Week that Was

Don't Steal that Book

In New York City in the United States Circuit Court on Tuesday May 5, 1908, Judge Lacombe handed down a decision that would drastically change the financial landscape of future entertainment. Kalem Picture Co., founded only a year before in 1907, had released in January 1908 a one-reel adaptation of the best-selling novel Ben-Hur by Lew Wallace. The film was pulled together in early cinema's usual rag-tag style — the Brooklyn Fire Department staged the chariot race, scenery was borrowed from an earlier production, and the actress Gene Gautier (aka the "Kalem Girl") wrote the screenplay which the company promoted as "16 magnificent scenes with illustrated titles." And as with so many films of the time, the producers had never even thought to procure rights to use the novel. When it hit theaters, the film generated a tidy profit and a lawsuit. The book's publishers, Harper and Bros., the producer of the stage play, Abraham Erlanger, and Henry Wallace (who administered his father's estate) claimed the film broke current copyright law, which forbade the unauthorized duplication of dramatic scenes. Kalem Pictures (whose case was being funded by Thomas Edison's Motion Picture Patents Group) argued not at all. Film, they claimed, was simply a series of photographs, and therefore wasn't covered by literary copyright. Quite the opposite, the film should be protected by copyright law from unlawful reproduction of its images. Lacombe ruled for the publisher, and in a sense helped define cinema, at least legally, as narrative and not just an image. While the case was appealed, the Supreme Court in 1911 ultimately upheld Lacombe's decision, making it necessary from then on for film companies to procure (i.e. pay for) rights for any adapted dramatic or literary work.

The House of Payne

Alexander Payne had made ripples with his 1996 debut, Citizen Ruth, but it was his scathingly satirical sophomore feature, Election — which went on wide release this week in 1999 — that revealed his true talent. Payne's adaptation of Tom Perrotta's acclaimed novel of the same name paired the talents of an ex-teen star (Matthew Broderick) and a precocious rising actress (Reese Witherspoon), with Payne and writing partner Jim Taylor's razor-sharp style, giving both the ideal vehicle to display their talents. Here Carver High School, the film's setting, acts as a microcosm for the U.S. political system as hardworking Tracy Flick's (Witherspoon) bid to be class president is threatened by a surprise candidate, likeable jock Paul Metzler (Chris Klein). Unlike seemingly all other high school movies, Election acknowledged the existence of teachers as players in the drama, with downtrodden history teacher Jim McAllister (Broderick) emerging as Tracy's nemesis. McAllister tries to undermine her political progress, both because he is fighting his attraction to her and because he detests her shameless overachieving ambition. While Election was rightly a big success in 1999 (Payne and Taylor's script was Oscar nominated, it got rave reviews, Witherspoon became a star), the film has taken on even greater resonance in the past year due to the parallels between the Tracy-Paul contest and the current Clinton-Obama rivalry (as brilliantly illustrated in this Slate video).

No, Dr. No

"The name's Bond… James Bond," was heard in theaters for the first time on May 8, 1962 when the cold-hearted secret agent with impeccable taste in cars, liquor and women was introduced to audiences. Terrence Young directed the first film in what has now become cinema's most successful franchise, and he and star Sean Connery gave viewers a considerably more brutal Bond than the ones that came later. Forgoing the usual "origin story," Dr. No hits the ground running as Bond is sent to Jamaica to investigate the death of two other secret agents and winds up uncovering a plot against America posed by the series' ur-villain, Dr. No. Budgeted at just $1 million, it grossed $109 million worldwide — the lowest gross in the series. Nonetheless, it is now well remembered as the leanest, toughest entry in the series, and something of its vibe was returned to in the series recent successful reboot, Casino Royale. As a side note, Young, who launched the series, found his own career taking a dive as the Bond franchise took off. As we reported in "A Short History of Iraqi Cinema," Young ended his career ghost directing a self-heroic biopic of Saddam Hussein (financed, of course, by the ex-dictator).

Don't Look Down

Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo premiered in San Francisco, where it was shot, on May 9, 1958. Hitchcock's film is arguably his masterpiece, a dream-like tale of romantic obsession, but it is also one of the greatest "city films" of all time. The fog that rolls in from the sea and drapes the film's night exteriors; Fort Point, beneath the Golden Gate Bridge where Hitchcock's heroine leaps to her death; and the city's rolling streets and avenues, through which police officer Scottie Ferguson drives trancelike as he tries to uncover the most personal of mysteries — San Francisco is perhaps the film's most compelling character. It's so compelling, in fact, that "Hitchcock's Vertigo Tour" is a top tourist attraction there. The tour, which can range from four to ten hours, allows participants to "enjoy the mood of this masterpiece." Comments one satisfied customer on the tour's home page, Andy E., from Reading, England, "I enjoyed the discussion we had about Novak's acting, the colour symbolism, the changes to the original story, and how Scottie got down from the gutter.

Monster Mash

After four long years, horror fans were finally able to see Universal Picture's sequel to its 1931 hit Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein. As soon as Frankenstein lumbered out on to movie screens, Universal was busy figuring out how to make a sequel. But there were several problems. First, they had already used all of Mary Shelley's novel in the first film. And second, their director James Whale had no interest in making a sequel. He told a friend, "I squeezed the idea dry on the original picture, and never want to work on it again." And with good reason considering the monster scenarios Universal screenwriters were cooking up: a suddenly smart monster helping in the lab; Dr. Frankenstein and his wife joining the circus; the good doctor transported to the present where he develops a secret weapon for the impending war. It wasn't till Whale was promised complete artistic freedom and hired playwright William Hurlbut to infuse the story with his own sense of camp, that the film moved forward. But even as they got Universal to agree to their version of things, Whale had to fight censors who were deeply suspicious of the film's continual jabs at religion and divine power. In the end, The Bride of Frankenstein is considered by many as a high point for horror and Whale himself. Time Magazine listed it as one of its "All Time 100 Movies." And Whale, a homosexual in Hollywood, got to make the film he wanted, one, as Gary Morris in Bright Lights Film Journal notes, which "in the guise of a comic horror tale, assaults the notion of the sanctity of standard sex roles and 'family values.'"

The Avenging Angel

A movie laden with the cruelest of ironies flew into cinemas 14 years ago this week as The Crow went on release. Brandon Lee, the son of martial arts legend Bruce Lee, played the film's lead character Eric Draven, a rock star who is killed along with his fiancée the night before they are to be married, only to return after death to wreak vengeance on the guilty parties. The Crow was a Gothic revenge fantasy based on the comicbook series by James O'Barr, but everything surrounding the film was overshadowed by the tragic death of Brandon Lee, eight days before the end of shooting. While filming a scene where Draven is shot, a cap from the blank that was fired at Lee accidentally got lodged in his spine after passing through his abdomen, a wound that — despite desperate efforts by doctors — was ultimately fatal. Lee passed away on March 31, 1993 at the age of 28, almost 20 years exactly after his father had died of an edema aged only 32. Brandon had followed in his father's footsteps by becoming a martial arts actor, and his dark, demanding role in The Crow was to be his big break. In a further irony, Lee (like his character Draven) was due to be married to his fiancée just weeks before he died. Fueled by its tragic appeal and director Alex Proyas' stylish direction, The Crow took almost $100 worldwide and spawned three sequels and a TV series.