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Films we don't see very often

A resourceful entrepreneur builds a successful business from the ground up, overcoming market skepticism, government opposition and personal adversity, eventually providing jobs and wealth.

While we do see them occasionally, there's usually something wrong with the entrepreneur (e.g., can get money but not love). Or the story is only a sidelight to the main action.

Some examples follow (any others?). Note that only one shows the hero-entrepreneur in his full glory, and in it evil corporations brought the hero down. Also, all but two were based directly on well-known non-film sources.

Gone with the Wind (1939).
Bright Leaf (1950).
Giant (1956).
Citizen Kane (1941).
The Magnificent Ambersons (1942).
Tucker: The Man and His Dream (1988).

Film of the day: The Godfather

The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather: Part II (1974) might seem like movies about crime, but they are actually films about business and capitalism.

Robert Evans, producer of The Godfather, has said (The Kid Stays in the Picture, 2002), that though he wanted Coppola for the movie just because he was Italian (and therefore presumably could bring authenticity), Coppola did not want to do an “Italian” movie that emphasized the mob. Rather, he wanted to do a movie about “the story of capitalism in America.”

The Godfather was, indeed, the first film that showed the mob as genuine protagonists, basically like everybody else, including business people, except for the minor point that they killed people. The Corleone family moves from Vito’s sole proprietorship stage, built on personal relationships and trust, to Michael’s coldly efficient capital-driven model.

Coppola’s less-than-favorable view of capitalism and how it ultimately distorts the creative process is on display elsewhere. Tucker: The Man and His Dream (1988) is really about Coppola's efforts to make his own films without interference from money men like Evans, and build his own studio. In The Conversation (1974), Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) does an unsavory eavesdropping job for a shadowy businessman called "The Director" (Robert Duvall), but gets in trouble when he doesn't stick to his assigned task.

Coppola got his point about capital across in The Godfather although that was far from Evans’ mind. As I argue in my article, the money people cut the filmmakers slack about the message as long as the message doesn't get in the way of making money.

Film of the day: Pretty Woman

Pretty Woman (1990) might be the clearest of the film condemnations of the cold-hearted capitalist. Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) is, at least at the beginning, an icy takeover specialist, a la Larry (the Liquidator) Garfield in Other People’s Money (released as a film the following year, but already a popular play) and Gordon Gekko in Wall Street. He has no time for his girlfriend, or even to wait for the valet to get his own car, so he takes his lawyer’s (Phil Stuckey, played by Jason Alexander) Lotus, and gets lost on Hollywood Blvd. There he tries to get directions from Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts), a hooker who charges even for this service.

We already have met Vivian, and know she’s a good sort who really needs the money because her roommate has spent the rent on drugs. We also know that she has to fend for herself – she doesn’t want a pimp to run her life.

Vivian ends up staying the night in Edward’s palatial penthouse hotel room, and then the week with Edward, who “rents” her to fill a female slot in his life without the complications that Edward has been getting from his non-paid girlfriends and ex-wife. So Vivian wants to be an independent contractor rather than an employee, while Edward is looking for an employee to replace the independent women he has had to deal with. They negotiate this like business transaction it is – she offers $4,000, he counters with $2,000, and they settle for $3,000 (the original working title of the film).

During this week, Edward is trying to buy a piece of Long Beach from its owner, Jim Morse (Ralph Bellamy) to turn into a residential development. The problem is that the property already has a shipbuilding factory with employees who would be thrown out of work. Edward, being a cold-hearted capitalist, doesn’t care about the employees. Morse is hoping to get a Navy ship order from the government, but Edward has used his contact with Senator Adams (Stacey Keach Sr) to find out that this is buried in appropriations.

Edward has dinner with Morse and his grandson during which he makes his liquidation plan clear, to their chagrin and strong opposition. Morse points out that Edward’s father, though also a capitalist, was a better person.

Edward describes to Vivian what he does as not actually making or building anything, just buying property and selling it. She says that it’s like stealing cars and selling them for parts, except that it’s legal. As in other films (see The Godfather) crime is no different from legal business.

During this week, Vivian proceeds to remake Edward in her fun-loving image. At breakfast, the morning after the pickup, Edward is such a remarkably uptight capitalist that he complains about Vivian sitting on his fax on the table right in front of him rather than further away in a chair. He almost kicks her out the night before because he thinks she has drugs in the bathroom (it’s really dental floss!). Vivian, meanwhile, is a fun-loving frolic. (An unusual aspect of the film is that we see televisions playing the actresses on whom Julia Roberts seems to have modeled her performances – Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy and Audrey Hepburn in Charade (1963), opposite Cary Grant).

The film’s characters are firmly placed in categories that should sound familiar to readers of my article. Edward and his lawyer Phil are cold-hearted capitalists, just as are the pimps that Vivian refuses to entangle herself with. (Although in this film, the capitalist actually comes out looking better than the lawyer. This is signaled early in the film when Vivian says that Edward looks like a lawyer because he has that “sharp useless look” lawyers have.) Morse and his grandson are capitalists of the worker-friendly sort. The others are the workers who must slave for the capitalists – Vivian and her roommate and fellow prostitute, Barney Thompson (Hector Elizondo), the hotel manager who must keep his prized guest and his guest’s whore happy, and the sales people in the dress shop where Edward buys clothes for Vivian. (Edward says “stores are never nice to people, they’re nice to credit cards.”)

Although Edward likes to compare himself with Vivian – he says “You and I are such similar creatures – we both screw people for money,” tells Phil that Vivian is “in sales,” and describes her turf on Hollywood Blvd as her “office” – in fact they’re obviously very different, since one is the capitalist and the other is the worker.

Eventually, though, Vivian turns Edward into a capitalist of the good, worker-friendly, sort. After a few days with Vivian he’s remembering his creative self – playing the piano, playing with blocks. He tells Phil, “You know what’s wrong with us – we don’t make anything.” Phil responds that they make money, but that’s obviously not good enough.

Moreover, we even find out why Edward was such a cold-hearted capitalist – he hated his father, who left Edward’s mother. That’s why Edward bought his first company – to throw his father out of a job. Apparently he went on getting back at his father by destroying other companies and jobs. Then he was estranged from his father, and his father died. Now he sees old Morse as his father, and an opportunity to make up for all the bad things he did in his life.

Eventually Edward offers a real romantic relationship to Vivian, and helps Morse get his defense contract to build ships. Edward says it was “a business decision.” Vivian says, “it was good.” Edward says, “it felt good.”

But Phil, who thinks it’s enough to make money, is left as the unreconstructed cold-hearted capitalist. He can’t think of Vivian as anything other than a hooker, and makes a repulsive attempt to rape her when they are alone in Edward’s hotel room.

It is no secret who the audience is supposed to like – elegantly handsome Richard Gere (Tibetan activist, once voted “Sexiest Man Alive”), or Phil, played by bald, short (four inches shorter than Julia Roberts) Jason Alexander, one of the few people less sexy than Danny De Vito, and who went on to play nerdy George on Seinfeld.

Not that the audience ever had a real choice, since cute, perky Audrey Hepburn/Lucille Ball/Julia Roberts is making the real decisions. The cold-hearted capitalists are one-dimensional clowns, while the workers and the reformed warm-hearted capitalists are all beautiful people.

If the film left us any room to think, we might ask whether the original Edward and Phil really were such bad people. If the Long Beach property is worth more as a residential development than as a shipyard, then this does say something about whether society is better off if Edward buys it. This seems even more obvious here than in Wall Street and Other People’s Money, since the competing use isn’t even provided by the market, but rather by the government. We have regressed in industrial history from cable (Other People’s Money) and airplanes (Wall Street) to boats. During this late-80’s period, Hollywood sees the government as better than business even when it is building destroyers.

Finally, the attitudes on display in this film are more obviously those of the artist behind the film than they may be in other projects. The artist in question was a previously struggling writer, J.F. Lawton, who had previously made one film, Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death (1989), and obviously was fairly far down on the artist/capitalist food chain when Pretty Woman came along (he went on to write Under Siege).

A side trip into academia

I have tried not to be too academic in my article or blog, but just so I don't appear too ignorant, I thought I'd mention that I'm aware that there's a lot of writing on law and film as a subset of law and literature. I don’t discuss any of it in my article yet, but plan to. I have been trying to get a handle on how it relates to my particular concerns.

Some of this work plainly does not. For example, there is work on how lawyers’ arguments to juries have followed the structure of cinematic narrative (see Philip N. Meyer, "Desperate for Love": Cinematic Influences Upon a Defendant's Closing Argument to a Jury, 18 Vermont Law Review 721 (1994)). (See also Theodore Dreiser, American Tragedy.) But it does not relate to my work, which attempts to show how film creates a public image of business. Nor does work that attempts to use art, including film, to demonstrate themes in law school and law practice. There, film is more like a blackboard than a force in itself.

Closer to my work, there is much writing on how various topics have been portrayed in film, most importantly, law and the legal profession: John Denvir (ed.), Legal Reelism: Movies as Legal Texts (1996); Bergman and Asimow, Reel Justice: The Courtroom Goes To The Movies (1996); The Lawyer in Popular Culture: A Bibliography, available at http://www.law.utexas.edu/lpop/lpopbib2.htm; Michael Asimow, Bad Lawyers in the Movies, 24 Nova Law Review 533 (2000). The latter harks to the data-driven approach advocated by Anthony Chase, Toward a Legal Theory of Popular Culture, 1986 Wisc. L. Rev. 527 (1986).

Most of this work merely shows that social attitudes show up in film, as they do in other art forms. There is nothing special about film (though Asimow does argue that film shows lawyers more negatively than television because of the latter’s need to develop sympathetic recurring characters). My theory shows how movies’ message arises from the peculiarities of the film industry. This suggests that film influences attitudes rather than vice versa. Moreover, films’ approach to business cannot necessarily be attributed to the inherent shortcomings of business.

Ironically, while much of the film/narrative writing shows how film perpetuates oppression (e.g., by suggesting the inferiority of women or racial minorities, or understating the horrors of prisons or the death penalty), my article shows how film overstates the evil of the supposed oppressor – that is, the large corporation. Maybe it’s the beginning of a critical legal studies for the right.

Film of the day: El Mariachi

El Mariachi (1992) interests me because it was such a landmark of independent filmmaking – made as virtually a one-man effort for $7,000 by a 24-year-old Texan (Robert Rodriguez) (plus $200,000 post-production), it made over $2 million. (Though the film was made in Mexico and in Spanish, I’m counting it as an American film because made by an American who has since spent his career in the US film industry).

A question I raise in my paper is whether a filmmaker’s ability to work for little money without capitalists looking over his shoulder is likely to affect his view of capitalists. I see this as an important issue because digital filmmaking and Internet distribution might actually make these working conditions a realistic possibility.

On the evidence of this film, it seems the answer is that the new economics of filmmaking might affect part, but not all, of the message. In the film, the eponymous hero (Carlos Gallardo) just wants to travel from town to town to sing his simple poetry accompanied by his acoustic guitar. But the capitalists (i.e., the bar owners) prefer one-man electrified bands and their tacky contemporary music.

This may be more a comment about modern tastes than about capital. But, after all, the problem with capital constraints is that they force obedience to these tastes.

El Mariachi ultimately loses his love, his guitar, and his ability to make music because of a vicious drug lord. Our hero takes his dead girlfriend’s motorcycle (given her by the drug lord) and takes off down the road, bent for a life of violence.

In the film there are two guitar cases. One holds el Mariachi's guitar, the other holds guns. When the powers that be take the art, the artist is left only with violence. So it’s hard to make art in this world – maybe not because of capitalists, but always because of their close kin, the rich and powerful.

Ironically, after his success with this film, Rodriguez was able to get lots of money to make movies. He went on to make violent John Woo-type films – Desperados (1995) and Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003), and From Dusk to Dawn (1996), a vampire western.

Another film of the day: Martha, Inc.: The Story of Martha Stewart

I wanted to see the tv movie Martha, Inc.: The Story of Martha Stewart (2003) because, given the currency of the Martha Stewart trial, I was thinking about the effect of film in shaping public policy toward business.

But the film also provided some insight into how television films differ from theatrical releases in their view of business. My theory is that capitalists tend to be treated better in television films because tv filmmakers can’t make the people they sell ads to look too bad.

Indeed, this film is not really about the evils of business. In fact, it’s a rare film that actually takes a close look at the painstaking building of a business, and shows that this storyline can have dramatic potential.

Sure, it’s not a flattering portrait of Martha Stewart. But rather than indicting business, it criticizes Martha on the soap opera level – as a helpless prisoner of her obsessive need for perfection, who did it all to impress her cold, perfectionist father. She asks, “Why is being successful suddenly a bad thing. . .” Answer: she committed the television sin of a woman forsaking her husband and family.

Here it isn’t the capitalists who are evil. Rather, they are helpless at the onslaught of a relentless sole proprietor – the sort of independent business person that filmmakers usually love.

As for shaping public policy, if the Martha Stewart jurors saw this movie, I’m not sure whether they would conclude that Martha is the sort of driven person who would lie to save her business, or simply feel sorry for her.

A postscript: The World of the Future

From Star Trek: First Contact (1996)--

Captain Picard (Patrick Stewart): In the 24th century, men won’t work for money, they will work for the good of society.

Dr. Zefram Cochrane (James Cromwell), inventor of a warp drive in the 21st century that saves humanity: I didn’t do this to make history, I did it to make money.

A mixed message. Is this attributable to the television origins of this film, and to the fact that its writers, Roddenberry and Berman, also wrote for the television show? Or is it just intended to show how much man has progressed in 300 years?