How Marlon Brando Changed Acting: Inside a Scene from On the Waterfront

Mar­lon Bran­do has now been gone for more than two decades, and so thor­ough­go­ing was his impact on the art of film act­ing that younger gen­er­a­tions of movie-lovers may have trou­ble pin­ning down what, exact­ly, he did so dif­fer­ent­ly on screen. In the new video above, Evan “Nerd­writer” Puschak shows them — and reminds us — using a sin­gle scene from Elia Kazan’s On the Water­front. No, it’s not the scene you’re think­ing of even if you’ve nev­er seen the movie: Puschak selects an ear­li­er one, a con­ver­sa­tion between Bran­do’s prize­fight­er-turned-long­shore­man Ter­ry Mal­loy and Eva Marie Sain­t’s young Edie Doyle, the sis­ter of the col­league Ter­ry unknow­ing­ly lured to his death.

When Edie asks Ter­ry how he got into box­ing, Ter­ry glances at the floor while launch­ing into his answer. “It’s hard to over­state how rev­o­lu­tion­ary a choice like this was in 1954,” says Puschak. “Actors just did­n’t get dis­tract­ed in this way. Trained in the­atri­cal tech­niques, they hit their spots, artic­u­lat­ed their lines, and per­formed instant­ly leg­i­ble emo­tions for the audi­ence. They did­n’t pause a con­ver­sa­tion to look under the table, turn­ing their head away from the micro­phone in the process, and they cer­tain­ly did­n’t speak while chew­ing food.” Just a few years ear­li­er, “the famous Bran­do mum­ble” would have been unthink­able in a fea­ture film; after On the Water­front, it became an endur­ing part of pop­u­lar cul­ture.

Much of the evo­lu­tion of the motion pic­ture is the sto­ry of its lib­er­a­tion from the tropes of the­ater. The ear­li­est nar­ra­tive films amount­ed to lit­tle more than doc­u­men­ta­tions of stage per­for­mances, sta­t­i­cal­ly framed from the famil­iar per­spec­tive of a spec­ta­tor’s seat. Just as the devel­op­ment of the tech­nol­o­gy and tech­niques for cam­era move­ment and edit­ing allowed cin­e­ma to come into its own on the visu­al lev­el, the nature of the actors’ per­for­mances also had to change. In the mid-nine­teen-for­ties, the elec­tri­fied micro­phone allowed Frank Sina­tra to sing with the cadence and sub­tle­ty of speech; not long there­after, Bran­do took sim­i­lar advan­tage of the tech­no­log­i­cal capa­bil­i­ty of film to cap­ture a range of what would come to be known as his own sig­na­ture idio­syn­crasies.

On the Water­front opened fair­ly close on the heels of the Bran­do-star­ring A Street­car Named Desire and The Wild One; still to come were the likes of One-Eyed Jacks, The God­fa­ther, Last Tan­go in Paris, and Apoc­a­lypse Now. While Bran­do did­n’t appear exclu­sive­ly in acclaimed pic­tures — espe­cial­ly in the lat­er decades of his career — nev­er did he give a whol­ly unin­ter­est­ing per­for­mance. Incor­po­rat­ing the tics, hitch­es, and self-sti­fling impuls­es that afflict all our real-life com­mu­ni­ca­tion, he under­stood the poten­tial of both real­ism and odd­i­ty to bring a char­ac­ter’s inte­ri­or­i­ty out into the open, usu­al­ly against that char­ac­ter’s will. But he nev­er could’ve done it with­out his fel­low per­form­ers to act and react against, not least the for­mi­da­ble Eva Marie Saint: at 101 years old, one of our few liv­ing con­nec­tions to the vital, decep­tive­ly har­row­ing realm of post­war Hol­ly­wood cin­e­ma.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Mar­lon Bran­do Screen Tests for Rebel With­out A Cause (1947)

When Mar­lon Bran­do Refused the Oscar for His Role in The God­fa­ther to Sup­port the Rights of Native Amer­i­cans (1973)

The God­fa­ther With­out Bran­do?: Cop­po­la Explains How It Almost Hap­pened

How Humphrey Bog­a­rt Became an Icon: A Video Essay

Why James Gandolfini’s Tony Sopra­no Is “the Great­est Act­ing Achieve­ment Ever Com­mit­ted to the Screen”: A Video Essay

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Celebrate Halloween with Michael Jackson’s Horrifically Entertaining “Thriller” Music Video—and a Behind-the-Scenes Documentary

Michael Jack­son’s Thriller is the best-sell­ing album of all time, and not by a par­tic­u­lar­ly slim mar­gin. The most recent fig­ures have it reg­is­tered at 51.3 mil­lion copies, as against the 31.2 mil­lion notched by the run­ner up, AC/DC’s Back in Black. But it would sure­ly be a clos­er call with­out the title song’s cel­e­brat­ed music video, thir­teen John Lan­dis-direct­ed min­utes full of not just singing and danc­ing, but also clas­sic-style Hol­ly­wood mon­sters, some of them doing that singing and danc­ing them­selves. Hal­loween night is, of course, the best time to revis­it Michael Jack­son’s Thriller, as it’s offi­cial­ly titled. This year, why not chase it with the behind-the-scenes doc­u­men­tary below, Mak­ing Michael Jack­son’s Thriller?

Younger fans may not know that “Thriller” was­n’t even released as a sin­gle until Novem­ber of 1983: about a year after the album itself, which had already spun off six songs, includ­ing enor­mous hits like “Bil­lie Jean” and “Beat It.” In fact, Jack­son’s unprece­dent­ed vision for the album had been that every song could be a hit, with no filler in between.

The high­er-ups at Epic Records felt that its pop­u­lar­i­ty, how­ev­er sen­sa­tion­al to that point, had just about run its course. That made them unwill­ing, at first, to put out “Thriller” on its own, as did the song’s campy scary-movie lyrics, sound effects, and “rap” by none oth­er than Vin­cent Price, the embod­i­ment of old-Hol­ly­wood hor­ror. (This sort of thing was­n’t with­out prece­dent: with his sib­lings, Jack­son had cre­at­ed a sim­i­lar spooky atmos­phere in “This Place Hotel,” from 1980.)

Still, at that point in his rise to the kind of fame no cul­tur­al fig­ure may ever know again, Jack­son under­stood much that the old guard did­n’t. He knew that “Thriller” could suc­ceed, not just as a song on the radio, but a mul­ti­me­dia cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non. It would, of course, need a music video, but not one that mere­ly met the (still fair­ly lax) stan­dards of MTV. Impressed by the hor­ror, com­e­dy, and visu­al effects of John Lan­dis’ An Amer­i­can Were­wolf in Lon­don, Jack­son called up Lan­dis and asked him to direct what he’d been envi­sion­ing for “Thriller” at fea­ture-film pro­duc­tion val­ues. The $500,000 bud­get came from tele­vi­sion net­works like MTV and Show­time, offi­cial­ly for broad­cast­ing rights to Mak­ing Michael Jack­son’s Thriller.

The doc­u­men­tary cap­tures var­i­ous aspects of the video’s cre­ation, from cast­ing to chore­og­ra­phy to shoot­ing to make­up, that last being an espe­cial­ly painstak­ing process over­seen by indus­try mas­ter Rick Bak­er. What­ev­er the rig­ors of the pro­duc­tion, Jack­son dis­plays undis­guised enjoy­ment of it all in this footage, per­haps fore­see­ing that it would cul­mi­nate in the kind of expres­sion that could come from no oth­er artist. Though an intense­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive effort, Michael Jack­son’s Thriller is true to its name in ulti­mate­ly being the prod­uct of a sin­gle, guid­ing per­for­ma­tive sen­si­bil­i­ty, some­how both uni­ver­sal­ly appeal­ing and high­ly idio­syn­crat­ic at the same time. Jack­son’s insis­tence on call­ing his music videos “short films” may have been regard­ed as a typ­i­cal eccen­tric­i­ty, but nev­er was the label more appro­pri­ate than when he brought back the old-school mon­ster movie one last, funky time.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” Video Changed Pop Cul­ture For­ev­er: Revis­it the 13-Minute Short Film Direct­ed by John Lan­dis

Hear “Starlight,” Michael Jackson’s Ear­ly Demo of “Thriller”: A Ver­sion Before the Lyrics Were Rad­i­cal­ly Changed

When Mar­tin Scors­ese Direct­ed Michael Jack­son in the 18-Minute “Bad” Music Video & Paid Cin­e­mat­ic Trib­ute to West Side Sto­ry (1986)

How Michael Jack­son Wrote a Song: A Close Look at How the King of Pop Craft­ed “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough”

John Lan­dis Decon­structs Trail­ers of Great 20th Cen­tu­ry Films: Cit­i­zen Kane, Sun­set Boule­vard, 2001 & More

Where Zom­bies Come From: A Video Essay on the Ori­gin of the Hor­ri­fy­ing, Satir­i­cal Mon­sters

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How Saul Bass Designed the Strange Original Poster for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining

With Hal­loween just days away, many of us are even now ready­ing a scary movie or two to watch on the night itself. If you’re still unde­cid­ed about your own Hal­loween view­ing mate­r­i­al, allow us to sug­gest The Shin­ing, Stan­ley Kubrick­’s “mas­ter­piece of mod­ern hor­ror.” Those words come straight from the orig­i­nal poster hung up at the­aters when the film was released in 1980, and pre­sump­tu­ous though they may have sound­ed at the time — espe­cial­ly con­sid­er­ing the mixed first wave of crit­i­cal recep­tion — the decades have proven them right. Even if you’ve watched it for ten, twen­ty, forty Hal­loweens in a row, The Shin­ing remains fright­en­ing on both the jump-scare and exis­ten­tial-dread lev­els, while its each and every frame appears more clear­ly than ever to be the work of an auteur.

One could hard­ly find a more suit­able fig­ure to rep­re­sent the notion of the auteur — the direc­tor as pri­ma­ry “author” of a film — than Kubrick, whose aes­thet­ic and intel­lec­tu­al sen­si­bil­i­ty comes through in all of his major pic­tures, each of which belongs to a dif­fer­ent genre. Kubrick had tried his hand at film noir, World War I, swords-and-san­dals epic, psy­cho­log­i­cal dra­ma, Cold War black com­e­dy, sci­ence fic­tion, dystopi­an crime, and cos­tume dra­ma; a much-reworked adap­ta­tion of Stephen King’s nov­el, The Shin­ing rep­re­sents, of course, Kubrick­’s for­ay into hor­ror.

Despite the famous­ly quick-and-dirty ten­den­cies of that defi­ant­ly unre­spectable cin­e­mat­ic tra­di­tion, Kubrick exer­cised, if any­thing, an even greater degree of metic­u­lous­ness than that for which he was already noto­ri­ous, demand­ing per­fec­tion not just on set, but also in the cre­ation of the mar­ket­ing mate­ri­als.

Accord­ing to the new Paper & Light video above, famed design­er Saul Bass (who’d pre­vi­ous­ly cre­at­ed the title sequence of Kubrick­’s Spar­ta­cus) did more than 300 draw­ings for The Shin­ing’s movie poster. The only con­cept that met with the direc­tor’s approval placed a ter­ri­fied, vague­ly inhu­man vis­age inside the let­ter­ing of the title. We don’t know whose face it’s sup­posed to be, but Paper & Light haz­ards a guess that it may be that of Dan­ny, the young son of the Over­look Hotel’s doomed care­tak­er Jack Tor­rance, or even Dan­ny’s invis­i­ble friend Tony. (Note the con­tain­ment of all of its fea­tures with­in the T.) Though Kubrick cred­it­ed Bass’ final design with solv­ing “the eter­nal prob­lem of try­ing to com­bine art­work with the title of the film,” The Shin­ing’s bright yel­low poster now sits some­how uneasi­ly with the movie’s lega­cy, more as a curios­i­ty than an icon. Nev­er­the­less, it does evoke — and maybe too well — what we’ll all hope to feel when we press play this, or any, Hal­loween night.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Saul Bass’ Reject­ed Poster Con­cepts for The Shin­ing (and His Pret­ty Excel­lent Sig­na­ture)

Who Cre­at­ed the Famous Show­er Scene in Psy­cho? Alfred Hitch­cock or the Leg­endary Design­er Saul Bass?

Watch Saul Bass’s Trip­py, Kitschy Short Film The Quest (1983), Based on a Ray Brad­bury Short Sto­ry

The Invis­i­ble Hor­ror of The Shin­ing: How Music Makes Stan­ley Kubrick’s Icon­ic Film Even More Ter­ri­fy­ing

40 Years of Saul Bass’ Ground­break­ing Title Sequences in One Com­pi­la­tion

Saul Bass’ Advice for Design­ers: Make Some­thing Beau­ti­ful and Don’t Wor­ry About the Mon­ey

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The 135 Movies You Must See to Understand Cinema

If you wish to become a cinephile wor­thy of the title, you must first pledge nev­er to refuse to watch a film for any of the fol­low­ing rea­sons. First, that it is in a dif­fer­ent lan­guage and sub­ti­tled; sec­ond, that it is too old; third, that it is too slow; fourth, that it is too long; and fifth, that it has no “sto­ry.” These cat­e­gories of refusal are what Lewis Bond, co-cre­ator of the YouTube chan­nel The House of Tab­u­la, calls “the five car­di­nal sins of cin­e­ma,” and no one who com­mits them can ever attain an under­stand­ing of the art form, its nature, its his­to­ry, and its poten­tial. Once you’ve made your vow, you’ll be ready to watch through the 135 chrono­log­i­cal­ly ordered motion pic­tures that con­sti­tute The House of Tab­u­la’s “Ulti­mate Film Stud­ies Watch­list,” ful­ly explained in the video above.

While the movies first emerged in the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry, and plen­ty con­tin­ue to be made here in the twen­ty-first, they stand unop­posed as the defin­ing pop­u­lar art form of the twen­ti­eth. And it is from the span of that cen­tu­ry that all the films on this list are drawn, from Georges Méliès’ Le Voy­age dans la Lune and D. W. Grif­fith’s The Birth of a Nation to all the way to Quentin Taran­ti­no’s Pulp Fic­tion and the Wachowskis’ The Matrix.

What hap­pened to cin­e­ma between those peri­ods was, in a sense, a process of tech­no­log­i­cal and artis­tic evo­lu­tion, but as Bond’s com­men­tary under­scores, old­er films aren’t super­seded by new­er ones — or at least, old­er films of val­ue aren’t. Indeed, the ambi­tion and cre­ativ­i­ty of these decades, or even cen­tu­ry-old movies, puts many a cur­rent release to shame.

By no means is the list dom­i­nat­ed by obscu­ri­ties. Gone with the Wind, Fan­ta­sia, Sin­gin’ in the Rain, Psy­cho, Jaws, Alien: even the least cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly inclined among us have seen a few of these movies, or at least they feel like they have. Maybe they’ve nev­er got around to watch­ing Cit­i­zen Kane, but they’ll have a sense that it belongs on any syl­labus meant to cul­ti­vate an under­stand­ing of film as an art form. The pres­ence of Star Wars may come as more of a sur­prise, but no less than Cit­i­zen Kane, it illus­trates the ben­e­fit of watch­ing your way through cin­e­ma his­to­ry: if you do, you’ll expe­ri­ence just how much of a break they rep­re­sent­ed with all that came before. Ordi­nary movie­go­ers may feel like they’ve seen it all before, but cinephiles — espe­cial­ly those who’ve made the jour­ney through The House of Tab­u­la’s watch­list — know how vast an area of cin­e­mat­ic pos­si­bil­i­ty remains unex­plored.

Relat­ed con­tent:

78 Great Direc­tors Who Shaped the His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma: An Intro­duc­tion

The 30 Great­est Films Ever Made: A Video Essay

Mar­tin Scors­ese Cre­ates a List of 39 Essen­tial For­eign Films for a Young Film­mak­er

The Evo­lu­tion of Cin­e­ma: Watch Near­ly 140 Years of Film His­to­ry Unfold in 80 Min­utes

Take a 16-Week Crash Course on the His­to­ry of Movies: From the First Mov­ing Pic­tures to the Rise of Mul­ti­plex­es & Net­flix

The 15 Great­est Doc­u­men­taries of All Time: Explore Films by Wern­er Her­zog, Errol Mor­ris & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Alejandro Jodorowsky Explains How Tarot Cards Can Give You Creative Inspiration

The prac­tice of car­toman­cy, or div­ina­tion with cards, dates back sev­er­al hun­dred years to at least 14th cen­tu­ry Europe, per­haps by way of Turkey. But the spe­cif­ic form we know of, the tarot, like­ly emerged in the 17th cen­tu­ry, and the deck we’re all most famil­iar with—the Rid­er-Waite Tarot—didn’t appear until 1909. Pop­u­lar main­ly with occultists like Aleis­ter Crow­ley and Madame Blavatsky in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, the tarot explod­ed into pop­u­lar cul­ture in the new age 70s with books like Stu­art Kaplan’s Tarot Cards for Fun and For­tune Telling, and by way of cult film­mak­ers like Ale­jan­dro Jodor­owsky.

Since its rel­a­tive­ly recent pop­u­lar­iza­tion, “fun” and “for­tune telling” have more or less defined most people’s atti­tude to the tarot, whether they approve or dis­ap­prove of either one. But for artists and poets like William But­ler Yeats, T.S. Eliot, and sur­re­al­ist direc­tor Jodorowsky—whose film nar­ra­tion is per­haps the most poet­ic in mod­ern cinema—the tarot has always meant some­thing much more mys­te­ri­ous and inspir­ing. “The tarot,” says Jodor­owsky in the short film above, “will teach you how to cre­ate a soul.”

After study­ing the Major and Minor Arcana and the suits, and puz­zling over the sym­bols on each card, Jodor­owsky dis­cov­ered that “all 78 cards could be joined in a man­dala, in just one image.” Learn­ing to see the deck thus, “You must not talk about the future. The future is a con. The tarot is a lan­guage that talks about the present. If you use it to see the future, you become a con­man.” Like oth­er mys­ti­cal poets, Jodorowsky’s study of the tarot did not lead him to the super­nat­ur­al but to the cre­ative act.

And like many a poet before him, Jodor­owsky explored the jour­ney of the Fool in his 1973 film The Holy Moun­tain, a “daz­zling, ram­bling, often inco­her­ent satire,” writes Matt Zoller Seitz, that “unfurls like a hal­lu­cino­genic day­dream.” Jodorowsky’s cin­e­mat­ic dream log­ic comes not only from his work as a “shaman­ic psy­chother­a­pist.” He also cred­its the tarot for his psy­chomag­i­cal real­ism. “For me,” says Jodor­owsky in the video at the top, “the tarot was some­thing more seri­ous. It was a deep psy­cho­log­i­cal search.” The result of that search—Jodorowsky’s sin­gu­lar and total­ly unfor­get­table body of work—speaks to us of the val­ue of such an under­tak­ing, what­ev­er means one uses to get there.

Or as Jodor­owsky says in one of his mys­ti­cal pro­nounce­ments, “If you set your spir­it to some­thing, that phe­nom­e­non will hap­pen.” If that sounds like mag­i­cal think­ing, that’s exact­ly what it is. Jodor­owsky shows us how to read the tarot as he does, for psy­cho­log­i­cal insight and cre­ative inspi­ra­tion, in the video above, addressed to a fan named John Bish­op. Span­ish speak­ers will have no trou­ble under­stand­ing his pre­sen­ta­tion, as he quick­ly slides almost ful­ly into his native lan­guage through lack of con­fi­dence in his facil­i­ty with Eng­lish. The video belongs to a series on Jodorowsky’s YouTube chan­nel, most of them ful­ly in Span­ish with­out sub­ti­tles.

Nev­er­the­less, for Eng­lish speak­ers, the sub­ti­tled video at the top offers a sur­pris­ing­ly dense les­son on the Chilean mystic’s inter­pre­ta­tion of the tarot’s sup­posed wis­dom as a sym­bol­ic sys­tem, and a way of telling the present.

Should you wish to know more, you can find it in Jodorowsky’s book The Way of Tarot: The Spir­i­tu­al Teacher in the Cards, and prac­tice on your very own deck of Jodor­owsky-designed tarot cards.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Meet the For­got­ten Female Artist Behind the World’s Most Pop­u­lar Tarot Deck (1909)

Behold the Sola-Bus­ca Tarot Deck, the Ear­li­est Com­plete Set of Tarot Cards (1490)

Carl Jung on the Pow­er of Tarot Cards: They Pro­vide Door­ways to the Uncon­scious & Per­haps a Way to Pre­dict the Future

The Tarot Card Deck Cre­at­ed by Sal­vador Dalí

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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78 Great Directors Who Shaped the History of Cinema: An Introduction

When first we take an inter­est in movies, we must fig­ure out our own method of decid­ing what to watch next. The cen­tral fac­tor may be box office per­for­mance, the pres­ence of a favorite per­former, adher­ence to a favorite genre, or the use of a famil­iar sto­ry from oth­er media. Such paths through cin­e­ma can lead to enter­tain­ing view­ing expe­ri­ences, no doubt, but it’s safe to say that very few movie-lovers become bona fide cinephiles with­out even­tu­al­ly switch­ing their alle­giance to direc­tors. In eras past, a prop­er­ly orga­nized video store — that is, one whose tapes, Laserdiscs, or DVDs were ordered alpha­bet­i­cal­ly, by the direc­tor’s name — could pro­vide a gate­way. (Mine was Scare­crow Video.) Today’s bud­ding cinephiles have YouTube chan­nels like The House of Tab­u­la.

For­mer­ly known as The Cin­e­ma Car­tog­ra­phy (and before that as Chan­nel Criswell), The House of Tab­u­la has pro­duced many video essays on film pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured on Open Cul­ture. More than a few close­ly exam­ine par­tic­u­lar direc­tors: Andrei Tarkovsky, Stan­ley Kubrick, David Lynch, and Quentin Taran­ti­no, to name just four that appear in The House of Tab­u­la’s new three-and-a-half-hour video “The Mas­ters of Cin­e­ma.”

A jour­ney through the evo­lu­tion of film as reflect­ed in the work of 78 dif­fer­ent direc­tors, it cov­ers Tarkovsky, Kubrick, Lynch, and Taran­ti­no in its lat­er chap­ters on “the Mod­ern Mas­ters” and “the New School.” The ear­li­er chap­ters exam­ine pic­tures by every­one from Georges Méliès, Sergei Eisen­stein, D.W. Grif­fith, and Char­lie Chap­lin to Alfred Hitch­cock, Aki­ra Kuro­sawa, Fed­eri­co Felli­ni, and Orson Welles.

This view of cin­e­ma sub­scribes to “auteur the­o­ry,” which holds the direc­tor to be the guid­ing artis­tic intel­li­gence, or “author,” of a film. Most of us accept at least a ver­sion of this idea rel­a­tive­ly ear­ly in our jour­ney into cinephil­ia, and soon there­after encounter the vari­eties of objec­tion to it that have been lodged for decades and decades. Some direc­tors may oper­ate their own cam­eras, but most don’t; a few direc­tors act in their own movies, but the vast major­i­ty would­n’t even con­sid­er it (which is prob­a­bly all to the good). With some notable excep­tions, cin­e­ma is an intense­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive art, but as House of Tab­u­la co-cre­ator Lewis Bond puts it, the direc­tor is still the “voice” of a film. Togeth­er, the voic­es of the auteur film­mak­ers like the ones fea­tured in this video define the lan­guage of cin­e­ma, or per­haps the lan­guage that is cin­e­ma — one that every cinephile spends a life­time learn­ing to under­stand.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 30 Great­est Films Ever Made: A Video Essay

480 Film­mak­ers Reveal the 100 Great­est Movies in the World

How Film­mak­ers Tell Their Sto­ries: Three Insight­ful Video Essays Demys­ti­fy the Craft of Edit­ing, Com­po­si­tion & Col­or

Paul Schrad­er Cre­ates a Dia­gram Map­ping the Pro­gres­sion of Art­house Cin­e­ma: Ozu, Bres­son, Tarkovsky & Oth­er Auteurs

Mar­tin Scors­ese Makes a List of 85 Films Every Aspir­ing Film­mak­er Needs to See

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Remembering Jane Goodall (RIP): Watch Jane, the Acclaimed National Geographic Documentary

Jane Goodall, the revered con­ser­va­tion­ist, passed away today at age 91. In her hon­or, we’re fea­tur­ing above a Nation­al Geo­graph­ic doc­u­men­tary called Jane. Direct­ed by Brett Mor­gen, the film draws “from over 100 hours of nev­er-before-seen footage that has been tucked away in the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic archives for over 50 years.” The doc­u­men­tary offers an inti­mate por­trait of Goodall and her chim­panzee research that “chal­lenged the male-dom­i­nat­ed sci­en­tif­ic con­sen­sus of her time and rev­o­lu­tion­ized our under­stand­ing of the nat­ur­al world.” It’s set to an orches­tral score by com­pos­er Philip Glass.

You can find Jane added to our col­lec­tion of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Ani­mat­ed: The Inspi­ra­tional Sto­ry of Jane Goodall, and Why She Believes in Big­foot

Google Street View Lets You Walk in Jane Goodall’s Foot­steps and Vis­it the Chim­panzees of Tan­za­nia

The Gilded Age: A Free Historical Documentary That Helps Make Sense of Our Own Fraught Times

Ever-increas­ing eco­nom­ic inequal­i­ty, rapid tech­no­log­i­cal change, the cre­ation of dom­i­nant cor­po­ra­tions con­trolled by a small busi­ness elite, politi­cians in the pock­et of big busi­ness lead­ers, and the rise of pop­ulism and nativism. These are all fea­tures of Amer­i­can life in 2025. But our nation has also seen this movie play before, most notably back in the Gild­ed Age, which ran from the 1870s through the late 1890s. Above, we have a free two-hour doc­u­men­tary on the Gild­ed Age cre­at­ed by PBS. They write:

In the clos­ing decades of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry, dur­ing what has become known as the Gild­ed Age, the pop­u­la­tion of the Unit­ed States dou­bled in the span of a sin­gle gen­er­a­tion. The nation became the world’s lead­ing pro­duc­er of food, coal, oil, and steel, attract­ed vast amounts of for­eign invest­ment, and pushed into mar­kets in Europe and the Far East. As nation­al wealth expand­ed, two class­es rose simul­ta­ne­ous­ly, sep­a­rat­ed by a gulf of expe­ri­ence and cir­cum­stance that was unprece­dent­ed in Amer­i­can life. These dis­par­i­ties sparked pas­sion­ate and vio­lent debate over ques­tions still being asked in our own times: How is wealth best dis­trib­uted, and by what process? Does gov­ern­ment exist to pro­tect pri­vate prop­er­ty or pro­vide balm to the inevitable casu­al­ties of a churn­ing indus­tri­al sys­tem? Should the gov­ern­ment con­cern itself chiefly with eco­nom­ic growth or eco­nom­ic jus­tice? The bat­tles over these ques­tions were fought in Con­gress, the courts, the polling place, the work­place and the streets. The out­come of these dis­putes was both uncer­tain and momen­tous, and marked by a pas­sion­ate vit­ri­ol and lev­el of vio­lence that would shock the con­science of many Amer­i­cans today. The Gild­ed Age presents a com­pelling and com­plex sto­ry of one of the most con­vul­sive and trans­for­ma­tive eras in Amer­i­can his­to­ry.

To a cer­tain degree, this doc­u­men­tary will help you make bet­ter sense of our own fraught times and per­haps feel more opti­mistic about where we might end up. (It’s worth keep­ing in mind that the dis­rup­tions of the Gild­ed Age even­tu­al­ly gave way to the reforms of the Pro­gres­sive Era.) What’s more, if you’re watch­ing the excel­lent HBO series, The Gild­ed Age, the film pro­vides his­tor­i­cal back­ground that will direct­ly add to your appre­ci­a­tion of the show. You can watch the film online above, or find it in our col­lec­tion of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

 

 

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