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In the early days of cinema, a forgotten master played a major part in the development of feature film and literary adaptation. In France, Albert Capellani directed for Pathé the first versions of Les Misérables (1912) and Germinal (1913), which were greeted as masterpieces worldwide. Capellani moved to the United States in 1915, where he directed some of the greatest stars of the screen, including Clara Kimball Young, Alla Nazimova, and Marion Davies. He even created his own production company in Fort Lee, New Jersey, then the hub of the film industry. Considered one of the greatest filmmakers of the age, Capellani sank into oblivion after his premature death in 1931. Yet cinema made a giant leap forward thanks to the extraordinary visual sense of this artist, who considered filmmaking on a par with drama, literature, and music. In 2010, the Bologna Film Festival organized a retrospective that restored him to the place he deserves in film history. His amazing career is recounted for the first time after in-depth research in archives. This is the first-ever detailed biography of this pioneer, affectionately nicknamed “Cap” by the Americans. This book follows the adventures of a filmmaker who, together with many fellow French directors, technicians, and cameramen, brought to the American film industry the “French touch.”

Animators work within a strictly defined, limited space that requires difficult artistic decisions. The blank frame presents a dilemma for all animators, and the decision as to what to include and leave out raises important questions about artistry, authorship, and cultural influence. This book explores how animation has confronted the blank template, and how responses to that confrontation have changed. Focusing on American animation, the book tracks the development of animation in line with changing cultural attitudes toward space and examines innovations that elevated the medium from a novelty to a fully realized art form. From Winsor McCay and the Fleischer brothers to the Walt Disney Company, Warner Bros., and Pixar Studios, this book explores the contributions of those who invented animation, those who refined it, and those who, in the current digital age, are using it to redefine the very possibilities of cinema.

Ann Dvorak may not have been the best-known actress of Hollywood’s golden age, but she certainly made her mark. She blazed onto screens in 1932 as Paul Muni’s doomed sister in Scarface, and seemed poised for stardom as a darling of the daring pre-Code era. However, poor business decisions, studio battles with Warner Bros., extended absences, and overbearing husbands torpedoed Ann’s chances of rising to the heights within the structure of the Hollywood studio system like contemporaries Bette Davis and Jean Harlow. Dvorak sued Warner Bros. to get out of her long-term contract, inspiring Davis and James Cagney to follow in her footsteps with their similar, and more well-known cases. Just as her freelance career began gaining steam, she instead choose to literally fly into a war zone, becoming a correspondent and London ambulance driver during World War II. After the war, Dvorak’s career limped along into the early 1950s, as she gave bright performances in generally dim films, then abruptly opted for retirement, and obscurity, in Hawaii. Now, for the first time, the fascinating life and career of Ann Dvorak is explored by Christina Rice, who presents an in-depth look at this complicated woman who briefly took Hollywood by storm but seemed determined to throw away success with both hands and instead became Hollywood’s forgotten rebel.

This book is a biography of one of the twentieth century's most influential filmmakers. Thematic chapters convey the story of Penn's life and career, and they offer pertinent events in the history of American film, theatre, and television. In the process of tracing the full spectrum of his career, the book reveals the enormous scope of Penn's talent and his profound impact on the entertainment industry in an interesting account of the well-known director's life. Born in 1922 to a family of Philadelphia immigrants, the young Penn was bright but aimless—especially compared to his talented older brother Irving, who would later become a world-renowned photographer. Penn drifted into directing, but he soon mastered the craft in three mediums: television, Broadway, and motion pictures. By the time he made Bonnie and Clyde (1967), Penn was already a Tony-winning Broadway director and one of the prodigies of the golden age of television. His innovative handling of the story of two Depression-era outlaws not only challenged Hollywood's strict censorship code, it shook the foundation of studio system itself and ushered in the film revolution. His next films—Alice's Restaurant (1969), Little Big Man (1970), and Night Moves (1975)—became instant classics, summoning emotions from shock to sensuality and from confusion to horror, all of which reflected the complexity of the man behind the camera.

In 1914 at age seventeen, strong-willed, infamous Reatha Watson was declared by juvenile authorities to be “too beautiful for the city” and banished from Los Angeles. She soon returned, became further mired in scandal, and was subsequently barred by the film studios from working as an actress. Reborn as Barbara La Marr, she achieved renown as a dancer in the foremost cabarets throughout the country and on Broadway, acted in headlining vaudeville skits, and became a highly paid screenwriter for the Fox Film Corporation in the same town that cast her out. Her exotic beauty, curvaceous form, and potent presence enticed film producers; she temporarily averted association with her increasingly turbulent past long enough to reign as a preeminent vamp of the silent screen in the 1920s. Through it all, her stormy private life striped the pages of newspapers and film magazines. “There was no reason to lie about Barbara La Marr,” her publicist confessed after her death at age twenty-nine in 1926. “Everything she said, everything she did was colored with news-value. A personality dangerous, vivid, attractive; a desire to live life at its maddest and fullest; a mixture of sentiment and hardness, a creature of weakness and strength—-that was Barbara La Marr.” Her life story is one of tempestuous passions and unbending perseverance in the face of inconceivable odds. It is of a woman’s fierce determination to forge her own destiny amid the constant threat of losing it all to scandal and, ultimately, death.

Hal Ashby (1929–1988) was always an outsider, and as a director he brought an outsider's perspective to Hollywood cinema. After moving to California from a Mormon household in Utah, he created eccentric films that reflected the uncertain social climate of the 1970s. Whether it is his enduring cult classic Harold and Maude (1971) or the iconic Being There (1979), Ashby's artistry is unmistakable. His skill for blending intense drama with off-kilter comedy attracted A-list actors and elicited powerful performances from Jack Nicholson in The Last Detail (1973), Warren Beatty and Julie Christie in Shampoo (1975), and Jon Voight and Jane Fonda in Coming Home (1979). Yet the man behind these films is still something of a mystery. This book tells the story of a man whose thoughtful and challenging body of work continues to influence modern filmmakers and whose life was as dramatic and unconventional as his films. Although his name may not be recognized by many of today's filmgoers, Hal Ashby is certainly familiar to filmmakers. Despite his untimely death in 1988, his legacy of innovation and individuality continues to influence a generation of independent directors, including Wes Anderson, Sean Penn, and the Coen brothers, who place substance and style above the pursuit of box-office success.

Busby Berkeley was the premier dance director of motion pictures. His originality and sharply defined style brought him professional acclaim and financial reward. He saved a studio from bankruptcy and a doomed genre from senescence. He wasn't a choreographer. According to “Buzz”, choreographers were defined with artists such as Agnes de Mille. He defined “dance directing”. Busby Berkeley was a specialist in the best and limiting sense of the word. For musical pictures, he had no stylistic equal, yet he films he directed outside his purview were often middling and anonymous, lacking the imprimatur that defined his finest work. The existing literature analysing the life and works of this man is scarce and limited. The details concerning his volatile existence are often contradictory and inaccurate. This book uses colleague reminiscences, newspaper stories, legal documents, court records, studio memoranda, and never-before-published accounts from Berkeley's memoirs to create a vivid picture of this man.

Regarded by many filmmakers and critics as one of the greatest directors in cinema history, Carl Theodor Dreyer (1889-1968) achieved worldwide acclaim after the debut of his masterpiece, The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928). Named the most influential film of all time at the 2010 Toronto International Film Festival, the classic film and its legendary director still exert strong influence even today. In 1955, Jan Wahl, an American student, had the extraordinary opportunity at the age of twenty to spend a unique and unforgettable summer with Dreyer as the director filmed Ordet or The Word (1955). Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet: My Summer with the Danish Filmmaker is a captivating account of Wahl's time with the director, based on Wahl's daily journal accounts and transcriptions of his conversations with Dreyer. Offering a glimpse into the filmmaker's world, Wahl fashions a portrait of Dreyer as a man, mentor, friend, and director. Wahl's unique and charming account is supplemented by exquisite photos of the filming and by selections from Dreyer's papers, including his notes on film style, his introduction for the actors before the filming of Ordet, and a visionary lecture he delivered at Edinburgh. Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet details one student's remarkable experiences with a legendary director and the unlikely bond formed over a summer.

During his lifetime, Charles “Chuck” Walters enjoyed a reputation as one of the foremost director-choreographers of Hollywood motion pictures. From his earliest directorial triumphs, Good News, Easter Parade, and The Barkleys of Broadway, to his victorious Lili, High Society, and The Unsinkable Molly Brown, musicals directed by Walters seamlessly fuse movement, storytelling, and song. He was one of Broadway’s most prominent dancers in the 1930s, creating featured roles in Rodgers and Hart’s I Married an Angel and Cole Porter’s Jubilee and Du Barry Was a Lady. He supplied choreography for entertainment on Broadway (Let’s Face It, St. Louis Woman) and at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios in Hollywood (Meet Me in St. Louis, Girl Crazy). Especially renowned for the manner in which he showcased his stars, Walters skilfully guided Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Debbie Reynolds, Doris Day, Cary Grant, Shirley MacLaine, Lucille Ball, Esther Williams, Grace Kelly, and Joan Crawford. He enjoyed a unique rapport with Judy Garland, creating some of her most indelible stage and screen performances. Personally, Walters was one of the few “uncloseted” gay film directors to excel in studio-era Hollywood, living openly with his partner, a top industry talent agent. This detailed study is long overdue. Charles Walters: The Director Who Made Hollywood Dance corrects both the historical oversight and reassesses the career of this Academy Award nominated film director, whose boyhood dream of dance led to a firmly — and now finally — acknowledged position as a major contributor to American popular culture.

This book explores the global-local interplay through the case study of the People’s Republic of China’s encounter with global Hollywood from the mid-1990s to 2013. It analyzes the changing role of the Chinese state and its evolving cultural policy; investigates the intertwined relationships among the Chinese state, global capital, and local dynamics; and examines the impact of this encounter on the Chinese film sector’s radical transformation from a Soviet-style planned economy and state ownership model to a market-oriented cultural industry. The book asks how this global-local interplay has defined and will continue to shape China’s arduous path toward cultural modernity in a postsocialist era and how this interplay has shaped the international cultural landscape. The book argues that the Chinese state’s ability to adapt and negotiate can reverse the power relationship in global communications. It concludes that the Chinese state has consolidated its authoritarian power by incorporating both market forces and global capital into the state mechanism and by advancing the cultural industries. The state also exercises a strict monopoly and limits free-market competition in the film industry. Through the conscious construction of a national identity and a “spiritual home” by means of the cultural industries, the state aims to build a “Beijing consensus” that features a combined legacy of socialism, nationalism, collectivism, and Confucianism to challenge the neoliberal “Washington consensus.” A postsocialist “unbalanced modernity” has emerged that works to further the party-state’s use of soft power and nourishes new development models and possibilities for China.

3-D Revolution: The History of Modern Stereoscopic Cinema traces the rise of modern 3-D technology from Arch Oboler’s Bwana Devil, the 1952 film that launched the 1950s 3-D boom in Hollywood, to James Cameron’s Avatar, the 2009 release that confirmed 3D film as an enduring part of theatrical entertainment. A comprehensive approach examines the technology for production and exhibition of 3D films and investigates the business, culture, and aesthetics of the genre.

Dalton Trumbo (1905–1976) was one of the highest-paid screenwriters in Hollywood, an outspoken advocate of left-wing political views, the most famous member of the Hollywood Ten, and the person who did more than anyone else to undermine the blacklist in the motion picture industry. This book, the first comprehensive, thoroughly researched biography of Trumbo, tells the story of a man who rose from bakery worker to celebrated author and from proscribed radical back to the top of his profession. During a prolific life, he wrote short stories, novels, poems, essays, pamphlets, theater scripts, and thousands of witty letters. A brilliant epistler, Trumbo used his letters like a journal or diary—a means of keeping track of and commenting on the important events and people in his life and the battles he fought. This book is not just a biography; it is also a detailed look at the motion picture industry and a political and cultural history of the United States (1920–1975), including the role of the Communist Party. The author demonstrates that Trumbo’s membership in the party did not define him; it was only one aspect of a complex political career.

The story of the Costellos is the story of the twentiethcentury’s second most accomplished family of actors—second only to the Barrymores, with whom they intermarried to beget a dynasty of unrivaled importance tothe stage and screen. Maurice Costello became what Photoplay called “the first recognized star in movies,” as well as the first screen heartthrob and the first truly modern screen actor. His daughter Helene was the first actress to star in an all-talking picture, The Lights of New York, in 1928. His daughter Dolores was a major star in her own right before marrying John Barrymore and bearing him a son to carry on the Barrymore name to successive generations of famous actors. The inner narrative is the story of not just what Hollywood does to actors, but what actors do to themselves. Maurice entangled himself in the movies’ first career-destroying scandal. Successive scandals continued to reduce the family fortunes, as, one by one, the Costellos’ brilliant achievements were eclipsed by their own immutable penchant for self-destruction.

The proliferation of movies at the turn of the twentieth century attracted not only the attention of audiences across America, but also the apprehensive eyes of government officials and special interest groups concerned about the messages which the movies disseminated. Between 1907 and 1926, seven states and more than 100 cities authorized censors to suppress all images and messages considered inappropriate for American audiences. Movie studios, hoping to avoid problems with state censors, worrying that censorship might be extended to the federal level, and facing increased pressure from religious groups, also jumped into the censoring business. They restrained the content by adopting the self-censoring Production Code, also known as the Hays code. Some industry outsiders, however, believed that movies deserved the free speech protections of the First Amendment and brought legal challenges to censorship at the state and local levels. This book chronicles both the evolution of judicial attitudes toward film restriction, and the plight of the individuals who fought for the right to deliver provocative and relevant movies to American audiences. The path to cinematic freedom was marked with both achievements and roadblocks, which are discussed in detail. The book's coverage extends from the establishment of the Production Code Administration, to the landmark cases over films such as The Miracle, La ronde, and Lady Chatterley's Lover which paved the way for increased freedom of expression. As the fight against censorship progressed case by case through state courts and the U.S. Supreme Court, legal authorities and the public responded, growing increasingly sympathetic toward artistic freedom. A small, unorganized group of independent film distributors and exhibitors during the middle of the twentieth-century fought back against what they believed was an unconstitutional prior restraint of motion pictures. This effectively gave films after 1965 a new direction and allowed movies to mature into an artistic medium.

In the postwar era, the lure of controversy sold movie tickets as much as the promise of entertainment did. This book investigates the movie culture that emerged as official censorship declined and details how the struggle to free the screen has influenced our contemporary understanding of art and taste. These conflicts over film content were fought largely in the theaters and courts of New York City in the decades following World War II. Many of the regulators and religious leaders who sought to ensure that no questionable content invaded the public consciousness were headquartered in New York, as were the critics, exhibitors, and activists who sought to expand the options available to moviegoers. Despite Hollywood's dominance of film production, New York proved to be not only the arena for struggles over film content but also the market where the financial fates of movies were sealed. Advocates for a wider range of cinematic expression eventually prevailed against the forces of censorship, but Freedom to Offend is no simple homily on the triumph of freedom from repression. In this analysis of controversies surrounding films from The Bicycle Thief to Deep Throat, the book offers a cautionary tale about the responsible use of the twin privileges of free choice and free expression. It calls attention to what was lost as well as what was gained when movie culture freed itself from the restrictions of the early postwar years. It exposes the unquestioning defense of the doctrine of free expression as a form of absolutism that mirrors the censorial impulse found among the postwar era's restrictive moral guardians. Beginning in New York and spreading across America throughout the twentieth century, the battles between these opposing worldviews set the stage for debates on the social effects of the work of artists and filmmakers.

Harry Langdon (1884–1944) was a silent comedian in the early days of the American film industry. Although he is often compared with other silent comedians of the era, including Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd, Langdon’s career is underappreciated. Following a series of disastrous professional and personal missteps, Langdon faced demotion from his place as a king of silent comedy. The advent of talkies did not bode well for him, as his greatest strengths were rendered irrelevant. He was largely forgotten until audiences in the 1970s became reacquainted with his work nearly three decades after his death. In Harry Langdon: King of Silent Comedy, author Gabriella Oldham claims that Langdon’s catalog of work merits an equal rank alongside his great contemporaries. This biography seeks not only to redeem Langdon’s position in the pantheon of silent comedians but also to accurately portray his life story. The narrative of Langdon’s life explores his early work on the stage at the turn of the twentieth century, his iconic routines and persona in silent films, and his checkered career in the early sound period. This invaluable biography of Langdon relies on film screenings, files, and interviews with those who were closest to him to capture his true genius during the time when comedy was king.

Howard Hawks (1896–1977) is the most versatile of all the great American directors, having worked with equal ease and brilliance in screwball comedies, Westerns, gangster movies, musicals, and adventure films. Hawks on Hawks draws on interviews Joseph McBride conducted with the director over the course of the last seven years of his life, giving rare insight into Hawks’s artistic philosophy, his relationships with some of the major figures in Hollywood, and his position in an industry that was rapidly changing. Both an account of Hawks’s life and work and a guide to his insights on how to make movies, the book features the director’s refreshing candor as he gives pithy and often witty assessments of his own films, the work of other filmmakers, and his collaborators.

The Motion Picture Production Code controlled the content and final cut on all films made and distributed in the US from 1934 to 1968. Code officials protected sensitive ears from the standard four-letter words as well as a few five-letter words like tramp and six-letter words like cripes. They also scrubbed ‘excessively lustful’ kissing from the screen, and ensured that no criminal went unpunished. Censors demanded an average of twenty changes, ranging from trivial to mind-boggling, on each of Alfred Hitchcock’s films during his most productive years. No production escaped these changes, which rarely improved the finished film. Code reviewers dictated the ending of’ Rebecca, shortened the shower scene in’ Psycho, absolved Cary Grant of guilt in’ Suspicion, edited Cole Porter’s lyrics in’ Stage Fright, and decided which shades should be drawn in’ Rear Window. Nevertheless, Hitchcock still managed to push the boundaries of sex and violence permitted in films by charming (and occasionally tricking) the censors and by swapping off bits of dialogue, plot points, and individual shots (some of which had been deliberately inserted as trading chips) to protect cherished scenes and images. The director’s priorities in dealing with the censors highlight both his theories of suspense and the single-mindedness of Code officials. Hitchcock and the Censors’ traces the forces that led to the Production Code and describes Hitchcock’s interactions with Code officials on a film-by-film basis as he fought to protect his creations, bargaining with Code reviewers and sidestepping censorship to produce a lifetime of memorable films.

Alfred Hitchcock has become the most widely known and discussed filmmaker in the history of the medium; his films continue to be the focus both of public interest and of close analysis by students, critics, and historians. Hitchcock: Lost and Found takes a fresh angle on his career by exploring, through film archives and document archives, some unfamiliar elements of it: a number of films, ranging from the early 1920s to the late 1960s, that have been lost, overlooked, or only recently discovered. Extensive new data are presented about specific films in all three of these categories and about the context in which they were made. The aim is not to add to Hitchcock's glory by discovering new masterpieces, nor have any been found, but to scrutinize in new detail some crucial formative or transitional periods in his work: in particular the early 1920s (his apprenticeship in the industry), the early 1930s (the transition from silent cinema to sound), and the early 1940s (the war years that directly followed his move to America). The result is a fuller understanding of the nature of Hitchcock’s authorship, and of the variety of factors, influences, and collaborators that helped to create his body of work and his very distinctive status within film history

An examination of the symbiotic relationship that existed between the Hollywood film community and horse racing, primarily between 1930 and 1960, Hollywood at the Races explores the extraordinary participation of producers, directors, and actors in the sport of kings. All three of Southern California’s major racetracks were founded in part or in whole by Hollywood luminaries: Hal Roach was cofounder of SantaAnita; Bing Crosby founded Del Mar with help from Pat O’Brien; and the Warner brother founded Hollywood Park with assistance from dozens of people in the film community. Moreover, people like Crosby, Betty Grable, Mervyn LeRoy, and Don Ameche owned racehorses, while MGM’s chief of production, Louis B. Mayer, was one of the nation’s leading owner-breeders. Racing also had an interest in Hollywood, as evidenced by the exploits of breeder-owner Jock Whitney, who helped finance David O. Selznick’s productions of GonewiththeWind and Rebecca. A horse owned by Rita Hayworth (aka the Princess Aly Khan) nearly won Europe’smost important race, the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, and screenwriter- producer Gene Markey became the co-owner of Calumet Farm when he married his fourth wife.During this period, Hollywood produced at least 120 racing-themed films, among them A Day at the Races, National Velvet, and Thoroughbreds Don’t Cry. Thelast two starred Mickey Rooney, an inveterate horseplayer who, like Chico Marx and Jimmy Durante, lost a fortune at the track.The book concludes with an analysis of the twin declines of racing and cinema in America in recent decades.