Watch “Don’t Be a Sucker!,” the 1947 US Government Anti-Hatred Film That’s Relevant All Over Again

If you aren’t seri­ous­ly dis­turbed, even alarmed, that we in the U.S. have a pres­i­den­tial can­di­date from a major polit­i­cal par­ty who suc­ceeds by whip­ping up xeno­pho­bic fer­vor and telling us the coun­try must not only rein­sti­tute tor­ture, but must do “the unthink­able”… well…. I don’t real­ly know what to say to you. Per­haps more symp­tom than cause of a glob­al turn toward trib­al hatred, the GOP can­di­date has lent his name to a phe­nom­e­non char­ac­ter­ized by cultish devo­tion to an author­i­tar­i­an strong­man, ser­i­al false­hood, and easy, uncrit­i­cal scape­goat­ing. We needn’t look far back in time to see the his­tor­i­cal ana­logues, whether in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, at the end of the 19th, or dur­ing any num­ber of his­tor­i­cal moments before and after.

We also needn’t look very far back to find a his­to­ry of resis­tance to author­i­tar­i­an big­otry, and not only from Civ­il Rights cam­paign­ers and left­ists, but also, as you can see above, from the U.S. War Depart­ment. In 1947, the Depart­ment released the short pro­pa­gan­da film, “Don’t Be a Suck­er!”, aimed at mid­dle-class Amer­i­can Joes. Shot at Warn­er Stu­dios, the film opens with some typ­i­cal noirish crime sce­nar­ios, com­plete with con­vinc­ing­ly noir light­ing and cam­era angles, to visu­al­ly set up the char­ac­ter of the “suck­er” who gets tak­en in by sin­is­ter but seduc­tive characters—“people who stay up nights try­ing to fig­ure out how to take away” what the every­man has. What do naïve poten­tial marks in this anal­o­gy have to lose? Amer­i­can plen­ty: “plen­ty of food, big fac­to­ries to make things a man can use, big cities to do the busi­ness of a big coun­try, and peo­ple, lots of peo­ple.”

“Peo­ple,” the nar­ra­tor says, work­ing the farms and fac­to­ries, dig­ging the mines and run­ning the busi­ness­es: “all kinds of peo­ple. Peo­ple from dif­fer­ent coun­tries with dif­fer­ent reli­gions, dif­fer­ent col­ored skins. Free peo­ple.” Is this disin­gen­u­ous? You bet. We’re told this aggre­gate of peo­ple is “free to vote”—and we know this to be large­ly untrue in prac­tice for many, neces­si­tat­ing the Vot­ing Rights Act almost twen­ty years lat­er. Free to “pick their own jobs”? Employ­ment dis­crim­i­na­tion, seg­re­ga­tion, and sex­ism effec­tive­ly pre­vent­ed that for mil­lions. But the sen­ti­ments are noble, even if the facts don’t ful­ly fit. As our aver­age Joe wan­ders along, con­tem­plat­ing his advan­tages, he hap­pens upon a reac­tionary street­corner demogague harangu­ing against for­eign­ers, African-Amer­i­cans, Catholics, and Freema­sons (?) on behalf of “real Amer­i­cans.” Sounds plen­ty famil­iar.

The voice of rea­son comes from a nat­u­ral­ized Hun­gar­i­an pro­fes­sor who wit­nessed the rise of Nazism in Berlin and who explains to our every­man the strat­e­gy of fanat­ics and fascists—divide and rule. “We human beings are not born with prej­u­dices,” says the wise pro­fes­sor, “always they are made for us. Made by some­one who wants some­thing. Remem­ber that when you hear this kind of talk. Somebody’s going to get some­thing out of it. And it isn’t going to be you.” The remain­der of the film most­ly con­sists of the Hun­gar­i­an pro­fes­sor’s rec­ol­lec­tions of how the Nazis won over ordi­nary Ger­mans.

all american superman

“Don’t Be a Suck­er!” uses a clever rhetor­i­cal strat­e­gy, appeal­ing to the self-inter­est and van­i­ty of the every­man while couch­ing that appeal in egal­i­tar­i­an val­ues. The very recent his­tor­i­cal exam­ple of fas­cist Europe car­ries sig­nif­i­cant weight, where too often today that his­to­ry gets treat­ed like a joke, turned into crude and mud­dled memes. This film would have had real impact on the view­ing audi­ence, who would have seen it before their fea­ture in the­aters across the coun­try.

It’s worth not­ing that this film came out dur­ing a peri­od of increas­ing Amer­i­can pros­per­i­ty and com­par­a­tive eco­nom­ic equi­ty. The jobs “Don’t Be a Suck­er!” lists with pride have dis­ap­peared. Today’s every­man, we might say, has even more rea­son for sus­cep­ti­bil­i­ty to the dem­a­gogue’s appeals. The Inter­net Archive notes an irony here “in the light of Cold War anti-Com­mu­nist pol­i­tics, which real­ly came into their own in the year this film was made.” The street­corner pop­ulist calls to mind peo­ple like Joseph McCarthy and J. Edgar Hoover (and he looks like George Wallace)—powerful gov­ern­ment author­i­ties who cast sus­pi­cion on every move­ment for Civ­il Rights and social equal­i­ty.

“Don’t Be a Suck­er!” may seem like an out­lier, but it’s rem­i­nis­cent of anoth­er piece of patri­ot­ic, anti-racist-and-reli­gious-big­otry propaganda—the Super­man car­toon above, which first appeared in 1949, dis­trib­uted to school chil­dren as a book cov­er by some­thing called The Insti­tute for Amer­i­can Democ­ra­cy. You may have seen ver­sions of a full-col­or poster, reprint­ed in sub­se­quent years. Here, Super­man express­es the same egal­i­tar­i­an val­ues as “Don’t Be a Suck­er!” only instead of call­ing racism a con-job, he calls it “Un-Amer­i­can,” using the favorite denun­ci­a­tion of HUAC and oth­er anti-Com­mu­nist groups.

His­to­ry and the present moment may often prove otherwise—showing us just how very Amer­i­can racism and big­otry can be, but so too are numer­ous counter-move­ments on the left and, as these exam­ples show, from more con­ser­v­a­tive, estab­lish­ment cor­ners as well.

“Don’t Be a Suck­er!” will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

h/t Daniel Buk

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Redis­cov­ered: The First Amer­i­can Anti-Nazi Film, Banned by U.S. Cen­sors and For­got­ten for 80 Years

Bertolt Brecht Tes­ti­fies Before the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (1947)

Did Hol­ly­wood Movies Stu­dios “Col­lab­o­rate” with Hitler Dur­ing WW II? His­to­ri­an Makes the Case

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

The Fight to Liberate the “Happy Birthday” Song, Told in a Short Documentary

You may have fol­lowed the sto­ry in the news lately–the song, “Hap­py Birth­day to You,” has offi­cial­ly entered the pub­lic domain, thanks to a court bat­tle fought by the doc­u­men­tary film­mak­er Jen­nifer Nel­son. The bat­tle start­ed years ago when Nel­son was billed $1,500 to use “Hap­py Birth­day to You” in a doc­u­men­tary–the price of licens­ing a song still under copy­right. Wait, what? Flab­ber­gast­ed that “the world’s most pop­u­lar song,” which could be traced back to 1893, could still be under copy­right, Nel­son filed a class action suit against Warner/Chappell Music, the group claim­ing rights to “Hap­py Birth­day.” And won.

In this new short doc­u­men­tary from The Guardian, Nel­son tells the sto­ry of the song and her four-year strug­gle to give “Hap­py Birth­day” back to the world. With a lit­tle luck, “This Land is Your Land,” will be next.

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An Eye-Popping Collection of 400+ Japanese Matchbox Covers: From 1920 through the 1940s

Matchbook 1

Phillu­me­ny — the prac­tice of col­lect­ing match­box­es — strikes me as a fun and prac­ti­cal hob­by. As a child, I was fas­ci­nat­ed with the con­tents of a large glass vase my grand­par­ents had ded­i­cat­ed to this pur­suit. Their col­lec­tion was an ersatz record of all the hotels and night­clubs they had appar­ent­ly vis­it­ed before trans­form­ing into a dowdy old­er cou­ple who enjoyed rock­ing in match­ing Bicen­ten­ni­al themed chairs, mon­i­tor­ing their bird feed­er.

As any seri­ous phillu­menist will tell you, one need not have a per­son­al con­nec­tion to the items one is col­lect­ing. Most match­box enthu­si­asts are in it for the art, a micro­cosm of 20th cen­tu­ry design. The urge to pre­serve these dis­pos­able items is under­stand­able, giv­en the amount of artistry that went into them. It was good busi­ness prac­tice for bars and restau­rants to give them to cus­tomers at no charge, even if they nev­er planned to strike so much as a sin­gle match.

Matchbook 2

Smoking’s hey­day is over, but until some­one fig­ures out how to make fire with a smart phone, match­box­es and books are unlike­ly to dis­ap­pear. Wher­ev­er you go, you’ll be able to find good­ies to add to your col­lec­tion, usu­al­ly for free.

Or you could stay at home, trawl­ing the Inter­net for some of the most glo­ri­ous, and sought after exam­ples of the form — those pro­duced in Japan between the two World Wars. As author Steven Heller, co-chair of the School of Visu­al Arts’ MFA Design pro­gram, writes in Print mag­a­zine:

The design­ers were seri­ous­ly influ­enced by import­ed Euro­pean styles such as Vic­to­ri­an and Art Nou­veau… (and lat­er by Art Deco and the Bauhaus, intro­duced through Japan­ese graph­ic arts trade mag­a­zines, and incor­po­rat­ed into the design of match­box labels dur­ing the late 1920s and ’30s). West­ern graph­ic man­ner­isms were har­mo­nious­ly com­bined with tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese styles and geome­tries from the Mei­ji peri­od (1868–1912), exem­pli­fied by both their sim­ple and com­plex orna­men­tal com­po­si­tions. Since match­es were a big export indus­try, and the Japan­ese dom­i­nat­ed the mar­kets in the Unit­ed States, Aus­tralia, Eng­land, France, and even India, match­box design exhib­it­ed a hybrid typog­ra­phy that wed West­ern and Japan­ese styles into an intri­cate mélange.

Find some­thing that catch­es your eye? It shouldn’t cost more than a buck or two to acquire it, though Japan­ese clut­ter-con­trol guru, Marie Kon­do, would no doubt encour­age you to adopt car­toon­ist Roz Chast’s approach to match­book appre­ci­a­tion.

Matchbook 3

Ear­li­er this spring, Chast shared her pas­sion with read­ers of The New York­er, col­lag­ing some of her favorites into an auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal com­ic where­in she revealed that she doesn’t col­lect the actu­al objects, just the dig­i­tal images. Those famil­iar with Can’t We Talk About Some­thing More Pleas­ant, Chast’s hilar­i­ous­ly painful mem­oir about her dif­fi­cult, aging par­ents’ “gold­en years,” will be unsur­prised that she opt­ed not to add to the unwel­come pile of “crap” that gets hand­ed down to the next gen­er­a­tion when a col­lec­tor pass­es away.

If you’re inspired to start a Chast-style col­lec­tion, have a rum­mage through the large album of Japan­ese vin­tage match­box cov­ers that web design­er, Jane McDe­vitt post­ed to Flickr, from which the images here are drawn.

Those 418 labels, culled from a friend’s grandfather’s col­lec­tion are just the tip of McDevitt’s match­box obses­sion. To date, she’s post­ed over 2050 cov­ers from all around the world, with the bulk hail­ing from East­ern Europe in the 50s and 60s.  You can vis­it her col­lec­tion of 400+ Japan­ese match­box cov­ers here. And if you’re into this stuff, check out the Japan­ese book, Match­box Label Col­lec­tion 1920s-40s.

Matchbook 4

via coudal.com

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Adver­tise­ments from Japan’s Gold­en Age of Art Deco

What Hap­pens When a Japan­ese Wood­block Artist Depicts Life in Lon­don in 1866, Despite Nev­er Hav­ing Set Foot There

The Mak­ing of Japan­ese Hand­made Paper: A Short Film Doc­u­ments an 800-Year-Old Tra­di­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day, author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine, will be read­ing from her trav­el mem­oir, No Touch Mon­key! And Oth­er Trav­el Lessons Learned Too Late at Indy Reads Books in down­town Indi­anapo­lis, Thurs­day, July 7. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Terry Gilliam Explains His Never-Ending Fascination with Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus”

As I recall, if you asked men in the 1990s to describe ide­al the woman, a great many would have made ref­er­ences to Uma Thur­man, who spent that decade play­ing high-pro­file roles in acclaimed movies like Pulp Fic­tion and Gat­ta­ca—as well as less-acclaimed movies like The Avengers and Bat­man & Robin (but hey, you can’t pick win­ners all the time). But ani­ma­tor, direc­tor, Amer­i­can Mon­ty Python mem­ber and all-around vision­ary Ter­ry Gilliam made use of the pow­er­ful appeal of Thur­man’s pres­ence even ear­li­er, when—making The Adven­tures of Baron Mun­chausen—-he need­ed just the right young lady for a scene recre­at­ing San­dro Bot­ti­cel­li’s Renais­sance paint­ing The Birth of Venus.

“The cast­ing direc­tor in L.A. said, ‘You’ve got to meet this girl,’ ” Gilliam remem­bers in the clip from this year’s BBC Arts doc­u­men­tary Bot­ti­cel­li’s Venus: The Mak­ing on an Icon at the top of the post. “There she was: stat­uesque, beau­ti­ful, intelligent—incredibly intel­li­gent.” He com­pares the orig­i­nal can­vas itself to a “widescreen cin­e­ma,” as well as, just as apt­ly, to a low­er art form entire­ly: “The winds are blow­ing, her hair starts bil­low­ing out, the dress­ing girl is bring­ing in the robe — it’s a real­ly fun­ny paint­ing, look­ing at it again, because she’s there, sta­t­ic, ele­gant, naked, sexy. The robe would­n’t look so good if the winds weren’t blow­ing, nor would her hair look so beau­ti­ful. It’s like, this is a com­mer­cial for sham­poo!”

As Mon­ty Python fans all know, Gilliam had worked with The Birth of Venus before, using his sig­na­ture cutout ani­ma­tion tech­nique, which defined much of the look and feel of Mon­ty Python’s Fly­ing Cir­cus, to make Venus dance. “I like test­ing how much I like some­thing, or how beau­ti­ful some­thing is, by mak­ing fun of it,” he says to his BBC inter­view­er. “If it with­stands my silli­ness, it’s real­ly great art.” Fur­ther props to Bot­ti­cel­li come at the end of the clip, when she asks Gilliam if he thinks Venus rep­re­sents “the ulti­mate male fan­ta­sy.” “Oh, why not?” he imme­di­ate­ly replies. “You don’t do much bet­ter than that. I think he real­ly cracked that one.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Botticelli’s 92 Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy

Ter­ry Gilliam Reveals the Secrets of Mon­ty Python Ani­ma­tions: A 1974 How-To Guide

Ter­ry Gilliam’s Debut Ani­mat­ed Film, Sto­ry­time

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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