Helen Mirren Holds Her Own (and Then Some) in a Cringe-Inducingly Sexist TV Interview, 1975

Say what you will about Kim Kar­dashi­an. (Go ahead, I’ll wait.)

Yes, she may only be famous for being rich and famous—not a par­tic­u­lar­ly admirable cul­tur­al achieve­ment. But, “and this is the big word: B‑U-T-T‑,” says Helen Mir­ren, “it’s won­der­ful that you’re allowed to have a butt nowa­days… Thanks to Madame Kar­dashi­an.” Should you think Madame Kardashian’s butt-bar­ing shame­ful, you’ll have Dame Helen to deal with, and she may not deal with you kind­ly.

Though the Kar­dashi­ans are “a phe­nom­e­non I just don’t find inter­est­ing,” Mir­ren said recent­ly, she admires Kim and oth­er women in pop cul­ture for their body pos­i­tiv­i­ty: “When I was grow­ing up, it was thought to be unbe­liev­ably slut­tish to even have a bra strap show­ing. Every­thing was about women con­form­ing…. Women were con­trolled by being shamed…. I love shame­less women. Shame­less and proud.”

Mir­ren knows well of what she speaks. Though an accom­plished stage actress since the mid-six­ties, she has been pigeon­holed by crit­ics as a sex sym­bol through­out her career in the­atre and film. While per­form­ing with the Roy­al Shake­speare Com­pa­ny, one paper dubbed her “Stratford’s very own sex queen.” Mirren’s ear­ly film work includ­ed nude scenes in 1969’s Age of Con­sent and the 1979 Bob Guc­cione-pro­duced Caligu­la, and she has called the decade between those two films the most sex­ist time in recent his­to­ry, “worse than the 1940s or 50s,” she says, “It was hor­ri­ble. That decade, after the sex­u­al rev­o­lu­tion but before fem­i­nism, was per­ilous for women.”

Some evi­dence is on dis­play in the clips above from an infa­mous 1975 inter­view Mir­ren gave with a leer­ing Michael Parkin­son. The inter­view begins, at the top, with Parkin­son quot­ing sev­er­al crit­ics on Mirren’s “slut­tish eroti­cism,” among oth­er things. It quick­ly goes down­hill from there. Mir­ren shrugs off the sex­ist lin­go; Parkin­son can’t shut up about it, ask­ing if “what can best be described as your ‘equip­ment’ hin­ders you, per­haps, in that pur­suit” of being, he says, “in quotes a ‘seri­ous actress.’” Asked to clar­i­fy, he stum­bles, then says that her body “might detract from the per­for­mance, if you know what I mean.” She doesn’t.

Mir­ren doesn’t make this belit­tling sex­ism easy for Parkin­son, but he can’t seem to stop him­self. It’s hard to watch, but also inspir­ing to see her poise and con­fi­dence in the face of his boor­ish­ness. (She calls his ques­tions “bor­ing” and he final­ly vows to “leave off this sexy image thing,” though he comes back to it.) Yvonne Roberts in The Guardian calls the inter­view “far from unusu­al,” and the kind of thing that “gave Jim­my Sav­ile his cov­er.” She also says that though “Mir­ren is right on the impact of the sex­u­al rev­o­lu­tion,” she is “wrong on chronol­o­gy. The 70s was the decade when fem­i­nism took hold—and per­haps that’s why sex­ism became still more marked.” Pro­nounced back­lash always fol­lows social change, a phe­nom­e­non we’ve seen so often that it seems inevitable.

The Parkin­son inter­view was Mirren’s first talk show appear­ance, and she remem­bers being “ter­ri­fied” at the time. On re-watch­ing the inter­view in 2011, she said, “I actu­al­ly thought, bloody hell! I did real­ly well. I was so young and inex­pe­ri­enced. And he was such a f***ing sex­ist old fart. He was.” She remem­bers him as “an extreme­ly creepy inter­view­er” and told BUST mag­a­zine in 2010 she was “far more polite than I should have been.” Mir­ren got the chance to con­front Parkin­son about that creepy 1975 appear­ance when she returned as a guest on his show in 2006 to talk about her title role in The Queen.

In the clip above from that appear­ance, Parkin­son returns to the sub­ject of Mirren’s breasts in dis­cussing her lead part in the BBC police pro­ce­dur­al series Prime Sus­pect. She forth­right­ly takes him to task. “I’m glad you men­tioned that, Michael,” she says, “because you can’t resist, can you?” Of the 1975 inter­view, she says, “I hat­ed you. I thought you were a sex­ist per­son.” Parkin­son hasn’t changed, it’s clear, but Mir­ren says she’s “mel­lowed.” The exchange is a lot less awk­ward, per­haps because Parkin­son knows he can’t bul­ly Mir­ren the movie star as he did the young stage actress.

Though Mir­ren now says she’s hap­py to no longer be a sex sym­bol, she also express­es admi­ra­tion for “women who have claimed their own bod­ies…. They all raise their mid­dle fin­gers to this epi­thet of ‘slut.’ They wear what they want to wear, behave as they want to behave.” Though she did not have chil­dren, she tells BUST she would have taught her daugh­ter to “say ‘f*ck off’ in the face of sex­ism”: “It’s quite valu­able to have the courage and the con­fi­dence to say, ‘No, f*ck off, leave me alone, thank you very much.” Sad­ly, as we see again and again, in a cul­ture that still shames and deval­ues women, and enables rape and sex­u­al vio­lence, that courage and con­fi­dence, incred­i­bly valu­able as it is, isn’t enough to stop con­tin­ued ram­pant sex­ism and abuse in the enter­tain­ment indus­try and every­where else.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Helen Mir­ren Now Teach­ing Her First Online Course on Act­ing

Down­load All 239 Issues of Land­mark UK Fem­i­nist Mag­a­zine Spare Rib Free Online

1933 Arti­cle on Fri­da Kahlo: “Wife of the Mas­ter Mur­al Painter Glee­ful­ly Dab­bles in Works of Art”

Simone de Beau­voir Tells Studs Terkel How She Became an Intel­lec­tu­al and Fem­i­nist (1960)

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

Stream 23 Free Documentaries from PBS’ Award-Winning American Experience Series

How to under­stand a coun­try as enor­mous, as cul­tur­al­ly and eco­nom­i­cal­ly pro­duc­tive, and as con­tra­dic­to­ry and frus­trat­ing as the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca? As an Amer­i­can myself, I’m here to tell you that there’s no short­cut. I live abroad, and dis­tance has pro­vid­ed me a help­ful new per­spec­tive, but my curios­i­ty about how my home­land turned out like it did remains strong. That same curios­i­ty pos­sess­es many an Amer­i­can and non-Amer­i­can alike, and they all can sati­ate at least some of it by watch­ing episodes of the PBS doc­u­men­tary series Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence avail­able free online. Note: We have a list of stream­able episodes down below.

Since pre­mier­ing at The Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence on Octo­ber 4, 1988 with an episode on the great San Fran­cis­co earth­quake of 1906, the arti­cle may have fall­en away, but the in-depth explo­ration of U.S. his­to­ry has con­tin­ued apace. While hard­ly for­mu­la­ic, the episodes do tend start with a par­tic­u­lar event, place, or indi­vid­ual that time has ren­dered icon­ic. And so, at the top of the post, we have the Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence por­trait of Thomas Edi­son, the “hold­er of more patents than any oth­er inven­tor in his­to­ry” who grew rich and famous “as the genius behind such rev­o­lu­tion­ary inven­tions as sound record­ing, motion pic­tures, and elec­tric light.”

Edi­son has indeed come to rep­re­sent the Amer­i­can arche­type of the self-made mil­lion­aire whose sheer inge­nu­ity would improve lives across the coun­try, and ulti­mate­ly the world. But the coin has, as always, anoth­er side: how much of Edis­on’s suc­cess owes to his own hard work, and how much owes to his com­bi­na­tion and mar­ket­ing of the work of oth­ers? (Sim­i­lar ques­tions have con­tin­ued to swirl around more recent larg­er-than-life fig­ures in Amer­i­can busi­ness, not least Steve Jobs.) Anoth­er fas­ci­nat­ing­ly com­pli­cat­ed lega­cy, as well as quite pos­si­bly Amer­i­ca’s most scru­ti­nized life and death, comes in for the Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence treat­ment in the series’ four-hour episode on John F. Kennedy.

In addi­tion to these sto­ries of Amer­i­can per­son­al­i­ties, the online archive also has sto­ries of Amer­i­can places like Mount Rush­more, Amer­i­can achieve­ments like space trav­el, Amer­i­can eras like the year 1964, and even pieces of Amer­i­can infra­struc­ture like Penn Sta­tion. And of course, giv­en the insa­tiable Amer­i­can appetite for pres­i­den­tial biogra­phies, such com­man­ders-in-chief as Jim­my Carter, Ronald Rea­gan, and Bill Clin­ton also have their own episodes. But view­ers out­side Amer­i­ca should note that, because of geo­graph­i­cal rights restric­tions, not all these videos may stream for them. Since I live out­side Amer­i­ca myself, I’ve got the same prob­lem, but then again, I’ll also have some binge-watch­ing (and cul­tur­al rein­tro­duc­tion) mate­r­i­al on my next trip back.

The titles list­ed above will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Online Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch PBS’ Amer­i­can Mas­ters Doc­u­men­taries (Includ­ing Scorsese’s Homage to Kazan) Free Online

Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca: Watch the Debut Episode from the New PBS Series

265 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear the Music of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Played by the Experimental Band, Xiu Xiu: A Free Stream of Their New Album

Last year, Col­in Mar­shall high­light­ed for you the music of Xiu Xiu, the exper­i­men­tal post-punk band, which has trav­eled the world, play­ing their own inter­pre­ta­tion of the music Ange­lo Badala­men­ti wrote for David Lynch’s ear­ly 1990s series, Twin Peaks. Our orig­i­nal post fea­tured some of those live per­for­mances, and now comes a stu­dio record­ing of those Twin Peaks inter­pre­ta­tions.

We’d be remiss if we did­n’t tell you that you can stream the new album–called Plays the Music of Twin Peaks– free online. Just click play above. Find a list of indi­vid­ual tracks below. And, if you like what you hear, con­sid­er pur­chas­ing your own copy of the album from the usu­al ven­dors. Enjoy.

1. Lau­ra Palmer’s Theme (0:00)
2. Into The Night (5:03)
3. Audrey’s Dance (10:15)
4. Packard’s Vibra­tion (14:41)
5. Night­sea Wind (18:31)
6. Blue Frank/Pink Room (25:37)
7. Sycamore Tree (31:28)
8. Harold’s Theme (38:16)
9. Dance of the Dream Man (42:12)
10. Falling (47:22)
11. Love Theme Farewell (54:20)
12. Josie’s Past (1:00:44)

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

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

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exper­i­men­tal Post-Punk Band Xiu Xiu Plays the Music from David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Title Sequence, Recre­at­ed in an Adorable Paper Ani­ma­tion

Play the Twin Peaks Video Game: Retro Fun for David Lynch Fans

David Lynch Presents the His­to­ry of Sur­re­al­ist Film (1987)

John Lydon & Public Image Ltd. Sow Chaos on American Bandstand: The Show’s Best and Worst Moment (1980)

Amer­i­can Band­stand is best remem­bered these days not for doing the job it set out to do–presenting safe pop stars in the com­pa­ny of a stu­dio audi­ence to move units–but for when it ran head­long into the chang­ing cul­ture around it. Or at least that’s what Open Cul­ture thinks. We’ve seen the begin­nings of the Sum­mer of Love with Jef­fer­son Air­plane and chip­per Dick Clark try­ing to fig­ure out why hip­pies wouldn’t cut their hair. We’ve also seen a bemused Clark attempt­ing to inter­act with David Byrne when the Talk­ing Heads played the show. But noth­ing real­ly tops the time Pub­lic Image Ltd. brought true chaos to the Band­stand.

Dick Clark called it the worst moment in Band­stand his­to­ry; Lydon, in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, said the oppo­site, say­ing Clark told him it was one of the best per­for­mances in the show’s his­to­ry. Some­where in between lies the truth–no doubt Clark knew it was great tele­vi­sion.

It all took place on May 17, 1980, one full month before John Lydon and Kei­th Levene’s con­tentious appear­ance on Tom Snyder’s pro­gram, where Lydon insists that Pub­lic Image Ltd. is not a band. “It’s a com­pa­ny,” he shot back in his finest nasal cock­ney.

PIL was on Amer­i­can Band­stand to pro­mote their album Sec­ond Edi­tion, their dark dab­bling into dub and post-punk. The first song may be called “Pop­tones” but there’s noth­ing pop­py about it.

Accord­ing to Cole Coonce in his book Sex & Trav­el & Ves­tiges of Metal­lic Frag­ments, Lydon told Clark that he had a cold. “He said that because he wasn’t feel­ing well he was just going to go up there and take the piss out of me. So I said, ‘Go ahead.’ And he did.’”

Lydon’s account is dif­fer­ent, say­ing the show’s pro­duc­ers cut down “Pop­tones” and “Career­ing” (a total of 13 some min­utes) down to a man­age­able length.

“I don’t know where the vocals are going to drop. What are we sup­posed to do?” Lydon thought.

What PIL did is what was broad­cast. Adrift from their own song, Lydon starts “Pop­tones” sit­ting on the front of the stage, then grabs the micro­phone and wan­ders into the audi­ence. He makes no attempt to lip sync. The audi­ence isn’t sure what to do. Lydon isn’t sure. There’s an ele­ment of dan­ger and excite­ment. Lydon grabs audi­ence mem­bers and takes them onto the stage to dance. By the end of the first song the audi­ence has tak­en over the stage and then Dick Clark has to intro­duce the band. It doesn’t last long, and “Career­ing” begins.

The dan­ger of punk and post-punk that evening wasn’t in the per­for­mance of the band or of a volatile audi­ence. It was in the break­ing down of a tele­vi­sion show’s arti­fice and the sep­a­ra­tion of band and audi­ence. Check it out.

Some great pho­tos of the show can be viewed over at Flash­bak.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Nev­er Mind the Bol­locks, Here’s … John Lydon in a But­ter Com­mer­cial?

John­ny Rotten’s Cor­dial Let­ter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pis­tols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

John­ny Rot­ten Goes Before TV’s Judge Judy in 1997 … and Wins!

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Learn Calligraphy from Lloyd Reynolds, the Teacher of Steve Jobs’ Own Famously Inspiring Calligraphy Teacher

The sto­ry has, over time, solid­i­fied into one of the columns of Steve Jobs lore: in the ear­ly 1970s, the man who would found Apple left for Reed Col­lege. But before long, not want­i­ng to spend any more of his par­ents’ mon­ey on tuition (and per­haps not tem­pera­men­tal­ly com­pat­i­ble with the struc­ture of high­er edu­ca­tion any­way), he offi­cial­ly dropped out, couch-surfed through friends’ pads, lived on free meals ladled out by Hare Krish­nas, con­tin­ued to audit a vari­ety of class­es, and gen­er­al­ly lived the pro­to­type tech­no-neo-hip­pie lifestyle Sil­i­con Val­ley has con­tin­ued relent­less­ly to refine.

Per­haps the least like­ly of those class­es was one on cal­lig­ra­phy, taught by Trap­pist monk and cal­lig­ra­ph­er Robert Pal­ladi­no. More than thir­ty years lat­er, deliv­er­ing a now-famous Stan­ford com­mence­ment speech, Jobs recalled his time in the cal­lig­ra­phy class: “None of this had even a hope of any prac­ti­cal appli­ca­tion in my life. But 10 years lat­er, when we were design­ing the first Mac­in­tosh com­put­er, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first com­put­er with beau­ti­ful typog­ra­phy.”

And what of the cal­lig­ra­phy teacher who made that pos­si­ble? “Pal­ladi­no, who died in late Feb­ru­ary at 83, joined the Trap­pist order of monks in New Mex­i­co in 1950, accord­ing to a 2003 pro­file in Reed Mag­a­zine,” writes the Wash­ing­ton Post’s Niraj Chok­shi. “Just 17 at the time, his hand­writ­ing attract­ed the atten­tion of the monastery scribe, who worked with him on his art. Five years lat­er, Pal­ladi­no moved to Lafayette, Ore., where local artists brought news of a skilled ama­teur to Lloyd Reynolds, an icon in the field and the cre­ator of Reed’s cal­lig­ra­phy pro­gram.”

Now you, too, can receive instruc­tion from Reynolds, who in 1968 starred in a series on the Ore­gon Edu­ca­tion Tele­vi­sion Ser­vice’s pro­gram Men Who Teach, shoot­ing twen­ty half-hour broad­casts on ital­ic cal­lig­ra­phy and hand­writ­ing. Eight years lat­er — about the time Jobs co-found­ed Apple with Steve Woz­ni­ak — he re-shot the series in col­or, and you can watch that ver­sion almost in its entire­ty with the playlist at the top of the post. (Reed has also made some relat­ed instruc­tion­al mate­ri­als avail­able.) You may feel the temp­ta­tion to turn all of Reynolds’ lessons on the art of writ­ing toward your goal of becom­ing the next Steve Jobs. But try to resist that impulse and appre­ci­ate it for its own nature, which Jobs him­self described as “beau­ti­ful, his­tor­i­cal, artis­ti­cal­ly sub­tle in a way that sci­ence can’t cap­ture.”

We’ll add these vin­tage lessons to our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Steve Jobs on Life: “Stay Hun­gry, Stay Fool­ish”

Steve Jobs Nar­rates the First “Think Dif­fer­ent” Ad (Nev­er Aired)

Steve Jobs Mus­es on What’s Wrong with Amer­i­can Edu­ca­tion, 1995

The Art of Hand­writ­ing as Prac­ticed by Famous Artists: Geor­gia O’Keeffe, Jack­son Pol­lock, Mar­cel Duchamp, Willem de Koon­ing & More

Font Based on Sig­mund Freud’s Hand­writ­ing Com­ing Cour­tesy of Suc­cess­ful Kick­starter Cam­paign

One of World’s Old­est Books Print­ed in Mul­ti-Col­or Now Opened & Dig­i­tized for the First Time

Dis­cov­er What Shakespeare’s Hand­writ­ing Looked Like, and How It Solved a Mys­tery of Author­ship

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Sell & Spin: The History of Advertising, Narrated by Dick Cavett (1999)

“Accord­ing to a study pub­lished Mon­day by researchers at Duke University’s Cen­ter for Cog­ni­tive Neu­ro­science, humans expe­ri­ence the most intense feel­ings of hap­pi­ness when press­ing the ‘skip ad’ but­ton before watch­ing a video on the inter­net.” That comes from The Onion, whose satir­i­cal report­ing hits the mark as usu­al. If we know one thing about adver­tis­ing for sure, we know that we don’t like it — or at least we don’t like many of its cur­rent man­i­fes­ta­tions, so much so that we will­ing­ly engage in the arms race of down­load­ing spe­cial pro­grams to block them, which adver­tis­ers soon find a way to defeat, requir­ing us to find new eva­sive tac­tics, which forces adver­tis­es to cut anoth­er path to us, and so on.

How has it come to this? You can learn exact­ly how from Sell & Spin, the 1999 tele­vi­sion doc­u­men­tary above. “From ancient phras­es etched in stone to today’s cut­ting-edge mul­ti­me­dia com­mer­cials, sell­ing has always meant grab­bing atten­tion,” says its nar­ra­tor, the respect­ed talk-show host Dick Cavett. “The point? Mov­ing the prod­uct. The means? Tap­ping into desire — cre­at­ing need.” From the first known adver­tise­ment, a wine shop’s sign from ancient Baby­lon, to the eve of the high-tech 21st cen­tu­ry, Cavett and a host of adver­tis­ing experts tell the sto­ry of not just how adver­tis­ing became an indus­try in the first place, but how it became the huge, shape-shift­ing indus­try we regard today as both wild­ly cre­ative yet some­how sin­is­ter.

Even the most ad-loathing view­er will rec­og­nize many of the icon­ic exam­ples of this ultra-com­mer­cial art form of the thou­sands this doc­u­men­tary includes: Bur­ma-Shave road­signs, the smoke-blow­ing Camel cig­a­rettes bill­board in Times Square, the Volk­swa­gen Bee­tle tout­ing itself as a “lemon” on a whole mag­a­zine page, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”; mas­cots from Tony the Tiger to the Marl­boro Man (a sym­bol of free­dom, we hear, for post­war office work­ers shack­led to their desks) to the Taco Bell chi­huahua; and of course Coca-Cola’s “I’d like to teach the world to sing,” whose con­cep­tion the final episode of Mad Men fic­tion­al­ized by putting into the mind of its pro­tag­o­nist, 1960s Madi­son Avenue “cre­ative” Don Drap­er.

That acclaimed recent tele­vi­sion dra­ma both glam­or­ized and crit­i­cized the cul­ture of the 20th-cen­tu­ry adver­tis­ing indus­try, which may have oper­at­ed as cyn­i­cal­ly and oppor­tunis­ti­cal­ly as the busi­ness­es it worked for, but which nev­er­the­less craft­ed some of the most endur­ing words and images in our mod­ern cul­ture. But what of the “mad men” of today, charged with the thank­less (if often remu­ner­a­tive) task of com­ing up with those videos we get such a kick out of click­ing past? Sell & Spin shows us the very begin­ning of their work, tak­ing place on a now-quaint-look­ing cyber­space that had only just moved beyond Bur­ma Shave-sim­ple ban­ner ads.

“Nobody quite knows how to use it effec­tive­ly,” says Jay Chi­at of the inter­net toward the doc­u­men­tary’s end. As the co-founder of Los Ange­les’ for­mi­da­ble Chiat/Day adver­tis­ing indus­try, he knew the mechan­ics of the craft well indeed, more than thor­ough­ly enough to rec­og­nize both the medi­um’s poten­tial and the extent to which nobody had yet tapped it. How we all use the inter­net has changed dra­mat­i­cal­ly since Chi­at died in 2002, but his words still ring true. It’s still ear­ly days for inter­net adver­tis­ing, and its mad­dest men (and women) — the ones who ful­ly reject the old indus­try com­mand­ment to “irri­tate your way into peo­ples’ con­scious­ness — have yet to arrive on the scene.

Sell & Spin will be added to our list of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the First Com­mer­cial Ever Shown on Amer­i­can TV, 1941

Eisen­how­er Answers Amer­i­ca: The First Polit­i­cal Adver­tise­ments on Amer­i­can TV (1952)

Before Mad Men: Famil­iar and For­got­ten Ads from 1950s to 1980s Now Online

The Mad Men Read­ing List: 25 Reveal­ing Books Read by the Char­ac­ters on the Show

Dig­i­tal Archive of Vin­tage Tele­vi­sion Com­mer­cials

David Ogilvy’s 1982 Memo “How to Write” Offers 10 Pieces of Time­less Advice

A Gallery of Mad Magazine’s Rol­lick­ing Fake Adver­tise­ments from the 1960s

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch the First Episode of Vinyl: Mick Jagger & Martin Scorsese’s Series on the 1970s Music Scene

A quick note: HBO recent­ly pre­miered Vinyl, which takes a Good­fel­las-style look at the seedy 1970s rock music and record-mak­ing scene. Here’s a quick snap­shot of what the show’s all about:

Cre­at­ed by Mick Jag­ger & Mar­tin Scors­ese & Rich Cohen and Ter­ence Win­ter, this new dra­ma series is set in 1970s New York. A ride through the sex- and drug-addled music busi­ness at the dawn of punk, dis­co, and hip-hop, the show is seen through the eyes of a record label pres­i­dent, Richie Fines­tra, played by Bob­by Can­navale, who is try­ing to save his com­pa­ny and his soul with­out destroy­ing every­one in his path. Addi­tion­al series reg­u­lars include Olivia Wilde, Ray Romano, Ato Essan­doh, Max Casel­la, P.J. Byrne, J.C. MacKen­zie, Bir­gitte Hjort Sørensen, Juno Tem­ple, Jack Quaid, James Jag­ger and Paul Ben-Vic­tor. Scors­ese, Jag­ger and Win­ter exec­u­tive pro­duce along with Vic­to­ria Pear­man, Rick Yorn, Emma Till­inger Koskoff, John Melfi, Allen Coul­ter and George Mas­tras. Win­ter serves as showrun­ner. The 10-episode first sea­son debuts Feb­ru­ary 14th.

The first pilot episode–directly by Scors­ese himself–is cur­rent­ly stream­ing free on HBO’s web­site. It runs two good hours. And if you want to watch the remain­ing episodes on the cheap, you can start a month­long free tri­al of HBO NOW. Just look for the “Start Your Free Month” but­ton at the top of HBO’s site.

Note: The video up top is only a trail­er for Episode 1. To watch the com­plete episode, click here.

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Watch Bob Ross’ The Joy of Painting: Now Free on YouTube

Last year, we let you know that the first sea­son of The Joy of Paint­ing, the pub­lic-tele­vi­sion paint-along show host­ed by the neat­ly permed and per­sis­tent­ly reas­sur­ing Bob Ross, had appeared free to watch online.

Pro­duced by WNVC in Falls Church, Vir­ginia, that sea­son aired in 1983, and had some rough edges — the audi­ble move­ments and mur­murs of the crew in the back­ground, the nat­u­ral­ly impro­vi­sa­tion­al Ross’ occa­sion­al stum­ble over one of his script­ed lines — that would get thor­ough­ly smoothed away as the pro­gram rapid­ly became an inter­na­tion­al TV insti­tu­tion, a process you can wit­ness again for your­self now that Bob Ross’ Youtube chan­nel has made avail­able all 31 sea­sons free online.

Sea­son Two

“Bob Ross died in 1995 at 52 after a bat­tle with lym­phoma,” writes the New York Times’ Fos­ter Kamer, “but his cul­tur­al lega­cy has grown in his absence. He was around to wit­ness the begin­nings of his own cult sta­tus. In the ear­ly ’90s, he was big in Japan. And MTV, cater­ing to the Gen X pen­chant for irony, ran a series of pro­mo­tion­al adver­tise­ments that fea­tured him.”

Gen Xers across Amer­i­ca would sure­ly all have caught glimpses of Ross — and more impor­tant­ly, heard a few of his mes­mer­iz­ing­ly deliv­ered words — dur­ing late-night or mid­day chan­nel-surf­ing ses­sions, but now, thanks to the increas­ing avail­abil­i­ty of The Joy of Paint­ing’s archives on-demand and online, it’s made new fans even of those born after Ross had already depart­ed.

Sea­son Three

The show always made it easy for its view­ers to paint as they watched, with Ross always tak­ing the time to run down the short list of required tools, mak­ing tire­less­ly sure to empha­size that under no cir­cum­stances should they buy nylon brush­es or clean those brush­es with tur­pen­tine. As the pro­duc­tion val­ues increased, so did the num­ber of col­ors on the palette, though they nev­er expand­ed too far beyond the core set, which The Joy of Paint­ing die-hards can rat­tle off like a mantra, of Bright Red, Phtha­lo Blue, Mid­night Black, Alizarin Crim­son, Cad­mi­um Yel­low, Van Dyke Brown, Tita­ni­um White, Sap Green — and, as Ross him­self might say, the “almighty” can­vas-cov­er­ing Mag­ic White, the foun­da­tion of the “wet-on-wet” tech­nique he learned from men­tor, and lat­er bit­ter rival, Bill Alexan­der.

Sea­son Four

The New York Times arti­cle quotes Annette Kowal­s­ki, a one­time stu­dent of Ross who now helps run the Bob Ross, Inc. empire, on the host’s endur­ing appeal as a teacher: “If you lis­ten close­ly to Bob’s pro­grams, he nev­er says ‘I’m going to teach you this. He nev­er assumes that he knows more than you do. He says: ‘We’ll learn this togeth­er.’ And I think — even though peo­ple don’t real­ize it — I think that’s what his big turn-on is.” But it almost goes with­out say­ing that not every­one fas­ci­nat­ed by the show, and maybe not even most peo­ple fas­ci­nat­ed by the show, actu­al­ly have any desire to paint them­selves.

Sea­son Five

So why do they still tune in, on what­ev­er plat­form they might tune in on, and in such large num­bers? The key must have some­thing to do with Ross’ oft-repeat­ed reminders to his view­ers that, when it comes to the land­scapes on their own can­vas­es, “this is your world, your cre­ation,” and in your world, “there are no set, firm rules — you find what works for you, and that’s what you do.” On The Joy of Paint­ing, Ross cre­at­ed a world, or per­haps a real­i­ty, of his own, one where “any­body can paint; all you need is a dream in your heart and a lit­tle prac­tice,” where “there are no mis­takes, just hap­py acci­dents” (plen­ti­ful­ly inhab­it­ed, of course, by “hap­py lit­tle trees”), and one which many found they enjoyed liv­ing in, brush in hand or not, even if only for 26 min­utes at a time.

Sea­son Six

We will con­tin­u­ing adding sea­sons to this list as they become avail­able.

Sea­son Sev­en

Sea­son Eight

Sea­son Nine

Sea­son Ten

Sea­son 11

Sea­son 12

Sea­son 13

Sea­son 14

Sea­son 15

Sea­son 16

Sea­son 17

Sea­son 18

Sea­son 19

Sea­son 20

Sea­son 21

Sea­son 22

Sea­son 23

Sea­son 24

Sea­son 25

Sea­son 26

Sea­son 27

Sea­son 28

Sea­son 29

Sea­son 30

Sea­son 31

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Ross’ The Joy of Paint­ing Is Now Free Online: Watch Sea­son 1

Icon­ic Artists at Work: Watch Rare Videos of Picas­so, Matisse, Kandin­sky, Renoir, Mon­et and More

Watch Picas­so Cre­ate Entire Paint­ings in Mag­nif­i­cent Time-Lapse Film (1956)

Picas­so Paint­ing on Glass

Jack­son Pol­lock 51: Short Film Cap­tures the Painter Cre­at­ing Abstract Expres­sion­ist Art

Aston­ish­ing Film of Arthrit­ic Impres­sion­ist Painter, Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1915)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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