A Cinema of Loneliness

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This is an essay that reviews and discusses Robert Kolker’s book on cinema: A Cinema of Loneliness.

Author: Alberto D’Onofrio

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A Cinema of Loneliness is a book written by Robert Kolker, a professor of Film Studies and Digital Media. Along with A Cinema of Loneliness, he has written Film, Form and Culture, The Altering Eye (a book on European Cinema) and an online article, The Moving Image Reclaimed. While he has taught at three different schools in his career (University of Maryland, University of Virginia and Georgia Institute of Technology), his goal in teaching film has been the same: “Getting control of the image and handing that control over to students” (McGraw-Hill, 1). Kolker continues this statement by explaining that an audience cannot pause a film while it is playing at a cinema but with the technology of VCR and DVD, it is possible to become intimate with a film to allow a deeper analysis of it. This is an idea discussed by Kolker in the introduction to his book, A Cinema of Loneliness. 

Kolker begins with an introduction that discusses the decline of assembly-line film production in the late 1950s and early 1960s – a system where major studios would have their own resources of producers, directors, writers and actors to quickly and efficiently make films. Television was a factor during this decline, which forced studios to experiment with Cinerama, Cinemascope, 3D and epics. While this time period included important films such as Vertigo (1958) and Touch of Evil (1958), it had economic issues by producing big budget films with no profit. This prompted studios to take low-cost risks on young filmmakers who, influenced by art cinema, delivered critical and challenging films. Kolker’s brief history of the studio system up to this point conveniently introduces the content of his book: an analysis of film directors who emerged and survived from this transitional state of the studio system. The directors in discussion are mainly Arthur Penn, Oliver Stone, Stanley Kubrick, Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Robert Altman and David Fincher. While Fincher did not emerge from the same time period as the directors listed, Kolker introduces him in the book’s recent edition as another filmmaker who develops expressive and complex narratives. The author closes his introduction by writing that the technology allows him to view and analyze films like a book – having control of when to stop, look, or go back, which prepares the audience for a critical and deep analysis of cinema.

To briefly summarize the content of A Cinema of Loneliness, Kolker’s analysis of the directors is organized into five chapters: One: Penn, Stone, Fincher; two: Kubrick; three: Scorsese; four: Spielberg, and five: Altman. The author explains their styles by examining selected films and connects them with the subject of loneliness in films and our culture. Kolker describes a film noir-influenced Arthur Penn as having characters that are paranoid, trapped, and vulnerable as in Mickey One (1965) and Bonnie and Clyde (1967). The author attributes similar qualities to Oliver Stone and David Fincher in the same chapter. Stanley Kubrick is discussed as a filmmaker who is disconnected from commercial American cinema, which is why he was able to develop such complex narrative and cinematic space with his camera-work as Orson Welles did. His characters also deal with isolation, especially in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Kolker relates Martin Scorsese to Arthur Penn as having psychologically driven character studies such as Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver (1976), another connection to the term in discussion of loneliness. The author describes Steven Spielberg’s films as “absorptive and distributive” (Kolker, 325) meaning that he forces the spectator into his worlds and satisfies the audience, a world that is often built with special effects, a topic he also discusses alongside Spielberg’s films. While his characters can experience isolation, the author also suggests the isolation of the viewer within the realm of cinema. Finally, Kolker concludes with Robert Altman, a filmmaker who provides loose narratives with wide perspectives, demanding the audience to pay close attention, much like Douglas Sirk’s trust on the viewer’s imagination.

Kolker’s book is well structured. He begins with a historical introduction to lead into the start of the filmmakers’ careers and each chapter is dedicated to a certain approach to film and the directors’ styles. While they have stylistic differences, Kolker finds ways to connect them and he does so by exploring communication theories of ideology by Louis Althusser and encoding/decoding by Stuart Hall. A Cinema of Loneliness introduces these theories because they are important to how Kolker will examine his films without solely looking at form. Ideologically, films are embedded with social needs of a certain culture or group of people. These ideas are coded by the filmmaker and are open to be decoded by the audience. Along with communication theory, film theory is also discussed when explaining films in order to discuss their influences. For instance, Kolker writes about film noir and German expressionism when explaining Arthur Penn’s films and Sergei Eisenstein when discussing Oliver Stone’s way of cutting film. Expanding on film history, he discusses many films outside a director’s work. For example, he explains how Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas (1990) emerges from Raoul Walsh’s The Roaring Twenties (1939)

From the explanation of Kolker’s writing approach to A Cinema of Loneliness, it is evident that there is a lot of information in this book, making it a dense reading. I believe it is because the author analyzes most of the major films of seven directors along with film theory, film history, and concepts of ideology. Taking an enormous amount of information and condensing it makes the book a challenge to follow. It was challenging to follow because the directors have different approaches to film and it is difficult to read a heavy analysis on Kubrick, move on to Scorsese, and then to Spielberg – three different directors who each deserve their own book. Albeit the challenging read, I appreciated Kolker’s attempt to connect each director’s work through the idea of loneliness. The connection is valid with the filmmakers having had a portrayal of these paranoid, self-centered characters in their work.

I enjoyed the addition of David Fincher in the author’s fourth edition of the book. Being one of my favorite directors, it was interesting to read an academic analysis on The Social Network (2010) for the first time. A minor aspect I found disappointing was the inclusion of Oliver Stone’s Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010) and the disregard of The Doors (1991). Although the film did not have a true rendering of Jim Morrison, I found it more interesting than the Wall Street (1987) sequel, especially in the way it was edited (this could have been an interesting analysis with Eisenstein in discussion).

Martin Scorsese is the only filmmaker with a reported one-line review of the book that states A Cinema of Loneliness, “Brings the films into clearer focus for film-goers. The filmmakers themselves will find Kolker’s analysis of their works extremely accurate” (Oxford University Press, 1). While the information is dense, Kolker demonstrates a great understanding of film history, theory, and the movies in discussion.

Bibliography

2001: A Space Odyssey. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. 1968. Online.

“A Cinema of Loneliness”. Oxford University Press. 2011. Web

http://global.oup.com/academic/product/a-cinema-of-loneliness

Bonnie and Clyde. Dir. Arthur Penn. Warner Bros. 1967. Online.

The Doors. Dir. Oliver Stone. TriStar Pictures. 1991. Online.

Goodfellas. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Warner Bros. 1990. Online.

Kolker, Robert Phillip. A Cinema of Loneliness. New York: Oxford UP, 2011. Print.

McGraw-Hill Companies. “Robert Phillip Kolker: About the Author”. 2001. Web.

http://www.mhhe.com/socscience/art-film/kolker2/author.html

Mickey One. Dir. Arthur Penn. Columbia Pictures. 1965. Online.

The Roaring Twenties. Dir. Raoul Walsh. Warner Bros. 1939. Online.

The Social Network. Dir. David Fincher. Columbia Pictures. 2010. Online.

Taxi Driver. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Columbia Pictures. 1976. Online.

Touch of Evil. Dir. Orson Welles. Universal Pictures. 1958. Online.

Vertigo. Dir. Alfred Hitchcock. Paramount Pictures. 1958. Online.

Wall Street. Dir. Oliver Stone. 20th Century Fox. 1987. Online.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. Dir. Oliver Stone. 20th Century Fox. 2010. Online.

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2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange: Stanley Kubrick’s Aural Experience

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“2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange: Stanley Kubrick’s Aural Experience” is an essay that explores Stanley Kubrick’s importance of sound design in the films listed to our understanding of our contemporary sonic experience 

Author: Alberto D’Onofrio

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The late 1960s and early 1970s witnessed the continuation of Stanley Kubrick’s virtuous directorial career in two successive films: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and A Clockwork Orange (1971). While both films exhibit masterful imagery, the director’s sound design is also an influencing element in their sonic environment. Embracing silence, voice and music, Kubrick’s aural experience enhances cinematic value as it connects the audience to the spaces, settings and minds of the characters based in 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange. Additional work by theorists Rick Altman, Michel Chion, Mladen Dolar, Jonathan Sterne, Michael Bull, and Cara Marisa Deleon will be referenced with the purpose of recognizing Kubrick’s work as a significant study for understanding our contemporary sonic experience.

The importance of sound in 2001: A Space Odyssey is evident in the opening sequence that consists of an excerpt from Gyorgy Ligeti’s Atmospheres and a blank screen. Already setting the mood with an uncanny sound design, Kubrick’s Overture, a film’s musical introduction, challenges the ontological argument by critics Rudolf Arnheim and Bela Balazs that, “Image without sound still constitutes cinema, while sound without an image is no longer cinema” (Altman 2012). In retrospect, as argued by Rick Altman, music accompanied with a blank screen has been previously practiced in cinema, especially for the blockbuster epics of the 1950s and early 1960s. Furthermore, this cinematic practice used in 2001: A Space Odyssey reflects the ideas of Michel Chion’s semantic listening:

“The consequence for film is that sound, much more than the image, can become an insidious means of affective and semantic manipulation. On one hand, sound works on us directly, physiologically (breathing noises in a film can directly affect our own respiration). On the other, sound has an influence on perception: through the phenomenon of added value, it interprets the meaning of the image, and makes us see in the image what we would not otherwise see, or would see differently” (Chion 1994).

The Overture is one of many sound-dominant sequences in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is evident that Kubrick’s sound design expresses the film’s psychological and physical environment by examining its particular uses of sound in view of Chion’s semantic listening and supplementary theoretical perspectives.

Kubrick incorporates a sound element that is uncommon in most films because it is essentially the absence of sound effects and ambient sound, or in short, silence. The superior fidelity of the new magnetic strip recording system made it possible to achieve silence and quiet recordings (Buhler, 2010). Silence destroys all depth cues to audio as a blank screen does to an image, but this is effective and noticed in two instances:

In the “Dawn of Man” sequence, soft winds and quiet sounds of the natural environment underline the peacefulness of the setting (Buhler, 2010). When the leopard attacks a gorilla with a heavy growl, it disrupts the sound space and penetrates the sanctuary with an act of violence, a symbol of mankind that Kubrick examines in his work (Walker 1971).

Silence establishes space as a hum does the space station. Destroying all depth cues in imagery and sound, Kubrick uses silence realistically since space is black and silent (Buhler 2010). Metaphorically, silence can symbolize death, which is what the characters are fearful of when entering the mysterious void. Hence, horror and isolation is established in the film’s atmosphere, especially when silence is cut with the pulsating sounds of an astronaut’s breath. This feeling of helplessness and suspense is directed to the audience throughout the film, especially when the first half of the film ends in silence (Walker 1971).

Relative to Kubrick’s use of silence, Mladen Dolar’s theoretical view on the matter expresses that, “The absence of voices and sounds is hard to endure; complete silence is immediately uncanny, it is like death, while the voice is the first sign of life” (Dolar, 2006). The eeriness of silence in the film is increased when juxtaposed with sequences of sound effects and dialogue. Conversely, the dialogue present in the film shows signs of life, but even the mechanical voice of HAL, a computer that is programmed to control the operations of the space station, can be uncanny while introducing additional semantic interpretations.

Expanding his theory, Dolar explains that a human voice has a personal touch that reflects one’s individuality. Once a voice is mechanically reproduced similar to HAL’s, it will always be strange (Dolar, 2006). As described by film critic Alexander Walker, HAL’s voice is, “Bland, neutral, reassuring and also ambiguous, sinister, untrustworthy” (Walker 1971). Hypothetically, the voice would have signified ideas of sexual relationships with the astronauts if Kubrick would have decided to make it a female voice as originally intended in the script (Walker 1971), but nonetheless, the “Death of HAL” sequence offers interesting semantic observations. When our protagonist, Bowman, is in the process of disconnecting HAL’s circuits, the modifications on his voice shows signs of anxiety as it slurs and slows down. Following this, the machine’s memory decreases to forms of infancy, revealing his basic training exercises by singing the silly tune Daisy, Daisy (Walker 1971). Elaborating on Dolar’s theory, a machine’s voice is not human, but a human can “keep it at bay” (Dolar, 2006); meaning an individual can stop it before it becomes a problem, similar to Bowman’s actions on HAL.

Although a strict amount of detail is given to dialogue, it is not often used in the overall sound design of the film. Instead, music is the fundamental aspect of its sound design. As Kubrick explains the reasoning behind this, he states, “There are certain areas of feeling and reality. Non-verbal forms of expression such as music and painting [referring to the visual element of the film] can get at these areas” (Phillips 1975). Music was used in part of an aesthetic trait that was developing in the 1960s and 1970s to re-contextualize known music by placing them in contemporary films (Donnelly 2001). For 2001: A Space Odyssey, Kubrick chose classical music including Richard Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra and The Blue Danube. The accented sounds of the heroically optimist horns in Also sprach Zarathustra righteously accompanies and intensifies the wonder of Kubrick’s masterful imagery in the opening and closing sequences of the film, while, as Kubrick calls it, the “machine ballet” pacing of The Blue Danube symbolizes the harmony and beautiful movement of the universe (Walker 1971).

Transitioning nicely to Kubrick’s next directorial achievement in A Clockwork Orange, classical music dominates the film as it did in 2001: A Space Odyssey. A Clockwork Orange challenges the viewer to think sonically, a term from theorist Jonathan Sterne meaning to think of sound in the, “Contexts in which they happen, the ways of hearing or not-hearing attached to them, the practices, people and institutions associated with them” (Sterne, 2012). Analyzing Kubrick’s soundscape, the relationship between the music and the filmic world presented in A Clockwork Orange is evident.

Theorist Cara Marisa Deleon expands on Sterne’s contextual thinking by stating that, “This can only occur through a solid, familiar foundation” (Deleon 2010) and the film accomplishes this in the opening sequence. Adding well-known orchestrations that are performed with a moog synthesizer, the film’s Overture is an electronic rendition of Henry Purcell’s classical piece Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary by Wendy Carlos. The familiarity of the music allows the audience to acknowledge the piece while the synthesizer indicates that the fictitious and dystopic world surrounding our protagonist Alex is different from what we know (Deleon 2010).

Alex’s actions fit the dystopic world appropriately as he and his “droogs” perform acts of violence and terrorize their neighborhoods with domestic invasion, rape and assaults. The theatrical skills of actor Malcolm McDowell, in his portrayal of Alex, is demonstrated as he sings and dances to Gene Kelly’s song, Singing in the Rain while invading the home of Mr. Alexander and his wife. Kubrick turned the horrific reality of the scene into a form of entertainment resulting in what he calls, “Comical sadism” (Walker 1971). The juxtaposition between such a violent act and an uplifting song makes the scene very unsettling. As the film progresses, another purpose of the song Singing in the Rain is discovered, which Kubrick calls, “Magic coincidence” (Walker 1971). Alex is cured from his violent acts and fate coincidentally finds him back at Mr. Alexander’s home when searching for a place to stay. The next day, Alex is chanting Singing in the Rain while bathing. When Mr. Alexander hears the song, the sound of Alex’s voice reminds him of that horrifying night. Traumatized, he realizes the man he let back into his home is the same man responsible for his wife’s death.

Extending Dolar’s theory of the voice, as discussed in examining HAL’s mechanical voice in 2001: A Space Odyssey, this sequence represents his ideas of the human voice that, “We can almost unfailingly identify a person by the voice, the particular individual timbre, resonance, pitch, cadence, melody, the peculiar way of pronouncing certain sounds. The voice is like a fingerprint, instantly recognizable and identifiable” (Dolar 2006). Reading this, one would ask why it would take Mr. Alexander that long to recognize Alex’s voice. Cured from his violent behavior after intense therapy, Alex is a miserable man, and did not have the same tenacity and confidence in his voice. Alex is happy to have found a home and singing, as discussed by Dolar, brings voice to the forefront and consequently, “appears to be the locus of true expression” (Dolar 2006), the same expression of happiness Alex felt when invading the man’s home. The same voice was projected and as Sterne acknowledges in what he calls the audiovisual litany, a set of attributes to hearing and seeing, “Sound comes to us” (Stern 2012), as the sound of Alex’s voice came to Mr. Alexander.

The irony of Kubrick’s music in A Clockwork Orange, as with his use of Singing in the Rain, is also present with Schiller’s song Ode To Joy and presents an additional point from Sterne’s audiovisual litany. When Alex and his “droogs” are at the milk bar, Alex hears a lady sing Ode To Joy. Listening, Alex is mesmerized and as Sterne specifies, “Hearing is about affect” (Stern 2012). It is ironic that a joyful song about brotherhood amongst men would captivate a cruel man like Alex. As Kubrick explains, art has no ethical purpose and this statement is also made in Anthony Burgess’ novel. Art’s purpose is to provide ecstatic behavior and the kind of joy depends on the person who is having it (Walker 1971). In an interview, Kubrick acknowledges that a man like Alex loves some of the most respected music and supports this by stating, “I think this suggests the failure of culture to have any morally refining effect on society. Hitler loved good music and many top Nazi’s were cultured and sophisticated men but it didn’t do them, or anyone else, much good” (Ciment 1983).

Being an admirer of classical music, Alex states that his favorite composer is Ludwig van Beethoven and this association is important to the film. Using Beethoven’s 9th Symphony as the soundtrack to his violent acts, Kubrick also uses it to cure Alex in a therapeutic experiment. Alex is forced to watch an endless amount of disturbing footage displaying acts of brutality accompanied with the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony until he is finally sick. Finally cured, the thoughts of violent acts and the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony make him nauseous. Theorist Michael Bull speaks for contemporary iPod users but uses sound theory in the process that relates to Alex’s sonic environment. He explains that sound, “recreates and reconfigures the spaces of experience” (Bull 2012). After therapy, Alex associates the sound of Beethoven with the disturbing acts of violence he witnessed on film. This is another example of Kubrick’s “magic coincidence” as Alex’s favorite music drives him to attempt suicide after Mr. Alexander spitefully plays the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. Kubrick used Beethoven’s music affectively to represent Alex’s stimulant while being a symbol of his power and downfall. Finally, this soundtrack offers an appropriate conclusion to Alex’s story by ending the film on Beethoven’s 9th Symphony while a happy Alex, who can live recklessly once again, expresses, “I was cured alright!”

The relationship between Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange is not only the fact that the vinyl for 2001: A Space Odyssey is coincidentally seen in front of a crate of records in A Clockwork Orange. The director uses sound in both films as a significant storytelling device in the audio-visual medium to represent the psychological and physical sonic environment of the film. In 2001: A Space Odyssey, silence and mechanical voice is uncanny while classical music in A Clockwork Orange is a contextual soundtrack to a man’s stimulus. Exploring both films’ sound design elements alongside academic theories of listening, silence, voice, music and context, Stanley Kubrick’s aural experience is a significant study for understanding our contemporary sonic experience.

Bibliography

2001: A Space Odyssey. DVD. Directed by Stanley Kubrick. United States, United Kingdom: MGM, 1968.

A Clockwork Orange. DVD. Directed by Stanley Kubrick. United Kingdom: Warner Bros.,  1971.

Alexander Walker. Stanley Kubrick Directs (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971), 229-296.

Cara Marisa Deleon. “A Familiar Sound in a New Place: The Use of the Musical Score Withing The Science Fiction Film” in Sounds of the Future: Essays on Music in Science Fiction Film, ed, by Matthew J. Bartkowiak. (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2010), 10-21.

Gene D. Phillips. Stanley Kubrick: A Film Odyssey (New York: Popular Library, 1975), 136-169.

K.J. Donnelly. Film Music: Critical Approaches (New York: Continuum, 2001), 12.  

James Buhler, David Neumeyer, and Rob Deemer. Hearing the Movies: Music and Sound in Film History. (New York: Oxford UP, 2010), 16, 345.

Jonathan Sterne. “Sonic Imaginations” in The Sound Studies Reader, ed. by Jonathan Sterne (New York: Routledge, 2012), 1-17.

Michel Chion. “The Three Listening Modes” in The Sound Studies Reader, ed. by Jonathan Sterne (New York: Routledge, 2012), 48-53.

Michel Ciment. Kubrick. (New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1983), 163.

Michael Bull. “The Audio-Visual Ipod” in The Sound Studies Reader, ed. by Jonathan Sterne (New York: Routledge, 2012), 197-208.

Mladen Dolar. “The Linguistics of the Voice” in The Sound Studies Reader, ed. by Jonathan Sterne (New York: Routledge, 2012), 539-554.

Rick Altman. “Four and a Half Film Fallacies” in The Sound Studies Reader, ed. by Jonathan Sterne (New York: Routledge, 2012), 225-233.

Spartacus: The Blockbuster

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“Spartacus: The Blockbuster” is an essay that explores blockbusters by writing a critical assessment of Stanley Kubrick’s 1960 film Spartacus. The essay addresses the film’s characteristics that makes Spartacus a notable blockbuster. 

Author: Alberto D’Onofrio

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Stanley Kubrick’s 1960 film Spartacus is an epic tale of the Thracian slave and gladiator, Spartacus, who struggles and fights for the freedom of slaves. The term “epic” is important for considering Spartacus as a blockbuster in the film world. As Sheldon Hall states, a blockbuster is, “something of great power, or size, especially an epic film” (Hall, 11) but also continues its definition at a financial perspective: “When a picture grosses $10,000,000 or more it’s blockbusting” (Hall, 11). Kubrick’s grand storytelling and filmmaking accomplishments reflect in the film’s ambitious distribution strategies that held Spartacus as the biggest financial success for Universal Studios for a decade (Link, 87).

Spartacus was released as a road show basis in the fall of 1960 (Pictures, 19), which is a distribution strategy applied to blockbuster films (Hall, 12). All the components of the road show were found in its release. Unlike film’s standardized 35mm prints, Spartacus was viewed in 70mm Technicolor film. Fifty color prints of 70mm were ordered making it the largest in Hollywood history. This resulted in over 900,000 feet of film! (UI’s big, 13). Alex North’s powerful and moving orchestral overture opened the film (Music, 59) and its grand length of over three hours was divided with an intermission. Souvenirs, including booklets providing the film’s info, were found in the lobbies of theaters.

Spartacus’ marketing also suggests Justin Wyatt’s high concept theory that the marketability of a film may be based on a narrative that is popular in a certain time period (Wyatt, 12). The epic narrative films were expensive but in a time period that brought in major profits (Miscellany, 2). These included The Robe (Koster, 1953), The Ten Commandments (DeMille, 1956) and Ben-Hur (Wyler, 1959).

Witnessing the work that Kubrick and the fine cast and crew accomplished in Spartacus, its blockbuster treatment was well deserved. Taking place in the 1st Century BCE, the film is decorated with set designs, props and costumes that reflect the historical setting magnificently. It serves well when the casts of thousands interact in that setting for great battle sequences, and likewise when smaller casts intimately interact, leaving the audience with great dramatic substance. As Pry critiques, this whale of a motion picture satisfies the multitudes (Pry, 6). Its success is not solely based on the sweeping landscapes and large-scale production. Kirk Douglas, the star of Spartacus, believed that “no matter how much is spent on a picture, its success depends first on the story and the character relationships” (Pictures, 7).

In conclusion, Spartacus was dealt with great craftsmanship under the mind of Stanley Kubrick. Its production value served well for the story, and the story served well for the characters. Because of this dynamic, the film received a diverse audience who were accustomed to epics in that time period, which led to its blockbuster performance. Something special about the hero himself, Spartacus, had an impact on audiences – a lasting impact that inspired people to repeat the lines: “I’m Spartacus, I’m Spartacus!”

List of Works Cited:

Ben-Hur. Dir. William Wyler. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. 1959. Online.

Hall, Sheldon, “Tall Revenue Features: The Genealogy of the Modern Blockbuster,” in Genre and Contemporary Hollywood, ed. Steve Neale, London: BFI Publishing, 2002, 11-26.

Pictures: Sparking ‘spartacus’. (1960, Feb 10). Variety (Archive: 1905-2000), 217, 19-19.

Pictures: ‘spartacus’ soars to $10-mil, new coast-made high. (1959, Aug 26). Variety (Archive: 1905-2000), 215, 7-7, 20.

Miscellany: Cost the most, make the most? (1960, Nov 02). Variety (Archive: 1905-2000), 220, 2-2, 17.

Music: New film directors accenting music as potent dramatic angle: Alex north. (1960, Oct 12). Variety (Archive: 1905-2000), 220, 59-59.

Pry. (1960, Oct 12). Film reviews: Spartacus. Variety (Archive: 1905-2000), 220, 6-6. Retrieved from

Spartacus. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Universal Pictures. 1960. DVD

The Robe. Dir. Henry Koster. 20th Century Fox. 1953. Online.

The Ten Commandments. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Paramount Pictures. 1956. Online.

Ui’s big 70m print order for ‘spartacus’. (1960, Aug 24). Variety (Archive: 1905-2000), 219, 13-13.

Wyatt, Justin, “A Critical Redefinition: The Concept of High Concept,” in High Concept: Movies and Marketing in Hollywood, Austin: University of Texas Press, 1994, 1-22.

Link, Tom (1991). Universal City-North Hollywood: A Centennial Portrait. Chatsworth, CA: Windsor Publications. p. 87