluated so critically, as this film has become such a well-respected and frequently-cited classic.  Kauffman’s analysis provides a much-needed dose of the skeptical, particularly when dealing with a film spectacle that, like works such as Citizen Kane (1941), may become lost in the overwhelming and somewhat blinding awe that comes with age.  Overall, Stanley Kauffman’s review serves as a good foundational piece for a paper discussing the impact of Lawrence of Arabia to film history, and its influence on later films and directors.

 Seelye, John. “A Hard Day’s Night.” Rev. of A Hard Day’s Night, by Richard Lester. Film Quarterly Autumn, 1964: 51-54.

In this film review of A Hard Day’s Night from the Film Quarterly’s autumn of 1964 issue, John Seelye both summarizes and critiques the story of what he calls “A Day in the Life of the Beatles.” Although he admits to watching the film twice (and enjoying it more the second time) Seelye seems to have a hard time admitting that he liked the overall film. He deems the plot as “simple and obvious” and he reduces the entire purpose of the film to making money and paying to see “The Beatles singing your favorite songs.” Despite these occasionally harsh critiques, Seelye does make some points that are redeeming. For example, he claims that “the camera is very much alive: it runs, it jumps, it seldom is caught standing still, unlike the bland flatness of the Elvis movies.”
By making references to the Elvis movies, and particularly how A Hard Day’s Night is different than those films, this article supports my thesis that this 1964 film was the first to successfully unite the pop cultures of film and music. Though often critical, Seelye admits to the fact that this jovial comedy is in some ways innovative. Although it may have similar themes to the Elvis movies, for example the theme of the generational gap between the fun youth and the rigid adults, A Hard Day’s Night does in fact also have cinematic qualities that differentiate it from any other pop music films previously made, such as its camera work, camera angles, and depth to its shots. But perhaps Seelye’s critique is missing the point of the film. Rather than being about story and plot, this film is about The Beatles, which is what makes it reach equally to both the mediums of music and film in a way that no movie had previously done (including the Elvis movies). Consequently, A Hard Day’s Night, may indeed best be thought of as the first true rock and roll film.

Taxi drivers are the most enduring oppressed minority in New York City history. Race, ethnicity and religion are not sources of the oppression. It lies entirely in the nature of the work. Trapped for about 12 hours each day in the worst traffic in the United States, taxi drivers must suffer the savage frustrations of jammed streets, double-parked cars, immense trucks, drivers from New Jersey - and they can't succumb to the explosive therapy of road rage. Their living depends on self-control.

At the same time, they face many other hazards: drunks behind them in the cab, fare beaters, stickup men, Knicks fans filled with biblical despair, out-of-town conventioneers who think the drivers are mobile pimps. Some seal themselves off from the back seat with the radio, an iPod or a cellphone. All pray that the next passenger doesn't want to go from Midtown to the far reaches of Brooklyn or Queens. They hope for a decent tip. They hope to stay alive until the next fare waves from under a midnight streetlamp.

In this informative, solid history, Graham Russell Gao Hodges traces the story of the cabdrivers from 1907, when the first metered taxis appeared on New York streets, to the present. He writes with obvious sympathy, having driven a hack himself before moving on to academic labors as a historian at Peking University and Colgate. Loneliness is a running theme in "Taxi!": if the title were not already taken, Hodges could have called his compact history "One Hundred Years of Solitude.

The story he tells is relevant to all metropolitan areas struggling with multiple jurisdictions, federal constraints, and a shrinking economy.

There were a number of alternatives to a rail system in the 1950s, when Metro was first proposed. Ideas ranged from imposing strict land-use and fuel-consumption controls, to tolerating or encouraging decentralization, to building many more freeways, or (D.C.'s choice) building both freeways and rail. A brief comparison to Atlanta, which at first chose something more like the third option, suggests that Washington is not worse off.

To be sure, Metro does not guarantee transit-oriented development. This is the main message of Schrag's key eighth chapter, "The District." Suburban Arlington and Montgomery County managed to encourage transit-oriented development near Metro stations; Fairfax County did not. TOD, he concludes, "is a human cultivar, demanding care, foresight, and political will."

Even a transit line needs planning help to make a livable city.

Gerald Peary of the Arizona provides an example of one of Benigni’s harsher critics calling his review of the film, “an angry Jewish column.” Indeed, Peary’s highly sarcastic analysis of the film is more visceral and passion-infused than it is a fair and effective critique, but it provides a telling example of the immense opposition that erupted in reaction to the film. 

For example, the first of his list of disapproving commentary on the film is based on his personal and general dislike of Roberto Benigni as a comedian.  He believes he is merely an insecure and vain ham, unworthy of his National acclaim in Italy.  Next, he belittles Benigni’s motivations for the film by, in true Journalistic fashion, skewing his words.  He suggests that Benigni’s “solipsistic reasoning” for the portion of the film that depicts the Holocaust was in order to put his character in an extreme situation, a claim that sheds a harsh and unsympathetic light on Benigni as the film’s creator.  He then proceeds to describe the plot of the film but with a tone that is doubtful of the film’s realism and critical of its illogical unfolding. 

Peary’s main argument, however, is that the film casts an optimistic, feel-good light on the Holocaust.  He acknowledges that the film was never intended to be a documentary, but yet still candy-coats the harsh reality of the Holocaust by focusing only on the survivors and ignoring the horrors of death all together.  Moreover, Peary’s final few sentiments twist his critique into a personal Jewish objection as he scoffs at the Jewish fans of the film.  In sum, his review furiously rejects every aspect of the film, providing a concrete example of why the film created such a controversy upon its release.