Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.'s Campaign Against Nazism

Rating:
Summary: Films Warns Against Nazism
Review: "Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.' Campaign Against Nazism," by Michael E. Birdwell, New York: NYU Press, 2001. A book review by Harvey Karten, [e-mail].

Politicians pursuing the "family" vote regularly chime in like critic Michael Medved about the harmful effects of film on theatergoers, particularly the young. "'The Basketball Diaries' has led to an increase of heroin use in teenagers," says one. "'Pulp Fiction' shares the blame for the increase of gun use in junior high schools," asserts another. "James Bond encourages the drinking of martinis, shaken not stirred," insists a third.

Motion pictures influence our thinking. How could they not? We sit in a darkened space, focused on little other than our popcorn and the big screen, as heroes from Humphrey Bogart to Tom Cruise spin their tales across the celluloid. But to what extent do they influence the way we actually act? Pondering and debating that unresolved issue should give us something to talk about at cocktail parties for years to come. Do filmmakers actually WANT us to behave in a certain way? Probably: to the extent that they supply us with propaganda, or, what theater people call agitprop. One of the best examples of passionate partisanship involves the case of Harry Warner, one of the founders of the illustrious Warner Bros. studio, who, during the 1930's, was so incensed by Hitler's actions in Europe and so disgusted by the isolationist views of the American government and a majority of its people that he set out to influence everyone from F.D. Roosevelt to backwoods 'billies to see that the policies of the Third Reich endangered this country as well as the continent of Europe.

While the other major studios pandered to the German fascists by doing business with them throughout the thirties, Harry Warner exploited his celluloid soap-box for all its worth, backing up his lobbying efforts with at least four motion picture productions unique in their evocation of Germany's evil. The heroism of this lone ranger might not be remembered by today's world had Michael E. Birdwell not written "Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.' Campaign Against Nazism."

Birdwell's prose makes the heart beat faster as we join the author in loathing groups that had their own axes to grind in the U.S. during from 1933 to 1945--organizations whose names may have changed but whose professional haters

even today spew their venom against immigrants, Jews, African-Americans and other minorities whom they consider at the very least not to be 100% American. Some of Birdwell's scholarly but passionate statements might be describing activities in the year 2001 rather than movements that should have died a lingering and painful death during the thirties. Birdwell states: "Many Americans knew that Jews played a prominent role in the film monopoly. [One] vicious handbill read, 'Boycott the Movies! Hollywood is the Sodom and Gomorrah!'" What's missing in today's more subtle broadsides against Hollywood is the mention of Jews as the target of abhorrence, but The Pacific Coast Anticommunist Federation of that time had no problem declaring "international Jewry controls vice--dope--gambling. Buy Gentile. Employ Gentile. Vote Gentile."

Birdwell discusses Harry Warner's attempts to counteract the malice by his productions of anti-fascist movies, the most

arresting being his analysis of the film "Sergeant York," starring Gary Cooper as the title hero of World War I--an uneducated Tennessee mountain person who killed more Germans than Vassily Vaitsev but who turned pacifist immediately following the war to end all wars. When Alvin C. York came to his senses in the late thirties, he stumped for intervention. As Warner saw the prospect for waking up the world community to the dangers of Nazism, he convinced a reluctant York to give his permission for a portrayal of his life. "Sergeant York," one of the most influential archetypes of agitprop cinema, emerged. President Roosevelt may have been more affected by the attack on Pearl Harbor than on this movie, but both Harry Warner and Alvin York deserve monuments for their work in splashing cold water on the faces of a largely indifferent America. In the same manner, Birdwell--and the NYU university press, must be commended for its short but thoroughly researched study about the impact of media writ small on politics and American thinking in general... [e-mail]





Rating:
Summary: Films Warns Against Nazism
Review: "Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.' Campaign Against Nazism," by Michael E. Birdwell, New York: NYU Press, 2001. A book review by Harvey Karten, [e-mail].

Politicians pursuing the "family" vote regularly chime in like critic Michael Medved about the harmful effects of film on theatergoers, particularly the young. "'The Basketball Diaries' has led to an increase of heroin use in teenagers," says one. "'Pulp Fiction' shares the blame for the increase of gun use in junior high schools," asserts another. "James Bond encourages the drinking of martinis, shaken not stirred," insists a third.

Motion pictures influence our thinking. How could they not? We sit in a darkened space, focused on little other than our popcorn and the big screen, as heroes from Humphrey Bogart to Tom Cruise spin their tales across the celluloid. But to what extent do they influence the way we actually act? Pondering and debating that unresolved issue should give us something to talk about at cocktail parties for years to come. Do filmmakers actually WANT us to behave in a certain way? Probably: to the extent that they supply us with propaganda, or, what theater people call agitprop. One of the best examples of passionate partisanship involves the case of Harry Warner, one of the founders of the illustrious Warner Bros. studio, who, during the 1930's, was so incensed by Hitler's actions in Europe and so disgusted by the isolationist views of the American government and a majority of its people that he set out to influence everyone from F.D. Roosevelt to backwoods 'billies to see that the policies of the Third Reich endangered this country as well as the continent of Europe.

While the other major studios pandered to the German fascists by doing business with them throughout the thirties, Harry Warner exploited his celluloid soap-box for all its worth, backing up his lobbying efforts with at least four motion picture productions unique in their evocation of Germany's evil. The heroism of this lone ranger might not be remembered by today's world had Michael E. Birdwell not written "Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.' Campaign Against Nazism."

Birdwell's prose makes the heart beat faster as we join the author in loathing groups that had their own axes to grind in the U.S. during from 1933 to 1945--organizations whose names may have changed but whose professional haters

even today spew their venom against immigrants, Jews, African-Americans and other minorities whom they consider at the very least not to be 100% American. Some of Birdwell's scholarly but passionate statements might be describing activities in the year 2001 rather than movements that should have died a lingering and painful death during the thirties. Birdwell states: "Many Americans knew that Jews played a prominent role in the film monopoly. [One] vicious handbill read, 'Boycott the Movies! Hollywood is the Sodom and Gomorrah!'" What's missing in today's more subtle broadsides against Hollywood is the mention of Jews as the target of abhorrence, but The Pacific Coast Anticommunist Federation of that time had no problem declaring "international Jewry controls vice--dope--gambling. Buy Gentile. Employ Gentile. Vote Gentile."

Birdwell discusses Harry Warner's attempts to counteract the malice by his productions of anti-fascist movies, the most

arresting being his analysis of the film "Sergeant York," starring Gary Cooper as the title hero of World War I--an uneducated Tennessee mountain person who killed more Germans than Vassily Vaitsev but who turned pacifist immediately following the war to end all wars. When Alvin C. York came to his senses in the late thirties, he stumped for intervention. As Warner saw the prospect for waking up the world community to the dangers of Nazism, he convinced a reluctant York to give his permission for a portrayal of his life. "Sergeant York," one of the most influential archetypes of agitprop cinema, emerged. President Roosevelt may have been more affected by the attack on Pearl Harbor than on this movie, but both Harry Warner and Alvin York deserve monuments for their work in splashing cold water on the faces of a largely indifferent America. In the same manner, Birdwell--and the NYU university press, must be commended for its short but thoroughly researched study about the impact of media writ small on politics and American thinking in general... [e-mail]