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.

The 1957 “Spaghetti-Grows-on-Trees” Hoax: One of TV’s First April Fools’ Day Pranks

In 1957, the BBC pro­gram Panora­ma aired one of the first tele­vised April Fools’ Day hoax­es. Above, you can watch a faux news report from Switzer­land nar­rat­ed by respect­ed BBC jour­nal­ist Richard Dim­ble­by. Here’s the basic premise: After a mild win­ter and the “vir­tu­al dis­ap­pear­ance of the spaghet­ti wee­vil,” the res­i­dents of Ticoni (a Swiss can­ton on the Ital­ian bor­der) reap a record-break­ing spaghet­ti har­vest. Swiss farm­ers pluck strands of spaghet­ti from trees and lay them out to dry in the sun. Then we cut to Swiss res­i­dents enjoy­ing a fresh pas­ta meal for dinner—going from farm to table, as it were.

The spoof doc­u­men­tary orig­i­nat­ed with the BBC cam­era­man Charles de Jaeger. He remem­bered one of his child­hood school­teach­ers in Aus­tria jok­ing, “Boys, you are so stu­pid, you’d believe me if I told you that spaghet­ti grew on trees.” Appar­ent­ly he was right. Years lat­er, David Wheel­er, the pro­duc­er of the BBC seg­ment, recalled: “The fol­low­ing day [the broad­cast] there was quite a to-do because there were lots of peo­ple who went to work and said to their col­leagues ‘did you see that extra­or­di­nary thing on Panora­ma? I nev­er knew that about spaghet­ti.’ ” An esti­mat­ed eight mil­lion peo­ple watched the orig­i­nal pro­gram, and, decades lat­er, CNN called the broad­cast “the biggest hoax that any rep­utable news estab­lish­ment ever pulled.”

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

When Neapoli­tans Used to Eat Pas­ta with Their Bare Hands: Watch Footage from 1903

“Moon Hoax Not”: Short Film Explains Why It Was Impos­si­ble to Fake the Moon Land­ing

Neil Arm­strong Sets Straight an Inter­net Truther Who Accused Him of Fak­ing the Moon Land­ing (2000)

When Ital­ian Futur­ists Declared War on Pas­ta (1930)

 

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When Marcel Duchamp Drew a Mustache & Goatee on the Mona Lisa (1919)

Apart from cer­tain stretch­es of absence, Leonar­do’s Mona Lisa has been on dis­play at the Lou­vre for 228 years and count­ing. Though cre­at­ed by an Ital­ian in Italy, the paint­ing has long since been a part of French cul­ture. At some point, the rev­er­ence for La Joconde, as the Mona Lisa is local­ly known, reached such an inten­si­ty as to inspire the label Jocondisme. For Mar­cel Duchamp, it all seems to have been a bit much. In 1919, he bought a post­card bear­ing the image of that most famous of all paint­ings, drew a mus­tache and goa­tee on it, and dubbed the result­ing “art­work” L.H.O.O.Q., whose French pro­nun­ci­a­tion “Elle a chaud au cul” trans­lates to — as Duchamp mod­est­ly put it — “There is fire down below.”

A cen­tu­ry ago, this was a high­ly irrev­er­ent, even blas­phe­mous act, but also just what one might expect from the man who, a cou­ple years ear­li­er, signed a uri­nal and put it on dis­play in a gallery. Like the much-scru­ti­nized Foun­tain, L.H.O.O.Q. was one of Ducham­p’s “ready­mades,” or artis­tic provo­ca­tions exe­cut­ed by mod­i­fy­ing and re-con­tex­tu­al­iz­ing found objects.

Nei­ther was sin­gu­lar: just as Duchamp signed mul­ti­ple uri­nals, he also drew (or did­n’t draw) facial hair on mul­ti­ple Mona Lisa post­cards. In one instance, he even gave the okay to his fel­low artist Fran­cis Picabia to make one for pub­li­ca­tion in his mag­a­zine in New York as, nev­er­the­less, “par Mar­cel Duchamp” — though it lacked a goa­tee, an omis­sion the artist cor­rect­ed in his own hand some twen­ty years lat­er.

In the 1956 inter­view just above, Duchamp describes L.H.O.O.Q. as a part of his “Dada peri­od” (and, with char­ac­ter­is­tic mod­esty, “a great icon­o­clas­tic ges­ture on my part”). He also brings out a fake check — belong­ing to “no bank at all” — that he cre­at­ed to use at the den­tist (who accept­ed it); and a sys­tem designed to “break the bank at Monte Car­lo” (which stub­born­ly remained unbro­ken). “I believe that art is the only form of activ­i­ty in which man, as a man, shows him­self to be a true indi­vid­ual, and is capa­ble of going beyond the ani­mal state,” he declares. With his col­li­sion of Jocondisme and Dada, among the oth­er unlike­ly jux­ta­po­si­tions he engi­neered, he showed him­self to be the pre­mier prankster of ear­ly twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry art — and one whose pranks tran­scend­ed amuse­ment to inspire a schol­ar­ly indus­try that per­sists even today.

Relat­ed con­tent:

What Makes the Mona Lisa a Great Paint­ing: A Deep Dive

How Did the Mona Lisa Become the World’s Most Famous Paint­ing?: It’s Not What You Think

The Mar­cel Duchamp Research Por­tal Opens, Mak­ing Avail­able 18,000 Doc­u­ments and 50,000 Images Relat­ed to the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Artist

How Mar­cel Duchamp Signed a Uri­nal in 1917 & Rede­fined Art

When Bri­an Eno & Oth­er Artists Peed in Mar­cel Duchamp’s Famous Uri­nal

Sal­vador Dalí Reveals the Secrets of His Trade­mark Mous­tache (1954)

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.

A Tour of a Utopian Home Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, Presented by His Last Living Client

Amer­i­can is a tricky word. It can refer to every­one and every­thing of or per­tain­ing to all the coun­tries of North Amer­i­ca — and poten­tial­ly South Amer­i­ca as well — but it’s com­mon­ly used with spe­cif­ic regard to the Unit­ed States. For Frank Lloyd Wright, lin­guis­tic as well as archi­tec­tur­al per­fec­tion­ist, this was an unten­able state of affairs. To his mind, the newest civ­i­liza­tion of the New World, a vast land that offered man the rare chance to remake him­self, need­ed an adjec­tive all its own. And so, repur­pos­ing a demonym pro­posed by geo­g­ra­ph­er James Duff Law in the nine­teen-hun­dreds, Wright began to refer to his not just archi­tec­tur­al but also broad­ly cul­tur­al project as Uson­ian.

Wright com­plet­ed the first of his so-called “Uson­ian hous­es,” the Her­bert and Kather­ine Jacobs House in Madi­son, Wis­con­sin, in the mid­dle of the Great Depres­sion. Chal­lenged to “cre­ate a decent home for $5,000,” says the Frank Lloyd Wright Foun­da­tion’s web site, the archi­tect seized the chance to real­ize “a new afford­able archi­tec­ture that freed itself from Euro­pean con­ven­tions and respond­ed to the Amer­i­can land­scape.”

This first Uson­ian house and its 60 or so suc­ces­sors “relat­ed direct­ly to the earth, unim­ped­ed by a foun­da­tion, front porch, pro­trud­ing chim­ney, or dis­tract­ing shrub­bery. Glass cur­tain walls and nat­ur­al mate­ri­als like wood, stone and brick fur­ther tied the house to its envi­ron­ment.” In Pleas­antville, New York, there even exists a Uso­nia His­toric Dis­trict, three of whose 47 homes were designed by Wright him­self.

The BBC Glob­al video at the top of the post offers a tour of one of the Uso­nia His­toric Dis­tric­t’s hous­es led by the sole sur­viv­ing orig­i­nal own­er, the 100-year-old Roland Reis­ley. The Archi­tec­tur­al Digest video above fea­tures Reis­ley’s home as well as the Bertha and Sol Fried­man House, which Wright dubbed Toy­hill. Both have been kept as adher­ent as pos­si­ble to the vision that inspired them, and that was meant to inspire a renais­sance in Amer­i­can civ­i­liza­tion. The Uson­ian homes may have fall­en short of Wright’s Utopi­an hopes, but they did have a cer­tain influ­ence on post­war sub­urb-builders, and have much enriched the lives of their more appre­cia­tive inhab­i­tants. The cen­te­nar­i­an Reis­ley cred­its his star­tling youth­ful­ness to the man-made and nat­ur­al beau­ty of his domes­tic sur­round­ings — but then, this last of the Uso­ni­ans also hap­pens to be one of the rare clients who could get along with Frank Lloyd Wright.

Relat­ed con­tent:

What Frank Lloyd Wright’s Unusu­al Win­dows Tell Us About His Archi­tec­tur­al Genius

12 Famous Frank Lloyd Wright Hous­es Offer Vir­tu­al Tours: Hol­ly­hock House, Tal­iesin West, Falling­wa­ter & More

How Frank Lloyd Wright’s Archi­tec­ture Evolved Over 70 Years and Changed Amer­i­ca

Frank Lloyd Wright Designs an Urban Utopia: See His Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Broad­acre City (1932)

How Frank Lloyd Wright Became Frank Lloyd Wright: A Video Intro­duc­tion

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.

You Can Now See the Parthenon Without Scaffolding for the First Time in 200 Years

If you’ve made the jour­ney to Athens, you prob­a­bly took the time to vis­it its most pop­u­lar tourist attrac­tion, the Acrop­o­lis. On that mon­u­ment-rich hill, you more than like­ly paid spe­cial atten­tion to the Parthenon, the ancient tem­ple ded­i­cat­ed to the city’s name­sake, the god­dess Athena Parthenos. But no mat­ter how much time you spent amid the ruins of the Parthenon, if that vis­it hap­pens to have tak­en place in the past 200 years, you may now ques­tion whether you’ve tru­ly seen it at all. That’s because only recent­ly has scaf­fold­ing been removed that has par­tial­ly obscured its west­ern façade for the past two decades, result­ing in the pur­er visu­al state seen in the clips col­lect­ed above.

The press atten­tion drawn by this event prompt­ed Greece’s Min­is­ter of Cul­ture Lin­da Men­doni to declare this the first time the Parthenon’s exte­ri­or has been com­plete­ly free of scaf­fold­ing in about two cen­turies. Hav­ing been orig­i­nal­ly built in the fifth cen­tu­ry BC, and come through most of that span much the worse for wear, it requires inten­sive and near-con­stant main­te­nance.

Its inun­da­tion by vis­i­tors sure­ly does­n’t help: an esti­mat­ed 4.5 mil­lion peo­ple went to the Acrop­o­lis in 2024, the kind of fig­ure that makes you believe in the diag­noses of glob­al “over­tourism” thrown around these days. The Greek gov­ern­men­t’s coun­ter­mea­sures include a dai­ly vis­i­tor cap of 20,000, imple­ment­ed in 2023, and a require­ment to reserve a timed entry slot.

If you’d like to see the whol­ly un-scaf­fold­ed Parthenon in per­son, you’d best reserve your own slot as soon as pos­si­ble: more con­ser­va­tion work is sched­uled to begin in Novem­ber, albeit with tem­po­rary infra­struc­ture designed to be “lighter and aes­thet­i­cal­ly much clos­er to the log­ic of the mon­u­ment,” as Men­doni has explained. But if you miss that win­dow, don’t wor­ry, since that oper­a­tion should only last until ear­ly next sum­mer, and upon its com­ple­tion, “the Parthenon will be com­plete­ly freed of this scaf­fold­ing too, and peo­ple will be able to see it tru­ly free.” Not that they’ll be able to see it for free: even now, a gen­er­al-admis­sion Acrop­o­lis reser­va­tion costs €30 (about $35 USD) dur­ing the sum­mer­time peak sea­son. Athena was the god­dess of wis­dom, war­fare, and hand­i­craft, not wealth, but it clear­ly lies with­in her pow­ers to com­mand a decent price.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How the Ancient Greeks Built Their Mag­nif­i­cent Tem­ples: The Art of Ancient Engi­neer­ing

A 3D Mod­el Reveals What the Parthenon and Its Inte­ri­or Looked Like 2,500 Years Ago

How the Parthenon Mar­bles End­ed Up In The British Muse­um

The City of Nashville Built a Full-Scale Repli­ca of the Parthenon in 1897, and It’s Still Stand­ing Today

Artist is Cre­at­ing a Parthenon Made of 100,000 Banned Books: A Mon­u­ment to Democ­ra­cy & Intel­lec­tu­al Free­dom

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 Mystery of Edgar Allan Poe’s Death: 19 Theories on What Caused the Poet’s Demise

One of my very first acts as a new New York­er many years ago was to make the jour­ney across three bor­oughs to Wood­lawn Ceme­tery in the Bronx. My pur­pose: a pil­grim­age to Her­man Melville’s grave. I came not to wor­ship a hero, exact­ly, but—as Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty Eng­lish pro­fes­sor Angela O’Donnell writes—“to see a friend.” Pro­fes­sor O’Donnell goes on: “It might seem pre­sump­tu­ous to regard a cel­e­brat­ed 19th-cen­tu­ry nov­el­ist so famil­iar­ly, but read­ing a great writer across the decades is a means of con­duct­ing con­ver­sa­tion with him and, inevitably, leads to inti­ma­cy.” I ful­ly share the sen­ti­ment.

I promised Melville I would vis­it reg­u­lar­ly but, alas, the plea­sures and tra­vails of life in the big city kept me away, and I nev­er returned. No such pet­ty dis­trac­tion kept away a friend-across-the-ages of anoth­er 19th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can author.

“For decades,” writes the Bal­ti­more Sun, “Edgar Allan Poe’s birth­day was marked by a mys­te­ri­ous vis­i­tor to his gravesite in Bal­ti­more. Begin­ning in the 1930s, the ‘Poe Toast­er’ placed three ros­es at the grave every Jan. 19 and opened a bot­tle of cognac, only to dis­ap­pear into the night.” The iden­ti­ty of the orig­i­nal “Poe Toast­er”—who may have been suc­ceed­ed by his son—remains a tan­ta­liz­ing mys­tery. As does the mys­tery of how Edgar Allan Poe died.

Most of you have prob­a­bly heard some ver­sion of the sto­ry. On Octo­ber 3, 1849, a com­pos­i­tor for the Bal­ti­more Sun, Joseph Walk­er, found Poe lying in a gut­ter. The poet had depart­ed Rich­mond, VA on Sep­tem­ber 27, bound for Philadel­phia “where he was to edit a vol­ume of poet­ry for Mrs. St. Leon Loud,” the Poe Muse­um tells us. Instead, he end­ed up in Bal­ti­more, “semi­con­scious and dressed in cheap, ill-fit­ting clothes so unlike Poe’s usu­al mode of dress that many believe that Poe’s own cloth­ing had been stolen.” He nev­er became lucid enough to explain where he had been or what hap­pened to him: “The father of the detec­tive sto­ry has left us with a real-life mys­tery which Poe schol­ars, med­ical pro­fes­sion­als, and oth­ers have been try­ing to solve for over 150 years.”

Most peo­ple assume that Poe drank him­self to death. The rumor was part­ly spread by Poe’s friend, edi­tor Joseph Snod­grass, whom the poet had asked for in his semi-lucid state. Snod­grass was “a staunch tem­per­ance advo­cate” and had rea­son to recruit the writer posthu­mous­ly into his cam­paign against drink, despite the fact that Poe had been sober for six months pri­or to his death and had refused alco­hol on his deathbed. Poe’s attend­ing physi­cian, John Moran, dis­missed the binge drink­ing the­o­ry, but that did not help clear up the mys­tery. Moran’s “accounts vary so wide­ly,” writes Biography.com, “that they are not gen­er­al­ly con­sid­ered reli­able.”

So what hap­pened? Doc­tors at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Mary­land Med­ical Cen­ter the­o­rize that Poe may have con­tract­ed rabies from one of his own pets—likely a cat. This diag­no­sis accounts for the delir­i­um and oth­er report­ed symp­toms, though “no one can say con­clu­sive­ly,” admits the Center’s Dr. Michael Ben­itez, “since there was no autop­sy after his death.” As with any mys­tery, the frus­trat­ing lack of evi­dence has sparked end­less spec­u­la­tion. The Poe Muse­um offers the fol­low­ing list of pos­si­ble cause of death, with dates and sources, includ­ing the rabies and alco­hol (both over­im­bib­ing and with­draw­al) the­o­ries:

  • Beat­ing (1857) The Unit­ed States Mag­a­zine Vol.II (1857): 268.
  • Epilep­sy (1875) Scrib­n­er’s Month­ly Vo1. 10 (1875): 691.
  • Dip­so­ma­nia (1921) Robert­son, John W. Edgar A. Poe A Study. Brough, 1921: 134, 379.
  • Heart (1926) Allan, Her­vey. Israfel. Dou­ble­day, 1926: Chapt. XXVII, 670.
  • Tox­ic Dis­or­der (1970) Stu­dia Philo1ogica Vol. 16 (1970): 41–42.
  • Hypo­glycemia (1979) Artes Lit­er­a­tus (1979) Vol. 5: 7–19.
  • Dia­betes (1977) Sin­clair, David. Edgar Allan Poe. Roman & Litt1efield, 1977: 151–152.
  • Alco­hol Dehy­dro­ge­nase (1984) Arno Karlen. Napo1eon’s Glands. Lit­tle Brown, 1984: 92.
  • Por­phryia (1989) JAMA Feb. 10, 1989: 863–864.
  • Deleri­um Tremens (1992) Mey­ers, Jef­frey. Edgar A1lan Poe. Charles Scrib­n­er, 1992: 255.
  • Rabies (1996) Mary­land Med­ical Jour­nal Sept. 1996: 765–769.
  • Heart (1997) Sci­en­tif­ic Sleuthing Review Sum­mer 1997: 1–4.
  • Mur­der (1998) Walsh, John E., Mid­night Drea­ry. Rut­gers Univ. Press, 1998: 119–120.
  • Epilep­sy (1999) Archives of Neu­rol­o­gy June 1999: 646, 740.
  • Car­bon Monox­ide Poi­son­ing (1999) Albert Don­nay

The Smith­son­ian adds to this list the pos­si­ble caus­es of brain tumor, heavy met­al poi­son­ing, and the flu. They also briefly describe the most pop­u­lar the­o­ry: that Poe died as a result of a prac­tice called “coop­ing.”

A site called The Med­ical Bag expands on the coop­ing the­o­ry, a favorite of “the vast major­i­ty of Poe biogra­phies.” The term refers to “a prac­tice in the Unit­ed States dur­ing the 19th cen­tu­ry by which inno­cent peo­ple were coerced into vot­ing, often sev­er­al times, for a par­tic­u­lar can­di­date in an elec­tion.” Often­times, these peo­ple were snatched unawares off the streets, “kept in a room, called the coop” and “giv­en alco­hol or drugs in order for them to fol­low orders. If they refused to coop­er­ate, they would be beat­en or even killed.” One dark­ly com­ic detail: vic­tims were often forced to change clothes and were even “forced to wear wigs, fake beards, and mus­tach­es as dis­guis­es so vot­ing offi­cials at polling sta­tions wouldn’t rec­og­nize them.”

This the­o­ry is high­ly plau­si­ble. Poe was, after all, found “on the street on Elec­tion Day,” and “the place where he was found, Ryan’s Fourth Ward Polls, was both a bar and a place for vot­ing.” Add to this the noto­ri­ous­ly vio­lent and cor­rupt nature of Bal­ti­more elec­tions at the time, and you have a sce­nario in which the author may very well have been kid­napped, drugged, and beat­en to death in a vot­er fraud scheme. Ulti­mate­ly, how­ev­er, we will like­ly nev­er know for cer­tain what killed Edgar Allan Poe. Per­haps the “Poe Toast­er” was attempt­ing all those years to get the sto­ry from the source as he com­muned with his dead 19th cen­tu­ry friend year after year. But if that mys­te­ri­ous stranger knows the truth, he ain’t talk­ing either.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Edgar Allan Poe Sto­ries Read by Iggy Pop, Jeff Buck­ley, Christo­pher Walken, Mar­i­anne Faith­ful & More

7 Tips from Edgar Allan Poe on How to Write Vivid Sto­ries and Poems

Edgar Allan Poe’s the Raven: Watch an Award-Win­ning Short Film That Mod­ern­izes Poe’s Clas­sic Tale

Clas­sic Illus­tra­tions of Edgar Allan Poe’s Sto­ries by Gus­tave Doré, Édouard Manet, Har­ry Clarke, Aubrey Beard­s­ley & Arthur Rack­ham

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

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How Did The World Get So Ugly?: Then Versus Now

More than a few of us might be inter­est­ed in the oppor­tu­ni­ty to spend a day in Vic­to­ri­an Lon­don. But very few of us indeed who’ve ever read, say, a Charles Dick­ens nov­el would ever elect to live there. “Lon­don’s lit­tle lanes are charm­ing now,” says Shee­han Quirke, the host of the video above, while stand­ing in one of them, “but 150 years ago in places like this, you’d have had whole fam­i­lies crammed into these tiny rooms with­out run­ning water. There would have been open cesspits spilling down the streets, and the stench of sewage boil­ing in the mid­day sun would have been unbear­able.” The stink­ing city, already the biggest in the world and grow­ing every day, “was­n’t only hor­ri­ble to live in, but gen­uine­ly dan­ger­ous.”

Much of the tremen­dous amount of waste pro­duced by Lon­don­ers went straight into the Riv­er Thames, which even­tu­al­ly grew so foul that the engi­neer Joseph Bazal­gette took on the job of design­ing not just a sew­er sys­tem, but also an embank­ment to “replace what was essen­tial­ly a stink­ing swamp filled with rub­bish and human waste and eels.” Though emi­nent­ly, even mirac­u­lous­ly func­tion­al, Bazal­get­te’s design was­n’t util­i­tar­i­an.

After its com­ple­tion in 1870, the embank­ment was lined with elab­o­rate­ly dec­o­rat­ed lamps (some of the first pieces of elec­tric light­ing in the world) that still catch the eye of passers­by today, well into the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry. “We don’t asso­ciate dec­o­ra­tion with cut­ting-edge tech­nol­o­gy, and that’s a major dif­fer­ence between us and the Vic­to­ri­ans,” who “saw no con­tra­dic­tion between star­tling moder­ni­ty and time-hon­ored tra­di­tion.”

Quirke became renowned as The Cul­tur­al Tutor a few years ago on the social media plat­form then called Twit­ter. His threads have cul­ti­vat­ed the under­stand­ing of count­less many read­ers about a host of sub­jects to do with his­to­ry, art, archi­tec­ture, music, and design, with an eye toward the ways in which past civ­i­liza­tions may have done them bet­ter than ours does. The Vic­to­ri­ans, for instance, may have lacked mod­ern ameni­ties that none of us could live with­out, but they designed even their sewage pump­ing sta­tions “with the same orna­men­tal exu­ber­ance as any church or palace.” Per­haps they thought their san­i­ta­tion work­ers deserved beau­ti­ful sur­round­ings; they cer­tain­ly had “a sense of pride, a belief that what they’d done here was worth­while, that it meant some­thing.” Cur­rent infra­struc­ture, large-scale and small, is tech­no­log­i­cal­ly supe­ri­or, yet almost none of it is worth regard­ing, to put it mild­ly. Whether our own civ­i­liza­tion could return to beau­ty is the ques­tion at the heart of Quirke’s enter­prise — and one his grow­ing group of fol­low­ers has begun to ask them­selves every time they step out­side.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Why Do Peo­ple Hate Mod­ern Archi­tec­ture?: A Video Essay

Richard Feyn­man on Beau­ty

Why Dutch & Japan­ese Cities Are Insane­ly Well Designed (and Amer­i­can Cities Are Ter­ri­bly Designed)

Dis­cov­er The Gram­mar of Orna­ment, One of the Great Col­or Books & Design Mas­ter­pieces of the 19th Cen­tu­ry

Dieter Rams Lists the 10 Time­less Prin­ci­ples of Good Design — Backed by Music by Bri­an Eno

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.

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