Cine-matters

Due to the scarcity of time machines, it cannot be completely ascertained whether our culture would have the same perspective of explicitness if the Code had remained in place until the present day.  Still, it is a reasonable assumption that a larger portion of the population would appreciate movies in which any illegal acts were portrayed in a conservative manner and on a kind of need-to-know basis with the viewer.

The second section of the Code tackles the issue of sexual content within a film, a dilemma which has been faced by every developing genre from screwball comedy to action/adventure.

This philosophy of “lead us not into temptation” seems as though it would be beneficial today, especially in light of incidents like teens being injured attempting to imitate scenes from “Jackass: The Movie.”  Something important is lost when there are no limits to what can be seen and, by extension, learned in the theatre.

However, our present culture is much more cynical than the conservative generation of the thirties, forties, and fifties.  As children of the Information Age, fed on a steady diet of special effects and reality television, a Hollywood that chose not to include depictions of drug dealing and gunshot wounds would seem incomplete and unbelievable.

The Code stated that “the technique of murder must be presented in a way which does not inspire imitation,”  and continually emphasized the importance of attempting to display dramatic criminal situations realistically without making the antagonist seem commendable.

Hays desired that no illegal activities should ever be “presented in such a way as to throw sympathy with the crime as against law and justice,”  and effectively spelled out the guidelines that make that possible.  He also specified that no crimes should be detailed, hoping to dissuade the young and foolish from attempting to do anything they saw in the movies.

Fortunately for the modern observer’s analysis, the Production Code was abolished in 1966, due to numerous factors.  The combination of graphic television news, an onslaught of foreign films, and new freedoms within the mediums of print and theatre spelled the demise of the Hay’s Code long before it was officially dismissed.

It only remains to juxtapose the effects of cinema in the Code era with the impact it made in the pre- and post-Code periods up to this point.

The first section of the Code deals with the subject of “Crimes Against the Law,”  which was vitally important to address in the face of cop-and-robber movies and the like.

2.    Correct standards of life, subject only to the requirements of drama and entertainment, shall be presented.

3.    Law, natural or human, shall not be ridiculed, nor shall sympathy be created for its violation.
Within these parameters, the Code went on to be more specific to movie situations, leaving little room for ambiguity on what would “lower…moral standards.”
The dynamics of the Production Code in relation to the idea of free artistic expression can be viewed in numerous different ways.  Does the Production Code unnecessarily limit the creative powers of the artisans involved in the process, or does it bring a sense of safety and trust to the relationship between filmmaker and viewer?

In 1945, the name of the organization was changed to the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), a title that it has retained to this day.  As president of this high-profile company, he determined to create a code of propriety for all future movies to adhere to.
The Production Code, or the “Hays Code” as it came to be known, set out numerous limits for the content of American films.

The Code states “general principles” at the outset, which include:
1.    No picture shall be produced that will lower the moral standards of those who see it.  Hence the sympathy of the audience should never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil or sin.

The 1930’s saw the advent of the notorious Production Code, also known as the “Hay’s Code.”  Studio executives brought in Will H. Hays to remedy the situation.  Hays had been the campaign manager for President William Harding, and effectively dealt with the Teapot Dome scandal and other discrepancies of Harding’s administration.  He had also served as both the United States Post Master General and as a Presbyterian minister.
Hays took action by assuming leadership of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA), which was the corporation responsible for giving the major U.S. film players and studios their financial backing

In addition to the discrepancies in the personal lives of film’s new celebrities, issues arose within the products themselves.  The debate about whether or not to portray sexual scenes in American film became a “lightning-rod issue,”  along with spirited arguments about how much—if any—language to allow in movies.  How much of criminal life and underground activities should be permitted in the name of drama and entertainment?

No such rules had been necessary previous, because the public had only recently begun to grapple with the concept of moving pictures.  Now, in the face of inner and outer conflict, the film gurus determined that boundaries needed establishment.

Cracking the Code:
Will Hays and the Pursuit of Hollywood Morality

The so-called “Roaring Twenties” brought the film industry into a state of uproar.  Barely beyond its infant stages, the new, experimental medium threatened to collapse in the face of scandal.

Gossip columns went wild upon discovering that actress Mary Pickford, recently christened “America’s Sweetheart,” had divorced her husband and married the younger Douglas Fairbanks within a matter of weeks.  Fatty Arbuckle, the classic silent slapstick comedian, was falsely accused of raping and murdering young starlet Virginia Rappe.

Although Arbuckle was later acquitted, the damage was done—the trust between the filmmakers and the audience had been severely breached.

Life is like an indie movie.

You push hard to get noticed.

You invest all of your time, effort, and resources into making it the best that you think it can or ever will be.

Then you step back and let other people judge it, giving them the power to accept it or reject it at will.

You let them determine for themselves (and often, for you) whether it has any intrinsic value.

Then you either accept your prize or walk off with the pieces of what you thought was art.

Here, in college, I’m hoping my life is worth the investment.