A Brief History of Hollywood Censorship and the Ratings System

Cen­sor­ship, as most seri­ous film­go­ers know, shaped the sen­si­bil­i­ty of all the pic­tures we know from the “Gold­en Age” of Hol­ly­wood. It did so in the form of 1930’s “Motion Pic­ture Pro­duc­tion Code (also known as the Hays Code),” which “set up a small jury to review films for con­tent,” at first “still with­out teeth and large­ly mocked by indus­try insid­ers.” But that changed in a big way when “the Amer­i­can Bish­ops of the Roman Catholic Church orga­nized The Legion of Decen­cy and, in 1934, with the sup­port of Protes­tant and Jew­ish Orga­ni­za­tions, began call­ing for boy­cotts of films deemed unac­cept­able. [ … ] The Hol­ly­wood stu­dios, still reel­ing from the loss­es of 1933 due in large part to the delayed effects of the Great Depres­sion, were forced to act.” That sum­ma­ry comes from “The His­to­ry of Hol­ly­wood Cen­sor­ship and the Rat­ings Sys­tem,” a brief but in-depth les­son pro­duced by Film­mak­er IQ. Its video ver­sion appears at the top. Below, you can watch 1941’s The Out­law, the bust size of whose star Jane Rus­sell had the cen­sors demand­ing “37 spe­cif­ic reshoots.”

The com­plete sto­ry of cen­sor­ship and rat­ings in Hol­ly­wood involves such ele­ments of Amer­i­can his­to­ry and cul­ture as not just the Great Depres­sion and the Roman Catholic Church, but the 1919 World Series Gam­bling scan­dal, the Chicago’s Women’s Munic­i­pal League, mighty sys­tems of pro­duc­tion, the sport of box­ing, Howard Hugh­es, and of course, the almighty dol­lar. Even­tu­al­ly, film­mak­ers began to sim­ply defy the Hays Code; you can watch Otto Pre­minger’s famous exam­ple of just that, the 1953 com­e­dy The Moon is Blue (pos­sessed, cen­sors said, of “an unac­cept­ably light atti­tude towards seduc­tion, illic­it sex, chasti­ty, and vir­gin­i­ty”). In 1968, the weak­ened Code’s replace­ment arrived: the Motion Pic­ture Asso­ci­a­tion of Amer­i­ca’s Rat­ings sys­tem and its still-famil­iar G, PG, R, and X (PG-13 was intro­duced in 1984; NC-17 replaced X in 1990). Quaint as these mea­sures may now seem, the les­son tells us that con­tro­ver­sy has remained. “Some may say that films were sex­i­er and scari­er under the cen­sor­ship of the pro­duc­tion code – for noth­ing that can be seen is as tan­ta­liz­ing and hor­ri­fy­ing as what the imag­i­na­tion and antic­i­pa­tion can con­jure. But giv­en the choice between free­dom and cen­sor­ship, free­dom is the only sus­tain­able option.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ear­ly Hol­ly­wood Cen­sored

Did Hol­ly­wood Movies Stu­dios “Col­lab­o­rate” with Hitler Dur­ing WW II? His­to­ri­an Makes the Case

Frank Zap­pa Debates Cen­sor­ship on CNN’s Cross­fire (1986)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

On Christmas, Browse A Historical Archive of More Than 50,000 Toys

paratroops in action

The Strong Nation­al Muse­um of Play, locat­ed in Rochester, NY, is a fun children’s muse­um. But the insti­tu­tion also has seri­ous research archives, stuffed with toys, games, and records of the toy indus­try. Its online col­lec­tions, which cur­rent­ly boast 55,068 objects, take a hol­i­day brows­er on a trip into a fig­u­ra­tive grandma’s attic, chock-full of the play­things peo­ple loved in the nine­teenth and twen­ti­eth cen­turies.

The online archives are divid­ed into four cat­e­gories: “Toys”, “Dolls”, “Games”, and “More.” Each of these four sec­tions is fur­ther sub­di­vid­ed into top­i­cal­ly-spe­cif­ic groups, cho­sen by the archivists.

The collection’s strength is also its weak­ness: there are so many toys that it can be easy to get over­whelmed. The sub­ject divi­sions are help­ful here. As some­body with an inter­est in gen­der and child­hood, I found myself fas­ci­nat­ed by the house­keep­ing toyskids used to use ovens that were heat­ed with real coals!—and that was an easy way to nar­row down my browse.  Sub­ject group­ings for toy sol­diers, celebri­ty dolls, and board games also piqued my inter­est.

It’s fun to look around for toys from your own child­hood (I found a few), but if you’re inter­est­ed in his­to­ry, you might find the echoes of his­tor­i­cal events to be even more intrigu­ing. Late-nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry kids played with a paper doll inspired by the cir­cus celebri­ty Tom Thumb; chil­dren of the 1930s had licensed dolls of the media-sen­sa­tion Dionne Quin­tu­plets; a play­set from 1940 fea­tured grim, suit­ed-up “Para­troops in Action.”

Mou­s­ing over the thumb­nails will allow you to see the item’s name. If you see a blue “Learn More” tag, be sure to click through; that means that the item’s image will be accom­pa­nied by an inter­pre­tive his­tor­i­cal note writ­ten by the Strong’s archivists. These vary in length, and con­tain intrigu­ing tid­bits. Did you know, for exam­ple, that Hol­ly Hob­bie was a real per­son: the artist Hol­ly Ulinkas Hob­bie? Or that the famous artist Charles Dana Gib­son had a now-for­got­ten fol­low­er, Nell Brink­ley, who illus­trat­ed the flap­per era?

Rebec­ca Onion is a writer and aca­d­e­m­ic liv­ing in Philadel­phia. She runs Slate.com’s his­to­ry blog, The Vault. Fol­low her on Twit­ter: @rebeccaonion

Read 100 Entries From America’s Most Unique Dictionary, Now Available Online For The First Time

Ear­li­er this year, we wrote about the region­al dif­fer­ences in how Amer­i­cans refer to soft drinks. An explo­ration of the var­i­ous geo­graph­i­cal names for a car­bon­at­ed bev­er­age is all well and good, but it’s impor­tant to remem­ber that America’s lex­i­cal vari­a­tions are sig­nif­i­cant­ly more col­or­ful than “soda,” (East and West coasts), “coke,” (South), and “pop” (Mid­west and North­west).

For those inter­est­ed in expe­ri­enc­ing the full range of ver­bal Amer­i­cana, the Dic­tio­nary of Amer­i­can Region­al Eng­lish (DARE) has final­ly become avail­able online after 47 years of work. Unlike any oth­er dic­tio­nary, DARE attempts to doc­u­ment the region­al aspects of Amer­i­can Eng­lish, and sys­tem­atize the wide array of  geo­graph­i­cal­ly unique terms and expres­sions. As John McWhort­er notes in The New Repub­lic, this labor of lin­guis­tic love con­tains some 60,000 entries from 1,002 com­mu­ni­ties, col­lect­ed between 1965 and 1970. Of course, as McWhort­er points out, some of the terms indexed in DARE are dat­ed, hav­ing suc­cumbed to mass-media’s democ­ra­tiz­ing effects on lan­guage over the course of DARE’s lengthy prepa­ra­tion. Still, with entries like “rich rel­a­tives” (dust bun­nies) and “Cana­di­an per­jun­kety” (pim­ples), the dic­tio­nary pro­vides a fas­ci­nat­ing glimpse of the ver­bal curios, both old and new, that have sprung up around the coun­try.

Although DARE is a sub­scrip­tion-based ser­vice, its web­site pro­vides vis­i­tors with a list of 100 free and brows­able terms. We’ve includ­ed a selec­tion below:

  • “To acknowl­edge the corn – to admit to being drunk; by exten­sion, to admit to any mis­take, fault, or impro­pri­ety (for­mer­ly wide­spread, now chiefly Mid­land).”
  • Flan­nel cake – pan­cake (chiefly Appalachi­an)”
  • Flea in one’s ear – A hint, warn­ing, dis­qui­et­ing dis­clo­sure; a rebuke (chiefly North­east)”
  • Lucy Bowles – loose bow­els, diar­rhea (scat­tered, but esp. Penn­syl­va­nia, New Jer­sey, south­east­ern New York)”
  • Slick and a promise – A hasty or super­fi­cial per­for­mance of a task (chiefly New Jer­sey)”

Addi­tion­al­ly, a sam­ple of audio record­ings demon­strat­ing the breadth of accents and vocab­u­lar­ies in var­i­ous gen­er­a­tions, cities, and class­es dur­ing the ‘60s may be found on the Uni­ver­si­ty of Wis­con­sin-Madi­son DARE web­site.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

Short Film Shows What Happens When a Letter from World War II Finally Gets Delivered 69 Years Later

A few years ago, I stum­bled upon a nev­er-sent let­ter writ­ten to a friend when we were both in col­lege. The con­tents weren’t heavy. Dis­or­ga­ni­za­tion is the most like­ly expla­na­tion for why it nev­er went in the mail. I cracked the enve­lope and had a look.

It was a time cap­sule, for sure, a cringe-induc­ing one. It was­n’t so much the life I was report­ing on as how I framed it, self-aggran­dize­ment strain­ing to pass as non­cha­lance. For­tu­nate­ly, an artist acquain­tance hap­pened to be run­ning a project— send her your shred­d­a­ble doc­u­ments, and even­tu­al­ly, she’d send you a few sheets of hand­made paper in which your mulched data min­gled with that of oth­ers. Tru­ly a beau­ti­ful way to dis­pose of the evi­dence.

But what hap­pens when nei­ther the writer, nor the intend­ed recip­i­ent, is the find­er of the lost let­ter? In Feb­ru­ary 2013, some mail post­ed by Lt. Joseph O. Matthews, a sol­dier sta­tioned at a mil­i­tary train­ing facil­i­ty in Jack­sonville, North Car­oli­na, found its way to Abbi Jacob­son, an actress (and col­or­ing book author!) rent­ing an apart­ment on Mac­Dou­gal Street in New York City. Addressed to Matthew’s wife, the can­cel­la­tion mark was dat­ed Decem­ber 2, 1944.

Jacob­son opened the let­ter, the con­di­tion of the enve­lope hav­ing sug­gest­ed that she would not be the first to breach its con­tents dur­ing the 69 years it had spent wan­der­ing in the wilder­ness. The words inside were roman­tic, a young offi­cer inform­ing the bride he’d left back home that he’d soon be ship­ping out to Oki­nawa. Eager to pull an Amélie by reunit­ing the let­ter with those to whom it would mean the most, Jacob­son enlist­ed the help of her friend, doc­u­men­tary film­mak­er Todd Bieber. Togeth­er they searched records at City Hall, look­ing for clues. When that approach proved fruit­less, they cre­at­ed the Lost Let­ter Project, a web por­tal that invit­ed the pub­lic to join in the search.

An avalanche of tweets, Face­book updates, and human inter­est pieces ensued. In no time at all, they had their man, or rather his descen­dants, Lt. Matthews hav­ing passed away in 1999, crush­ing Jacob­son’s dreams of hand deliv­er­ing the let­ter to “a lit­tle old man and a lit­tle old lady.” (I’m will­ing to bet Jacob­son will one day wish there was a giant blender capa­ble of turn­ing dig­i­tal state­ments like how cute would that be, my god, right? I love old peo­ple into hand­made paper.)

Bieber’s video reveals what became of Lt. Matthews and his wife. Even more inter­est­ing is how the let­ter res­onates with his grown chil­dren, par­tic­u­lar­ly a cer­tain the­o­log­i­cal ref­er­ence at odds with the man they thought they knew.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

In Touch­ing Video, Artist Mari­na Abramović & For­mer Lover Ulay Reunite After 22 Years Apart

“Noth­ing Good Gets Away”: John Stein­beck Offers Love Advice in a Let­ter to His Son (1958)

Stephen King Writes A Let­ter to His 16-Year-Old Self: “Stay Away from Recre­ation­al Drugs”

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is all for stuff­ing your stock­ing with a hol­i­day gift sub­scrip­tion to the East Vil­lage Inky, her award win­ning hand-illus­trat­ed zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Hand-Colored Photographs of 19th Century Japan

hand colored japanese photos

This week, The Pub­lic Domain Review (PDR) post­ed a series hand-col­ored albu­mine prints (“a process which used the albu­men found in egg whites to bind the pho­to­graph­ic chem­i­cals to the paper) from 19th cen­tu­ry Japan. They date back to 1880.

Some of the prints, like the one below, cer­tain­ly have a for­eign qual­i­ty to them. They feel far away in terms of time and place. But oth­ers (like the shot above) feel remark­ably close, some­thing we can all relate to today.

Hand coloured photographs of 19th century Japan

Accord­ing to the PDR, the pic­tures came to reside in the Dutch Nation­al Archive as a result of the cen­turies-long com­mer­cial rela­tion­ship between the Dutch and the Japan­ese. More vin­tage pix can be viewed here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Old­est Col­or Movies Bring Sun­flow­ers, Exot­ic Birds and Gold­fish Back to Life (1902)

One of the Ear­li­est Known Pho­tos of Guys Sit­ting Around and Drink­ing Beer (Cir­ca 1845)

1922 Pho­to: Claude Mon­et Stands on the Japan­ese Foot­bridge He Paint­ed Through the Years

Morgan Freeman Masterfully Recites Nelson Mandela’s Favorite Poem, “Invictus”

Nel­son Man­dela, who died on Decem­ber 5, 2013, had spent more than a quar­ter of his life serv­ing time in var­i­ous jails. While behind bars for the 18-year peri­od between 1962 and 1980, the anti-apartheid rev­o­lu­tion­ary edu­cat­ed both him­self and oth­ers to pre­pare for the advent of mul­tira­cial equal­i­ty in South Africa. Dur­ing his con­fine­ment at the Robben Island prison, Man­dela stud­ied law by cor­re­spon­dence at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Lon­don, learned Afrikaans to fos­ter a rap­port with jail­house war­dens, and was instru­men­tal in launch­ing the “Uni­ver­si­ty of Robben Island”, where pris­on­ers pos­sess­ing exper­tise in par­tic­u­lar fields pre­sent­ed lec­tures to their fel­low inmates.

Mandela’s stay, how­ev­er, was fre­quent­ly marred by demean­ing and deplorable treat­ment. Ini­tial­ly, black pris­on­ers were humil­i­at­ed by being giv­en shorts, com­mon­ly worn by chil­dren, rather than full-length pants as uni­forms. Man­dela was also for­bid­den from wear­ing sun­glass­es when forced to labor at a lime­stone quar­ry, and the harsh reflec­tions from the rocks dam­aged his vision. The quar­ry dust also dam­aged his tear ducts, which made it impos­si­ble for him to cry until receiv­ing cor­rec­tive surgery in 1994. Per­haps the most painful moments arrived in the late 1960s, when Man­dela lost his moth­er and first­born son, and was denied per­mis­sion to attend their funer­als.

In spite of these ordeals, Man­dela per­se­vered. In an inter­view with Char­lie Rose, above, Mor­gan Free­man dis­cuss­es Mandela’s reliance on William Ernest Henley’s 1875 poem, “Invic­tus,” to keep his hope alive:

“That poem was his favorite… When he lost courage, when he felt like just giv­ing up — just lie down and not get up again — he would recite it. And it would give him what he need­ed to keep going.”

Free­man, who played Man­dela in the 2009 film Invic­tus, also pro­vides a solemn and dig­ni­fied recita­tion of the poem begin­ning at 3:51. Although the poem is best known for pro­vid­ing suc­cour to Man­dela in times of despair, its words of courage have served as inspi­ra­tion to count­less oth­ers. Famous fig­ures who have drawn hope from “Invic­tus” include the father of Burmese oppo­si­tion leader Aung San Suu Kyi dur­ing his strug­gle for Burmese inde­pen­dence and ten­nis cham­pi­on Andre Agas­si. Rumor has it that U.S. Pres­i­dent Franklin D. Roo­sevelt was also quite fond of it. We’ve includ­ed the full text for “Invic­tus” below:

Out of the night that cov­ers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank what­ev­er gods may be

For my uncon­quer­able soul.

In the fell clutch of cir­cum­stance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the blud­geon­ings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Hor­ror of the shade,

And yet the men­ace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It mat­ters not how strait the gate,

How charged with pun­ish­ments the scroll.

I am the mas­ter of my fate:

I am the cap­tain of my soul.

H/T to Bruno, one of our read­ers, for send­ing this video our way.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nel­son Mandela’s First-Ever TV Inter­view (1961)

U2 Releas­es a Nel­son Man­dela-Inspired Song, “Ordi­nary Love”

Nel­son Man­dela Archive Goes Online

Find “Invic­tus” in our Free Audio Books and Free eBooks col­lec­tions.

Studs Terkel Interviews Bob Dylan, Shel Silverstein, Maya Angelou & More in New Audio Trove

The recent­ly-launched dig­i­ti­za­tion project Pop­Up Archive hosts a great selec­tion of Studs Terkel audio. The site’s archive of inter­views comes from Terkel’s 1952–1997 radio show, “The Studs Terkel Pro­gram,” on the Chica­go sta­tion WFMT.

While Terkel is famous for inter­view­ing every­day peo­ple for his oral his­to­ries of the Depres­sion, work, and World War II, and his radio show fea­tured its fair share of stu­dents, domes­tic work­ers, and vet­er­ans, this par­tic­u­lar archive is full of big names: Actress and come­di­an Lily Tom­lin. Lit­er­ary the­o­rist Edward Said. Actor and activist Sid­ney Poiti­er.

A short trip into the inter­views reveals Shel Sil­ver­stein telling Terkel the sto­ry of his as-yet-unpub­lished book Laf­ca­dio, The Lion Who Shot Back, in a rapid-fire Chica­go accent. Terkel inter­views the pho­tog­ra­ph­er Diane Arbus about the Depres­sion, try­ing in vain to elic­it any mem­o­ries at all per­tain­ing to finan­cial stress. (Even Terkel couldn’t win them all.) And an inter­view with James Bald­win is punc­tu­at­ed by the unmis­tak­able sound of a Zip­po lighter in use.

Cur­rent­ly, there are about twen­ty audio files avail­able, and the archive promis­es more to come, pend­ing dig­i­ti­za­tion and the clear­ing of rights. (Let’s hope they hur­ry up! Some of the place­hold­er entries for not-yet-avail­able interviews—Buckminster Fuller, Mar­garet Mead, Arthur C. Clarke—are most tan­ta­liz­ing.)

The one down­side to this archive is that you can’t down­load the interviews—a poten­tial draw­back for addict­ed pod­cast fans. How­ev­er, if you have a smart­phone and a good data con­nec­tion, it’s sim­ple enough to lis­ten to the files straight from your phone’s Chrome brows­er.

Above you can lis­ten to Terkel inter­view a young Bob Dylan in 1963. The remain­ing parts of the inter­view can be found here. Note: The Dylan inter­view isn’t actu­al­ly in the Pop Up archive. But it is anoth­er one of Terkel’s leg­endary inter­views. So we want­ed to add it to the mix.

Rebec­ca Onion is a writer and aca­d­e­m­ic liv­ing in Philadel­phia. She runs Slate.com’s his­to­ry blog, The Vault. Fol­low her on Twit­ter: @rebeccaonion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Studs Terkel Reads Poem “Blessed Be The Nation”

Voic­es from the Depres­sion: Studs Terkel Inter­views

Two Leg­ends Togeth­er: A Young Bob Dylan Talks and Plays on the Studs Terkel Pro­gram, 1963

Mike Tyson Lists the Philosophy & History Books He’s Reading These Days

Mike_Tyson_Portrait

Last year, Mike Tyson staged a one-man Broad­way show, direct­ed by Spike Lee, called “Mike Tyson: The Undis­put­ed Truth.” In Novem­ber, the box­ing leg­end pub­lished an auto­bi­og­ra­phy by the same title. And now comes this: a short let­ter in The Wall Street Jour­nal where Iron Mike lists the phi­los­o­phy and his­to­ry texts he’s read­ing these days. The list includes:

  • The Quotable Kierkegaard, edit­ed by Gor­don Mari­no, “a col­lec­tion of awe­some quotes from that great Dan­ish philoso­pher.”

[Note: Niet­zsche is his favorite philoso­pher. Says Tyson, “He’s just insane. You have to have an IQ of at least 300 to tru­ly under­stand him.”

Why? Because “Alexan­der kept push­ing for­ward. He did­n’t want to have to go home and be dom­i­nat­ed by his moth­er.” The same impulse drove Tyson to box his way out of Brownsville, Brook­lyn. That’s all cov­ered in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy.

What else is Tyson read­ing? Love let­ters. He men­tions Napoleon’s love let­ters to Josephine, and Vir­ginia Woolf’s let­ter to her hus­band before com­mit­ting sui­cide. Tyson then quips “I don’t real­ly do any light read­ing, just deep, deep stuff. I’m not a light kind of guy.”

Get more at The Wall Street Jour­nal.

H/T Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Iron Mike Tyson Sings “The Girl From Ipane­ma”

The Phi­los­o­phy of Kierkegaard, the First Exis­ten­tial­ist Philoso­pher, Revis­it­ed in 1984 Doc­u­men­tary

Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Clas­sic Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard and Sartre (1960)

Down­load 90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

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