| It
is tempting to think that students today are quite unlike their predecessors
in their experiences of media-saturated environments. Further, we may
also think that our attempts to recognise and expand on those experiences
in learning and teaching activities are something of a struggle with the
unknown. Dana Polan's Scenes of Instruction: the Beginnings of the
US Study of Film is a salutary reminder that our pedagogical struggles
are not without precedent.
Polan,
a professor of cinema studies at the Tisch School of the Arts, New York
University, has previously written on the landmark works of directors
such as Jane Campion and Quentin Tarantino. In Scenes of Instruction,
Polan undertakes more of an historical project, offering an account of
the ways in which film studies permeated and in some cases took hold in
US universities between 1915 and 1935. Honing in on developments at Columbia,
the New School for Social Research in New York, Harvard, the University
of Southern California, Syracuse, and New York University, Polan affords
us a valuable close up of the individuals who drove curriculum reform.
In chapter one, we make the acquaintance of Victor Freeburg and Frances
Patterson, who drew film studies into Columbia's extension program in
the hope that students would see the medium as capable of being a powerful
visual art. In chapter two, Polan explores how Terry Ramsaye's teleological
and US-centred vision of the history of cinema, documented in A Million
and One Nights, might have infused his teaching in New York. Chapter
three explores Joseph Kennedy's coordination of studies of the motion
picture industry in the curriculum at the Harvard Business School. The
relationship between the film industry and curriculum is also the focus
of chapter four, with Polan analysing Lester Cowan's efforts to introduce
film studies at the University of Southern California with the support
of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Harry Potamkin's largely
unrealized aims for the study of film not only as world art but as social
force at the New School for Social Research is the focus of chapter five,
and the theme of cinema as social shaper returns in the account of Frederic
Thrasher's film appreciation course at New York University in chapter
seven. Finally, chapter six documents Sawyer Falk's aspiration to liberate
film studies from a focus on narrative and to embrace the visual nuances
of the form in chapter eight.
These
are interesting case studies of visions of film education in and of themselves,
but Polan also draws out themes that cross institutions and time. One
of his most important observations is that 'the first film courses slipped
stealthily into the academic context and, in some cases, endured most
likely by exploiting the benign neglect that frequently resulted from
bureaucratic influence.' (35) While film studies now occupy a far more
secure and acknowledged part in the curriculum, it is worth asking about
its status beyond media and cinema departments. Does film appear in history
classes as a result of widespread professional endorsement, or is it still
due to the decisions of individuals? Digging deeper, Polan invites us
to reflect on the reasons why film is brought into the classroom. Looking
at University records such as course descriptions and lecture transcripts,
and the intervention of government and industry figures such as Will Hays,
Polan sees in the rise of film studies a tension between aesthetic recognition
and appreciation and the need to recognise and reign in the power of film
as a moral and social force. (14, 25) This view might be expanded by considering
how it is that students themselves perceive the purpose of the film studies.
On pages 213 and 263 we gain a tantalising glimpse of student responses
to Boris Morkovin's (USC) and Sawyer Falk's classes. In both cases we
become aware of divided opinions on the nature and purposes of units of
study. Such glimpses should prompt us to fill out this dimension more
thoroughly. How often do we ask our students about their experiences of
film in history classes? Might their comments prompt us to think through
and communicate our strategies more adequately? This
semester, I am enjoying the privilege of exploring historical films with
142 undergraduates. Most of the students are from Australia, but a fair
fraction are on study abroad programs from the US, Germany, Austria, Korea,
India and China. In the first week of semester, I asked them where they
had encountered film in their historical studies to date, and what their
impressions of those arrangements were. Some students report never having
encountered film in the classroom, while others recall the frequent use
of film to maintain class order. By far the most common response is that
film appears infrequently the history classroom, that it is treated as
a reward for good behaviour, and that its appearance is heavily regulated
by written assessment tasks (eg. worksheets to fill in during viewing)
and teacher commentary on the plot and points of accuracy and inaccuracy. Studies
by Roy Rosenzweig and David Thelen in the US and Paula Hamilton and Paul
Ashton in Australia show that film is second only to photographs as the
medium by which people report coming into contact with the past. Although
there are no comparable studies for the period between 1915 and 1935,
cinema attendance figures and production details (eg. the number of historical
films produced) may suggest reasonably level figures. Ninety years on,
have we taken stock of what those figures might mean for history education,
and more specifically, world history education? Further, has film been
given its due in world history research? Polan's book reminds us that
there is far more to film than narrative and truth and error. Film is
an aesthetic and social force, something watched, decried, remembered
and cherished in all but a small number of places on earth. It is testimony
to Polan's skill as a writer that the actions of a small number of individuals
over ninety years ago in one nation prompt us to think about our engagement
with the world. |
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