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Cinecon 48 — August 30 to September 3, 2012 in Hollywood

Wednesday, May 9th, 2012

Bet you never heard about this curiosity.

And I’ll also bet you’ve never had a chance to see this rare Pre-Code film, and dozens more like it.

Directed by John G. Blystone, She Wanted A Millionaire (1932) is just one of the many rare films that will be screened at the 48th annual Cinecon at the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood — the 48th annual opportunity to see some of the most interesting, eclectic, and unusual films in cinema history, projected with typically immaculate skill by the IATSE Union Projectionists who keep the Egyptian Theatre (also home to the American Cinemathque) in top shape.

As Cinecon’s press release notes, “Cinecon is highly regarded among film fans for screening the rare and unusual films of the silent and early sound era—films that seldom get seen on a big screen. Cinecon combs the major film archives and Hollywood studio vaults to select often forgotten gems that deserve a fresh look and reappraisal. At Cinecon there is something for everyone—comedy, drama, musicals, Westerns. We show the latest restorations—and some one-of-a-kind rarities.”

At this point, only the first two films in the Cinecon 48 lineup have been announced, but they’re both pips; in the case of She Wanted A Millionaire, we get a “Pre-Code drama in which beauty contest winner Joan Bennett forsakes newspaperman Spencer Tracy for millionaire James Kirkwood . . . but the millionaire winds up dead after attempting to murder his wife by feeding her to a pack of dogs.” That’s a rather unusual narrative.

On a more serious note, there’s also the American premiere of a film by director John Ford long considered lost, Upstream. As Cinecon’s website notes, “one of a number of American silents repatriated from New Zealand by the National Film Preservation Foundation, this previously ‘lost’ John Ford film explores life among vaudevillians who reside in a theatrical boardinghouse and what happens when one of their number gets plucked from obscurity to play Hamlet on the London stage because of his family’s respected name in theatrical history.”

The Egyptian is one of the last homes of classical 35mm projection, and having just seen a double bill last week in Los Angeles at The Egyptian of Afraid to Talk and Okay, America as part of the LA Noir series, I can assure you that you’ll never see projection like this in your hometown theater; top shelf all the way, by perfectionists who clearly love every frame of the films they’re screening. Cinecon 48 promises to be a real treat for the genuine cinephile.

Click here for more information on Cinecon 48. It’s five days of movies that you’ll never get a chance to see anywhere else, screened in their original format.

Media History Digital Library

Friday, April 27th, 2012

Click here, or on the image above, to access the Media History Digital Library.

I have blogged on this site before, but it just keeps growing and getting better. The archive features extensive runs of several important trade papers and fan magazines, including Business Screen (1938-1973); The Film Daily (1918-1936); International Photographer (1929-1941); Journal of the Society of Motion Picture Engineers (1930-1949); Journal of the Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers (1950-1954); The Educational Screen (1922-1962); Moving Picture World (1912-1918); Photoplay (1917-1940); Radio Age: Research, Manufacturing, Communications, Broadcasting, Television (1942-1957); Radio Broadcast (1922-1930) and other publications.

As the site notes, “the periodicals in this collection chart the studio system during its rise, the transition to sound, and Great Depression years. The periodicals present a variety of points of view within the industry, from the production-oriented Hollywood Reporter to the exhibitor-oriented publication Harrison’s Reports, a ‘reviewing service free from the influence of film advertising.’ The cornerstone of this collection is a two decade run of The Film Daily, a leading motion picture trade paper published out of New York that reached participants involved in all aspects of the movie business. The Film Daily includes innumerable reviews of features and shorts, news reports from throughout the industry, occasional features stories, and hundreds of full-page ads.”

Worth checking out as an extremely valuable research source.

The Beginnings of Modern Europe

Thursday, April 26th, 2012

I have been reading Journey to the Abyss: The Diaries of Count Harry Kessler, 1880-1918, edited and translated by Laird M. Easton for the past few days, and it’s clear that Kessler was someone who knew everyone there was to know in European society during this period, and also that he was a brilliant diarist.

What’s most amazing about this book is not only its scope and depth, but also the fact that Kessler’s diaries from this period — he was a compulsive chronicler of his life, writing on a near-daily basis from his youth in 1880 until his last entry in 1937 — were considered lost until 1983, when in fact they were resting comfortably if anonymously in a vault on the island of Mallorca, having been left there by Kessler himself in 1933 for safekeeping. Kessler hoped to revise and edit them for publication, but when the Nazis came to power, he was effectively cut off from his life’s work, and as a result was never able to complete more than one volume of the project before his death.

Some of Kessler’s other diaries covering the period from 1918 to 1937 have previously been published, as Berlin in Lights: The Diaries of Count Harry Kessler (1918-1937), but there’s still a chunk of the diaries chronicling Kessler’s lecture trip to America in the early 1920s that has only been published in German, and have never been favored with an English translation. That would seem to be Easton’s next logical project; apparently, these documents offer a fascinating look at American culture from a European perspective, during one of the most turbulent and artistically productive eras ever known, before the stock market crash of 1929.

As the official website for  Journey to the Abyss notes, “These fascinating, never-before-published early diaries of Count Harry Kessler—patron, museum director, publisher, cultural critic, soldier, secret agent, and diplomat—present a sweeping panorama of the arts and politics of Belle Époque Europe, a glittering world poised to be changed irrevocably by the Great War. Kessler’s immersion in the new art and literature of Paris, London, and Berlin unfolds in the first part of the diaries.

This refined world gives way to vivid descriptions of the horrific fighting on the Eastern and Western fronts of World War I, the intriguing private discussions among the German political and military elite about the progress of the war, as well as Kessler’s account of his role as a diplomat with a secret mission in Switzerland.

Profoundly modern and often prescient, Kessler was an erudite cultural impresario and catalyst who as a cofounder of the avant-garde journal Pan met and contributed articles about many of the leading artists and writers of the day. In 1903 he became director of the Grand Ducal Museum of Arts and Crafts in Weimar, determined to make it a center of aesthetic modernism together with his friend the architect Henry van de Velde, whose school of design would eventually become the Bauhaus.

When a public scandal forced his resignation in 1906, Kessler turned to other projects, including collaborating with the Austrian writer Hugo von Hofmannsthal and the German composer Richard Strauss on the opera Der Rosenkavalier and the ballet The Legend of Joseph, which was performed in 1914 by the Ballets Russes in London and Paris. In 1913 he founded the Cranach-Presse in Weimar, one of the most important private presses of the twentieth century.

The diaries present brilliant, sharply etched, and often richly comical descriptions of his encounters, conversations, and creative collaborations with some of the most celebrated people of his time: Otto von Bismarck, Paul von Hindenburg, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Richard Strauss, Igor Stravinsky, Sergei Diaghilev, Vaslav Nijinsky, Isadora Duncan, Ruth St. Denis, Sarah Bernhardt, Friedrich Nietzsche, Rainer Marie Rilke, Paul Verlaine, Gordon Craig, George Bernard Shaw, Harley Granville-Barker, Max Klinger, Arnold Böcklin, Max Beckmann, Aristide Maillol, Auguste Rodin, Edgar Degas, Éduard Vuillard, Claude Monet, Edvard Munch, Ida Rubinstein, Gabriele D’Annunzio, Pierre Bonnard, and Walther Rathenau, among others.”

All in all, a deeply engrossing read, and an incredibly detailed look at European culture during the early part of the 20th century, and the last part of the 19th. Easton’s translation is fluid, clear, and absolutely modern, in keeping with Kessler’s own style; for anyone with an interest in how the culture of modern Europe was shaped, this is an indispensible volume.

New Book: Tashlinesque: The Hollywood Comedies of Frank Tashlin by Ethan de Seife

Tuesday, April 24th, 2012

At last, at long last, Frank Tashlin gets the book he so richly deserves.

In his new book, Tashlinesque: The Hollywood Comedies of Frank Tashlin, Ethan de Seife offers a comprehensive overview of the director’s life and work, neatly organized in a sharp, compact volume, which finally affords the scholar or the casual reader a look at just how ridiculously productive Tashlin was. Not only was he a director of some of the 1950s most sharply observed satires, Tashlin is also a major figure in animation history, and one of the few animators who successfully made the jump to live action, creating a cohesive and cheerfully anarchic body of work.

While he’s not a household name, Frank Tashlin should be, as a man who began his work with the pioneering Van Beuren animation company, then moved over to Ub Iwerks’ studio, then labored for Leon Schlesinger as a “supervisor” (read “director”) on a stack of classic Looney Tunes, then went over to Disney as a writer, contributing scripts and gag ideas to a raft of projects, then quit Walt just before the animator’s strike of 1941 to work for the Columbia/Screen Gems cartoon unit — and why aren’t these cartoons available, especially Under The Shedding Chestnut Tree (1942)? — and then went back to Warner Bros. to write and/or direct another stack of memorable cartoons, as well as contributing his off-the-wall humor to the government sponsored Private Snafu series, and then began contributing stories and gags to everything from The Marx Bros. A Night in Casablanca (1946) to The Good Humor Man (1950), before finally getting a shot at directing live action as a “salvage job” on The Lemon Drop Kid (1951), a film nominally directed by Sidney Lanfield, but which did so poorly in previews that Lanfield was taken off the project, and Tashlin was hired to direct roughly thirty minutes of the final film.

This was just for openers. After that, Tashlin worked as a writer and/or director (sometimes without credit) on such films as My Favorite Spy (1951), Son of Paleface (1952), Susan Slept Here (1954), Artists and Models (1955), the crime drama Five Against the House (1955), and many, many other feature films, before finally coming in to his own with the landmark rock and roll comedy The Girl Can’t Help It (1956), with a title song by none other than Little Richard, and the acidulous Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957), before hooking up with Jerry Lewis, and directing him in a series of films, as well as writing children’s books and making records on the side, just in case he got bored.

Are you tired yet?

Tashlin’s best work is brash, violent, and full of energy and cartoonish exaggeration; he works in broad brushstrokes, but when it comes to a critique of 1950s American society in all its aspects, Tashlin is hard to beat, as a major figure whose legacy has been ill-documented — until now.

Graced with numerous illustrations, including frame blowups and line drawings from Tashlin’s period as an animator, Tashlinesque: The Hollywood Comedies of Frank Tashlin by Ethan de Seife is a towering achievement, which gives the reader a complete rundown on the man and his work, starting with a brief chronology of Tashlin’s life and work in the opening chapter, “The Director Who Wasn’t,” and then moving smoothly through his work in animated cartoons, into his numerous writing assignments, his peak period as an auteur, and his later films, which are really afterthoughts to a brilliant career. De Seife also offers a very useful chapter towards the end of the volume on the directors who have been influenced by Tashlin, including everyone from Pedro Almodóvar to Jean-Luc Godard to Joe Dante.

Astoundingly, at least to me, Tashlin accomplished all of this by his mid 50s; he died at shortly before his 60th birthday, on May 2, 1972. Predictably, Tashlin was little appreciated in his homeland during his lifetime; just as predictably, the Cahiers du Cinéma critics picked up on him almost immediately, and heralded his work as fresh, new and revolutionary. Indeed, the title of de Seife’s book comes from this admiring quotation by the then-young firebrand Jean-Luc Godard, who noted that

“Frank Tashlin has not renovated the Hollywood comedy. He has done better. There is not a difference in degree between Hollywood or Bust and It Happened One Night, between The Girl Can’t Help It and Design for Living, but a difference in kind. Tashlin, in other words, has not renewed but created. And henceforth, when you talk about a comedy, don’t say, ‘It’s Chaplinesque,’ say, loud and clear, ‘It’s Tashlinesque.’”

Buy this book. Read It. It’s a superb account of the work of an authentic American Master.

Film Noir: The Directors

Saturday, April 21st, 2012

I have a new essay on the noir films of director Robert Wise, just out in this excellent new collection edited by noir specialists Alain Silver and James Ursini, Film Noir: The Directors, published by Limelight Editions.

Here’s the first paragraph of my essay:

“Robert Wise’s case as a noir director is a curious one; Wise seemingly freelanced throughout his career, and never really came down decisively in any one genre, swinging all the way from musicals to horror films, with every possible stop in-between. His youth was marked by constant movie going, and he soon got tired of the limited opportunities offered by his hometown, and trekking to Hollywood, got a job in RKO’s cutting department. At first an apprentice, working on music and dialogue tracks, and then a full-fledged editor, Wise rapidly rose through the ranks of the studio hierarchy, and by 1939 was cutting complete “A” level features, such as William Dieterle’s version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and in 1940, Dorothy Arzner’s feminist tract Dance Girl Dance.

In 1941, however, Wise’s skillful editing came to the attention of Orson Welles, fresh off his 1938 War of the Worlds Mercury Theatre radio broadcast, which memorably caused panic in the New York/New Jersey/Connecticut tri-state area, with its vivid depiction of a Martian invasion in Grover’s Mills, New Jersey, presented as a news broadcast in real time, a format that completely fooled a rather unsophisticated radio audience. Welles, who has been working in radio as an actor on series such as The Shadow since the mid 1930s, and before that as a director and impresario for a variety of outré Broadway productions, was rewarded with a three-picture deal at RKO for his audacious success, and sequestered himself in a screening room at the studio, watching everything from newsreels and travelogues to John Ford westerns, often in the company of the gifted Gregg Toland, a brilliant director of cinematography who was part of the RKO studio staff. For Welles, Wise edited Citizen Kane (1941), a film that surely needs no introduction to readers of this volume, and which, along with Boris Ingster’s Stranger on the Third Floor (1940, and also an RKO film), heralded the dawn of the noir era.”

If you want more, you’ll have to buy the book.

As one ecstatic reader of the volume noted of Film Noir: The Directors on the Amazon.com website, “some 20+ directors are profiled & discussed with many examples of their works and overall style. This book is well-produced, slick looking with generous illustrations and lots of informative film analysis. A gold mine for fans of bleak character driven tales of fatalistic heroes hopelessly lost in a dark world of never-ending shadows. Film noir heaven (can one possibly exist?) doesn’t get any better than this. Absolutely essential.”

It’s a real honor to be included here, and Alain Silver and James Ursini are holding a book signing in Los Angeles to mark the publication of Film Noir: The Directors at the famed Larry Edmunds Bookshop, located at 6644 Hollywood Boulevard, on April 28th at 5PM, followed by a screening of Slaughter on Tenth Avenue and Edge of the City, with a special appearance by noir actress Julie Adams at The Egyptian Theater, as part of their noir series for the American Cinematheque.

I’ve seen a number of films at the Egyptian, and the projection — still 35mm, thankfully — is perhaps the best I’ve ever seen. If you live in the Los Angeles area, stop by Larry Edmunds Bookshop, pick up a copy of Film Noir: The Directors, and then walk down a few blocks to the Egyptian theater, located at 6712 Hollywood Boulevard, for a night of pure noir on the street of broken dreams.

A Night to Remember (1958)

Monday, April 2nd, 2012

Click here, or on the image above, to see the trailer for A Night to Remember.

With James Cameron’s 3-D reconstruction of his version of the Titanic disaster about to hit theaters, Dave Kehr in the New York Times reminds us of a far superior film, Roy Ward Baker’s A Night to Remember, of which he notes that: “the most sober in tone and historically reliable of the Titanic films remains Roy Ward Baker’s British production of 1958 A Night to Remember. An early release of the Criterion Collection, the film has now been reissued, in Blu-ray and standard definition, from a thoroughly restored print, accompanied by a generous selection of supplementary material.

Working from a screenplay by his frequent collaborator, the suspense novelist Eric Ambler, and a best-selling book by Walter Lord, Baker solidifies the metaphor long attached to the Titanic story, turning the doomed ship into a microcosm, a representation in miniature of a society about to submerge itself into the horrors of World War I.

Previous versions emphasized the gallantry of the upper classes, as gentlemen in impeccable evening clothes stepped aside to allow their magnificently bejeweled wives and towheaded children to climb into the lifeboats. (The German version, inventing a subplot that Mr. Cameron’s film would pick up on, turned the ship into a gigantic engine of runaway capitalism, pushed beyond its capacities by a greedy company chairman.) But Baker, making his film in the first full flowering of the new Great Britain that came into being with the end of the war and the collapse of imperialism, makes his hero, Kenneth More’s Second Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller, an upright representative of the emerging middle class and managerial caste.

The captain of the ship (Laurence Naismith) is a befuddled man of aristocratic mien and regal dimensions whose resemblance to Edward VII does not seem coincidental; the chairman of the White Star Line (Frank Lawton) is a blustery businessman whose pride turns to shame as his enterprise literally begins to sink and he takes downcast refuge among the women and children drifting away in lifeboats. Only Lightoller and his fellow midlevel officers keep their wits about them, calmly directing an evacuation that they know will be too late for many of the passengers and perhaps themselves.

With A Night to Remember the welfare state Britain of 1958 looks back on the decaying imperial kingdom of 1912, and the film is full of pointed observations about class. Baker gives far more emphasis than Cameron to the plight of the lower-class passengers in steerage, trapped below by iron gates preventing their access to the first-class decks and potential rescue.”

There’s also a superb essay on the film by film critic and historian Michael Sragow, “A Night to Remember: Nearer, My Titanic to Thee,” which you can read by clicking here.

I was lucky enough to interview Roy Ward Baker at length in his house in London on this, and the rest of his work as a director, which also included the early Marilyn Monroe vehicle Don’t Bother to Knock (1952), and he described in detail how he shot the film, using a full-scale model of the Titanic mounted on hydraulic lifts, and the copious use of historical material to keep the film as accurate as possible. While everyone else is flocking to the theaters to see Cameron’s version, perhaps others might want to see this splendid, tragic film, which concentrates not so much on spectacle, but rather on the human drama attending this disaster. It’s a much more resonant piece of work.

Variety Goes on The Block

Tuesday, March 27th, 2012

The news that Variety, the iconic showbiz daily, is up for sale, comes as no surprise, but is still a shock. Yet ironically, this could be the best thing that could possibly happen to the daily.

Ever since it left its original offices and shifted owners, Variety has been losing ground against the competition, notably the website Deadline Hollywood, which is now the industry leader. Yet Variety could come back under new ownership, providing that it does three things:

*gets rid of the print edition, and goes entirely digital;

*gets rid of the paywall, so it can compete with other web-based showbiz journals;

*hires a group of dedicated 20-somethings to run the paper, who are willing to pound the keyboard 24/7, and have copious industry contacts.

I’d like to see Variety emerge from the ashes; I’d also like to see Todd McCarthy rehired, and the review section restored to its former glory. An all-digital, 24-hour rolling deadline Variety — trading partly, as a starting point, on the value of its name brand recognition — is the only way the journal can come back. When Sime Silverman founded Variety in 1905, he noted that the business was based on “constant change” — a sentiment echoed by Lew Wasserman many years later, when he described the entertainment business as one that was constantly being reborn with each new technological shift, and that one simply had to keep up with the times or get plowed under. Hollywood is big enough for several entertainment sources; it’s just that Variety has been falling down on the job of late, when it was once the showbiz journal of record. Bring it into the digital era, and the brand may yet regain its former prominence within the field.

So put Variety up for sale, and let’s hope the right people buy it, staff it, and put it back on track.

When Magoo Flew: The Rise and Fall of Animation Studio UPA

Sunday, March 25th, 2012

Adam Abraham’s book on the rise and fall of UPA, the pioneering “limited animation” studio that dominated more adventurous cartoon production in the 1950s and 60s, is both a cautionary tale, and a celebration of the people who founded UPA, mostly as a response to the rigid cookie-cutter approach espoused by the Disney studios. UPA’s founders, Zachary Schwartz, David Hilberman, and Stephen Bosustow set up shop as an alternative way of making cartoons, and soon had a hit with the nearsighted Mr. Magoo, and Gerald Mc Boing Boing, creating cartoons that pleased both the public and the critics.

As Fred Patten notes in his review of the book in Animation World Network, “Abraham’s history of United Productions of America covers much more than that studio alone.  In his picture of how UPA grew out of the Disney strike of 1941, he describes the Disney studio of 1938-1941 in considerable detail and the 1941 strike in great detail [. . .] Most of the animators (or animation artists of varying technical ranks) who joined the strikers were among Disney’s younger artists, who had a modern art education.  The wrap-up of the strike required Disney to rehire the strikers, but they were made to feel unwelcome or soon re-fired.  By the end of 1941 there were hundreds of young animators looking for new jobs.  Abraham argues persuasively that this was both why the Disney studio lost its willingness to experiment with new art styles after the early 1940s, and why there were so many animators interested in modern art at other studios during the 1940s.”

Abraham is an excellent writer, and he also created the book’s inviting design, which is lavishly illustrated with behind-the-scenes photographs, drawings, and animation cels, and he doesn’t stint on limning the darker side of the UPA story; how many of the animators who worked there came to untimely ends, how Disney’s continued hostility to the studio (particularly when it began picking up Academy Awards for Best Animated Short Subject) also took a toll, and how the changing marketplace forced UPA to cut the running time of their cartoons to the bone, and eventually move exclusively to television.

I’ve never really been a Mr. Magoo fan — it seems like a one joke premise that quickly wears thin — but Abraham’s book is really more about the studio itself, and its artistic and historic impact, than its most famous character. Behind UPA’s creation was the search for personal and creative freedom, and as Disney himself noted of the rise of UPA, “once a man’s tasted freedom, he will never be content to be a slave.” Working for Disney was doing what the boss wanted, and nothing else; at UPA, a whole new style was forged, which would prove, in the long run, to be a harbinger of the future of animation.

Click here, or on the image above, to see a sample of UPA’s work.

Zachary Schwartz, David Hilberman, and Stephen Bosustow, the founders of UPA, at work in the studio.

The Black Hole of the Camera by J.J. Murphy

Saturday, March 24th, 2012

You would think that everything possible that could be written about the films of Andy Warhol has been written, but you’d be wrong.

J.J. Murphy’s new book, The Black Hole of the Camera: The Films of Andy Warhol, is a significant contribution to the literature on the artist’s film work, offering, at least to my mind, the most detailed and accurate readings of his classic films of the 1960s, up to and including such later works as Blue Movie. As the book’s press release notes, “Andy Warhol, one of the twentieth century’s major visual artists, was a prolific filmmaker who made hundreds of films, many of them—Sleep, Empire, Blow Job, The Chelsea Girls, and Blue Movie—seminal but misunderstood contributions to the history of American cinema. In the first comprehensive study of Warhol’s films, J.J. Murphy provides a detailed survey and analysis. He discusses Warhol’s early films, sound portraits, involvement with multimedia (including The Velvet Underground), and sexploitation films, as well as the more commercial works he produced for Paul Morrissey in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Murphy’s close readings of the films illuminate Warhol’s brilliant collaborations with writers, performers, other artists, and filmmakers. The book further demonstrates how Warhol’s use of the camera transformed the events being filmed and how his own unique brand of psychodrama created dramatic tension within the works.”

Critical approval is already coming in: “Those of us who care about independent cinema have always struggled with Andy Warhol’s massive oeuvre. At long last J.J. Murphy, who has spent a lifetime making contributions to independent cinema, has undertaken the Herculean task of helping us understand Warhol’s development as a filmmaker. Murphy’s precision, stamina, and passion are evident in this examination of an immense body of work—as is his ability to report what he has discovered in a readable and informative manner. The Black Hole of the Camera helps us to re-conceptualize Warhol’s films not simply as mythic pranks, but as the diverse creations of a prolific and inventive film artist.”—Scott MacDonald, author of A Critical Cinema: Interviews with Independent Filmmakers

“In his careful firsthand study of Andy Warhol’s films, J. J. Murphy contributes to the ongoing revision of the enduring but misplaced perceptions of Warhol as a passive, remote, and one-dimensional artist. Murphy’s discussions of authorship, the relation of content to form, the role of “dramatic conflict,” and the complexity of Warhol’s camera work show these perceptions to be stubborn myths. The Black Hole of the Camera offers a clear sense of the nuances of Warhol’s fascinating, prolific, and influential activities in filmmaking.”—Reva Wolf, author of Andy Warhol, Poetry, and Gossip in the 1960s.

As someone who was tangentially involved in the Factory scene in the late 1960s, the book brings back the energy and passion of the era with deft and telling detail, and is in every respect a remarkable job of historical recovery and careful analysis, with numerous frame blow-ups throughout, many of which are in color. Murphy’s book brings back to life an era which is almost beyond authentic recall, and demonstrates why Warhol’s films still matter today, and were, and remain, so influential. Essential reading.

Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet: My Summer with the Danish Filmmaker

Wednesday, March 14th, 2012

Here’s a book I’m really looking forward to, by the prolific author Jan Wahl, from University Press of Kentucky.

“Regarded by many filmmakers and critics as one of the greatest directors in cinema history, Carl Theodor Dreyer (1889–1968) achieved worldwide acclaim after the debut of his masterpiece, The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928), which was named the most influential film of all time at the 2010 Toronto International Film Festival. In 1955 Dreyer granted twenty-three-year-old American student Jan Wahl the extraordinary opportunity to spend a unique and unforgettable summer with him during the filming of Ordet (The Word [1955]).

Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet: My Summer with the Danish Filmmaker is a captivating account of Wahl’s time with the director, based on Wahl’s daily journal accounts and transcriptions of his conversations with Dreyer. Offering a glimpse into the filmmaker’s world, Wahl fashions a portrait of Dreyer as a man, mentor, friend, and director. Wahl’s unique and charming account is supplemented by exquisite photos of the filming and by selections from Dreyer’s papers, including his notes on film style, his introduction for the actors before the filming of Ordet, and a visionary lecture he delivered at Edinburgh. Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet details one student’s remarkable experiences with a legendary director and the unlikely bond formed over a summer.”

“Jan Wahl has written a very personal account far from the usual run of ‘film studies,’ yet all the more fascinating and instructive in that it might be the sketch for another Dreyer film about the novice and the master. This is non-fiction but at its best it reads like a story.”–David Thomson, author of The New Biographical Dictionary of Film

“Jan Wahl has given lovers of cinema around the globe an incredible gift: an intimate portrait of Carl Theodor Dreyer at work and at play. Wahl provides the reader with remarkable detail and extraordinary insights into Dreyer’s working methods and his generosity of spirit. His account of the making of Ordet only strengthens our admiration for Dreyer’s astonishing film.”—Matthew H. Bernstein, Emory University

This sounds like a beautiful, engaging text; can’t wait to read it.

About the Author

Wheeler Winston Dixon

Wheeler Winston Dixon, Ryan Professor of Film Studies at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, is an internationally recognized scholar and writer of film history, theory and criticism. He is the author of numerous books and more than 70 articles on film and appears regularly in national media outlets discussing film and culture trends. Frame by Frame is a collection of his thoughts on a number of those topics. To contact Prof. Dixon for an interview, reach him at 402.472.6064 or wdixon1@unl.edu.

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In The National News

National media outlets featured and cited Wheeler Winston Dixon on a number of topics in the past month. Find out more on the website http://newsroom.unl.edu/inthenews/