Critics Hear Dog Whistles in "Hollywoodland"

Salvador Dalí, Col. Jack L. Warner, 1951. Syracuse University Art Museum

Some high-profile visitors are already complaining about the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures' recently opened "Hollywoodland: Jewish Founders and the Making of a Movie Capital"—the very exhibition intended to address earlier complaints that the museum was ignoring the Jewish contributions to the film industry. An article in The Wrap cites "a series of explosive letters to AMPAS leadership by prominent Jewish members" saying the display comes down too hard on the likes of Jack Warner, Sam Goldwyn, and Carl Laemmle. 

A letter by Patrick Moss, co-chair of the WGA Jewish Writers Committee, says in part: "The words used to describe these men are the following: ‘frugal,’ ‘nepotistic,’ ‘harmful,’ ‘womanizing,’ ‘oppressive,’ ‘brash’ ‘tyrant,’ ‘cynical,’ ‘white-washed,’ ‘predator…’ and on it goes. THIS VERY EXHIBIT IS COMPLICIT in the hatred of American Jews, by using antisemitic tropes and dog-whistles."

"You effectively lay the prejudice, racism and misogyny of the 20th century at the feet of the Jewish founders of the movie business," says another letter, from show runner Keetgi Kogan.

My take: 1. People were right to complain about the invisibility of Jews in the museum's initial installation. 2. "Hollywoodland" strikes just about the right balance.

A historical museum exhibition should not be a hagiography. Were the Petersen to do a display on the founders of the automobile industry, from Henry Ford to Elon Musk, one would hope it would recognize their quirks and flaws (including antisemitism) as well as their imagination and work ethic. We expect nothing less of a museum exhibit today.

"Hollywoodland" (which draws heavily on consultant Neal Gabler's excellent book An Empire of Their Own) is compelling because it tells stories demonstrating how odd these moguls were—which is another way of saying how human they were. We learn that studio head Harry Cohn replicated elements of Benito Mussolini's office for his own at Columbia Pictures. Each room was psychologically engineered to intimidate the visitor. The point is not to equate Cohn to Mussolini. Yet the anecdote does reveal something about Cohn's insecurities and need to be seen as powerful.  

No exhibition can encompass all truths. The truth has to be curated, and that involves an endless succession of judgment calls. "Where does it say they loved making movies?" asks a letter from Oscar-nominated producer Lawrence Bender. Fair enough. But love takes many forms. I'll close with Cohn's own words (1946): "I may be known as a crude, loudmouth son-of-a-bitch but I built Columbia. I started it with spit and wire and these fists. I stole, cheated, and beat people's brains out. Columbia is not just my love; it's my baby, my life. I'd die without Columbia."

Unidentified Columbia Pictures photographer, Harry Cohn, 1936. © The Kobal Collection/Art Resource, NY

UPDATE: More on the "Hollywoodland" backlash in Los Angeles Magazine. Lawrence Bender asks: "Who is responsible for this atrocity?"