Who Created the Famous Shower Scene in Psycho? Alfred Hitchcock or the Legendary Designer Saul Bass?

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Who killed Mar­i­on Crane? If you’ve watched Psy­cho, the best-known film by British mas­ter of cin­e­mat­ic sus­pense Alfred Hitch­cock, you have the answer. And giv­en that the pic­ture came out in 1960, even if you haven’t seen it, you prob­a­bly know the answer any­way. But today’s Hitch­cock-lov­ing cinéastes and enthu­si­asts of design have anoth­er impor­tant ques­tion to con­sid­er: who direct­ed Mar­i­on Crane get­ting killed? We pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured some­thing of a mas­ter class in edit­ing from Hitch­cock him­self in which he explains the mechan­ics of cut­ting togeth­er the “show­er scene” of the unsus­pect­ing sec­re­tary’s death. But that part of the process obvi­ous­ly began with all its com­po­nents — Janet Leigh, the raised knife, the cur­tain pulled off of its rings, the choco­late syrup cir­cling the drain — already cap­tured on cel­lu­loid. To know the ori­gins of this most famous sequence in Hitch­cock­’s oeu­vre, and one of the most famous sequences in 20th cen­tu­ry cin­e­ma, you have to begin with its sto­ry­boards, straight from the hand of graph­ic-design leg­end Saul Bass, who also put togeth­er the film’s title sequence.

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“After Hitch­cock­’s death, Bass assert­ed that he had direct­ed the scene at Hitch­cock­’s invi­ta­tion — a claim defin­i­tive­ly con­tra­dict­ed by both Janet Leigh and Assis­tant Direc­tor Hilton Green,” writes Catholic Uni­ver­si­ty of Amer­i­ca Eng­lish pro­fes­sor Glen John­son on the com­pan­ion page to his Hitch­cock course. “Bass’s par­ti­sans have sub­se­quent­ly held that Hitch­cock mere­ly mechan­i­cal­ly filmed shots already laid out by Bass. Com­par­ing the sto­ry­boards to the filmed scene shows that to be untrue. On the oth­er hand, the most cru­cial ele­ments of the scene, such as the drain-eye match­cut and the track­ing shot that fol­lows it, are in the sto­ry­boards. That proves noth­ing about the author of the scene, how­ev­er, since Bass drew the sto­ry­boards after exten­sive dis­cus­sions with Hitch­cock about the design of the scene.” Though it appears that no sin­gle cre­ator “made” the show­er scene — or made any giv­en ele­ment of most motion pic­tures — its place in the endur­ing lega­cy of mid-20th-cen­tu­ry cul­ture goes undis­put­ed. Below, you can watch this so often quot­ed, imi­tat­ed, and par­o­died sequence play out in anoth­er form, com­bin­ing sto­ry­boards, clips, and mak­ing-of drama­ti­za­tion, in last year’s fea­ture film Hitch­cock:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alfred Hitchcock’s Sev­en-Minute Edit­ing Mas­ter Class

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rules for Watch­ing Psy­cho (1960)

Hitch­cock (Antho­ny Hop­kins) Pitch­es Janet Leigh (Scar­lett Johans­son) on the Famous Show­er Scene

A Brief Visu­al Intro­duc­tion to Saul Bass’ Cel­e­brat­ed Title Designs

21 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

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

Jack Kerouac Lists 9 Essentials for Writing Spontaneous Prose

Image by  Tom Palum­bo, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Jack Ker­ouac wants you to turn writ­ing into “free devi­a­tion (asso­ci­a­tion) of mind into lim­it­less blow-on-sub­ject seas of thought, swim­ming in sea of Eng­lish with no dis­ci­pline, oth­er than rhythms of rhetor­i­cal exha­la­tion and expos­tu­lat­ed state­ment….” Think you can do that? Find out by fol­low­ing Kerouac’s “Essen­tials of Spon­ta­neous Prose.” He pub­lished this doc­u­ment in Black Moun­tain Review in 1957 and wrote it in response to a request from Allen Gins­berg and William S. Bur­roughs that he explain his method for writ­ing The Sub­ter­raneans in three days time.

And for a the­o­ry of Kerouac’s not quite the­o­ry, vis­it the site of Maris­sa M. Juarez, pro­fes­sor of Rhetoric, Com­po­si­tion, and the Teach­ing of Eng­lish at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ari­zona. Juarez rais­es some salient points about why Kerouac’s “Essen­tials” bemuse the Eng­lish teacher: His method “dis­cour­ages revi­sion… chas­tis­es gram­mat­i­cal cor­rect­ness, and encour­ages writer­ly flex­i­bil­i­ty.” Read Kerouac’s full “Essen­tials of Spon­ta­neous Prose” here or below. [Note: If you see what looks like typos, they are not errors. They are part of Ker­ouac’s orig­i­nal, spon­ta­neous text.]

SET-UP: The object is set before the mind, either in real­i­ty. as in sketch­ing (before a land­scape or teacup or old face) or is set in the mem­o­ry where­in it becomes the sketch­ing from mem­o­ry of a def­i­nite image-object.

PROCEDURE: Time being of the essence in the puri­ty of speech, sketch­ing lan­guage is undis­turbed flow from the mind of per­son­al secret idea-words, blow­ing (as per jazz musi­cian) on sub­ject of image.

METHOD: No peri­ods sep­a­rat­ing sen­tence-struc­tures already arbi­trar­i­ly rid­dled by false colons and timid usu­al­ly need­less com­mas-but the vig­or­ous space dash sep­a­rat­ing rhetor­i­cal breath­ing (as jazz musi­cian draw­ing breath between out­blown phras­es)– “mea­sured paus­es which are the essen­tials of
our speech”– “divi­sions of the sounds we hear”- “time and how to note it down.” (William Car­los Williams)

SCOPING: Not “selec­tiv­i­ty” of expres­sion but fol­low­ing free devi­a­tion (asso­ci­a­tion) of mind into lim­it­less blow-on-sub­ject seas of thought,
swim­ming in sea of Eng­lish with no dis­ci­pline oth­er than rhythms of rhetor­i­cal exha­la­tion and expos­tu­lat­ed state­ment, like a fist com­ing down on a table with each com­plete utter­ance, bang! (the space dash)- Blow as deep as you want-write as deeply, fish as far down as you want, sat­is­fy your­self first, then read­er can­not fail to receive tele­path­ic shock and mean­ing-excite­ment by same laws oper­at­ing in his own human mind.

LAG IN PROCEDURE: No pause to think of prop­er word but the infan­tile pile­up of scat­o­log­i­cal buildup words till sat­is­fac­tion is gained, which will turn out to be a great append­ing rhythm to a thought and be in accor­dance with Great Law of tim­ing.

TIMING: Noth­ing is mud­dy that runs in time and to laws of time-Shake­spear­i­an stress of dra­mat­ic need to speak now in own unal­ter­able way or for­ev­er hold tongue-no revi­sions (except obvi­ous ratio­nal mis­takes, such as names or cal­cu­lat­ed inser­tions in act of not writ­ing but insert­ing).

CENTER OF INTEREST: Begin not from pre­con­ceived idea of what to say about image but from jew­el cen­ter of inter­est in sub­ject of image at moment of writ­ing, and write out­wards swim­ming in sea of lan­guage to periph­er­al release and exhaus­tion-Do not after­think except for poet­ic or P. S. rea­sons. Nev­er after­think to “improve” or defray impres­sions, as, the best writ­ing is always the most painful per­son­al wrung-out tossed from cra­dle warm pro­tec­tive mind-tap from your­self the song of your­self, blow!-now!-your way is your only way- “good”-or “bad”-always hon­est (“ludi- crous”), spon­ta­neous, “con­fes­sion­als’ inter­est­ing, because not “craft­ed.” Craft is craft.

STRUCTURE OF WORK: Mod­ern bizarre struc­tures (sci­ence fic­tion, etc.) arise from lan­guage being dead, “dif­fer­ent” themes give illu­sion of “new” life. Fol­low rough­ly out­lines in out­fan­ning move­ment over sub­ject, as riv­er rock, so mind­flow over jew­el-cen­ter need (run your mind over it, once) arriv­ing at piv­ot, where what was dim-formed “begin­ning” becomes sharp-neces­si­tat­ing “end­ing” and lan­guage short­ens in race to wire of time-race of work, fol­low­ing laws of Deep Form, to con­clu­sion, last words, last trick­le-Night is The End.

MENTAL STATE: If pos­si­ble write “with­out con­scious­ness” in semi-trance (as Yeats’ lat­er “trance writ­ing”) allow­ing sub­con­scious to admit in own unin­hib­it­ed inter­est­ing nec­es­sary and so “mod­ern” lan­guage what con­scious art would cen­sor, and write excit­ed­ly, swift­ly, with writ­ing-or-typ­ingcramps, in accor­dance (as from cen­ter to periph­ery) with laws of orgasm, Reich’s “becloud­ing of con­scious­ness.” Come from with­in, out-to relaxed and said.

Oh, and for authenticity’s sake, you should try Kerouac’s “Essen­tials” on a type­writer. It’s all he had when he wrote The Sub­ter­raneans. No gram­mar robots to dis­tract him.

via Al Fil­ries

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jack Kerouac’s 30 Beliefs and Tech­niques For Writ­ing Mod­ern Prose

Cor­mac McCarthy’s Three Punc­tu­a­tion Rules, and How They All Go Back to James Joyce

William S. Bur­roughs’ Short Class on Cre­ative Read­ing

“Expan­sive Poet­ics” by Allen Gins­berg: A Free Course from 1981

Allen Ginsberg’s “Celes­tial Home­work”: A Read­ing List for His Class “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats”

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

Žižek Blames the US Government Shutdown on Ayn Rand’s Acolytes Who Caused the 2008 Collapse

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Images via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The gov­ern­ment shut­down and the rais­ing of the debt ceil­ing — such things are not usu­al­ly grist for our cul­tur­al mill. But all of that changes when a cul­tur­al the­o­rist pins the blame for Wash­ing­ton’s dys­func­tion on the acolytes of a pseu­do-philoso­pher. Writ­ing in The Guardian last Fri­day, in sim­ple, straight­for­ward prose, Slove­ni­a’s favorite the­o­rist Slavoj Žižek asks and answers a ques­tion in the title of his op-ed: “Who is respon­si­ble for the US shut­down? The same idiots respon­si­ble for the 2008 melt­down”. And who are those “idiots,” you might won­der? Let me spare you the sus­pense and jump you down to the last two para­graphs of his piece:

One of the weird con­se­quences of the 2008 finan­cial melt­down and the mea­sures tak­en to coun­ter­act it (enor­mous sums of mon­ey to help banks) was the revival of the work of Ayn Rand, the clos­est one can get to an ide­ol­o­gist of the “greed is good” rad­i­cal cap­i­tal­ism. The sales of her opus Atlas Shrugged explod­ed. Accord­ing to some reports, there are already signs that the sce­nario described in Atlas Shrugged – the cre­ative cap­i­tal­ists them­selves going on strike – is com­ing to pass in the form of a pop­ulist right. How­ev­er, this mis­reads the sit­u­a­tion: what is effec­tive­ly tak­ing place today is almost the exact oppo­site. Most of the bailout mon­ey is going pre­cise­ly to the Ran­di­an “titans”, the bankers who failed in their “cre­ative” schemes and there­by brought about the finan­cial melt­down. It is not the “cre­ative genius­es” who are now help­ing ordi­nary peo­ple, it is the ordi­nary peo­ple who are help­ing the failed “cre­ative genius­es”.

John Galt, the cen­tral char­ac­ter in Atlas Shrugged, is not named until near the end of the nov­el. Before his iden­ti­ty is revealed, the ques­tion is repeat­ed­ly asked, “Who is John Galt”. Now we know pre­cise­ly who he is: John Galt is the idiot respon­si­ble for the 2008 finan­cial melt­down, and for the ongo­ing fed­er­al gov­ern­ment shut­down in the US.

We’re not say­ing it’s the most tren­chant analy­sis, but we do like to take note of intel­lec­tu­al dus­tups. Speak­ing of, did you miss the Chom­sky-Žižek spat from the sum­mer? It went four rounds. Round 1. Round 2. Round 3. Round 4. And end­ed in a draw.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ayn Rand Adamant­ly Defends Her Athe­ism on The Phil Don­ahue Show (Cir­ca 1979)

William F. Buck­ley Flogged Him­self to Get Through Atlas Shrugged

Mike Wal­lace Inter­views Ayn Rand (1959)

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The Fundamentals of Jazz & Rock Drumming Explained in Five Creative Minutes

Two weeks ago we post­ed CDZA­’s “Jour­ney of the Gui­tar Solo,” an enter­tain­ing tour of 50 years of rock and roll gui­tar play­ing. Now we’re back with the group’s fol­low-up, a fast and fun intro­duc­tion to drums. New York-based drum­mer Allan Med­nard takes us on a quick tour of the instru­ment, demon­strat­ing the basic dif­fer­ences between jazz and rock drum­ming and show­ing how they have evolved over time. CDZA, short for Col­lec­tive Caden­za, is an exper­i­men­tal music video project of a group of high­ly skilled musi­cians in New York. For more exam­ples of their work, vis­it the CDZA Web site.

Relat­ed con­tent:

John Bon­ham’s Iso­lat­ed Drum Track For Led Zep­pelin’s ‘Fool in the Rain’

Kei­th Moon, Drum­mer of The Who, Pass­es Out at 1973 Con­cert; 19-Year-Old Fan Takes Over

The Evo­lu­tion of the Rock Gui­tar Solo: 28 Solos, Span­ning 50 Years, Played in 6 Fun Min­utes

The Hunger Strikes at Guantánamo Bay Prison Revealed in Poignant Animated Video

In late Sep­tem­ber, the US mil­i­tary declared the hunger strikes at Guan­tá­namo Bay over. “At its peak,” writes Char­lie Sav­age in The New York Times, “106 of the 166 pris­on­ers … were list­ed as par­tic­i­pants” in the strike. That num­ber has now dropped to 19, they say, and they’re all being giv­en “the appro­pri­ate lev­el of care.” What exact­ly does that mean? You can get an idea from this ani­mat­ed video cre­at­ed by The Guardian. In 6 min­utes, you’ll get intro­duced to the world of peo­ple who have spent years in prison. They’ve nev­er been charged with a crime nor giv­en access to the legal sys­tem. Despite being cleared for release, many remain stuck in lim­bo year after year. When they lose hope and go on hunger strike, they have tubes and food crammed down their noses. Poignant as it may be, the col­or­ful ani­ma­tion may dull your reac­tion to what’s actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing in Guan­tá­namo. Per­haps it’s bet­ter to look at these col­or pho­tos to ful­ly appre­ci­ate the Kafkaesque sys­tem the gov­ern­ment has put in place.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Odd Col­lec­tion of Books in the Guan­tanamo Prison Library

The Lost/Animated Inter­view with Fidel Cas­tro: If the Rev­o­lu­tion Fails, Cuba Will be “Hell Itself” (1959)

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David Lynch Presents the History of Surrealist Film (1987)

What liv­ing direc­tor has drawn the descrip­tor “sur­re­al” more often than David Lynch? If you’ve seen, or rather expe­ri­enced, a few of his films — par­tic­u­lar­ly Eraser­head, Lost High­way, Mul­hol­land Dr., or Inland Empire, or even the first half of his tele­vi­sion series Twin Peaks — you know he’s earned it. Like any sur­re­al­ist worth his salt, Lynch cre­ates his own ver­sion of real­i­ty, with its own set of often unfath­omable and inex­plic­a­bly but emo­tion­al­ly and psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly res­o­nant qual­i­ties. In 1987, the year after his break­through Blue Vel­vet opened in the­aters, the BBC appar­ent­ly thought him enough of an author­i­ty on the mat­ter of cin­e­mat­ic sur­re­al­ism to enlist him to present an episode of Are­na on the sub­ject.

And so we’ve high­light­ed, just above in two parts, the fruit of their col­lab­o­ra­tion, with apolo­gies for the straight-from-the-VHS qual­i­ty of the video. (I just think of the slight mud­dled­ness as adding anoth­er wel­come lay­er of unre­al­i­ty to the pro­ceed­ings.)

Lynch’s duties on the broad­cast include pro­vid­ing facts about the films and film­mak­ers excerpt­ed through­out to tell the his­to­ry of sur­re­al­ist film. (He also pro­vides sev­er­al choice opin­ions, as when he calls Philadel­phia “one of the sick­est, most cor­rupt, deca­dent, fear-rid­den cities that exists.”) We see bits and pieces of pic­tures like Luis Buñuel and Sal­vador Dali’s 1929 Un Chien Andalou (above), Jean Cocteau’s 1932 Blood of a Poet, Fer­nand Léger’s 1947 The Girl with the Pre­fab­ri­cat­ed Heart, and Chris Marker’s 1962 La Jetée. Not only does Lynch con­tex­tu­al­ize them, he dis­cuss­es their influ­ence on his own work. Casu­al film­go­ers who’ve caught a Lynch movie or two and tak­en them as the imag­in­ings of an enter­tain­ing weirdo will, after watch­ing this episode, come to under­stand how long a tra­di­tion they fit into — and they’ll no doubt want to see not just more of Lynch’s work, but his sources of inspi­ra­tion as well. (They may, how­ev­er, after hear­ing all he has to say here, still regard him as a weirdo.)

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:

Watch Dreams That Mon­ey Can Buy, a Sur­re­al­ist Film by Man Ray, Mar­cel Duchamp, Alexan­der Calder, Fer­nand Léger & Hans Richter

Un Chien Andalou: Revis­it­ing Buñuel and Dalí’s Sur­re­al­ist Film

The Hearts of Age: Orson Welles’ Sur­re­al­ist First Film (1934)

The Seashell and the Cler­gy­man: The World’s First Sur­re­al­ist Film

Man Ray and the Ciné­ma Pur: Four Sur­re­al­ist Films From the 1920s

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

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

Watch Antoni Gaudí’s Unfinished Masterpiece, the Sagrada Família, Get Finally Completed in 60 Seconds

In 1883, Antoni Gaudí, the great Cata­lan archi­tect, began work­ing on his mag­num opus, the Sagra­da Família, the church that has become one of the most pop­u­lar tourist attrac­tions in Barcelona. Before his death in 1925, Gaudí man­aged to com­plete the crypt, apse and part of the Nativ­i­ty facade. Work on the basil­i­ca slowed dur­ing the 1930s and 40s, espe­cial­ly dur­ing the Span­ish Civ­il War, but picked up again in the 1950s. A series of archi­tects car­ried on Gaudí’s work, com­plet­ing new tow­ers and facades. In 2000, the cen­tral nave vault­ing was com­plet­ed, and, since then, mod­ern tech­nol­o­gy has put archi­tects on track to com­plete the church decades ahead of sched­ule. The new tar­get date is 2026 — the cen­te­nary of Gaudí’s death. Thanks to a com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed video released by the Sagra­da Famil­ia Foun­da­tion, you can see what the basil­i­ca, almost 150 years in the mak­ing, will look like when it’s all done. You can also take a vir­tu­al tour of the inte­ri­or of the UNESCO land­mark here.

via Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of West­ern Archi­tec­ture: From Ancient Greece to Roco­co (A Free Online Course)

Take a 3D Vir­tu­al Tour of the Sis­tine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basil­i­ca and Oth­er Art-Adorned Vat­i­can Spaces

Sal­vador Dalí’s 100 Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s The Divine Com­e­dy

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Joseph Stalin, a Lifelong Editor, Wielded a Big, Blue, Dangerous Pencil

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It seems only nat­ur­al that Joseph Stal­in, who presided over per­haps the most stag­ger­ing­ly vast era­sure of human beings, their prop­er­ty, their doc­u­ments and his­to­ries, should have also been a metic­u­lous edi­tor. Whether we know it or not, the invis­i­ble hand of an edi­tor intrudes between us and near­ly every­thing we read (even if it’s the writer as edi­tor), mak­ing eso­teric deci­sions, cre­at­ing alter­nate out­comes and delet­ing the past. In Stalin’s day, and still in many edi­to­r­i­al depart­ments today, the edi­tor wield­ed a col­ored pen­cil instead of a key­board, and hov­ered over man­u­scripts, not­ing adden­da, cor­rect­ing minu­tia, slash­ing through sen­tences, and scrib­bling inde­ci­pher­able com­ments in the mar­gins. Stalin’s pen­cil was blue, a col­or that was not vis­i­ble when pho­tographed.

This col­or becomes a metaphor for Stalin’s invis­i­bil­i­ty in a fas­ci­nat­ing arti­cle on Stal­in as edi­tor by Hol­ly Case, asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of his­to­ry at Cor­nell Uni­ver­si­ty. Before Stal­in was Stal­in, he was Joseph Dju­gashvili, rev­o­lu­tion­ary bol­she­vik and sem­i­nary dropout, “a ruth­less per­son, and a seri­ous edi­tor.” Stal­in reject­ed 47 of Lenin’s arti­cles to Prav­da (and sup­pressed Lenin’s warn­ings about his pro­tégée after the for­mer’s death). And once he assumed pow­er as head of the Sovi­et state in the mid-twen­ties, Stal­in con­tin­ued in this capac­i­ty, heav­i­ly rewrit­ing doc­u­ments and man­u­scripts, and scrawl­ing notes and revi­sions over  hun­dreds of offi­cial par­ty doc­u­ments. “For Stal­in,” Case writes, “edit­ing was a pas­sion that extend­ed well beyond the realm of pub­lished texts.” She com­ments on the para­dox of the dictator’s inescapable pub­lic pres­ence and his intru­sive, yet invis­i­ble, edi­to­r­i­al ten­den­cies:

Stal­in always seemed to have a blue pen­cil on hand, and many of the ways he used it stand in direct con­trast to com­mon assump­tions about his per­son and thoughts. He edit­ed ide­ol­o­gy out or played it down, cut ref­er­ences to him­self and his achieve­ments, and even exhib­it­ed flex­i­bil­i­ty of mind, revers­ing some of his own pri­or edits.

So while Stal­in’s voice rang in every ear, his por­trait hung in every office and fac­to­ry, and bobbed in every chore­o­graphed parade, the Stal­in behind the blue pen­cil remained invis­i­ble. What’s more, he allowed very few details of his pri­vate life to become pub­lic knowl­edge, lead­ing the Stal­in biog­ra­ph­er Robert Ser­vice to com­ment on the remark­able “aus­ter­i­ty” of the “Stal­in cult.”

We should not mis­take Stalin’s “self-efface­ment,” Case writes, for mod­esty. She quotes the enig­mat­ic street artist Banksy to make the point: “invis­i­bil­i­ty is a super­pow­er.” Stal­in applied the pow­er of his pen­cil to thou­sands of offi­cial doc­u­ments and pieces of pro­pa­gan­da, even com­plete­ly rewrit­ing the 1938 Sovi­et bible, The Short Course on the His­to­ry of the All-Union Com­mu­nist Par­ty (Bol­she­viks). Com­mis­sioned for a team of authors in 12 chap­ters, Stal­in found it nec­es­sary to “fun­da­men­tal­ly revise 11 of them” (see the first edi­tion title page above).

stalinkillList

Stalin’s blue pen­cil also inter­vened in more direct, and chill­ing ways. The doc­u­ment at left shows a list of peo­ple held by the NKVD, fore­run­ners to the KGB. The blue hand­writ­ing scrawled over the list is Stalin’s. It reads “Exe­cute every­one.”

We have anoth­er exe­cu­tion order below, this time in the form of a 1940 let­ter writ­ten by Stalin’s secret police chief Beria and rec­om­mend­ing “exe­cu­tion by shoot­ing” for around 20,000 pris­on­ers, most of them Pol­ish offi­cers, at a camp in Katyn, a mas­sacre the Sovi­ets blamed on the Nazis. Beria’s let­ter (below) bears the sig­na­tures, in blue pen­cil, of Stal­in and sev­er­al Polit­buro mem­bers.

stalin_letter466

In addi­tion to heav­i­ly edit­ing pro­pa­gan­da and sign­ing mass death war­rants, Stal­in used his pen­cil to deface draw­ings by 19th cen­tu­ry Russ­ian painters, scrawl­ing “crude and omi­nous cap­tions” beneath them in red or blue. He left his mark on 19 pic­tures, all of them nudes, most of them male. He slashed through their tor­sos and oth­er body parts with the pen­cil (below) and wrote on one of the draw­ings, “Radek, you gin­ger bas­tard, if you hadn’t pissed into the wind, if you hadn’t been so bad, you’d still be alive.” Karl Radeck was a rev­o­lu­tion­ary activist in the 20s that his­to­ri­ans believe Stal­in had killed in 1939. His­to­ri­an Niki­ta Petrov—who believes Stal­in defaced the draw­ings between 1939 and 1946—says of them: “These cap­tions show Stal­in was­n’t just mali­cious and prim­i­tive, but that he was also very dan­ger­ous.” It is indeed deeply unset­tling for an edi­tor to see Stalin’s ruth­less hand move freely from the vio­lence of his slash-and-burn tex­tu­al changes to that of his mass exe­cu­tion orders and crude, “loutish” debase­ment of human forms.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

His­to­ry Declas­si­fied: New Archive Reveals Once-Secret Doc­u­ments from World Gov­ern­ments

Leon Trot­sky: Love, Death and Exile in Mex­i­co

Learn Russ­ian from our List of Free Lan­guage Lessons

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

Rocky’s Famous Trip up the Art Museum Steps Spoofed by the Pranksters of Improv Everywhere

I believe some movies are so clas­sic, they should be con­sid­ered untouch­able, an opin­ion I wish more Broad­way pro­duc­ers shared.

Brace your­self. Rocky, Sylvester Stal­lone’s heart­warm­ing tale about a small-pota­toes box­er in 1970s Philadel­phia, has been turned into a musi­cal.

No! Why!? Adri­an!!!

It’s like­ly not as bad as I fear. Stal­lone him­self is co-pro­duc­ing, young direc­tor Alex Tim­bers is deserved­ly hot, and lyri­cist Lynn Ahrens is respon­si­ble, in large degree, for School­house Rock.

All the same, prank col­lec­tive Improv Every­where’s take on one of Rock­y’s most icon­ic scenes falls more square­ly with­in my com­fort zone. The first install­ment in the group’s week­ly Movies in Real Life series, this Rocky fea­tures looka­like come­di­an Dan Black run­ning through the streets of Philly, a crowd of kids tail­ing him on the final leg. (“So, uh, you have par­ents?” he gasps, atop the art muse­um steps.)

As with the annu­al No-Pants Sub­way Ride and many oth­er Improv Every­where stunts, a great deal of fun comes from the reac­tions of unsus­pect­ing passers­by. Some of my favorites are view­able in the prank’s Mis­sion Report, a fol­low up with less need to stick to the script. Still in char­ac­ter, Black demands roy­al­ty checks from street ven­dors sell­ing Rocky t‑shirts and screws with tourists pos­ing in front of the famed Rocky stat­ue. Small won­der Improv Every­where’s mot­to is “we cause scenes.”

For those in need of refresh­ment, here is the orig­i­nal:

The most recent Movies in Real Life fea­tures a boul­der chas­ing Indi­ana Jones through Cen­tral Park to the Muse­um of Nat­ur­al His­to­ry. Tune in to the col­lec­tive’s Youtube chan­nel every Tues­day this fall for anoth­er fresh but faith­ful take on a famil­iar film.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

What Hap­pens When Every­day Peo­ple Get a Chance to Con­duct a World-Class Orches­tra

The Do’s and Don’ts of Improv Com­e­dy with Liam Nee­son, Ricky Ger­vais, Tina Fey, and Del Close

Whose Line Is It Any­way? The Com­plete Improv Series Now Free Online

Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s most recent book is the graph­ic nov­el, Peanut . Fol­low her@AyunHalliday

Free Online: 10 of the Greatest Silent Films of All Time

Silent films had a respectable show­ing, as it were, on Sight & Sound mag­a­zine’s last big crit­ics poll. The votes, cast to deter­mine the great­est motion pic­tures of all time, placed three silents among the top ten over­all: F.W. Mur­nau’s Sun­rise, Dzi­ga Ver­tov’s Man with a Movie Cam­era, and Carl Theodor Drey­er’s The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc. These, of course, also rank at the top of Sight & Sound’s sep­a­rate list of the ten great­est silent films of all time, which came out as fol­lows:

  1. Sun­rise (F.W. Mur­nau, 1927)
  2. Man with a Movie Cam­era (Dzi­ga Ver­tov, 1929)
  3. The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc (Carl Theodor Drey­er, 1928)
  4. Bat­tle­ship Potemkin (Sergei Eisen­stein, 1925)
  5. The Gen­er­al (Buster Keaton, 1926)
  6. Metrop­o­lis (Fritz Lang, 1927)
  7. City Lights (Char­lie Chap­lin, 1931)
  8. Sher­lock Jr. (Buster Keaton, 1924)
  9. Greed (Erich von Stro­heim, 1923)
  10. Un chien andalou (Luis Buñuel, 1928) and Intol­er­ance (D.W. Grif­fith, 1916)

Though all of these pic­tures came out with­in the seem­ing­ly short 15-year span between 1916 and 1921, they rep­re­sent a wide cin­e­mat­ic diver­si­ty: in form, in theme, in genre, in place of ori­gin (of both the films and the film­mak­ers), in sen­si­bil­i­ty, in aes­thet­ics. You prob­a­bly rec­og­nize all of their names, espe­cial­ly if you’ve tak­en a film stud­ies course, and you may think of them all as famil­iar, but how many have you watched? Even we avowed cinephiles have a way of trick­ing our­selves into believ­ing we’ve seen all the most impor­tant movies in their entire­ty, when in real­i­ty we know only about, albeit some­times a lot about, their place in the his­to­ry of cin­e­ma and their cur­rents of influ­ence that flow into films made today.

But thanks to the inter­net, we can catch up with ease. Giv­en the age of works from the silent era, most of them have passed into the pub­lic domain. You can there­fore watch almost all of the top ten great­est silent films of all time, as select­ed by the 2012 Sight & Sound crit­ics poll, for free, online, right now. Some you can even watch right here, with­out leav­ing Open Cul­ture: at the top of the post, you’ll find Sun­rise. Just above, we’ve fea­tured Man with a Movie Cam­eraBelow, The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc. To watch the oth­ers, sim­ply click their linked titles on the list. After you’ve enjoyed every­thing from Mur­nau’s Ger­man-Expres­sion­ist-by-way-of-Hol­ly­wood romance to Keaton’s epic com­e­dy to Buñuel’s sur­re­al­ist pro­ces­sion of still-trou­bling visions, you’ll not just know where many mod­ern cin­e­mat­ic tech­niques came from, you’ll feel how they’ve evolved over the decades. All of the films list­ed above appear on our list of Great Silent Films, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 10 Great­est Films of All Time Accord­ing to 846 Film Crit­ics

100 Free Silent Films: The Great Clas­sics 

The Pow­er of Silent Movies, with The Artist Direc­tor Michel Haz­anavi­cius

Hol­ly­wood, Epic Doc­u­men­tary Chron­i­cles the Ear­ly His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma

535 Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, etc.

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

Lorne Michaels Introduces Saturday Night Live and Its Brilliant First Cast for the Very First Time (1975)

Sat­ur­day Night Live, now in its 39th sea­son, has become more notable late­ly for its takes on such unin­ten­tion­al­ly (and too often painful­ly) fun­ny polit­i­cal fig­ures as Sarah Palin and Michele Bach­mann, rather than for its actu­al sketch­es. The show’s had some rough years, and though I can’t count myself among its cur­rent fans, for per­haps an eight-year peri­od, from the late 80s to the mid 90s, I tried to catch every episode. Occa­sion­al­ly, I would have to endure what every fan of the long-run­ning show must bear: a long nos­tal­gic rant from my par­ents’ gen­er­a­tion about how ter­ri­ble the show had become and how it would nev­er be as fun­ny as it was in their day. But they may have just been right, since they watched it live in its infan­cy in the mid-sev­en­ties, when the show fea­tured such comedic giants as Dan Aykroyd, Steve Mar­tin, John Belushi, Bill Mur­ray, and Gil­da Rad­ner. Although the top­i­cal humor of those ear­ly episodes is bad­ly dat­ed, the raw ener­gy radi­at­ing from peo­ple who would go on to cre­ate such endur­ing clas­sics as Ani­mal House, The Blues Broth­ers, The Jerk, and Cad­dyshack sets the bar very high for every­one who fol­lowed.

Debut­ing on Octo­ber 11, 1975, the brain­child of Lorne Michaels and Dick Eber­sol was orig­i­nal­ly just called the show Sat­ur­day Night to dif­fer­en­ti­ate it from an ABC show called Sat­ur­day Night Live with Howard Cosell. But from its incep­tion, the hall­mark ele­ments were in place: the open­ing sketch end­ing in “Live from New York, it’s Sat­ur­day Night!” (orig­i­nal­ly uttered each time by Chevy Chase); the live stu­dio audi­ence; the celebri­ty guest host (pio­neered by George Car­lin in the first episode); and the live musi­cal guests (the first were Bil­ly Pre­ston and Janis Ian). The orig­i­nal cast con­sist­ed of Chevy Chase, Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtin, Gar­rett Mor­ris, Gil­da Rad­ner, John Belushi, and Laraine New­man. In the video at the top you can see a very young Lorne Michaels intro­duce the eight orig­i­nal cast mem­bers before the first show aired in an inter­view on The Tomor­row Show with Tom Sny­der. Asked by Sny­der about the for­mat of the show, Michaels jok­ing­ly replies, “we’ve got eight, and we’re hop­ing for two to real­ly work. Not all of these peo­ple will become stars.” The cast laughs ner­vous­ly. There’s no way any of them could have known how much the show would func­tion as a star-mak­ing machine, but that is exact­ly what it became, even in its first sea­son.

We are lucky to have screen tests from two of the first cast’s biggest stars-to-be, John Belushi (above) and Dan Aykroyd (below). In his audi­tion, Belushi wag­gles his famous eye­brows, does a cou­ple of bril­liant Bran­do impres­sions, and gen­er­al­ly hams it up. Aykroyd plays it straight, engag­ing in the smart satire of cur­rent events and pop cul­ture that he did so well and pulling off a very cred­i­ble Louisiana accent.

While some of the most famous come­di­ans of sea­son one, includ­ing Belushi and Aykroyd, are well known even to the raw youth of today, Lorne Michael’s first hire, the fab­u­lous Gil­da Rad­ner, has sad­ly fad­ed from pop cul­ture mem­o­ry, and there are pre­cious few clips of her SNL work online. But Rad­ner was a sin­gu­lar artist whose stand-up rou­tines and Broad­way shows are absolute­ly phe­nom­e­nal, and still hold up today. You can see her below from her 1979 show “Gil­da Live” doing a char­ac­ter called Can­dy Slice, her take on Pat­ti Smith (who was nev­er so wast­ed, I think). Notice a young Paul Scha­ef­fer on the drums and SNL’s G.E. Smith, Radner’s first hus­band, on gui­tar. Radner’s trag­ic death from ovar­i­an can­cer in 1989 cast her late life in somber tones, but see­ing her below, before her ill­ness, offers but a glimpse of the tremen­dous phys­i­cal ener­gy and com­mit­ment she brought to her every mem­o­rable char­ac­ter on the show.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Stunt That Got Elvis Costel­lo Banned From Sat­ur­day Night Live

William S. Bur­roughs on Sat­ur­day Night Live, 1981

Tom Davis, Orig­i­nal Sat­ur­day Night Live Writer, “De-ani­mates” at 59

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


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