Projecting the World: Representing the "Foreign" in Classical Hollywood

By Louis Bayman, Chris Cagle, Edward K. Chan and 8 more

The classical Hollywood films that were released between the 1930s and 1960s were some of the most famous products of global trade, crisscrossing borders and rising to international dominance. In analyzing a series of Hollywood films that illustrate moments of nuanced transnational engagement with the "foreign," Projecting the World: Representing the "Foreign" in Classical Hollywood enriches our understanding of mid-twentieth-century Hollywood cinema as a locus of imaginative geographies that explore the United States’ relationship with the world. While previous scholarship has asserted the imperialism and racism at the core of classical Hollywood cinema, Anna Cooper and Russell Meeuf’s collection delves into the intricacies—and sometimes disruptions—of this assumption, seeing Hollywood films as multivalent and contradictory cultural narratives about identity and politics in an increasingly interconnected world.

Projecting the World illustrates how Hollywood films negotiate shifting historical contexts of internationalization through complex narratives about transnational exchange—a topic that has thus far been neglected in scholarship on classical Hollywood. The essays analyze the "foreign" with topics such as the 1930s island horror film, the 1950s Mexico-set bullfighting film, Hollywood’s projection of "exoticism" on Argentina, and John Wayne’s film sets in Africa. Against the backdrop of expanding consumer capitalism and the growth of U.S. global power, Hollywood films such as Tarzan and Anatahan, as well as musicals about Paris, offered resonant images and stories that dramatized America’s international relationships in complicated ways.

A fascinating exploration of an oft-overlooked aspect of classical Hollywood films, Projecting the World offers a series of striking new analyses that will entice cinema lovers, film historians, and those interested in the history of American neocolonialism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne State University Press
• Release date: Jun 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9780814343074

Book preview

completion.

Introduction

Classical Hollywood and Transnational Culture

Anna Cooper and Russell Meeuf

In Billy Wilder’s 1948 film A Foreign Affair, set in American-occupied postwar Berlin, Marlene Dietrich sings a number in a seedy black market nightclub in a ruined street:

Black market

Eggs for statuettes

Smiles for cigarettes

Got some broken down ideals?

Like wedding rings?

Shhhhhhh, tiptoe—trade your things!

Dietrich’s song underscores the film’s stark image of the U.S. occupation of Germany, one largely focused on how the black market for American consumer goods such as cigarettes and chocolate bars leads supposedly wholesome GIs into tawdry behavior. In one scene, two U.S. soldiers use candy bars to try to lure a young German girl out to a bar and, it is implied, to a sexual encounter (not realizing that the fräulein in question is actually a stuffy midwestern U.S. congresswoman, played by Jean Arthur, investigating troop morale in Berlin).

The contrast between Dietrich’s morally flexible lounge singer and Arthur’s upright American, however, provides an easy dichotomy that too often lets the film’s nuances go unnoticed: the film’s protagonist must choose between a sexy, manipulative vision of Europe and a chaste, honest representative of the U.S. middle class. Displacing geopolitics onto the bodies and behavior of women, the film seems to suggest an allegory for postwar isolationism, dramatizing the corrupting influence of Europe, the superior morality of the heartland, and the dangers of foreign entanglements.¹ The generic conventions of the romantic comedy, of course, mean that our hero (an unscrupulous army captain played by John Lund) will choose the stuffy congresswoman, even if reluctantly: the film ends with him trying to evade her sexual advances and insistence that he return to Iowa with her to become a respectable husband.

But this simple narrative closure fails to rein in the film’s complex exploration of international capitalism and sexual politics, especially since A Foreign Affair spends much of its narrative complicating the typical relationships between sex and consumerism in Hollywood. The links between sexuality and American-style consumer capitalism are often assumed to be central to the geopolitics of classical Hollywood, as their persistent synergy within classical Hollywood films supposedly seduced people around the world into a Pax Americana² in the early to mid-twentieth century. Yet here, within this Hollywood film directed by a German émigré, the relationship between sex and capitalism is considerably darkened, as Dietrich is effectively shown to be a black market sex worker, trading sadomasochistic sexual favors with her American army captain lover in exchange for food and other necessities. And the images of GIs plying poor German women with chocolate in exchange for companionship offers a bitterly cynical view of American economic investment in Europe, even when played for laughs as it is in A Foreign Affair. This Hollywood film thus subtly critiques U.S.-style capitalism and its typical glamorization of women’s consumption as a justificatory theme, undermining the supposed benevolence of the U.S. occupation of Europe. The film reflects a deep sense of unease not about the corrupting power of Europe but instead about the failures of U.S.-led consumerism (and masculinity) in Europe, an anxiety that the film’s generic ending cannot reconcile.³

As this example attests, film texts are often deep and subtle, rich and rewarding to interpret. They can powerfully buttress dominant ideologies, or they can subvert them—even when made within a hegemonic apparatus such as the Hollywood film industry. So it is surprising that, within scholarship on Hollywood cinema’s relationship with twentieth-century U.S. international relations, there is a marked tendency to take the film text as somehow transparent, as too obviously colonialist in content to merit further study. While critics and scholars acknowledge that Hollywood films were enormously appealing and persuasive (of what?) to audiences around the world, this is all too often treated as warranting every possible kind of explanation except for digging into the content and form of the films themselves. Ruth Vasey’s generally quite accomplished book on classical Hollywood’s distribution practices and negotiations with foreign governments, for example, makes the following opening remarks:

A motion picture may be set in New York or ancient Rome, but if the movie is a product of Hollywood we know that the fiction will be governed by a set of narrative and representational conventions that will override the social, geographic, and historical characteristics of its nominal locale. The world according to Hollywood is an exotic, sensual cousin of the realm outside the cinema.⁴

This is a sweeping claim about Hollywood film texts that, rather than being proven, is treated as the premise for an industrial study. We see this sort of assumption again and again. Rheinhold Wagnleitner, for example, writes that

The so-called Americanisation of European culture was not a by-product of the political, military and economic successes of the United States in Cold War Europe but was actually at the centre of that process…. By virtually representing the codes of modernity and material abundance, America signified the defeat of the old, the traditional, the small, the narrow.⁵

Yet Wagnleitner fails to engage with the content or forms of this culture at all and instead investigates the relationship between Hollywood and the U.S. State Department. And again, Ian Jarvie (notwithstanding his contribution to the present volume) wrote in his 1992 book about Hollywood distribution in Europe from 1920 to 1950 that Whether Hollywood produced art or commercial products, its dominance in world film trade was a fact—a fact deserving historical explanation.⁶ Certainly it deserves historical explanation, but doesn’t it also deserve digging into the texts themselves to explain this dominance? These are simply a few examples from a clear pattern in scholarship on the relationship between Hollywood and U.S. foreign relations in the twentieth century, which has fairly consistently taken a reductive approach to the film text and has instead privileged extratextual concerns such as distribution, reception, and runaway production.

This is the gap that this volume seeks to redress, bringing together recent work that challenges this pattern through detailed and sophisticated engagement with the Hollywood film text at the level of geopolitics. Each chapter of this volume takes a different approach, drawing on various traditions of textual analysis and film theory, but what they all share is a belief that Hollywood films, far from being monolithic, are ideologically nuanced in ways that need to be teased out and analyzed to be fully understood, even as these films can also be terrifically forceful in representing an American vision of the world. There is no one-to-one relationship, we believe, between production conditions and content; rather, each film text must be examined in its own right for the ways, perhaps both intentional and unintentional, that it engages with geopolitics.

The frequent disregard of the Hollywood film text when studying Hollywood’s geopolitics is all the more surprising when you consider the centrality of textual studies to scholarship on European imperialism. Ever since Edward Said identified the British and French novel as a locus for understanding the ideological textures of these empires and their continued effects on the world today, literature departments have proliferated with scholars engaging with written texts through the lens of colonialist geopolitics in sophisticated ways. Though there are some exceptions (to be discussed below), film studies has largely not partaken of this long-running trend in geopolitical reading—despite the fact that classical Hollywood cinema, like the British and French novel, is unquestionably the most important popular art form in a period of unprecedented global dominance for the culture from whence it arose. Such a focus on the geopolitics of the Hollywood film text is clearly overdue, as the rich and captivating chapters of this volume demonstrate.

Examining the internal logics and visual spectacle of Hollywood cinema from roughly 1930 through 1965, Projecting the World explores how midcentury Hollywood envisioned America’s international relationships, where America is both a state with a growing role in international politics and a vague but powerful vision of consumer modernity. At times, this exploration reveals the myriad ways that Hollywood films seek to seduce or suture spectators into alignment with U.S. global leadership, indicating the surprisingly complex cultural negotiations underpinning the projection of U.S. global power and the spread of global capitalism. Other times, the films reveal a deep ambivalence about the cultural transformations of a more global world, highlighting the tensions of identity thanks to a variety of cross-cultural exchanges. In both cases, this book illustrates how Hollywood films negotiate the shifting historical contexts of internationalization, offering far more complex narratives about transnational exchange than is typically acknowledged in classical Hollywood movies.

This is not to suggest, of course, that such films provide a perspective on the world that radically decenters whiteness, maleness, or Western privilege. The films analyzed here address questions of identity, transnational exchange, global political power, and consumer modernity from the privileged perspective of (mostly) white males grappling with America’s growing world power. By interrogating these privileged narratives, this book shows the anxieties, accommodations, and incoherencies underpinning Hollywood’s engagement with the world beyond the United States.

Hollywood and the World

Although, as argued above, we believe that the Hollywood film text has received short shrift in studies of the relationships between U.S. cinema and U.S. foreign power, this work is nevertheless not without precedent. Indeed, even though (as discussed above) industrial studies of global Hollywood have tended to make problematic assumptions about the film text, such work also underpins the present volume, and its importance should not be underestimated.

A number of such studies have demonstrated the importance of international markets to the U.S. studios and their work to secure the place of Hollywood films in the world market. Thomas Guback’s out-of-print but highly illuminating 1969 study of the international operations of Hollywood shows an industry becoming much more international in scope, expanding international (runaway) productions and making huge investments in international film industries to expand their global production efforts.⁷ Later, Jarvie’s Hollywood’s Overseas Campaign,⁸ Vasey’s The World According to Hollywood, 1918–1939,⁹ and John Trumpbour’s Selling Hollywood to the World¹⁰ meticulously documented the imperatives for internationalization for the studio system and its commitment to producing films that would cater to international audiences. Such studies indicate the global nature of Hollywood economics well before the current era of multinational media conglomeration and situate the texts studied here within the history of Hollywood’s global production and distribution practices.

Other work in reception studies has shown how the products of Hollywood as an international industry have functioned as important cultural artifacts in the negotiation of cultural and national identity for global audiences. Maltby and Stokes’s collection Hollywood Abroad explores the vital and sometimes contradictory role that Hollywood products played in the production of both national identity and cultural modernity for international audiences.¹¹ For example, Charles Ambler’s essay in that collection on the popularity of U.S. westerns in Central African mining communities in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s shows how Hollywood cinema provided a range of styles and fashions that could be adapted to life amid the highly exploitive labor conditions, much to the chagrin of British colonial authorities who sought to regulate the cinematic diet of the communities. Sporting cowboys hats and makeshift chaps and carrying wooden pistols, these Copperbelt cowboys used the visual spectacle of Hollywood westerns to engage with the idea of modernity against the backdrop of colonialist industrialization.¹² Likewise, Hideaki Fujiki’s monograph about Japanese stardom in the 1910s and 1920s reveals the importance of U.S. film stars such as Mary Pickford and Clara Bow to the development of Japanese stardom, both as icons against which Japanese femininity could be distinguished and as templates for emerging visions of independent womanhood.¹³ Several other studies, including Ellwood and Kroes’s anthology Hollywood in Europe,¹⁴ Jennifer Fay’s Theaters of Occupation,¹⁵ and Uta G. Poiger’s Jazz, Rock, and Rebels¹⁶ also provide engaging accounts of the lived realities of this internationalization, exploring the myriad ways that Hollywood films were negotiated into local and national cultures, particularly in Europe.

The last fifteen years or so of scholarship have seen some emergent work on the geopolitics of the Hollywood film text rather than the economics of Hollywood’s international dominance or the historical reception of U.S. media abroad. In Melani McAlister’s book Epic Encounters, for example, we see how Hollywood blockbusters about the Middle East such as The Ten Commandments played an important role in the shifting discourses of U.S. foreign engagements in the early years of the Cold War. Situating the film within the Suez Crisis of 1956, McAlister shows how media culture helps articulate the evolving foreign policy of the United States, especially as the United States challenged the hegemony of European colonialism around the world and articulated a model of global capitalism.¹⁷ Christina Klein in her book Cold War Orientalism similarly argues that Hollywood musicals such as South Pacific and The King and I participate in U.S. middlebrow cultural discourses that enlist popular support for U.S. intervention abroad by creating sentimental narratives about the benevolence and humanitarianism of U.S. global power. Rather than being based on colonial domination, this vision of Cold War Orientalism, Klein argues, cultivates emotional appeals for a heightened U.S. presence that help usher its neocolonial subjects into Western modernity and capitalism.¹⁸

Even more recently, a series of works in film studies has expanded on this interest in cinema and the negotiation of U.S. international relationships, especially in Europe. Robert Shandley’s Runaway Romances examines Hollywood runaway productions made in Europe between 1946 and 1964, reading these films as allegories of their complexly transnational production conditions.¹⁹ Likewise, Vanessa Schwartz’s It’s So French! documents the transnational cinematic exchanges between Hollywood and the French film industry in the postwar period, teasing out the dynamics of cross-cultural exchange between the two cinemas.²⁰ Colin McArthur’s book Brigadoon, Braveheart and the Scots forcefully critiques a Hollywood that manufactures its images of other cultures more or less whole cloth to suit its own ideological purposes.²¹ When released, Anna Cooper’s monograph An American Abroad will expand on this research trajectory, examining postwar Hollywood films about Americans traveling abroad in Europe as texts portraying a complex and fraught cultural encounter between American hegemonic power and a Europe that is being economically, socially, and culturally dominated from across the Atlantic.²²

Even stars and directors of the 1940s and 1950s who are lauded as quintessentially American also reveal complex, transnational meanings upon closer textual scrutiny. Russell Meeuf’s John Wayne’s World, for example, explores the global stardom of an actor who was closely linked to ideas of U.S. patriotism and jingoism. While John Wayne is often held up as an exemplar of fundamentally American rugged masculinity, Meeuf uses Wayne’s international popularity in the 1950s to demonstrate how Hollywood articulated a set of masculine values around borderless competition and the importance of a cosmopolitan identity amid a modernizing landscape. These values, Meeuf argues, are central to the transformations of modern identity thanks to the globalization of capitalism, showing how cinema manages the cultural changes stemming from postwar U.S. internationalization.²³ Similarly, Elizabeth Rawitsch’s Frank Capra’s Eastern Horizons rethinks the quintessential Americanness of the acclaimed director, demonstrating how Capra’s vision of U.S. national identity relied on shifting engagements with the spaces of the East in order to imagine the idea of Americanness. Capra’s America, Rawitsch argues, was deeply invested in the creation of a global community overseen by U.S. and European global leadership.²⁴

Much of this work on Hollywood is clearly inspired by research demonstrating the power of cinema more broadly as a technology and medium closely linked to the projection of Western imperial power. As outlined in Ella Shohat and Robert Stam’s Unthinking Eurocentrism, the technologies and images of cinema have long made the film text an important artifact for understanding the mediation of colonial ideologies. The images and narratives of cinema—especially the films of Hollywood as well as those of the British and French film industries—have helped construct the non-Western world as an exotic space of adventure for Western men, suturing audiences into assumptions about the primitivism that lies beyond the boundaries of Western civilization and the need for Western dominance in these regions.²⁵ Yet many studies of colonial and postcolonial cinemas have followed the dominant trends in literary studies, focusing largely on the British and French Empires and their devolutions. Priya Jaikumar’s Cinema at the End of Empire,²⁶ Prem Chowdhry’s Colonial India and the Making of Empire Cinema,²⁷ Dina Sherzer’s edited volume Cinema: Colonialism, Postcolonialism,²⁸ Bernstein and Studlar’s collection Visions of the East,²⁹ and most recently Ponzanesi and Waller’s anthology Postcolonial Cinema Studies³⁰ all take this approach. Meanwhile, E. Ann Kaplan has tried to synthesize a broader theory of postcolonial film aesthetics via gaze theory in her Looking for the Other.³¹ Other important work in this area has focused on silent cinema, including Jennifer Peterson’s Education in the School of Dreams,³² Fatimah Tobing Rony’s The Third Eye,³³ and Alison Griffiths’s Wondrous Difference,³⁴ which all focus on colonialist aspects of silent cinema and contribute innovative and important theoretical approaches to the field. The present volume takes a similar approach but is among the first to focus more specifically on Hollywood in the sound period—a period marked by U.S. expansion and dominance in the periods leading up to and following World War II.

Our thread of scholarship is particularly indebted to the work of Victoria de Grazia, whose book Irresistible Empire describes the emergence of what she calls a market empire in Europe in the twentieth century. Organized around the seductive appeal of U.S. commercial goods, this market empire helped promote a modern and consumerist subjectivity linking the United States and Europe within transnational circuits of trade. In contrast to more coercive models of international influence, then, the market empire uses the irresistible and affective pleasures of consumer society—refrigerators, cars, and movies, for example—to lure populations into alignment with U.S. models of capitalism and globalization.³⁵ As such, de Grazia’s work helps foreground the power of emotion, seduction, and pleasure to the cultural work of imperialism, especially to an understanding of cinema, that more than any other object of transnational exchange in this period sought to engage international audiences in the pleasures and contradictions of consumerist identities—work that is crucial to the present volume.

Hollywood’s output in the midcentury decades, after all, coincides with the development of contemporary global capitalism. This is the period not only when America was approaching the zenith of its world power but also when its vision of power helped secure the uneven transformation of Western colonialism into modern neoliberal globalization.³⁶ The dominant historical narrative concerning globalization and transnational culture often looks for moments of rupture and rebirth, discrete points on a timeline that mark the boundary between the old and the new. The present project, on the other hand, sees our contemporary global moment as part of a continuous history of cultural globalization in which a particular U.S.-inspired model of modernity steadily permeated large swaths of the world. As the United States ascended to a position of global power in the buildup to World War II and emerged as the world’s superpower in the postwar years, a variety of forces—from official U.S. foreign policy to the growth of international trade to the informal cross-cultural exchanges facilitated by increasing travel and migration—intensified U.S. investments (both economic and emotional) in an idea of global community. While this historical period is often ignored in historical discussions of globalization and neoliberalism, the midcentury era proved foundational in the emergence of a U.S.-led consumerist transnational culture, as research such as de Grazia’s attests. The present work seeks to close this gap, examining the midcentury period in Hollywood as a long period of complex and varied representations of U.S. power rather than focusing on a single moment of upheaval.

Themes and Organization of This Book

While firmly grounded in the theories and methods found in previous work, the emerging research on midcentury Hollywood tries to more specifically locate the pleasures and allure of U.S. imperialism (as well as the anxieties of a more internationally connected world) within the film text. As a collection of this emerging research, the present volume helps expand our understanding of global Hollywood by asking directly how Hollywood cinema represented the United States and its role in the world as well as the cultural changes wrought by burgeoning forms of globalization. Hollywood films, after all, are not simply products in colonial chains of distribution, like refrigerators or soap; they are complex texts that produce and reproduce meanings, cultural ideals, and hierarchies. They represent America’s and Americans’ relationships with the world in a variety of ways, both explicitly (as when an American businessman visits Italy and experiences a series of cultural exchanges with Italians) and implicitly (as when an American-made film is set in China and is entirely about Chinese people but the characters are played by white Americans and speak only English). Yet they often do so with what Edward Said, speaking of European Orientalist texts, called positional superiority, which he defined as put[ting] the Westerner in a whole series of possible relationships with the Orient without ever losing him the relative upper hand.³⁷ It becomes crucial to explore how Hollywood films envisage America’s relationships with the rest of the world, teasing out the complex transnational exchanges that are conceptualized within them and examining how, and indeed whether, these films continually give America the upper hand.

The whether in the above sentence opens up a key point, which is that these films are not necessarily monolithic in their representations of U.S. power. Although there are certainly many times when America and Americans are endowed with positional superiority within these films, the chapters that follow equally explicate moments of rupture and incoherence. Rather than reading Hollywood films in this period within the strict logics of imperial domination and subordination, such research examines the nuanced cultural exchanges—the slippages, contradictions, and negotiations—that nevertheless subtly lure audiences around the world (including in the United States) into alignment with the vision of U.S. global leadership that was beginning to be articulated by policy makers around midcentury. Far from being a simple or obvious process—as it is often assumed by scholars to be—the Hollywoodization of stories and locations around the world is rich, complicated, and discordant.

Such readings, of course, are not confined solely to the most popular and acclaimed films that have come to be accepted as quality productions. In fact, another important theme running throughout this collection is the issue of quality versus badness. Some of the films analyzed here were made as prestige productions. Cagle’s chapter on the Europeanization of Hollywood is explicitly about how the notion of prestige was shaped by transnational exchanges. Cooper’s work on An American in Paris explores how this film conceived of transatlantic culture as a marriage of high European art and low American forms such as jazz, while Giovacchini’s chapter examines how the Mexican-set films of Budd Boetticher rise above general trends in the western genre as complex, nuanced pictures of cross-cultural encounter. On the other hand, many of the films discussed here are frequently considered to be bad. Gergely, for example, explores how the Tarzan films of Johnny Weismuller, long considered obviously terrible, must be reconsidered for their complex transnational negotiations of selfhood and otherness. Bayman looks at a cycle of B-movie gothic horror films, showing how these films’ debased status enables them to transform into dreamlike spaces of the American colonial imaginary that make no appeal to reality. Chan’s work on von Sternberg’s Anatahan also deals with the various fraught cultural encounters both in the text and in the reception of a bizarre and oft-pilloried film. And Jarvie grapples with a series of bad romantic comedies about Americans traveling in Italy from the 1950s to the early 1960s, exploring what this badness tells us about the ways that Hollywood cinema was changing in the wake of changes in U.S. power in Europe. Since such films’ poor quality—in particular their hackneyed representations of the exotic—have often served as an excuse not to bother to examine them in a scholarly vein, this issue becomes central here and is in fact a key site of these films’ interpretive richness.

The cinematic negotiations of culture and power explored in this volume are fundamentally visual and spatial, and this is another common theme. Hollywood cinema imagines the world beyond the borders of the United States according to the spatial logics of social power, organizing and representing the world according to the needs and fantasies of a U.S.-led transnational culture. Some spaces are imagined as exotic locales perfect for white male adventurism, while others are imagined as modern metropoles suited for the expansion of American capitalism or as picturesque and antiquated safe spaces for white Americans to holiday. Others still become liminal spaces where Western audiences can revel in the pleasures of losing oneself to other cultures (all the while maintaining power and privilege, of course). Each of these kinds of spaces is examined in this collection, with each chapter analyzing a different inflection of that space in Hollywood’s projection of the world.

Given this emphasis on space and power, several authors use Michel Foucault’s idea of heterotopia to explain cinema’s ability to imagine alternative spaces, spaces with the power to inform our understandings of the material world. For Foucault, heterotopias are spaces that reimagine or remap the rules governing the normal spatial order, creating physical spaces or sensory experiences that often resemble either utopian or dystopian models of the world (but aren’t actually utopias or dystopias). Such experiences reorganize perceptions of the material spaces of the social world, offering a framework through which to understand the possibilities—and failures—of the physical world.³⁸ Cinema, some argue, functions as a heterotopia, as a representation of space and spatial relations that provide real sensory experiences of alternative spaces. Such experiences then frame the assumptions guiding the perception of space and power in the material world. For Gergely’s examination of the Weismuller Tarzan films, for example, the spaces of the African jungle in the films are a heterotopia within which alternative conceptions of transnational identities can be imagined onscreen (through Tarzan as a liminal human/animal and Western/African figure). The identities imagined in such spaces then help frame ideas about exile and identity amid the material realities of migration and citizenship in the United States in the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s. Similarly, Giovacchini’s examination of Boetticher’s westerns show how the director represented the spaces of Mexico as a heterotopic reflection of American culture, an alternative image of what the United States is not, for better or worse. Giovacchini traces Boetticher’s heterotopic vision of Mexico to the director’s time spent as a young man in Mexico, calling attention to the relationship between travel and cross-cultural exchange in the material world and the capacity to imagine complex transnational relationships onscreen, an argument further explored by Edward Chan in his discussion of Josef von Sternberg’s Anatahan. Arguing that von Sternberg’s travels in Japan functioned as a heterotopic experience for the director, Chan explores von Sternberg’s attempt to make a Japanese film and how his attempt reflects the history of U.S. cultural exchange in the postwar years. The use of heterotopia as a key theoretical concept in several chapters, then, reflects a larger concern of this book: examining the most prominent and resonant spaces used by Hollywood in this period to explore the allure and anxieties of global modernity, transnational exchanges, and consumer identities.

This book is organized into three sections, each united by the type of landscape depicted in the films discussed therein: islands, iconic European holiday destinations, and deserts/savannas. Typically, scholarship on transnational Hollywood has focused on the relationship between U.S. cinema and particular countries or regions; in departing from this pattern, we seek to open up space for transnational connections between different regions and the ways they are represented by Hollywood in ways that are not usually visible.

The first section turns to the trope of the island as a space of fluid identity and cross-cultural exchange. Focusing largely on the 1930s and on representations of island territories in Asia, the chapters in this section explore the various ways that islands and other tropical paradises—in Japan, Hawaii, the Caribbean, Africa, and elsewhere—can function as imaginative spaces in which imperialist ideologies are destabilized and racial and national identities become liminal.

Louis Bayman starts off with an engaging exploration of the cycle of gothic horror films set on tropical islands in the 1930s and early 1940s. Tracing how U.S. culture has long conceived of the island as a marginal or accidental space of colonization open to possession by white men with civilizing designs, Bayman looks at how these films represent complex negotiations of dominant U.S. concerns about race, gender, and miscegenation. Island of Lost Souls and I Walked with a Zombie depict, respectively, U.S. conceptions of the Pacific islands and the Caribbean islands, with the latter taking place in Haiti not long after the U.S. occupation had been forced out. Both films allegorically depict the overthrow by racialized monsters—whether zombies or animalized half-men—of the white men who have created them in these liminal island conditions.

Next, Elizabeth Rawitsch examines Asian and Asian American cinematic detectives on Hollywood screens in the 1930s. Mr. Moto, a Japanese detective played by the Hungarian-born Peter Lorre, engaged in complex triangulations of racial identity as he traversed national borders in his quests for information and often went undercover and passed for white. Mr. Wong, a San Francisco–based Chinese American detective, was at the other end of the spectrum, staying largely in one place. Charlie Chan, in contrast with both of these other characters, was a transnational figure, born in China and