The Student of Prague: The Very First Independent Film (1913)

When peo­ple talk about “inde­pen­dent cin­e­ma” today, they seem, as often as not, to talk about a sen­si­bil­i­ty — we all know, on some lev­el, what some­one means when they tell us they “like indie films.” But the term has its roots, of course, not nec­es­sar­i­ly in inde­pen­dence of spir­it, but in inde­pen­dence from sys­tems. Now that tech­nol­o­gy has grant­ed all of us the abil­i­ty, at least in the­o­ry, to make any movie we want, this dis­tinc­tion has lost some of its mean­ing, but between about twen­ty and eighty years ago, the com­mer­cial estab­lish­ments con­trol­ling pro­duc­tion, dis­tri­b­u­tion, and screen­ing enjoyed their great­est solid­i­ty (and indeed, impen­e­tra­bil­i­ty). Dur­ing that time, mak­ing a film inde­pen­dent­ly meant mak­ing a fair­ly spe­cif­ic, often anti-Hol­ly­wood state­ment. But what about before then, when the medi­um of cin­e­ma itself had yet to take its full shape?

Not only does 1913’s The Stu­dent of Prague offer an enter­tain­ing exam­ple of inde­pen­dent film from an era before even Hol­ly­wood had become Hol­ly­wood, it has a place in his­to­ry as the first inde­pen­dent film ever released. Ger­man writer Hanns Heinz Ewers and Dan­ish direc­tor Stel­lan Rye (not to men­tion star Paul Wegen­er, he of the Golem tril­o­gy) col­lab­o­rat­ed to bring to ear­ly cin­e­mat­ic life this 19th-cen­tu­ry hor­ror sto­ry of the tit­u­lar stu­dent, a down-at-the-heels bon vivant who, besot­ted with a count­ess and deter­mined to win her by any means nec­es­sary, makes a deal with a dev­il­ish sor­cer­er that will ful­fill his every desire. The catch? He sum­mons the stu­den­t’s reflec­tion out of the mir­ror and into real­i­ty. So empow­ered, this dop­pel­gänger goes around wreak­ing hav­oc. Hard­ly the osten­si­bly high-mind­ed mate­r­i­al of “indie film” — let alone “for­eign film” — from the past half-cen­tu­ry or so, but The Stu­dent of Prague treats it with respect, arriv­ing at the kind of uncom­pro­mis­ing end­ing that might sur­prise even mod­ern audi­ences. If you don’t watch it today, keep it book­marked for Hal­loween view­ing.

You can find The Stu­dent of Prague added to our big film col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Film, The Golem, with a Sound­track by The Pix­ies’ Black Fran­cis

Watch Häx­an, the Clas­sic Cin­e­mat­ic Study of Witch­craft Nar­rat­ed by William S. Bur­roughs (1922)

Watch the Quin­tes­sen­tial Vam­pire Film Nos­fer­atu Free Online as Hal­loween Approach­es

Fritz Lang’s Metrop­o­lis: Uncut & Restored

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

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

6 Hours of Mannequins Flying From Newark to San Francisco

Is there any­thing worse than fly­ing from Newark to San Fran­cis­co? Maybe it’s watch­ing man­nequins tak­ing this cross-coun­try flight. Talk about tedi­um. And yet there’s some­thing a lit­tle bril­liant about this six hour adver­tise­ment from Vir­gin Air­lines — which promis­es a more inspir­ing flight. I mean how many six hour adver­tise­ments have you seen, let alone ones that have “action” from start to fin­ish? Some­where, some­one’s going to watch this thing all the way through. Maybe it’s you.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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!

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Professor Michael Stipe: R.E.M.‘s Frontman Now Teaching Art Classes at NYU

 

stipe at nyu

Admir­ers of Michael Stipe will know that he before he became a famous rock star with R.E.M., he was an art stu­dent at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Geor­gia. He may have skipped the degree, but he nev­er stopped mak­ing things, includ­ing the pho­tog­ra­phy and design of the band’s album cov­ers, the light­ing and stage design of their live shows, and sev­er­al of their videos. Now a rock star emer­i­tus, Stipe makes things full time in an offi­cial capac­i­ty as the vis­it­ing artist and schol­ar in res­i­dence at the NYU Stein­hardt Depart­ment of Art. He has recent­ly curat­ed an “evolv­ing exhi­bi­tion project” called NEW SIGHTS, NEW NOISE, writes Eric Alper, “pro­duced col­lab­o­ra­tive­ly with Jonathan Berg­er” and includ­ing “con­tri­bu­tions from spe­cial guests Dou­glas Cou­p­land, Jef­fer­son Hack, Peach­es,” and oth­ers.

Appear­ing at NYU’s 80 WSE Gallery, the exhi­bi­tion also includes work from Stipe’s stu­dents. That’s right, Michael Stipe is a “shiny hap­py” col­lege pro­fes­sor, as this pun-hap­py Spin arti­cle tells us, and the show comes from his class assign­ments: “Each week, Stipe and a dif­fer­ent spe­cial guest will give the class’ 18 stu­dents a prompt, and they’ll respond with ‘100 images and gifs, both found and made, all of which will be uploaded to a pri­vate class web­site.’” It’s all cen­tered around themes Stipe has pur­sued for some time, as you can see from his Tum­blr. He describes the project on R.E.M.’s web­site as refer­ring to “the glut and onslaught of infor­ma­tion made avail­able by the inter­net, often with­out con­text or author­ship; the dis­pro­por­tion­ate and impul­sive reac­tions that it pro­vokes, and the reck­less cyn­i­cism of a 24 hour news cycle.” Read much more about the project at Alper’s blog, and see much more of Stipe’s work—with sculp­ture, paint­ing, and film—at the Creator’s Project video above from 2011.

pho­to by David Shankbone.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why R.E.M.’s 1991 Out of Time May Be the “Most Polit­i­cal­ly Impor­tant Album” Ever

Two Very Ear­ly Con­cert Films of R.E.M., Live in ‘81 and ‘82

R.E.M Plays “Radio Free Europe” on Their Nation­al Tele­vi­sion Debut on The David Let­ter­man Show (1983)

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

Night on Bald Mountain: An Eery, Avant-Garde Pinscreen Animation Based on Mussorgsky’s Masterpiece (1933)

If you read Open Cul­ture reg­u­lar­ly, I imag­ine I can safe­ly call Alexan­der Alex­eieff and Claire Park­er your favorite France-based, Russ­ian-Amer­i­can hus­band-wife pin­screen ani­ma­tion team. Dare I pre­sume to refer to them as your favorite pin­screen ani­ma­tors, peri­od? We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured two exam­ples of their time- and labor-devour­ing but utter­ly dis­tinc­tive ani­ma­tion tech­nique: their eerie open­ing to Orson Welles’ adap­ta­tion of Kafka’s The Tri­al, and their own daz­zling adap­ta­tion of Gogol’s short sto­ry “The Nose.” Alex­eieff and Park­er’s trip to the Gogol well reflects their pen­chant for the imag­i­na­tive cre­ators of Alex­eief­f’s home­land. The film we present here draws its inspi­ra­tion not from a Russ­ian writer, but from the Russ­ian com­pos­er Mod­est Mus­sorgsky, him­self an enthu­si­as­tic incor­po­ra­tor of his coun­try’s lore and tra­di­tions.

You cer­tain­ly know at least one work of Mus­sorgsky’s: Night on Bald Moun­tain, which he wrote ear­ly in his career but which nev­er saw a full orches­tral debut until 1886, five years after his death. Over half a cen­tu­ry after that, the piece found a much wider audi­ence through its use in Walt Dis­ney’s Fan­ta­sia. For many, that inter­sec­tion of Mus­sorgsky and Mick­ey Mouse will remain the finest exam­ple of clas­si­cal music unit­ed with ani­ma­tion, but have a look at how Alex­eieff and Park­er did it — in 1933, no less, sev­en years before Fan­ta­sia — and see what Car­toon Research’s Steve Stanch­field calls “one of the most unusu­al and unique look­ing ani­mat­ed films ever cre­at­ed.” It presents, he writes, “both delight­ful and at times hor­ri­fy­ing imagery, a stream of con­scious­ness bar­rage of images that chal­lenge the view­er to com­pre­hend both their mean­ing and the mys­tery of how they were cre­at­ed.”

To my four-year-old self, Fan­ta­sia seemed pret­ty scary too, but Alex­eieff and Park­er have, on their pin­screen, tak­en things to a whole oth­er psy­cho­log­i­cal lev­el. Near­ly forty years lat­er, they would use the music of Mussko­r­gy again to cre­ate 1972’s French-lan­guage Pic­tures at an Exhi­bi­tion. They would make anoth­er, Trois Themes, in 1980, but it appears lost to time, at least for the moment. Have we made you into the kind of pin­screen ani­ma­tion enthu­si­ast who might unearth it? You can view their pin­screen ani­ma­tion of Night on Bald Moun­tain on YouTube.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Niko­lai Gogol’s Clas­sic Sto­ry, “The Nose,” Ani­mat­ed With the Aston­ish­ing Pin­screen Tech­nique (1963)

Kafka’s Para­ble “Before the Law” Nar­rat­ed by Orson Welles & Illus­trat­ed with Great Pin­screen Art

Two Beau­ti­ful­ly-Craft­ed Russ­ian Ani­ma­tions of Chekhov’s Clas­sic Children’s Sto­ry “Kash­tan­ka”

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Breaking Bad Illustrated by Gonzo Artist Ralph Steadman

steadmanwalterwhiteslkj1

Sure, I suf­fered from Break­ing Bad with­draw­al syn­drome after the show’s excel­lent fifth and final sea­son. Symp­toms includ­ed watch­ing episodes of Metás­ta­sis, the Colom­bian telen­ov­ela-style, Span­ish lan­guage remake; obses­sive­ly read­ing news about upcom­ing spin-off, Bet­ter Call Saul; and wish­ing the hoax about a Sea­son 6 was true. The con­di­tion is wide­spread, shared by fans of oth­er cult hits like Dex­ter and The Wire. Many take to the alter­nate uni­vers­es of fan fic­tion and art, and who can blame them? We become as engrossed in the lives of tele­vi­sion char­ac­ters as we do mem­bers of our own fam­i­ly, though I feel for you if your fam­i­ly is as dys­func­tion­al as Wal­ter White’s.

jessepinkmanralphsteadmansldkjf

The unlike­ly drug king­pin from sub­ur­ban Albu­querque appealed to us, I think, because he seemed so non­de­script , so painful­ly ordinary—a domes­ti­cat­ed every­man, until des­per­a­tion and hubris turned him into the feared and respect­ed Heisen­berg. No small amount of wish ful­fill­ment for audi­ences there. Break­ing Bad’s world of hyper­vi­o­lence and insan­i­ty resem­bles the dan­ger­ous real world of des­per­a­does, sleazy oppor­tunists, and mer­ce­nar­ies that Hunter S. Thomp­son fear­less­ly doc­u­ment­ed, and so it makes per­fect sense that Thomp­son illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man would be cho­sen to draw six cov­ers for an upcom­ing release of all five sea­sons of the show on Blu-ray (the last sea­son is bro­ken in two, the way it was broad­cast). At the top of the post, see Steadman’s glow­er­ing ren­di­tion of Walt/Heisenberg him­self. Just above, see a dazed and con­fused Jesse Pinkman, and below, the blast­ed vis­age of their sup­pli­er turned arch-ene­my, Gus Fring. (The com­pli­cat­ed, and baf­fling­ly much-despised Skyler does not get her own cov­er.)

guschickenmanfringlkjsdf

Steadman’s illus­tra­tions for Thompson’s Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, a “sur­re­al drug-fueled road trip” of a book, pre­fig­ure the law­less lim­i­nal spaces of Break­ing Bad’s sur­re­al desert land­scapes (remem­ber the tur­tle?). His ren­der­ings of a crazed Thomp­son on his “sav­age jour­ney to the heart of the Amer­i­can dream” per­haps even inspired the dan­ger­ous­ly unhinged jour­ney Walt and Jesse take togeth­er. Com­ing in Feb­ru­ary, the Stead­man-illus­trat­ed Blu-ray col­lec­tion is a lim­it­ed edi­tion and will, Dan­ger­ous Minds informs us, “be sold exclu­sive­ly by Zavvi.com ($30 bucks each). Pre-order is going on now but be fore­warned, the Gus “The Chick­en Man” Fring edi­tion for sea­son four (as well as Mike Ehrmantraut’s sea­son five and Hank Schrader’s show finale sea­son) have already sold-out.” Lots of Break­ing Bad addicts out there, des­per­ate for a fix. If you’re one of them, act fast, though it’s like­ly Stead­man will even­tu­al­ly offer prints for sale (and maybe mugs and t‑shirts, too) on his web­site. See the oth­er three cov­ers over at Dan­ger­ous Minds.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Orig­i­nal Audi­tion Tapes for Break­ing Bad Before the Final Sea­son Debuts

The Sci­ence of Break­ing Bad: Pro­fes­sor Don­na Nel­son Explains How the Show Gets it Right

Bryan Cranston Reads Shelley’s Son­net “Ozy­man­dias” in Omi­nous Teas­er for Break­ing Bad’s Last Sea­son

How Hunter S. Thomp­son — and Psilo­cy­bin — Influ­enced the Art of Ralph Stead­man, Cre­at­ing the “Gonzo” Style

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

The Films of Alice Guy-Blaché: The First Female Director & the Cinematic Trailblazer

Alice Guy-Blaché  (1873 –1968) is the great trail­blaz­er of ear­ly cin­e­ma you prob­a­bly nev­er heard of. She was film’s first female direc­tor. She made one of the first nar­ra­tive movies ever at age 23. She wrote, direct­ed and pro­duced over 700 films. And she remains the only woman ever to build and run a movie stu­dio. Even more remark­ably, she did all of this before she had the legal right to vote, and when con­ven­tion dic­tat­ed that she wear a corset. Yet Alice Guy-Blaché‘s name doesn’t appear along­side oth­er cin­e­mat­ic pio­neers like George Méliès, Edwin S. Porter and D.W. Grif­fith in film school his­to­ry books. Some­how, she has fall­en out of the canon of great ear­ly film­mak­ers.


For­tu­nate­ly, there’s a move­ment to cor­rect this griev­ous error. In 2009, the Whit­ney Muse­um of Amer­i­can Art pro­grammed a rare screen­ing of 80 of her works. After a long cam­paign, the Direc­tors Guild of Amer­i­ca award­ed Guy-Blaché with a Life­time Achieve­ment Award. And most recent­ly, film­mak­ers Pamela Green and Jarik van Slui­js raised over $200,000 on Kick­starter for their upcom­ing doc­u­men­tary on Guy-Blaché called Be Nat­ur­al, which is being exec­u­tive pro­duced by Robert Red­ford and nar­rat­ed by Jodie Fos­ter. See a trail­er for the film below.

Born in 1873 in Paris to a book­seller, Alice Guy found work in 1894 as a sec­re­tary for Leon Gau­mont, a still pho­tog­ra­ph­er who found­ed one of the first movie stu­dios. Guy was imme­di­ate­ly tak­en with the pos­si­bil­i­ties of film and asked her boss if she could exper­i­ment with their brand new movie cam­era. Her first film was The Cab­bage Fairy (top), which shows a woman pluck­ing infants from a cab­bage patch in a sin­gle, unmov­ing shot. To a mod­ern eye, The Cab­bage Fairy might seem mere­ly like a cute film that nice­ly cap­tures Vic­to­ri­an whim­sy. But this film was made in 1896, one year after the Lumière Broth­ers screened the first films ever made. In 1896, the Lumières were still mak­ing their Actu­al­ités – doc­u­men­taries in their most basic form. Their most famous film was sim­ply of a train roar­ing into the sta­tion. Guy’s film, by con­trast, looks strik­ing­ly orig­i­nal.

Ten years lat­er, she direct­ed the big-bud­get film The Birth, Life and Death of Christ for Gau­mont Stu­dios. It was one of the first bible epics made for the sil­ver screen, requir­ing over 300 extras. You can watch it above.

By 1907, Guy mar­ried cam­era­man Her­bert Blaché and soon moved to New York. The film­mak­er, now called Alice Guy-Blaché, found­ed The Solax Com­pa­ny with her hus­band in Fort Lee, New Jer­sey. There she con­tin­ued to make ground­break­ing movies. A Fool and his Mon­ey (1912), for instance, is the first movie ever with an all African-Amer­i­can cast. It was made three years before D. W. Grif­fith direct­ed his cin­e­mat­ic landmark/racist embar­rass­ment The Birth of a Nation.

True to film indus­try con­ven­tion, her hus­band left her for an actress in the ear­ly 1920s.  Soon there­after Solax fold­ed and Guy-Blaché returned to France. She nev­er made anoth­er movie. In 1953, she was award­ed the Légion d’hon­neur by the French gov­ern­ment but, by then, most of her movies had been lost and her rep­u­ta­tion as an ear­ly cin­e­mat­ic inno­va­tor was large­ly for­got­ten by the pub­lic.

Guy-Blaché’s films will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

40 Great Film­mak­ers Go Old School, Shoot Short Films with 100 Year Old Cam­era

What David Lynch Can Do With a 100-Year-Old Cam­era and 52 Sec­onds of Film

A Trip to the Moon (and Five Oth­er Free Films) by Georges Méliès, the Father of Spe­cial Effects

Watch The Hitch-Hik­er by Ida Lupino (the Only Female Direc­tor of a 1950s Noir Film)

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Stephen Colbert & Neil Young in a Comic Duet: “Who’s Gonna Stand Up? (and Save the Earth)”

Neil Young has a new book out — Spe­cial Deluxe: A Mem­oir of Life & Cars — which means he’s doing a quick media blitz. Tues­day morn­ing, Young paid a 90 minute vis­it to the Stern Show, where they talked about, well, every­thing: polio, the rift with David Cros­by, how he writes his music, the time he spent with Charles Man­son, what went wrong at Wood­stock, what’s gone wrong with music (and how the Pono­Play­er will fix it), and how we’re trash­ing the envi­ron­ment. Young takes the envi­ron­ment and pol­i­tics seri­ous­ly. No doubt. But he could also work it all into a good joke. Just wit­ness his per­for­mance lat­er that day with Stephen Col­bert.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Great Sto­ry: How Neil Young Intro­duced His Clas­sic 1972 Album Har­vest to Gra­ham Nash

Neil Young Busk­ing in Glas­gow, 1976: The Sto­ry Behind the Footage

‘The Nee­dle and the Dam­age Done’: Neil Young Plays Two Songs on The John­ny Cash Show, 1971

The Time Neil Young Met Charles Man­son, Liked His Music, and Tried to Score Him a Record Deal

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Martin Scorsese Creates a List of 39 Essential Foreign Films for a Young Filmmaker

MARTIN-SCORSESE-MOVIE-LIST

Eight or so years ago, young film­mak­er Col­in Levy got an oppor­tu­ni­ty of a life­time. He got a one-on-one meet­ing with Mar­tin Scors­ese. After spend­ing much of his time in high school mak­ing a five-minute short, Levy won the nation­al Youn­gArts award — and, with it, the chance to chat with the guy who direct­ed Good­fel­las, Taxi Dri­ver and Rag­ing Bull.

After get­ting a per­son­al tour of Scorsese’s office and edit­ing bays by none oth­er than leg­endary edi­tor Thel­ma Schoon­mak­er, Levy met the man him­self. “It was a defin­ing moment in my path as a film­mak­er,” he lat­er wrote on his blog.

Mar­tin Scors­ese was intim­i­dat­ing, to say the least. But very jovial, very talk­a­tive, and he took me seri­ous­ly. (Or con­vinced me, at least.) I pret­ty much kept my mouth shut. Every 30 sec­onds he would men­tion an actor, pro­duc­er, direc­tor or film title I had nev­er heard of before. I was stunned just to be in his pres­ence. He liked my film, he said. “How did you do the lit­tle crea­tures?” I tried to explain how I fig­ured out the basics of 3D ani­ma­tion. His eyes lit up and he start­ed talk­ing about the dig­i­tal effects in The Avi­a­tor.

The jux­ta­po­si­tion of scales was over­pow­er­ing. I felt like I was in a movie. Why he spent so much time with me I do not know, but it was amaz­ing just to be in his pres­ence. A few weeks after­wards I labored over a thank-you card, in which I expressed the over­whelm­ing impres­sion I had got­ten that I don’t know enough about any­thing. I spe­cial­ly don’t know enough about film his­to­ry and for­eign cin­e­ma. I asked if he had any sug­ges­tions for where to start.

A cou­ple weeks lat­er, Scorsese’s assis­tant sent him a hand­ful of books and 39 for­eign movies per­son­al­ly picked by the film­mak­er. “Mr. Scors­ese asked that I send this your way,” his assis­tant wrote to Col­in. “This should be a jump start to your film edu­ca­tion!”

Scorsese’s selec­tions – which you can see above – are a fas­ci­nat­ing insight into what influ­enced the film­mak­er. Sev­er­al movies are peren­ni­al film school clas­sics: Ital­ian neo­re­al­ist mas­ter­pieces like the Bicy­cle Thief and Umber­to D pop up on the list along with ground­break­ing French New Wave works like 400 Blows and Breath­less. More unex­pect­ed is sur­pris­ing­ly strong show­ings of both Japan­ese post-war movies and New Ger­man cin­e­ma. Both Aki­ra Kuro­sawa and Rain­er Wern­er Fass­binder get three films each. And while there are some rather eccen­tric, unex­pect­ed inclu­sions in the list–Roc­co and his Broth­ers? Il Sor­pas­so? Death by Hang­ing? – there are also some pret­ty strik­ing omis­sions; big name art house fig­ures like Ing­mar Bergman, Robert Bres­son and most sur­pris­ing­ly Fed­eri­co Felli­ni didn’t make the cut. In any case, as Scorsese’s assis­tant writes, this list is a great place to start for any­one look­ing to learn more about for­eign film.

At least the first few films on the list you will find in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

via Huff­in­g­ton Post

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­tin Scors­ese Teach­es His First Online Course on Film­mak­ing: Fea­tures 30 Video Lessons

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Mar­tin Scors­ese Cre­ate a List of 38 Essen­tial Films About Amer­i­can Democ­ra­cy

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

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