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

The video above from YouTu­ber Alex Day includes clips from about 500 movies, and you’ve almost cer­tain­ly seen more than a few of them. Bat­tle­ship PotemkinDum­boRear Win­dowDr. NoThe God­fa­therE. T. the Extra-Ter­res­tri­alTop GunBrave­heartGlad­i­a­torIncep­tion: we’re not talk­ing about obscu­ri­ties here. Whether or not you count them among your per­son­al favorites, these motion pic­tures have all become near-uni­ver­sal­ly known for good (and/or Oscar-relat­ed) rea­sons, some of which may come back to mind as you watch the his­to­ry of cin­e­ma visu­al­ly retold through a fea­ture-length string of their espe­cial­ly rec­og­niz­able scenes.

Though genre pic­tures dom­i­nate, “I have not select­ed those films that marked the devel­op­ment of a genre or film stream,” Day writes. “I have select­ed the most pop­u­lar and bet­ter known ones by peo­ple. That’s why I’ve includ­ed so many Amer­i­can movies and less of oth­er coun­tries, because a lot of the most famous movies through­out his­to­ry are from the U.S.” (Hence, for exam­ple, the absence of Hideo Nakata’s influ­en­tial piece of “J‑horror” Ringu and the pres­ence of Ringu, its Hol­ly­wood remake from a few years lat­er.) No mat­ter where in the world you hap­pen to be, a ref­er­ence to RockyBack to the Future, or Home Alone — or any work of Steven Spiel­berg, a major pres­ence in the video — can go a sur­pris­ing­ly long way.

No mat­ter how pop­u­lar these movies are, it would be the rare view­er indeed who could claim famil­iar­i­ty with each and every one of them. Almost inevitably, the expe­ri­ence of watch­ing this video turns into a game of seen-it-or-not, which sheds light on the most inten­sive peri­ods of your life in film­go­ing. For my part, I must have watched almost every movie includ­ed from around the turn of the mil­len­ni­um, when I was just com­ing of age as a cinephile (and when even main­stream cin­e­ma, coin­ci­den­tal­ly or oth­er­wise, was in an espe­cial­ly inven­tive peri­od). It recent­ly gave me pause to hear that Amer­i­can Psy­cho is now being remade — but then, hav­ing come out near­ly a quar­ter-cen­tu­ry ago, it’s pre­sum­ably set­tled into its place in cin­e­ma his­to­ry.

Relat­ed con­tent:

100 Years of Cin­e­ma: New Doc­u­men­tary Series Explores the His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma by Ana­lyz­ing One Film Per Year, Start­ing in 1915

The Most Beau­ti­ful Shots in Cin­e­ma His­to­ry: Scenes from 100+ Films

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

The His­to­ry of the Movie Cam­era in Four Min­utes: From the Lumiere Broth­ers to Google Glass

Hol­ly­wood: Epic Doc­u­men­tary Chron­i­cles the Ear­ly His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma

Cin­e­ma His­to­ry by Titles & Num­bers

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 Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Spin the 17th-Century Death Roulette Wheel & Find Out What Would Have Killed You in 1665

A com­mon his­tor­i­cal mis­con­cep­tion holds that, up until a few cen­turies ago, every­one died when they were about 40. In fact, even in antiq­ui­ty, one could well make it to what would be con­sid­ered an advanced age today — assum­ing one sur­vived the great mor­tal per­il of child­hood, and then all the dan­gers that could befall one in all the stages of life there­after. In the mid-sev­en­teenth cen­tu­ry, with the Dark Ages past and the Indus­tri­al Rev­o­lu­tion just ahead, these threats to life includ­ed con­sump­tion, drop­sy, “grip­ing in the guts,” sci­at­i­ca, “stop­ping of the stom­ach,” and of course, plague.

This infor­ma­tion comes from the Lon­don “mor­tal­i­ty bill” seen below, which “rep­re­sents the death tal­ly of all city parish­es for the week of Aug. 15–22, 1665, when the plague had infect­ed 96 of the 130 parish­es report­ing.”

So writes Rebec­ca Onion at Slate, who cites Shakespeare’s Rest­less World author Neil Mac­Gre­gor as say­ing that “the bills cost about a pen­ny, and were pub­lished in large print runs.” But “if med­i­cine was still some­what uncer­tain about the caus­es of death, those in charge of tot­ing up deaths for the bills of mor­tal­i­ty were even more so,” result­ing in vague cat­e­go­riza­tions like “bedrid­den,” “fright­ened,” “lethar­gy,” and “sur­feit.”

You may receive one of those fates when you spin the wheel of 17th-Cen­tu­ry Death Roulette, a web appli­ca­tion that cycles rapid­ly through mor­tal­i­ty bills and the types of death list­ed there­in. “In the week of July 11th, 1665 you died from Palsie.” “In the week of Feb­ru­ary 14th, 1665 you died from Kild acci­den­tal­ly with a Car­bine, at St. Michael Wood Street.” “In the week of Decem­ber 12th, 1665 you died from Winde.” Your results may not reflect the actu­ar­i­al prob­a­bil­i­ty of what might have killed a giv­en Lon­don­er in that year, but all this death does, per­haps iron­i­cal­ly, give a vivid impres­sion of life at the time. Per­son­al­ly, I’m curi­ous how dan­ger­ous those stairs at St Thomas the Apos­tle real­ly were, but giv­en that the whole church burned down in the Great Fire of the very next year, I sup­pose we’ll nev­er know. Play the 17th-Cen­tu­ry Death Roulette here.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the Plague: Every Major Epi­dem­ic in an Ani­mat­ed Map

A 1665 Adver­tise­ment Promis­es a “Famous and Effec­tu­al” Cure for the Great Plague

The Strange Cos­tumes of the Plague Doc­tors Who Treat­ed 17th Cen­tu­ry Vic­tims of the Bubon­ic Plague

Isaac New­ton Con­ceived of His Most Ground­break­ing Ideas Dur­ing the Great Plague of 1665

74 Ways Char­ac­ters Die in Shakespeare’s Plays Shown in a Handy Info­graph­ic: From Snakebites to Lack of Sleep

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 Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Built to Last: How Ancient Roman Bridges Can Still Withstand the Weight of Modern Cars & Trucks

A for­eign trav­el­er road-trip­ping across Europe might well feel a wave of trep­i­da­tion before dri­ving a ful­ly loaded mod­ern auto­mo­bile over a more than 2,000-year-old bridge. But it might also be bal­anced out by the under­stand­ing that such a struc­ture has, by def­i­n­i­tion, stood the test of time — and, for those with a grasp of the his­to­ry of engi­neer­ing, that its ancient design­ers would have ensured its capac­i­ty to bear a load far heav­ier than any that would have crossed it in real­i­ty. With no sci­en­tif­ic means of mod­el­ing stress­es, as clas­si­cal-his­to­ry Youtu­ber Gar­rett Ryan explains in the new Told in Stone video above, they just had to build it tough.

Key to that tough­ness were arch­es, “made of heavy blocks laid over a false­work frame until the key­stone was slot­ted into place.” From the late first cen­tu­ry, stonework was sup­ple­ment­ed or replaced by brick and Roman con­crete, a sub­stance much-fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture.

We’ve also cov­ered the Roman bridges you can still cross today: Spain’s Puente de Alcán­tara (from the Ara­bic al-qanţarah, mean­ing “arch”), for exam­ple, which, though crossed by a quar­ter-mil­lion vehi­cles every year, “shows no signs of fail­ing”; or France’s Pont des Marchands, which “has sup­port­ed a neigh­bor­hood of mul­ti-sto­ry shops and hous­es since the Mid­dle Ages.”

But the arch­es of the near­ly 1,000 whol­ly or par­tial­ly sur­viv­ing Roman bridges haven’t done all the work by geom­e­try alone. “The load-bear­ing capac­i­ty of a bridge depend­ed both on the solid­i­ty of its abut­ments and the strength — ‘shear­ing point’ — of its vous­soirs,” or the stones of its arch­es between the key­stone at the top and the springers at the bot­tom. “Since Roman builders carved vous­soirs from the strongest read­i­ly avail­able stone, their bridges tend­ed to be impres­sive­ly sol­id.” You would­n’t want to run a freight train across the Puente de Alcán­tara, but 40-ton trucks are no prob­lem — to say noth­ing of a car filled with lug­gage, a few kids, and even a dog or two.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Roman Roads and Bridges You Can Still Trav­el Today

The Mys­tery Final­ly Solved: Why Has Roman Con­crete Been So Durable?

The Beau­ty & Inge­nu­ity of the Pan­theon, Ancient Rome’s Best-Pre­served Mon­u­ment: An Intro­duc­tion

Why Hasn’t the Pantheon’s Dome Col­lapsed?: How the Romans Engi­neered the Dome to Last 19 Cen­turies and Count­ing

The Roads of Ancient Rome Visu­al­ized in the Style of Mod­ern Sub­way Maps

Roman Archi­tec­ture: A Free Online Course from Yale

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 Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Take The Near Impossible Literacy Test Louisiana Used to Suppress the Black Vote (1964)

In William Faulkner’s 1938 nov­el The Unvan­quished, the implaca­ble Colonel Sar­toris takes dras­tic action to stop the elec­tion of a black Repub­li­can can­di­date to office after the Civ­il War, destroy­ing the bal­lots of black vot­ers and shoot­ing two North­ern car­pet­bag­gers. While such dra­mat­ic means of vot­er sup­pres­sion occurred often enough in the Recon­struc­tion South, tac­tics of elec­toral exclu­sion refined over time, such that by the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry the Jim Crow South relied large­ly on near­ly impos­si­ble-to-pass lit­er­a­cy tests to impede free and fair elec­tions.

These tests, writes Rebec­ca Onion at Slate, were “sup­pos­ed­ly applic­a­ble to both white and black prospec­tive vot­ers who couldn’t prove a cer­tain lev­el of edu­ca­tion” (typ­i­cal­ly up to the fifth grade). Yet they were “in actu­al­i­ty dis­pro­por­tion­ate­ly admin­is­tered to black vot­ers.”

Addi­tion­al­ly, many of the tests were rigged so that reg­is­trars could give poten­tial vot­ers an easy or a dif­fi­cult ver­sion, and could score them dif­fer­ent­ly as well. For exam­ple, the Vet­er­ans of the Civ­il Rights Move­ment describes a test admin­is­tered in Alaba­ma that is so entire­ly sub­jec­tive that it mea­sures the registrar’s shrewd­ness and cun­ning more than any­thing else.

The test here from Louisiana con­sists of ques­tions so ambigu­ous that no one, what­ev­er their lev­el of edu­ca­tion, can divine a “right” or “wrong” answer to most of them. And yet, as the instruc­tions state, “one wrong answer denotes fail­ure of the test,” an impos­si­ble stan­dard for even a legit­i­mate exam. Even worse, vot­ers had only ten min­utes to com­plete the three-page, 30-ques­tion doc­u­ment. The Louisiana test dates from 1964, the year before the pas­sage of the Vot­ing Rights Act, which effec­tive­ly put an end to these bla­tant­ly dis­crim­i­na­to­ry prac­tices.

Learn more about the his­to­ry of Jim Crow vot­er sup­pres­sion at Rebec­ca Onion’s orig­i­nal post here and an update here. And here you can watch video of Har­vard stu­dents try­ing to take the test.

Note: Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Har­vard Stu­dents Fail the Lit­er­a­cy Test Louisiana Used to Sup­press the Black Vote in 1964

Philoso­pher Richard Rorty Chill­ing­ly Pre­dicts the Results of the 2016 Elec­tion … Back in 1998

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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The Fake Buildings of New York: What Happens Inside Their Mysterious Walls

You can’t go on a walk with a seri­ous enthu­si­ast of New York his­to­ry with­out hear­ing the sto­ries behind at least a few notable, beau­ti­ful, or down­right strange build­ings. Yet most long­time New York­ers, famed for tun­ing out their sur­round­ings to bet­ter strive for their goals of the day, tend not even to acknowl­edge the struc­tures liable to catch the atten­tion of out-of-town­ers. Take 58 Jorale­mon Street in Brook­lyn Heights: “From the out­side, it looks like your typ­i­cal town­house,” says urban explor­er Cash Jor­dan in his video above — but then you notice its blacked-out win­dows, bunker-like met­al cladding, and appar­ent­ly un-open­able door.

Though it was indeed a town­house when first built in 1847, 58 Jorale­mon Street was hol­lowed out and con­vert­ed into one sub­way-sys­tem vent back in 1907. But the build­ings right on either side remain res­i­dences, one of which, as Jor­dan finds, sold not long ago for $6 mil­lion.

In a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent, more iso­lat­ed con­text stands the Streck­er Memo­r­i­al Lab­o­ra­to­ry on Roo­sevelt Island. Built in 1892 as a lab­o­ra­to­ry for City Hos­pi­tal, it opened as “the first insti­tu­tion in the nation for patho­log­i­cal and bac­te­ri­o­log­i­cal research,” an activ­i­ty it makes sense to keep apart from a dense urban envi­ron­ment. Aban­doned in the nine­teen-fifties, it lat­er became anoth­er sub­way facil­i­ty, specif­i­cal­ly a pow­er con­ver­sion sub­sta­tion.

Jor­dan also vis­its a fake build­ing well out on Pier 34, and one that also pro­vides a func­tion essen­tial to New York tran­sit: ven­ti­lat­ing the smoke and exhaust out of the Hol­land Tun­nel. Owned and oper­at­ed by pub­lic agen­cies, these struc­tures per­form well-doc­u­ment­ed and entire­ly non-secret func­tions. The same can’t be said of the last and most strik­ing fake build­ing Jor­dan intro­duces, a win­dow­less Bru­tal­ist tow­er con­struct­ed in 1969 at 33 Thomas Street in Low­er Man­hat­tan. Owned by AT&T, it seems once to have been a tele­phone switch­ing sta­tion, but has late­ly been rumored to be a “huge dooms­day bunker.” That’s one the­o­ry, any­way, and the build­ing’s sin­is­ter appear­ance could inspire count­less oth­ers. Not that many locals are imag­in­ing them, obey­ing as they do one of the cen­tral com­mand­ments of Man­hat­tan: don’t look up.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Sto­ry of the Flat­iron Build­ing, “New York’s Strangest Tow­er”

New York’s Lost Sky­scraper: The Rise and Fall of the Singer Tow­er

An Intro­duc­tion to the Chrysler Build­ing, New York’s Art Deco Mas­ter­piece, by John Malkovich (1994)

The Old­est House in New York City: Meet the Wyck­off House (1652)

Archi­tect Breaks Down Five of the Most Icon­ic New York City Apart­ments

A 3D Ani­ma­tion Shows the Evo­lu­tion of New York City (1524 — 2023)

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 Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

 

Thomas Edison’s Recordings of Leo Tolstoy: Hear the Voice of the Great Russian Novelist

Born 196 years ago, Russ­ian nov­el­ist Leo Tolstoy’s life (1828–1910) spanned a peri­od of immense social, polit­i­cal, and tech­no­log­i­cal change, par­al­leled in his own life by his rad­i­cal shift from hedo­nis­tic noble­man to the­olo­gian, anar­chist, and veg­e­tar­i­an paci­fist. Though he did not live to see the Russ­ian Rev­o­lu­tion, the nov­el­ist did see Tsar Alexan­der II’s sweep­ing reforms, includ­ing the 1861 Eman­ci­pa­tion order that changed the social char­ac­ter of the coun­try. Near the end of his life, Tol­stoy saw the com­ing of new record­ing tech­nol­o­gy that would rev­o­lu­tion­ize the direc­tion of his own life’s work—telling sto­ries.

In his lat­er years Tol­stoy appeared in the new medi­um of film, which cap­tured his 80th birth­day in 1908, and his funer­al pro­ces­sion two years lat­er. He was the sub­ject of the first col­or pho­to­graph tak­en in Rus­sia (top) also in 1908. And that same year, Tol­stoy made sev­er­al audio record­ings of his voice, on a phono­graph sent to him per­son­al­ly by Thomas Edi­son. You can hear one of those record­ings, “The Pow­er of Child­hood,” made on April 19th, 1908, just above.

You’ll note, of course, that the great author reads in his native lan­guage. Most of the record­ings he made, which he intend­ed for the edi­fi­ca­tion of his coun­try­men, are in Russ­ian. Below, how­ev­er, you can hear him read from his last book, Wise Thoughts For Every Day in Eng­lish, Ger­man, French and Russ­ian. The book col­lects Tolstoy’s favorite pas­sages from thinkers as diverse as Lao-Tzu and Ralph Wal­do Emer­son. As Mike Springer wrote in a pre­vi­ous post on this record­ing, “Tol­stoy reject­ed his great works of fic­tion” as an old man, “believ­ing that it was more impor­tant to give moral and spir­i­tu­al guid­ance to the com­mon peo­ple.” To that end, he made a series of short record­ings, which you can hear at this site, on such sub­jects as art, law, moral­i­ty, pover­ty, non­vi­o­lence, and cap­i­tal pun­ish­ment.

The sto­ry of how Tol­stoy came to make these record­ings is a fas­ci­nat­ing one. Inter­est­ed in the new tech­nol­o­gy, Tol­stoy made his first record­ing in 1895, when, writes The Moscow Times, “an Edi­son rep­re­sen­ta­tive came to Yas­naya Polyana, Tol­stoy’s estate, to record the author’s voice. Those record­ings were tak­en over the bor­der to Berlin, where they lay in an archive until they were brought back to the Sovi­et Union after World War II.” When Stephen Bon­sal, edi­tor of the New York Times learned of Tolstoy’s inter­est in record­ing tech­nol­o­gy in 1907, he promised to send the nov­el­ist an Edi­son phono­graph of his own. Edi­son him­self, hear­ing of this, refused to accept any pay­ment, and per­son­al­ly sent his own machine to Tolstoy’s estate with the engraved mes­sage “A Gift to Count Leo Tol­stoy from Thomas Alva Edi­son.”

Edi­son asked Tol­stoy for many mul­ti-lin­gual record­ings, request­ing “short mes­sages” in Eng­lish and French, “con­vey­ing to the peo­ple of the world some thoughts that would tend to their moral and social advance­ment.” Tol­stoy dili­gent­ly made sev­er­al record­ings, some of which were then shipped to Edi­son in 1908. On Feb­ru­ary 21 of that year, the New York Times pub­lished an arti­cle on the exchange titled “Tolstoy’s Gift to Edi­son. Will Send Record of His Voice—Edison Gave Him a Phono­graph.” The world eager­ly await­ed the world-famous author’s mes­sage to its “civ­i­lized peo­ples.” It seems how­ev­er, that the mes­sage nev­er arrived. Accord­ing to Sput­nik News, the fate of that leg­endary record­ing “has yet to be found out.” Nev­er­the­less, thanks to Edi­son, we have sev­er­al oth­er record­ings of Tolstoy’s very well-pre­served voice, the record of a life lived to the end with fierce con­vic­tion and curios­i­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Leo Tol­stoy Became a Veg­e­tar­i­an and Jump­start­ed the Veg­e­tar­i­an & Human­i­tar­i­an Move­ments in the 19th Cen­tu­ry

The Only Col­or Pic­ture of Tol­stoy, Tak­en by Pho­tog­ra­phy Pio­neer Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky (1908)

Leo Tol­stoy Reads From His Last Major Work in 4 Lan­guages, 1909

Vin­tage Footage of Leo Tol­stoy: Video Cap­tures the Great Nov­el­ist Dur­ing His Final Days

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Private Snafu: The World War II Propaganda Cartoons Created by Dr. Seuss, Frank Capra & Mel Blanc

Pri­vate Sna­fu was the U.S. Army’s worst sol­dier. He was slop­py, lazy and prone to shoot­ing off his mouth to Nazi agents. And he was huge­ly pop­u­lar with his fel­low GIs.

Pri­vate Sna­fu was, of course, an ani­mat­ed car­toon char­ac­ter designed for the mil­i­tary recruits. He was an adorable dolt who sound­ed like Bugs Bun­ny and looked a bit like Elmer Fudd. And in every episode, he taught sol­diers what not to do, from blab­bing about troop move­ments to not tak­ing malar­ia med­ica­tion.

The idea for the series report­ed­ly came from Frank Capra — the Oscar-win­ning direc­tor of It’s a Won­der­ful Life and Mr. Smith Goes to Wash­ing­ton and, dur­ing WWII, the chair­man of the U.S. Army Air Force First Motion Pic­ture Unit. He want­ed to cre­ate a car­toon series for new recruits, many of whom were young, unworld­ly and in some cas­es illit­er­ate. Capra gave Dis­ney first shot at devel­op­ing the idea but Warn­er Bros’ Leon Schlesinger, a man who was as famous for his hard-dri­ving busi­ness acu­men as he was for wear­ing exces­sive cologne, offered a bid that was 2/3rds below that of Dis­ney.

The tal­ent behind this series was impres­sive, fea­tur­ing a ver­i­ta­ble who’s who of non-Dis­ney ani­mat­ing tal­ent, includ­ing Chuck Jones, Bob Clam­pett, and Friz Fre­leng. Sna­fu was voiced by Mel Blanc, who famous­ly did Bun­ny Bugs, Daffy Duck and lat­er Mar­vin the Mar­t­ian. And one of the main writ­ers was none oth­er than Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel.

As you can see in the first Sna­fu short Com­ing!! (1943), direct­ed by Chuck Jones (see above), the movie dis­plays a salty sen­si­bil­i­ty intend­ed for an army camp rather than a Sun­day mati­nee. The movie opens with a dead­pan voiceover explain­ing that, in infor­mal mil­i­tary par­lance, SNAFU means “Sit­u­a­tion Nor­mal All…All Fouled Up,” hint­ing that the usu­al trans­la­tion of the acronym includes a pop­u­lar Anglo-Sax­on word. Lat­er, it shows Pri­vate Sna­fu day­dream­ing about a bur­lesque show – com­plete with a shape­ly exot­ic dancer doff­ing her duds – as he obliv­i­ous­ly wrecks a plane.

Though there were no writ­ing cred­its for each indi­vid­ual episode, just lis­ten to the voiceover for Gripes (1943), direct­ed by Friz Fre­leng. Dr. Seuss’s trade­mark singsong cadence is unmis­tak­able includ­ing lines like:

“The moral, Sna­fu, is that the hard­er you work, the soon­er we’re gonna beat Hitler, that jerk.”

Gas! (1944), direct­ed by Chuck Jones, fea­tures a cameo from Bugs Bun­ny.

And final­ly, Going Home, direct­ed by Chuck Jones, was slat­ed to come out in 1944 but the War Depart­ment kiboshed it. The ratio­nale was nev­er explained but some think that the film’s ref­er­ence to a mas­sive, top-secret weapon that was to be deployed over Japan was just a lit­tle too close to the Man­hat­tan Project.

You can watch a long list of Pri­vate Sna­fu episodes here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Don­ald Duck’s Bad Nazi Dream and Four Oth­er Dis­ney Pro­pa­gan­da Car­toons from World War II

Dr. Seuss’ World War II Pro­pa­gan­da Films: Your Job in Ger­many (1945) and Our Job in Japan (1946)

Edu­ca­tion for Death: The Mak­ing of the Nazi–Walt Disney’s 1943 Film Shows How Fas­cists Are Made

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

When Kris Kristofferson (RIP) Stood by Sinéad O’Connor at the Height of Her Controversy

One would have imag­ined Sinéad O’Con­nor imper­vi­ous to any reac­tion from a hos­tile audi­ence, no mat­ter how vit­ri­olic. But even for a pub­lic fig­ure as out­spo­ken and unapolo­getic as her, it could all get to be a bit much at times. Take the 1992 con­cert Colum­bia Records put on for the 30th anniver­sary of Bob Dylan’s first album. “Avail­able on pay-per-view,” writes the New York Times’ Marc Tra­cy, it “fea­tured per­for­mances by Dylan along with some of the biggest stars of his era, among them Ste­vie Won­der, George Har­ri­son, John­ny Cash and Eric Clap­ton,” as well as the late out­law-coun­try icon Kris Kristof­fer­son.

The young O’Con­nor also per­formed, despite being “at the cen­ter of a firestorm. Just two weeks ear­li­er, the Irish singer was the musi­cal guest on Sat­ur­day Night Live when, at the con­clu­sion of her sec­ond and final per­for­mance of the evening, she ripped up a pic­ture of Pope John Paul II and exhort­ed, ‘Fight the real ene­my,’ a defi­ant act of protest against sex­u­al abuse in the Catholic Church.” It fell to Kristof­fer­son to intro­duce her, where­upon she “took the stage to a cas­cade of applause and boos, which did not let up as O’Connor stood silent­ly at the micro­phone with her hands behind her back.”

As you can see in the video at the top of the post, Kristof­fer­son did­n’t stay off­stage. After a minute he “re-emerged from stage left, put his arm around O’Connor and whis­pered some­thing in her ear.” The show then went on, albeit not as planned: instead of doing Dylan’s “I Believe in You,” she did Bob Mar­ley’s “War,” the very same song she’d sung on SNL before the noto­ri­ous Pope-rip­ping. Rather than leav­ing his mes­sage as a Lost in Trans­la­tion moment, Kristof­fer­son lat­er revealed the words he’d sum­moned to encour­age her: “ ‘Don’t let the bas­tards get you down.’ To which, he said, she respond­ed: ‘I’m not down.’ ”

That response was char­ac­ter­is­tic of O’Con­nor, as was her 2021 auto­bi­og­ra­phy’s note that she was think­ing, “I don’t need a man to res­cue me, thanks.” What­ev­er her feel­ings in the moment, her friend­ship with Kristof­fer­son seems to have last­ed until her death last year. “Kristof­fer­son appeared with her in the 1997 music video for the song ‘This Is to Moth­er You,’ ” writes Tra­cy. “In 2010, the two per­formed a duet of Kristofferson’s ‘Help Me Make It Through the Night’ on an Irish talk show. It was a year after Kristof­fer­son had released a song about the 1992 inci­dent, ‘Sis­ter Sinead.’ ” Out­ward­ly, the two could hard­ly have had less in com­mon, but inward­ly, they must have rec­og­nized each oth­er as kin­dred spir­its — the likes of which we’ll sure­ly not see again.

via New York Times

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hear a Rare First Record­ing of Janis Joplin’s Hit “Me and Bob­by McGee,” Writ­ten by Kris Kristof­fer­son

Shane Mac­Gowan & Sinéad O’Connor Duet Togeth­er, Per­form­ing a Mov­ing Ren­di­tion of “Haunt­ed” (RIP)

Sinéad O’Connor’s Raw Iso­lat­ed Vocals for “Noth­ing Com­pares 2 U”

A Choir with 1,000 Singers Pays Trib­ute to Sinéad O’Connor & Per­forms “Noth­ing Com­pares 2 U”

5 Musi­cal Guests Banned From Sat­ur­day Night Live: From Elvis Costel­lo to Frank Zap­pa

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 Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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