Cab Calloway’s “Hepster Dictionary,” a 1939 Glossary of the Lingo (the “Jive”) of the Harlem Renaissance

The lists are in. By over­whelm­ing con­sen­sus, the buzz­word of 2014 was “vape.” Appar­ent­ly, that’s the verb that enables you to smoke an e‑cig. Left to its own devices, my com­put­er will still auto­cor­rect 2014’s biggest word to “cape,” but that could change.

Hope­ful­ly not.

Hope­ful­ly, 2015 will yield a buzz­word more piquant than “vape.”

With luck, a razor-wit­ted teen is already on the case, but just in case, let’s hedge our bets. Let’s go spelunk­ing in an era when buzz­words were cool, but adult…insouciant, yet sub­stan­tive.

Lead us, Cab Cal­loway!

The charis­mat­ic band­leader not only had a way with words, his love of them led him to com­pile a “Hep­ster’s Dic­tio­nary” of Harlem musi­cian slang cir­ca 1938. It fea­tured 200 expres­sions used by the “hep cats” when they talk their “jive” in the clubs on Lenox Avenue. It was also appar­ent­ly the first dic­tio­nary authored by an African-Amer­i­can.

If only every ama­teur lex­i­cog­ra­ph­er were foxy enough to set his or her def­i­n­i­tions to music, and creep them out like the shad­ow, as Cal­loway does above. The com­plete list is below.

What a blip!

By my cal­cu­la­tion, we’ve got eleven months to iden­ti­fy a choice can­di­date, res­ur­rect it, and inte­grate it into every­day speech. With luck some fine din­ner whose star is on the rise will beef our word in pub­lic, prefer­ably dur­ing a scan­dalous, much ana­lyzed per­for­mance.

It’s imma­te­r­i­al which one we pick. Gam­min’? Jeff? Hinc­ty? Fruit­ing? What­ev­er you choose, I’m in. Let’s blow their wigs.

Bust your conks in the com­ments sec­tion. I’m ready.

CallowaySignedHepster018

HEPSTER’S DICTIONARY

A hum­mer (n.) — excep­tion­al­ly good. Ex., “Man, that boy is a hum­mer.”

Ain’t com­ing on that tab (v.) — won’t accept the propo­si­tion. Usu­al­ly abbr. to “I ain’t com­ing.”

Alli­ga­tor (n.) — jit­ter­bug.

Apple (n.) — the big town, the main stem, Harlem.

Arm­strongs (n.) — musi­cal notes in the upper reg­is­ter, high trum­pet notes.

Bar­be­cue (n.) — the girl friend, a beau­ty

Bar­rel­house (adj.) — free and easy.

Bat­tle (n.) — a very home­ly girl, a crone.

Beat (adj.) — (1) tired, exhaust­ed. Ex., “You look beat” or “I feel beat.” (2) lack­ing any­thing. Ex, “I am beat for my cash”, “I am beat to my socks” (lack­ing every­thing).

Beat it out (v.) — play it hot, empha­size the rhythym.

Beat up (adj.) — sad, uncom­pli­men­ta­ry, tired.

Beat up the chops (or the gums) (v.) — to talk, con­verse, be loqua­cious.

Beef (v.) — to say, to state. Ex., “He beefed to me that, etc.”

Bible (n.) — the gospel truth. Ex., “It’s the bible!”

Black (n.) — night.

Black and tan (n.) — dark and light col­ored folks. Not col­ored and white folks as erro­neous­ly assumed.

Blew their wigs (adj.) — excit­ed with enthu­si­asm, gone crazy.

Blip (n.) — some­thing very good. Ex., “That’s a blip”; “She’s a blip.”

Blow the top (v.) — to be over­come with emo­tion (delight). Ex., “You’ll blow your top when you hear this one.”

Boo­gie-woo­gie (n.) — har­mo­ny with accent­ed bass.

Boot (v.) — to give. Ex., “Boot me that glove.”

Break it up (v.) — to win applause, to stop the show.

Bree (n.) — girl.

Bright (n.) — day.

Bright­nin’ (n.) — day­break.

Bring down ((1) n. (2) v.) — (1) some­thing depress­ing. Ex., “That’s a bring down.” (2) Ex., “That brings me down.”

Bud­dy ghee (n.) — fel­low.

Bust your conk (v.) — apply your­self dili­gent­ly, break your neck.

Canary (n.) — girl vocal­ist.

Capped (v.) — out­done, sur­passed.

Cat (n.) — musi­cian in swing band.

Chick (n.) — girl.

Chime (n.) — hour. Ex., “I got in at six chimes.”

Clam­bake (n.) — ad lib ses­sion, every man for him­self, a jam ses­sion not in the groove.

Chirp (n.) — female singer.

Cogs (n.) — sun glass­es.

Col­lar (v.) — to get, to obtain, to com­pre­hend. Ex., “I got­ta col­lar me some food”; “Do you col­lar this jive?”

Come again (v.) — try it over, do bet­ter than you are doing, I don’t under­stand you.

Comes on like gang­busters (or like test pilot) (v.) — plays, sings, or dances in a ter­rif­ic man­ner, par excel­lence in any depart­ment. Some­times abbr. to “That singer real­ly comes on!”

Cop (v.) — to get, to obtain (see col­lar; knock).

Corny (adj.) — old-fash­ioned, stale.

Creeps out like the shad­ow (v.) — “comes on,” but in smooth, suave, sophis­ti­cat­ed man­ner.

Crumb crush­ers (n.) — teeth.

Cub­by (n.) — room, flat, home.

Cups (n.) — sleep. Ex., “I got­ta catch some cups.”

Cut out (v.) — to leave, to depart. Ex., “It’s time to cut out”; “I cut out from the joint in ear­ly bright.”

Cut rate (n.) — a low, cheap per­son. Ex., “Don’t play me cut rate, Jack!”

Dic­ty (adj.) — high-class, nifty, smart.

Dig (v.) — (1) meet. Ex., “I’ll plant you now and dig you lat­er.” (2) look, see. Ex., “Dig the chick on your left duke.” (3) com­pre­hend, under­stand. Ex., “Do you dig this jive?”

Dim (n.) — evening.

Dime note (n.) — ten-dol­lar bill.

Dog­house (n.) — bass fid­dle.

Domi (n.) — ordi­nary place to live in. Ex., “I live in a right­eous dome.”

Doss (n.) — sleep. Ex., “I’m a lit­tle beat for my doss.”

Down with it (adj.) — through with it.

Drape (n.) — suit of clothes, dress, cos­tume.

Dream­ers (n.) — bed cov­ers, blan­kets.

Dry-goods (n.) — same as drape.

Duke (n.) — hand, mitt.

Dutchess (n.) — girl.

Ear­ly black (n.) — evening

Ear­ly bright (n.) — morn­ing.

Evil (adj.) — in ill humor, in a nasty tem­per.

Fall out (v.) — to be over­come with emo­tion. Ex., “The cats fell out when he took that solo.”

Fews and two (n.) — mon­ey or cash in small quati­ty.

Final (v.) — to leave, to go home. Ex., “I finaled to my pad” (went to bed); “We copped a final” (went home).

Fine din­ner (n.) — a good-look­ing girl.

Focus (v.) — to look, to see.

Foxy (v.) — shrewd.

Frame (n.) — the body.

Fraughty issue (n.) — a very sad mes­sage, a deplorable state of affairs.

Free­by (n.) — no charge, gratis. Ex., “The meal was a free­by.”

Frisk­ing the whiskers (v.) — what the cats do when they are warm­ing up for a swing ses­sion.

Frol­ic pad (n.) — place of enter­tain­ment, the­ater, night­club.

From­by (adj.) — a frompy queen is a bat­tle or faust.

Front (n.) — a suit of clothes.

Fruit­ing (v.) — fick­le, fool­ing around with no par­tic­u­lar object.

Fry (v.) — to go to get hair straight­ened.

Gabriels (n.) — trum­pet play­ers.

Gam­min’ (adj.) — show­ing off, flir­ta­tious.

Gasser (n, adj.) — sen­sa­tion­al. Ex., “When it comes to danc­ing, she’s a gasser.”

Gate (n.) — a male per­son (a salu­ta­tion), abbr. for “gate-mouth.”

Get in there (excla­ma­tion.) — go to work, get busy, make it hot, give all you’ve got.

Gimme some skin (v.) — shake hands.

Glims (n.) — the eyes.

Got your boots on — you know what it is all about, you are a hep cat, you are wise.

Got your glass­es on — you are ritzy or snooty, you fail to rec­og­nize your friends, you are up-stage.

Gravy (n.) — prof­its.

Grease (v.) — to eat.

Groovy (adj.) — fine. Ex., “I feel groovy.”

Ground grip­pers (n.) — new shoes.

Growl (n.) — vibrant notes from a trum­pet.

Gut-buck­et (adj.) — low-down music.

Guz­zlin’ foam (v.) — drink­ing beer.

Hard (adj.) — fine, good. Ex., “That’s a hard tie you’re wear­ing.”

Hard spiel (n.) — inter­est­ing line of talk.

Have a ball (v.) — to enjoy your­self, stage a cel­e­bra­tion. Ex., “I had myself a ball last night.”

Hep cat (n.) — a guy who knows all the answers, under­stands jive.

Hide-beat­er (n.) — a drum­mer (see skin-beat­er).

Hinc­ty (adj.) — con­ceit­ed, snooty.

Hip (adj.) — wise, sophis­ti­cat­ed, any­one with boots on. Ex., “She’s a hip chick.”

Home-cook­ing (n.) — some­thing very din­ner (see fine din­ner).

Hot (adj.) — musi­cal­ly tor­rid; before swing, tunes were hot or bands were hot.

Hype (n, v.) — build up for a loan, woo­ing a girl, per­sua­sive talk.

Icky (n.) — one who is not hip, a stu­pid per­son, can’t col­lar the jive.

Igg (v.) — to ignore some­one. Ex., “Don’t igg me!)

In the groove (adj.) — per­fect, no devi­a­tion, down the alley.

Jack (n.) — name for all male friends (see gate; pops).

Jam ((1)n, (2)v.) — (1) impro­vised swing music. Ex., “That’s swell jam.” (2) to play such music. Ex., “That cat sure­ly can jam.”

Jeff (n.) — a pest, a bore, an icky.

Jel­ly (n.) — any­thing free, on the house.

Jit­ter­bug (n.) — a swing fan.

Jive (n.) — Harlemese speech.

Joint is jump­ing — the place is live­ly, the club is leap­ing with fun.

Jumped in port (v.) — arrived in town.

Kick (n.) — a pock­et. Ex., “I’ve got five bucks in my kick.”

Kill me (v.) — show me a good time, send me.

Killer-diller (n.) — a great thrill.

Knock (v.) — give. Ex., “Knock me a kiss.”

Kopaset­ic (adj.) — absolute­ly okay, the tops.

Lamp (v.) — to see, to look at.

Land o’darkness (n.) — Harlem.

Lane (n.) — a male, usu­al­ly a non­pro­fes­sion­al.

Latch on (v.) — grab, take hold, get wise to.

Lay some iron (v.) — to tap dance. Ex., “Jack, you real­ly laid some iron that last show!”

Lay your rack­et (v.) — to jive, to sell an idea, to pro­mote a propo­si­tion.

Lead sheet (n.) — a top­coat.

Left raise (n.) — left side. Ex., “Dig the chick on your left raise.”

Lick­ing the chops (v.) — see frisk­ing the whiskers.

Licks (n.) — hot musi­cal phras­es.

Lily whites (n.) — bed sheets.

Line (n.) — cost, price, mon­ey. Ex., “What is the line on this drape” (how much does this suit cost)? “Have you got the line in the mouse” (do you have the cash in your pock­et)? Also, in reply­ing, all fig­ures are dou­bled. Ex., “This drape is line forty” (this suit costs twen­ty dol­lars).

Lock up — to acquire some­thing exclu­sive­ly. Ex., “He’s got that chick locked up”; “I’m gonna lock up that deal.”

Main kick (n.) — the stage.

Main on the hitch (n.) — hus­band.

Main queen (n.) — favorite girl friend, sweet­heart.

Man in gray (n.) — the post­man.

Mash me a fin (com­mand.) — Give me $5.

Mel­low (adj.) — all right, fine. Ex., “That’s mel­low, Jack.”

Melt­ed out (adj.) — broke.

Mess (n.) — some­thing good. Ex., “That last drink was a mess.”

Meter (n.) — quar­ter, twen­ty-five cents.

Mezz (n.) — any­thing supreme, gen­uine. Ex., “this is real­ly the mezz.”

Mitt pound­ing (n.) — applause.

Moo juice (n.) — milk.

Mouse (n.) — pock­et. Ex., “I’ve got a meter in the mouse.”

Mug­gin’ (v.) — mak­ing ‘em laugh, putting on the jive. “Mug­gin’ light­ly,” light stac­ca­to swing; “mug­gin’ heavy,” heavy stac­ca­to swing.

Mur­der (n.) — some­thing excel­lent or ter­rif­ic. Ex., “That’s sol­id mur­der, gate!”

Neigho, pops — Noth­ing doing, pal.

Nick­lette (n.) — auto­mat­ic phono­graph, music box.

Nick­el note (n.) — five-dol­lar bill.

Nix out (v.) — to elim­i­nate, get rid of. Ex., “I nixed that chick out last week”; “I nixed my gar­ments” (undressed).

Nod (n.) — sleep. Ex., “I think I’l cop a nod.”

Ofay (n.) — white per­son.

Off the cob (adj.) — corny, out of date.

Off-time jive (n.) — a sor­ry excuse, say­ing the wrong thing.

Orches­tra­tion (n.) — an over­coat.

Out of the world (adj.) — per­fect ren­di­tion. Ex., “That sax cho­rus was out of the world.”

Ow! — an excla­ma­tion with var­ied mean­ing. When a beau­ti­ful chick pass­es by, it’s “Ow!”; and when some­one pulls an awful pun, it’s also “Ow!”

Pad (n.) — bed.

Peck­ing (n.) — a dance intro­duced at the Cot­ton Club in 1937.

Peo­la (n.) — a light per­son, almost white.

Pigeon (n.) — a young girl.

Pops (n.) — salu­ta­tion for all males (see gate; Jack).

Pounders (n.) — police­men.

Queen (n.) — a beau­ti­ful girl.

Rank (v.) — to low­er.

Ready (adj.) — 100 per cent in every way. Ex., “That fried chick­en was ready.”

Ride (v.) — to swing, to keep per­fect tem­po in play­ing or singing.

Riff (n.) — hot lick, musi­cal phrase.

Right­eous (adj.) — splen­did, okay. Ex., “That was a right­eous queen I dug you with last black.”

Rock me (v.) — send me, kill me, move me with rhythym.

Ruff (n.) — quar­ter, twen­ty-five cents.

Rug cut­ter (n.) — a very good dancer, an active jit­ter­bug.

Sad (adj.) — very bad. Ex., “That was the sad­dest meal I ever col­lared.”

Sad­der than a map (adj.) — ter­ri­ble. Ex., “That man is sad­der than a map.”

Salty (adj.) — angry, ill-tem­pered.

Sam got you — you’ve been draft­ed into the army.

Send (v.) — to arouse the emo­tions. (joy­ful). Ex., “That sends me!”

Set of sev­en brights (n.) — one week.

Sharp (adj.) — neat, smart, tricky. Ex., “That hat is sharp as a tack.”

Sig­ni­fy (v.) — to declare your­self, to brag, to boast.

Skins (n.) — drums.

Skin-beat­er (n.) — drum­mer (see hide-beat­er).

Sky piece (n.) — hat.

Slave (v.) — to work, whether ardu­ous labor or not.

Slide your jib (v.) — to talk freely.

Snatch­er (n.) — detec­tive.

So help me — it’s the truth, that’s a fact.

Sol­id (adj.) — great, swell, okay.

Sound­ed off (v.) — began a pro­gram or con­ver­sa­tion.

Spoutin’ (v.) — talk­ing too much.

Square (n.) — an unhep per­son (see icky; Jeff).

Stache (v.) — to file, to hide away, to secrete.

Stand one up (v.) — to play one cheap, to assume one is a cut-rate.

To be stashed (v.) — to stand or remain.

Susie‑Q (n.) — a dance intro­duced at the Cot­ton Club in 1936.

Take it slow (v.) — be care­ful.

Take off (v.) — play a solo.

The man (n.) — the law.

Threads (n.) — suit, dress or costuem (see drape; dry-goods).

Tick (n.) — minute, moment. Ex., “I’ll dig you in a few ticks.” Also, ticks are dou­bled in account­ing time, just as mon­ey isdou­bled in giv­ing “line.” Ex., “I finaled to the pad this ear­ly bright at tick twen­ty” (I got to bed this morn­ing at ten o’clock).

Tim­ber (n.) — tooth­ipick.

To drib­ble (v.) — to stut­ter. Ex., “He talked in drib­bles.”

Togged to the bricks — dressed to kill, from head to toe.

Too much (adj.) — term of high­est praise. Ex., “You are too much!”

Trick­er­a­tion (n.) — strut­tin’ your stuff, mug­gin’ light­ly and polite­ly.

Tril­ly (v.) — to leave, to depart. Ex., “Well, I guess I’ll tril­ly.”

Truck (v.) — to go some­where. Ex., “I think I’ll truck on down to the gin­mill (bar).”

Truck­ing (n.) — a dance intro­duced at the Cot­ton Club in 1933.

Twister to the slam­mer (n.) — the key to the door.

Two cents (n.) — two dol­lars.

Unhep (adj.) — not wise to the jive, said of an icky, a Jeff, a square.

Vine (n.) — a suit of clothes.

V‑8 (n.) — a chick who spurns com­pa­ny, is inde­pen­dent, is not amenable.

What’s your sto­ry? — What do you want? What have you got to say for your­self? How are tricks? What excuse can you offer? Ex., “I don’t know what his sto­ry is.”

Whipped up (adj.) — worn out, exhaust­ed, beat for your every­thing.

Wren (n.) — a chick, a queen.

Wrong riff — the wrong thing said or done. Ex., “You’re com­ing up on the wrong riff.”

Yard­dog (n.) — uncouth, bad­ly attired, unat­trac­tive male or female.

Yeah, man — an excla­ma­tion of assent.

Zoot (adj.) — exag­ger­at­ed

Zoot suit (n.) — the ulti­mate in clothes. The only total­ly and tru­ly Amer­i­can civil­ian suit.

BONUS MUSICAL INSTRUMENT SUPPLEMENT

Gui­tar: Git Box or Bel­ly-Fid­dle

Bass: Dog­house

Drums: Suit­case, Hides, or Skins

Piano: Store­house or Ivories

Sax­o­phone: Plumb­ing or Reeds

Trom­bone: Tram or Slush-Pump

Clar­inet: Licorice Stick or Gob Stick

Xylo­phone: Wood­pile

Vibra­phone: Iron­works

Vio­lin: Squeak-Box

Accor­dion: Squeeze-Box or Groan-Box

Tuba: Foghorn

Elec­tric Organ: Spark Jiv­er

via The Art of Man­li­ness

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ori­gins of Michael Jackson’s Moon­walk: Vin­tage Footage of Cab Cal­loway, Sam­my Davis Jr., Fred Astaire & More

A 1932 Illus­trat­ed Map of Harlem’s Night Clubs: From the Cot­ton Club to the Savoy Ball­room

Duke Ellington’s Sym­pho­ny in Black, Star­ring a 19-Year-old Bil­lie Hol­i­day

Cab Calloway’s “Hep­ster Dic­tio­nary,” a 1939 Glos­sary of the Lin­go (the “Jive”) of the Harlem Renais­sance

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Wonderfully Kitschy Propaganda Posters Champion the Chinese Space Program (1962–2003)

Playmates 80

A joint oper­a­tion of five par­tic­i­pat­ing coun­tries and the Euro­pean Space Agency, the Inter­na­tion­al Space Sta­tion is an enor­mous achieve­ment of human coop­er­a­tion across ide­o­log­i­cal and nation­al bound­aries. Gen­er­a­tions of peo­ple born in the nineties and beyond will have grown up with the ISS as a sym­bol of the tri­umph of STEM edu­ca­tion and decades of space trav­el and research. What they will not have expe­ri­enced is some­thing that seems almost fun­da­men­tal to the cul­tur­al and polit­i­cal land­scape of the Boomers and Gen Xers—the Cold War space race. But it is worth not­ing that while Rus­sia is one of the most promi­nent part­ners in ISS oper­a­tions, cur­rent Com­mu­nist repub­lic Chi­na has vir­tu­al­ly no pres­ence on it at all.

But this does not mean that Chi­na has been absent from the space race—quite the con­trary. While it seems to those of us who wit­nessed the excit­ing inter­stel­lar com­pe­ti­tion between super­pow­ers that the only play­ers were the big two, the Chi­nese entered the race in the 1960s and launched their first satel­lite in 1970. This craft, writes space his­to­ry enthu­si­ast Sven Grahn, “would lead to Chi­na being a major play­er in the com­mer­cial space field.”

Since its launch into orbit, the satel­lite has con­tin­u­ous­ly broad­cast a song called Dong Fang Hong, a eulo­gy for Mao Zedong (which “effec­tive­ly replaced the Nation­al Anthem” dur­ing the Cul­tur­al Revolution—hear the broad­cast here). The satel­lite, now referred to, after its song, as DFH‑1 (or CHINA‑1), marked a sig­nif­i­cant break­through for the Chi­nese space pro­gram, spear­head­ed by rock­et engi­neer Qian Xue­sen, who had been pre­vi­ous­ly expelled from the Jet Propul­sion Lab in Pasade­na for sus­pect­ed Com­mu­nist sym­pa­thies.

Roaming Space 62

Before DFH‑1, the nation­al imag­i­na­tion was primed for the prospect of Chi­nese space flight by images like the poster just above, titled “Roam­ing out­er space in an air­ship,” and designed by Zhang Rui­heng in 1962. This strik­ing piece of work comes to us from Chi­nese Posters, a com­pendi­um of images of “pro­pa­gan­da, pol­i­tics, his­to­ry, art.” Images like this one and that of a Chi­nese taiko­naut at the top—“Bringing his play­mates to the stars”—from 1980, appro­pri­ate imagery from the tra­di­tion­al nian­hua, or New Years pic­ture.

Moon Palace 70

This fan­ci­ful style, which “catered to the tastes and beliefs in the coun­try­side,” became the “most impor­tant influ­ence on the pro­pa­gan­da posters pro­duced by the Chi­nese Com­mu­nist Par­ty,” who began using it in the 1940s. The poster above, “Lit­tle guests in the Moon Palace,” dates from the ear­ly 1970s, after the launch of DFH‑1 and its sis­ter satel­lite SJ‑I (CHINA‑2).

Heaven Increases 89

As you can see from the 1989 poster above—“Heaven increas­es the years, man gets older”—the CCP con­tin­ued to use the nian­hua style well into the eight­ies, but in the fol­low­ing decades, they began to move away from it and toward more mil­i­taris­tic imagery, like that in the image below from 2002. With dif­fer­ent col­ors and sym­bols, it would look right at home on the wall of an armed forces recruit­ing sta­tion in any small town, U.S.A.

Continue the Struggle 02

Like many U.S. advo­cates for space trav­el and explo­ration, such as the increas­ing­ly vis­i­ble Neil deGrasse Tyson, the CCP has used space as a means of pro­mot­ing sci­en­tif­ic lit­er­a­cy. In the poster below, “Uphold sci­ence, erad­i­cate super­sti­tion,” space imagery is used to bring much-per­se­cut­ed Falon Gong adher­ents “back into the fold” and to oppose sci­ence to reli­gious super­sti­tion.

Uphold Science 99

Although some of the imagery may sug­gest oth­er­wise, the Chi­nese space pro­gram has devel­oped along sim­i­lar lines as the U.S.’s, and has been put to sim­i­lar uses. These include the use of space explo­ration as a means of uni­fy­ing nation­al­ist sen­ti­ment, dri­ving sup­port for sci­ence and tech­nol­o­gy fund­ing and research, and push­ing a vision of sci­en­tif­ic progress as the nation­al ethos. In 2012, the same year that Sal­ly Ride—first Amer­i­can woman in space—passed away, Chi­na began select­ing its first female taiko­naut, mak­ing their space pro­gram a venue for increas­ing gen­der equal­i­ty as well.

Warmly Welcome 03

It was only very recent­ly that the Chi­nese space pro­gram suc­cess­ful­ly com­plet­ed its first manned mis­sion, send­ing its first taiko­naut, Yang Liewei, abord the Shen­zhou 5 in a low earth orbit mis­sion. Although the achievement—as you can see in the poster above com­mem­o­rat­ing a vis­it of the taiko­naut to Hong Kong—marked a moment of sig­nif­i­cant nation­al pride, there was one encour­ag­ing sign for the future of inter­na­tion­al coop­er­a­tion: though you can­not see it in the pho­to, Yang wore the flag of the Unit­ed Nations in addi­tion to that of the People’s Repub­lic of Chi­na.

See more of these fas­ci­nat­ing works of pro­pa­gan­da at Chi­nese Posters

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Glo­ry to the Con­querors of the Uni­verse!”: Pro­pa­gan­da Posters from the Sovi­et Space Race (1958–1963)

Sovi­et Artists Envi­sion a Com­mu­nist Utopia in Out­er Space

Astro­naut Suni­ta Williams Gives an Exten­sive Tour of the Inter­na­tion­al Space Sta­tion

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

Three Films Capture 1940s New York, Chicago & Los Angeles in Vivid Color


“Cit­i­zen­ship of this city in itself made for a bond beyond class,” writes the redoubtable Welsh writer of place Jan Mor­ris in Man­hat­tan ’45, her book-length love let­ter to New York City in the imme­di­ate after­math of the Sec­ond World War. “To be a cit­i­zen of Man­hat­tan was an achieve­ment in itself — it had tak­en guts and enter­prise, if not on your own part, at least on your fore­bears.’ The pres­sures of the place, its com­pe­ti­tion, its pace, its haz­ards, even the fun of it, demand­ed spe­cial qual­i­ties of its peo­ple, and gave them a par­tic­u­lar affin­i­ty for one anoth­er. They were all an elite!”

Four years into the time of which Mor­ris so rap­tur­ous­ly writes, out came Metro Gold­wyn May­er’s Mighty Man­hat­tan – New York’s Won­der City, a fine Tech­ni­col­or accom­pa­ni­ment to her tex­tu­al appre­ci­a­tion. The clip at the top of the post, nar­rat­ed by “Voice of the Globe” James Patrick, shifts straight into full mid­cen­tu­ry tri­umphal gear, extolling such clas­sic works of Man­hat­tan Man as Wall Street, the Flat­iron Build­ing, the ele­vat­ed train, the Brook­lyn Bridge, the New York Pub­lic Library, and of course, the Empire State Build­ing. (It also shows a sight that, for all the gee-whizzing it must have elicit­ed at the time, we all hope will nev­er return: Cen­tral Park with cars in it.)

“Not so long ago Chicagoans were con­vinced that their city would soon be the great­est and most famous on Earth, out­rank­ing New York, Lon­don, and Paris, the cen­tre of a new world, the boss city of the uni­verse,” Mor­ris writes else­where. Today, “the blind­est lover of Chica­go would not claim for the place the sta­tus of a uni­ver­sal metrop­o­lis. Too much of the old grand assertive­ness has been lost. Nobody pre­tends Chica­go has over­tak­en New York; instead there is a provin­cial accep­tance of infe­ri­or­i­ty, a res­ig­na­tion, cou­pled with a mild regret for the old days of brag and beef.”

For a sense of that brag and beef — and giv­en the footage of the stock­yards, take the lat­ter lit­er­al­ly — have a look at the half-hour film above: Chica­go, pro­duced by the Chica­go board of edu­ca­tion in 1945 or 1946. After Chicagoan Jeff Alt­man, who works in film post-pro­duc­tion, found it at a south side estate sale, he did a bit of a restora­tion on it and post­ed it to the inter­net. “It’s hard to say the pur­pose of the film,” Alt­man writes. “It could be geared towards tourism or to entice com­pa­nies to come to Chica­go. This film could have just been used in the class­room. I’m not entire­ly sure. The great thing is all the dif­fer­ent views of the city they give.”

“Los Ange­les is the know-how city,” Mor­ris writes in anoth­er essay. “Remem­ber know-how? It was one of the vogue words of the for­ties and fifties, now rather out of fash­ion. It reflect­ed a whole cli­mate and tone of Amer­i­can opti­mism. It stood for skill and expe­ri­ence indeed, but it also expressed the cer­tain­ty that Amer­i­ca’s par­tic­u­lar genius, the genius for applied log­ic, for sys­tems, was inex­orably the her­ald of progress.” At that time, Los Ange­les did­n’t need so much boos­t­er­ism — it was boos­t­er­ism. The South­ern Cal­i­forn­ian metrop­o­lis began boom­ing in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, and that boom would­n’t end until well after the war, if indeed it has end­ed yet.

Many of its new arrivals, the vast major­i­ty of whom came from else­where in the Unit­ed States until the late 1960s, could­n’t have helped but felt enticed by scenes like the ones in the clip just above, which shows off the Sun­set Strip in the late 40s or ear­ly 50s. Los Ange­les has changed, as has every Amer­i­can city: build­ings have grown taller, pop­u­la­tions have den­si­fied, and you see a wider vari­ety of faces and hear a wider vari­ety of lan­guages on the streets than ever before. Some, espe­cial­ly Youtube com­menters, bemoan this, but to my mind, things have got con­sid­er­ably more inter­est­ing as a result. Vin­tage footage like this — and espe­cial­ly vin­tage footage in unusu­al­ly vivid col­or like this — reminds us that, as fas­ci­nat­ing a past as our cities have, their future looks rich­er still.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tion Lets You Fly Through 17th Cen­tu­ry Lon­don

Lon­don Mashed Up: Footage of the City from 1924 Lay­ered Onto Footage from 2013

Paris Through Pen­tax: Short Film Lets You See a Great City Through a Dif­fer­ent Lens

Berlin Street Scenes Beau­ti­ful­ly Caught on Film (1900–1914)

1927 Lon­don Shown in Mov­ing Col­or

A Drone’s Eye View of Los Ange­les, New York, Lon­don, Bangkok & Mex­i­co City

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Ayn Rand Helped the FBI Identify It’s A Wonderful Life as Communist Propaganda


If you want­ed to know what life was real­ly like in the Cold War Sovi­et Union, you might take the word of an émi­gré Russ­ian writer. You might even take the word of Ayn Rand, as the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (HUAC) did dur­ing the Red Scare, though Rand had not lived in her native coun­try since 1926. Nonethe­less, as you can see above, she tes­ti­fied with con­fi­dence about the dai­ly lives of post-war Sovi­et cit­i­zens. Rand also tes­ti­fied, with equal con­fi­dence, about the nefar­i­ous influ­ence of Com­mu­nist writ­ers and direc­tors in her adopt­ed home of Hol­ly­wood, where she had more recent expe­ri­ence work­ing in the film indus­try.

The 1947 HUAC hear­ings, writes the blog Aphe­lis, led to “the sys­tem­at­ic black­list­ing of Hol­ly­wood artists.” Among the wit­ness­es deemed “friend­ly” to cap­i­tal­ism were Gary Coop­er, Walt Dis­ney, and Ayn Rand. Pri­or to her tes­ti­mo­ny, the FBI had con­sult­ed Rand for an enor­mous, 13,533-page report enti­tled “Com­mu­nist Infil­tra­tion of the Motion Pic­ture Indus­try” (find it online here), which quot­ed from a pam­phlet pub­lished by her group:

The pur­pose of the Com­mu­nists in Hol­ly­wood is not the pro­duc­tion of polit­i­cal movies open­ly advo­cat­ing Com­mu­nism. Their pur­pose is to cor­rupt non-polit­i­cal movies — by intro­duc­ing small, casu­al bits of pro­pa­gan­da into inno­cent sto­ries and to make peo­ple absorb the basic prin­ci­ples of Col­lec­tivism by indi­rec­tion and impli­ca­tion. Few peo­ple would take Com­mu­nism straight, but a con­stant stream of hints, lines, touch­es and sug­ges­tions bat­ter­ing the pub­lic from the screen will act like drops of water that split a rock if con­tin­ued long enough. The rock that they are try­ing to split is Amer­i­can­ism.

Rand and her asso­ciates helped design a “film regime” that dis­sect­ed oth­er post-war movies like William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives and George Cukor’s Keep­er of the Flame. These McCarthy-era film crit­ics sought to root out “ide­o­log­i­cal ter­mites” in the indus­try; they were espe­cial­ly dis­trust­ful of movies that ele­vat­ed what Rand called, with con­tempt, “the lit­tle man.” One of the films iden­ti­fied as par­tic­u­lar­ly per­ni­cious to the “rock” of Amer­i­can­ism was Frank Capra’s clas­sic It’s a Won­der­ful Life, a movie that today seems built on bedrock U.S. nation­al­ist values—commitment to fam­i­ly, redemp­tion through faith, con­tent­ment with mod­est small-town liv­ing….

Lis­ten­ing to Capra’s moti­va­tion for the film—as quot­ed in The Los Ange­les Times—makes it hard to believe he had any­thing like pro­mot­ing a worker’s par­adise in mind: “There are just two things that are impor­tant,” he said, “One is to strength­en the individual’s belief in him­self, and the oth­er, even more impor­tant right now, is to com­bat a mod­ern trend toward athe­ism.”

But in the FBI’s analysis—and pos­si­bly Rand’s, though it’s not clear how much, if any, of the report she authored directly—the tale of George Bai­ley man­i­fest­ed sev­er­al sub­ver­sive ten­den­cies. Fla­vor­wire sums up the charges suc­cinct­ly: “Writ­ten by Com­mu­nist sym­pa­thiz­ers,” “Attempt­ing to insti­gate class war­fare,” and “Demo­niz­ing bankers.”

Wonderful Life FBI File

We live in odd times, such that this rhetoric—which seemed so quaint just a cou­ple short decades or so ago—sounds jar­ring­ly con­tem­po­rary again as the pol­i­tics of the mid-20th cen­tu­ry reap­pear every­where. The charges against the seem­ing­ly innocu­ous Capra film hinged in part on the alleged Com­mu­nist ties of its prin­ci­ple screen­writ­ers, Fran­cis Goodrich and Albert Hack­ett. In their report, part of which you can see above, the FBI wrote that the screen writ­ers “prac­ti­cal­ly lived with known Com­mu­nists and were observed eat­ing lun­cheon dai­ly with such Com­mu­nists as Lester Cole, screen writer, and Earl Robin­son.” Palling around, as it were.

In addi­tion to nam­ing the writ­ers’ acquain­tances and lunch bud­dies, the report quotes a redact­ed indi­vid­ual who “stat­ed that, in his opin­ion, this pic­ture delib­er­ate­ly maligned the upper class.” Anoth­er blacked-out source “stat­ed in sub­stance that the film rep­re­sent­ed a rather obvi­ous attempt to dis­cred­it bankers by cast­ing Lionel Bar­ry­more as a ‘scrooge-type’ so that he would be the most hat­ed man in the pic­ture. This, accord­ing to these sources, is a com­mon trick used by Com­mu­nists.” Final­ly, a third redact­ed source com­pares the plot of Capra’s movie with that of a Russ­ian film called The Let­ter, screened in the U.S. fif­teen years ear­li­er.

We can­not say for cer­tain, but it’s rea­son­able to assume that many of these hid­den FBI sources were asso­ciates of Rand. In any case, Rand—in vogue after the suc­cess of her nov­el The Foun­tain­head—appeared before HUAC and re-iter­at­ed many of the gen­er­al claims made in the report. Dur­ing her tes­ti­mo­ny, she focused on a 1944 film called Song of Rus­sia (you can hear her men­tion it briefly in the short clip at the top). She chiefly cri­tiques the film for its ide­al­ized por­trait of life in the Sovi­et Union, hence her enu­mer­a­tion of the many evils of actu­al life there.

Curi­ous­ly, many crit­i­cal treat­ments of It’s A Won­der­ful Life have said more or less the same thing of that work, call­ing the film “sen­ti­men­tal hog­wash,” for exam­ple, and a rep­re­sen­ta­tive of “Amer­i­can cap­i­tal­ist ide­ol­o­gy.” These read­ings seem per­sua­sive to me, but for those like Rand and her fol­low­ers, as well as J. Edgar Hoover and his para­noid under­lings, no film it seems—no mat­ter how cel­e­bra­to­ry of U.S. nation­al­ist mythology—could go far enough in glo­ri­fy­ing hero­ic cap­i­tal­ists, ignor­ing class con­flict, and min­i­miz­ing the strug­gles of “the lit­tle man.”

As Raw Sto­ry notes, tes­ti­mo­ny from oth­ers at the HUAC hear­ings brought “redemp­tion of an odd sort” for Capra’s movie, which “has been more than redeemed as it slow­ly became a sen­ti­men­tal and beloved hol­i­day peren­ni­al.” But even if It’s A Won­der­ful Life may now look like apple pie on cel­lu­loid, Fla­vor­wire points out that it’s still liable to raise sus­pi­cions among cer­tain aggres­sive pun­dits and cul­ture war­riors who push a “war on Christ­mas” nar­ra­tive and see social­ist sub­ver­sion even in acts of char­i­ty, like those dis­played so extrav­a­gant­ly in the film’s mushy end­ing (above).

It’s A Won­der­ful Life “is a hol­i­day movie that doesn’t men­tion Christ­mas until the 99-minute mark…. It takes a most­ly sec­u­lar read­ing of the hol­i­day as a time to take stock of your life, of the true bless­ings of fam­i­ly and friends. To those obsessed with the pre­ferred hol­i­day greet­ing or the col­or of Santa’s skin… this must sound like quite the Com­mu­nist sub­ver­sion indeed.”

Read much more about the HUAC inves­ti­ga­tion of Hol­ly­wood at Aphe­lis, who include links to a redact­ed ver­sion of the FBI “Com­mu­nist Infil­tra­tion” report and many oth­er fas­ci­nat­ing doc­u­ments.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

When Ayn Rand Col­lect­ed Social Secu­ri­ty & Medicare, After Years of Oppos­ing Ben­e­fit Pro­grams

Free Audio: Ayn Rand’s 1938 Dystopi­an Novel­la Anthem

The CIA’s Style Man­u­al & Writer’s Guide: 185 Pages of Tips for Writ­ing Like a Spy

Bertolt Brecht Tes­ti­fies Before the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (1947)

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

Watch Art on Ancient Greek Vases Come to Life with 21st Century Animation

Every stu­dent of his­to­ry sure­ly feels impressed by one achieve­ment or anoth­er of the ancient Greeks, whether in the field of engi­neer­ing, art, or the con­ver­gence of the two. Even a bored col­lege under­grad in a thou­sand-seat lec­ture hall has to admire ancient Greek vas­es when they pop up in the lec­tur­er’s Pow­er­point slides. That much-stud­ied cul­ture’s pen­chant for styl­iz­ing images of their soci­ety on their pot­tery has allowed us to see their world as, in some sense, a liv­ing, breath­ing one — or to see it through the eyes of the arti­sans who lived to see it them­selves. But for all their mas­tery of the art of the vase, they nev­er actu­al­ly got their images to live nor breathe. For that, we must turn to 21st-cen­tu­ry tech­nol­o­gy, specif­i­cal­ly as applied by Panoply, a project ani­ma­tor of Steve K. Simons and ancient Greece schol­ar Sonya Nevin, which was designed to bring these vas­es to life.

“Panoply cov­ers a lot of aspects of cul­ture as method tying the arti­facts to infor­ma­tion about Greek life,” writes io9’s Katharine Tren­da­cos­ta. “There are ones on myths, sport, and war­fare,” the last of which, “Hoplites!,” you can watch at the top of the post. Simons and Nevin made this sev­en-minute bat­tle scene out of the foot sol­diers actu­al­ly depict­ed on a vase dat­ing to about 550 BCE cur­rent­ly held by the Ure Muse­um of Greek Archae­ol­o­gy at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Read­ing.

Just above, we have “The Cheat,” a short and humor­ous scene from the ancient Olympics that plays out on the sur­face of a shard. The ani­ma­tion below fea­tures a fig­ure of Greek myth that even the most inat­ten­tive stu­dent will know: a cer­tain Pan­do­ra, and far be it from her to resist the temp­ta­tion to open a cer­tain box. (Actu­al­ly it was a vase/pithos.) You can watch more on Panoply’s Youtube chan­nel. As uncon­ven­tion­al means of visu­al­iz­ing ancient Greece go, it’s got to beat 300 for accu­ra­cy.

via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mod­ern Artists Show How the Ancient Greeks & Romans Made Coins, Vas­es & Arti­sanal Glass

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Dis­cov­er the “Brazen Bull,” the Ancient Greek Tor­ture Machine That Dou­bled as a Musi­cal Instru­ment

How the Ancient Greeks Shaped Mod­ern Math­e­mat­ics: A Short, Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion

Hear Homer’s Ili­ad Read in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

Down­load 78 Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es: From Ancient Greece to The Mod­ern World

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How to Defeat the US with Math: An Animated North Korean Propaganda Film for Kids

Yes, North Korea won yes­ter­day. Threat­en­ing 9/11-like vio­lence, the DPRK scared Sony and Amer­i­ca’s four largest the­ater chains into pulling the plug on the release of The Inter­view. And, just like that, Amer­i­cans lost their right to watch their own pro­pa­gan­da films — even dumb fun­ny ones — in their own the­aters. But, don’t despair, we can still watch pro­pa­gan­da films from North Korea on YouTube — like the vin­tage ani­ma­tion for chil­dren above. You don’t need to under­stand what’s being said to get the gist. Take your school­work seri­ous­ly, bone up on your geom­e­try, and you can launch enough mis­siles to force Amer­i­ca into sub­mis­sion. True, geom­e­try does­n’t put you in a good posi­tion to hack cor­po­rate com­put­ers. But seem­ing­ly you can get that help from Chi­na.

via The Week

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

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

Neu­ro­science and Pro­pa­gan­da Come Togeth­er in Disney’s World War II Film, Rea­son and Emo­tion

How the CIA Turned Doc­tor Zhiva­go into a Pro­pa­gan­da Weapon Against the Sovi­et Union

 

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10 Classic German Expressionist Films: From Nosferatu to The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

In 1913, Ger­many, flush with a new nation’s patri­ot­ic zeal, looked like it might become the dom­i­nant nation of Europe and a real rival to that glob­al super­pow­er Great Britain. Then it hit the buz­z­saw of World War I. After the Ger­man gov­ern­ment col­lapsed in 1918 from the eco­nom­ic and emo­tion­al toll of a half-decade of sense­less car­nage, the Allies forced it to accept dra­con­ian terms for sur­ren­der. The entire Ger­man cul­ture was sent reel­ing, search­ing for answers to what hap­pened and why.

Ger­man Expres­sion­ism came about to artic­u­late these lac­er­at­ing ques­tions roil­ing in the nation’s col­lec­tive uncon­scious. The first such film was The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari (1920), about a malev­o­lent trav­el­ing magi­cian who has his ser­vant do his mur­der­ous bid­ding in the dark of the night. The sto­ry­line is all about the Freudi­an ter­ror of hid­den sub­con­scious dri­ves, but what real­ly makes the movie mem­o­rable is its com­plete­ly unhinged look. Marked by styl­ized act­ing, deep shad­ows paint­ed onto the walls, and sets filled with twist­ed archi­tec­tur­al impos­si­bil­i­ties — there might not be a sin­gle right angle in the film – Cali­gari’s look per­fect­ly mesh­es with the nar­ra­tor’s dement­ed state of mind.

Sub­se­quent Ger­man Expres­sion­ist movies retreat­ed from the extreme aes­thet­ics of Cali­gari but were still filled with a mood of vio­lence, frus­tra­tion and unease. F. W. Mur­nau’s bril­liant­ly depress­ing The Last Laugh (1924) is about a proud door­man at a high-end hotel who is uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly stripped of his posi­tion and demot­ed to a low­ly bath­room atten­dant. When he hands over his uni­form, his pos­ture col­laps­es as if the jack­et were his exoskele­ton. You don’t need to be a semi­ol­o­gist to fig­ure out that the doorman’s loss of sta­tus par­al­lels Germany’s. Fritz Lang’s M (1931), a land­mark of ear­ly sound film, is the first ser­i­al killer movie ever made. But what starts out as a police pro­ce­dur­al turns into some­thing even more unset­tling when a gang of dis­tinct­ly Nazi-like crim­i­nals decide to mete out some jus­tice of their own.

Ger­man Expres­sion­ism end­ed in 1933 when the Nazis came to pow­er. They weren’t inter­est­ed in ask­ing uncom­fort­able ques­tions and viewed such dark tales of cin­e­mat­ic angst as unpa­tri­ot­ic. Instead, they pre­ferred bright, cheer­ful tales of Aryan youths climb­ing moun­tains. By that time, the movement’s most tal­ent­ed direc­tors — Fritz Lang and F.W. Mur­nau — had fled to Amer­i­ca. And it was in Amer­i­ca where Ger­man Expres­sion­ism found its biggest impact. Its stark light­ing, grotesque shad­ows and bleak world­view would go on on to pro­found­ly influ­ence film noir in the late 1940s after anoth­er hor­rif­ic, dis­il­lu­sion­ing war. See our col­lec­tion of Free Noir Films here.

You watch can 10 Ger­man Expres­sion­ist movies – includ­ing Cali­gari, Last Laugh and M — for free below.

  • Nos­fer­atu — Free — Ger­man Expres­sion­ist hor­ror film direct­ed by F. W. Mur­nau. An unau­tho­rized adap­ta­tion of Bram Stok­er’s Drac­u­la. (1922)
  • The Stu­dent of Prague — Free — A clas­sic of Ger­man expres­sion­ist film. Ger­man writer Hanns Heinz Ewers and Dan­ish direc­tor Stel­lan Rye bring to life a 19th-cen­tu­ry hor­ror sto­ry. Some call it the first indie film. (1913)
  • Nerves — Free — Direct­ed by Robert Rein­ert, Nerves tells of “the polit­i­cal dis­putes of an ultra­con­ser­v­a­tive fac­to­ry own­er Herr Roloff and Teacher John, who feels a com­pul­sive but secret love for Rolof­f’s sis­ter, a left-wing rad­i­cal.” (1919)
  • The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari — Free — This silent film direct­ed by Robert Wiene is con­sid­ered one of the most influ­en­tial Ger­man Expres­sion­ist films and per­haps one of the great­est hor­ror movies of all time. (1920)
  • Metrop­o­lis — Free — Fritz Lang’s fable of good and evil fight­ing it out in a futur­is­tic urban dystopia. An impor­tant clas­sic. An alter­nate ver­sion can be found here. (1927)
  • The Golem: How He Came Into the World — Free — A fol­low-up to Paul Wegen­er’s ear­li­er film, “The Golem,” about a mon­strous crea­ture brought to life by a learned rab­bi to pro­tect the Jews from per­se­cu­tion in medieval Prague. Based on the clas­sic folk tale, and co-direct­ed by Carl Boese. (1920)
  • The Golem: How He Came Into the World — Free — The same film as the one list­ed imme­di­ate­ly above, but this one has a score cre­at­ed by Pix­ies front­man Black Fran­cis. (2008)
  • The Last Laugh - Free — F.W. Mur­nau’s clas­sic cham­ber dra­ma about a hotel door­man who falls on hard times. A mas­ter­piece of the silent era, the sto­ry is told almost entire­ly in pic­tures. (1924)
  • Faust — Free - Ger­man expres­sion­ist film­mak­er F.W. Mur­nau directs a film ver­sion of Goethe’s clas­sic tale. This was Mur­nau’s last Ger­man movie. (1926)
  • Sun­rise: A Song of Two Humans — Free — Made by the Ger­man expres­sion­ist direc­tor F.W. Mur­nau. Vot­ed in 2012, the 5th great­est film of all time. (1927)
  • M — Free — Clas­sic film direct­ed by Fritz Lang, with Peter Lorre. About the search for a child mur­der­er in Berlin. (1931)

For more clas­sic films, peruse our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

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:

Metrop­o­lis Restored: Watch a New Ver­sion of Fritz Lang’s Mas­ter­piece

Fritz Lang’s “Licen­tious, Pro­fane, Obscure” Noir Film, Scar­let Street (1945)

Free: F. W. Murnau’s Sun­rise, the 1927 Mas­ter­piece Vot­ed the 5th Best Movie of All Time

Watch Nos­fer­atu, the Sem­i­nal Vam­pire Film, Free Online (1922)

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. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

 

Muhammad Ali Gives a Dramatic Reading of His Poem on the Attica Prison Uprising

In July of 1972, box­er Muham­mad Ali trav­eled to Dublin to fight Alvin ‘Blue’ Lewis, an ex-con from Detroit. In the days lead­ing up to the bout, he amused him­self by bust­ing on Fight of the Cen­tu­ry vic­tor Smokin’ Joe Fra­zier from afar, refer­ring to him on live tele­vi­sion as a “tramp” and a “slave” who lived on a “chick­en plan­ta­tion.”

It was a career defin­ing encounter for inter­view­er Cathal O’Shan­non, who praised Ali’s deft­ness in that area and not­ed that the champ said things “he would not have been able to say in Amer­i­ca.”

It’s doubt­ful that O’Shannon was refer­ring to the name call­ing, part of Ali’s cam­paign to draw Fra­zier back into the ring. (The champ got his wish less than two years lat­er, when he defeat­ed Fra­zier at Madi­son Square Gar­den in the sec­ond of their three fights.)

What’s more like­ly is that O’Shannon was allud­ing to the orig­i­nal poem Ali recites from mem­o­ry, one minute into clip above, after ori­ent­ing Irish view­ers to the pre­vi­ous fall’s Atti­ca Prison upris­ing, still the dead­liest in U.S. his­to­ry.

Ali imag­ines him­self in the shoes of a black pris­on­er, respond­ing to the white war­den issu­ing a final ulti­ma­tum. His reply, which could be tak­en as a call to arms , but which Ali touch­ing­ly calls a “poet­ic poem,” takes the form of a dozen ter­cets:

Bet­ter far from all I see

To die fight­ing to be free

What more fit­ting end could be?

Bet­ter sure­ly than in some bed

Where in bro­ken health I’m led

Lin­ger­ing until I’m dead

Bet­ter than with prayers and pleas

Or in the clutch of some dis­ease

Wast­ing slow­ly  by degrees

Bet­ter than of heart attack 

Or some dose of drug I lack 

Let me die by being Black 

Bet­ter far that I should go 

Stand­ing here against the foe 

Is the sweet­er death to know 

Bet­ter than the bloody stain 

On some high­way where I’m lain 

Torn by fly­ing glass and pane 

Bet­ter call­ing death to come

Than to die anoth­er dumb

Mut­ed vic­tim in the slum

Bet­ter than of this prison rot

If there’s any choice I’ve got

Kill me here on the spot

Bet­ter far my fight to wage

Now while my blood boils with rage

Lest it cool with ancient age

Bet­ter vow­ing for us to die

Than to Uncle Tom and try

Mak­ing peace just to live a lie

Bet­ter now that I say my sooth

I’m gonna die demand­ing truth

While I’m still akin to youth

Bet­ter now than lat­er on

Now that fear of death is gone

Nev­er mind anoth­er dawn.

The poem draws to a close with an inex­pert but heart­felt sound effect.

The poet — whose mater­nal great-grand­fa­ther was born in Coun­ty Clare — went on to knock out his oppo­nent in the 11th round.

The trail­er for the doc­u­men­tary, When Ali Came to Ire­land, fea­tur­ing Cathal O’Shan­non, is below.

More poet­ry read­ings can be found in our col­lec­tion of Free Audio Books.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Muham­mad Ali Plans to Fight on Mars in Lost 1966 Inter­view

Mal­colm X, Debat­ing at Oxford, Quotes Shakespeare’s Ham­let (1964)

Mail­er on the Ali-Fore­man Clas­sic

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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