The Kennedy era through the looking glass
First floor – Family Chronicle
The “long wave” of one among the shortest presidencies of the United States is the theme of the first floor in this exhibition. It was indeed a presidency that ended abruptly, within less than three years, but it left an indelible footprint in the history of that country, and of the entire world: from a political standpoint, John F. Kennedy grew during the longest presidency in US history, which ended shortly after the beginning of Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s fourth term (John’s father, Joseph, had been his close collaborator, not without some bumps on the road). Looking back at Joseph’s occasional disputes with FDR, however, it should be noted that John was clever in reinterpreting the opinions of his father: JFK’s first book, Why England Slept, subtly shifted Joseph’s positions – which tended to underplay the possibility of a US intervention in the looming World War II – towards those of John’s spiritual mentor, Winston Churchill (the title of John’s book is in fact a direct echo of that written by his famous predecessor). His gesture may be regarded as preposterous: in fact, several Democratic congressmen – including Adlai Stevenson, who lost the presidential election to Republican Dwight Eisenhower – constantly dismissed John Kennedy as the spoiled brat of a rich family, blinded by the constricted privileges of its own wealth. With the departure of that first book from the father’s viewpoints one can detect the style of young John’s presidency: JFK began (sometimes cautiously, sometimes with blunt choices that were bound to generate animosities among his peers) to interrogate himself about things he was keen to learn, and to confront beliefs that were alien from his ideals. For instance, the Kennedys were deeply anti-communist, not unlike senator Joseph McCarthy, a close friend of the family; they were also very circumspect in dealing with the issue of racial conflict, and careful not to exacerbate the contradictions within the Democratic party on this matter (an astute enemy like Richard M. Nixon was not far off the mark when he said that the party was a cut-and-paste job between two factions, the liberals of the North and the segregationists of the South, who had never forgiven Lincoln, a Republican). The JFK presidency was bound to prove – more radically so in the dramatic 1963 epilogue – that it was determined to face the real problems that had long plagued America, and that it was important to understand their roots while being adamant in raising above them. JFK achieved this through an open minded effort, unprecedented in the history of US Presidents, and decidedly against the current of Kennedy’s predecessors, Truman for the Democrats and Eisenhower for the Republicans.
In the context of this exhibition, whose aim is to find in motion pictures some useful interpretative keys as meaningful as those developed by professional historians, it is worth noting that even a great radical filmmaker such as Emile de Antonio (author of the first controversial film about JFK’s murder), whose viewpoints were often antagonistic to JFK’s, was able to detect in the President’s actions the tangible evidence of a pragmatic’s approach to freedom of thought (“it’s better than being an idealist, as the latter can sometimes turn into a fanatic”).
However small in its scope, this exhibition follows JFK’s lesson: learning comes first. The texts accompanying the sections of this and other floors of the show are not meant to offer ready-made solutions; instead, they intend to highlight and portray in dialectical terms some enduring traces of an all too brief presidency.
O’Kennedy’s Ireland: [An Historic Film Documenting President John F. Kennedy’s 4-Day Visit to Ireland in 1963]
(US, 2005) by Phillip E. Pine, narrator: Robert Vaughn, 72′
The last year in the presidency (and life) of JFK is characterized by several trips made before the tragic rendez-vous in Dallas. The most poignant destination is Ireland, shown here in a compilation made more than four decades after filming: there are beautiful images here, with a color reminiscent of John Ford’s works. JFK appears both playful and moved, delighted as he is to meet so many Kennedys and Fitzgeralds after having been told for many years that all of them were based in Washington DC. Two great (and catholic) Irish filmmakers who were active in the US, Ford and Leo McCarey, were enjoying at the time their most inspired artistic maturity, the zenith in the art of film during the Kennedy era, despite the profound differences of opinions between JFK and his two conservative fellow countrymen. The Kennedy family had always been careful not to overemphasize its Irish and Catholic origins, concerned as they were not to alienate their voters of other nationalities and religious beliefs, as shown in JFK’s electoral campaign. As a senator, JFK voted against a US diplomatic representation at the Vatican, thus defining in strongly secular terms the relationship with the Pope, programmatically alien to political power in itself.
The images and sounds of this visit, whether seen on the screen or heard in the background as visitors of the exhibition follow the chronicle of the Kennedy family, are an ideal audiovisual complement to this human and political trajectory; some of the music heard here was actually played at JFK’s funeral.
It is also worth noting that the film evokes Glocca Morra, the real (not a fictitious one, as sometimes suggested on the Internet) place of origin of the Kennedy family. A few years later, Fred Astaire and Petula Clark would be seen in the same location in a plaintive musical directed by young Francis Ford Coppola, Finian’s Rainbow.
The Kennedys
John Fitzgerald Kennedy, whose family history is followed in this section of the exhibition through its relationship with American history, appears to be – in this summary of his life – as someone who was faithful to himself in spite of his provenance from a powerful family (to which he nevertheless felt a strong emotional allegiance). He worshipped his parents, loved his elder brother (who died in World War II), and was very close to his younger sibling, Robert: when seen together, their emotional bond is unmistakable. The mutual affection between the two was also evident in the political arena, where they shared their fundamental values while acknowledging some differences in their respective sensibilities. The JFK presidency is therefore also an echo of a possible RFK presidency, also interrupted by another act of violence.
Joseph P. Kennedy
Born 1888 in Boston, Massachusetts, was the great patriarch of the Kennedy family. He had the foresight to realize that the political action of his sons could not be a simple continuation of his own conservative ideas, let alone of his economic power and social relations. Joseph’s political successors were bound to embrace values which were often radically alien to him. In a revealing statement, Ted Sorensen – John’s advisor and ghost writer – heard Joseph telling him, “you’re too liberal for my taste, but please go ahead and do your writing for my son”. From a political standpoint, Joseph was also clever enough to extend his own influence on ideological domains he was adamantly opposed to; as a result, he allowed John the freedom to develop his own personality, albeit under the matriarchal influence of her parent, Rose Kennedy (Fitzgerald was her maiden name).
Jack & Jackie
There have been other US presidencies in which the first lady played a co-starring role (Eleanor Roosevelt is a case in point). It is clear, however, that the marital relationship between John (aka Jack) F. Kennedy and Jacqueline (aka Jackie) Bouvier was somehow unique. On the third floor of this exhibition, we shall see how Jackie molded the aesthetic dimension of the JFK presidency (it would be superficial to dismiss it as a purely glamorous phenomenon). The images of their wedding and of the life with the children are characterized by a search for beauty as a value in itself, very much in the spirit of what Jackie tried to achieve in reshaping the look of the president’s home, as well as the cultural life of the US as a whole. It is fair to say that mythological constructions such as Camelot can be applied to this world of gods coming to Earth: indeed, after his brother’s death, Robert Kennedy found solace in reading Aeschilus, his favorite poet. There is no need to indulge in anecdotal gossip in order to acknowledge that Jack had many affairs with women. The love story – shared with his brother – with Marilyn Monroe, unfolded in a quintessentially tragic manner; after John’s death, Jackie had another marital saga of high profile. This, however, only emphasizes Jack’s relationship with Jackie as a symbol of grace.
A sequence of presidents
That fact that the 20th century saw outstanding or at least remarkable personalities at the helm of the United States only highlights JFK’s figure as a pivotal one in the country’s history. He shares with his two predecessors, Wilson and FDR, a particular attention for the international arena; in both instances, however, the other presidents were dealing with an ongoing war, and in the former case the presidential action had clashed with the sheer inefficacy of its own idealism. FDR, who certainly shaped the identity of his country, was a beloved figure both at the national and global level, but he was far less influential than his friend Winston Churchill (as eloquently shown in Sokurov’s recent film, Fairytale). The two US presidents that followed them, Truman and Eisenhower, belonged to rival parties (particularly so in this period), but had in common a vision of the United States as a hegemonic player, very much as in the case of JFK’s successors Lyndon B. Johnson (who was immune from the satire of caricatures during his tenure; at home, he would have liked to be perceived as a great reformer worth of Lincoln and FDR, but utterly failed to understand the tragedy of Vietnam) and Richard M. Nixon (who by all means did manage to put an end to the Vietnam war and open a new chapter in the relationship with the Soviet Union and China, but only as a background of the national dimension of his power, as a mere calculation deprived of the piety that characterized JFK’s presidency).
There is a widespread tendency to study the bodies of kings and the bodies of Popes, but the saga of the US presidents lends itself to an equally revealing sort of historical enquiry. In this sense, JFK shares with FDR the experience of a human body affected by an illness upon which he managed to superimpose an image of vitality. Roosevelt was so proud of this “fake” as to tell Orson Welles that “the two of us are the best American actors”. With all his suffering – a consequence of his experience during the war – healed on a daily basis at a great personal expense (as shown in Robert Drew’s excellent film Crisis, where the palpable crisis perceived in every frame is parallel to the President’s struggle against physical pain), JFK never had the time to feel as a vanquishing figure. The need to protect his life was too acute and too constant, until a murderous bullet shredded away part of his brain, hastily collected by Jackie (in one of the most spontaneously poignant gestures ever seen) so that her husband’s body would not be broken forever.
An epoch-making electoral campaign
The electoral campaign that led to the election of JFK as president of the United States is, in some ways, unprecedented. For the first time, television plays a role of protagonist, no longer ancillary to radio: both in the primaries with Humphrey and in the public debates with Nixon, Kennedy’s persona emerges as a clear winner, thus decisively influencing the final outcome at the polls. Today, we look at ourselves, also from this perspective, through the mirror of the Kennedy era. Nowadays, everything has become an image, without the archetypal flair that was typical of Louis Lumière’s and Luca Comerio’s early films; this very archetypal character, however, reappeared with the emergence of television. Humphrey and Nixon seemed sincere in their statements, but this wasn’t enough for their image: Kennedy is someone you could look at, and listen to, forever; the others, after a while, are tiresome. The innovative character of this electoral campaign is therefore entirely consistent with the innovations announced by the 1960s: the nouvelle vague and the “direct cinema”, the best of rock music, the Pop Art of Andy Warhol and other innovators, new forms of theatre, dance, and so on. John and Jackie Kennedy understood all this as much as Marshall McLuhan did, which is why they hired Robert Drew and Associates for no less than four films: the first about the primaries with Humphrey; then the amazing Crisis; a short about the “new Frontier” (it is impossible not to think of the televised image as a new frontier in itself), and the film about the president’s funeral. The latter was, of course, the chronicle of a defeat; but the others were made under the sign of a vitality that only FDR had been able to convey earlier on across the nation.
PT 109
The torpedo boat, whose name is a synthesis of JFK’s experience in World War II, should not be perceived as a reason to forget that his experience had multiple facets: for him, it was a formative episode, consistent with a sense of duty and sacrifice deprived of any rhetoric, and imbued with the memory of his brother’s sacrifice in war, summarized in the speech he delivered for his inauguration as a president: “ask yourself what can you do for your country”. Kennedy learned, however, two additional lessons from the war: he realized that other people are fighting with equal dignity, as the guerrilla combatants in Burma; he also discovered that war may not necessarily kill, as it happened with his brother. At some point, it looked as if John was about to share his fate, but he “miraculously” survived; nevertheless, the scar was bound to haunt him for the rest of his life. In fact, for the course of his existence, JFK had to subject himself to daily medical treatments, despite his public appearance as a youthful and seductive spirit.
In JFK’s final year, 1963, Warner Bros. decided to produce a film adaptation from Robert J. Donovan’s book about John’s war experience, PT 109. The company had distinguished itself in the history of American cinema for its attention towards the social dimension and the relationship with contemporary politics, producing many remarkable films, but also others that are notable only as documents of the period (from Roosevelt to McCarthism). It was a good idea to pick Cliff Robertson in the leading role (shortly afterwards we would be the protagonist of one among most important works of the post-Kennedy years, The Best Man, written by Gore Vidal and directed by Franklin J. Schaffner, who – like Frankenheimer and Lumet – learned his craft with television while remaining a faithful witness of the Kennedy era), but the film was eventually completed by another director of lesser talent, also raised with television Leslie H. Martinson. His unremarkable tribute to JFK would be premiered in Boston in June 1963; a few days later, it was shown on the opening night at the Berlin Film Festival, in the city of which he considered himself a citizen. The film was released in Italy in September, but many were bound to see it only after JFK’s death, with the awkward feeling of having witnessed something intrinsically sad, more because of the aesthetic weakness of the film than by virtue of a traumatic event.
While one sleeps / Why one sleeps
On September 30, 1930, British prime minister Neville Chamberlain signed with Adolf Hitler, Mussolini and Daladier the so-called “Munich agreement”, which he had strongly supported from the start. The pact was meant to bring peace to Europe by closing one eye over Germany’s expansionism in eastern Europe. Chamberlain’s complacent smile at the time of the announcement was bound to be remembered as the quintessential example of self-deceit. The future British prime minister Winston Churchill, who was about to become the main strategist in the war against the Nazis, has not yet shown his unease, but the 1938 book, While England Slept: a Survey of World Affairs. 1932-1938, is its most eloquent manifestation of his feelings. While Joseph Kennedy, a close collaborator of Roosevelt and his ambassador in the United Kingdom, is regarded as suspiciously close to Hitler, he is keen to promote the transformation of his son’s doctoral dissertation (welcomed with a “magna cum laude”) into a book. Its title was supposed to be Appeasement at Munich; it was changed for the first edition (1940) into a different title, clearly reminiscent of Churchill’s book, with an additional stress of hindsight: Why England Slept (with no question mark), therefore with the promise of an answer rather than a query.
Kennedy’s book, as the one following that followed it, was bound to be republished with a new introduction during his presidency.
The exhibition shows the first editions of Churchill’s volume, as well as Kennedy’s, including its dust jacket, all part of the Cineteca del Friuli’s collection, together with the reprint of the revised edition.
The portraits and the courage
The first edition of Profiles in Courage, the second book written by JFK during his lifetime – at the beginning of Ted Sorensen’s collaboration with the president – was published in 1955 (a copy is shown here). It is another ambitious study in history, a selection of portraits of American senators who were able to make “brave” choices, often surprising and controversial. In a way, the volume may already be interpreted as an autobiography of JFK’s pragmatism. It is worth noting that, in both books, JFK is searching for his spiritual mentors while trying to present himself as their successor and critic. The book won the 1975 Pulitzer Prize but earned mixed reactions, especially from those within the Democratic party who were looking at JFK with suspicion (Eleanor Roosevelt was particularly dismissive: “too many portraits, not enough courage”).
The first two of the eight essays are especially noteworthy: they are those dedicated to John Quincy Adams and Daniel Webster, both senators of Massachusetts, the State now represented by JFK himself. The first essay is probably the book’s masterpiece: it is devoted to a future president of the United States, whose father – John Adams – was Washington’s vice-president (he succeeded to him as the second US president). The Adams family, at the origins of the American independence, may be seen as a chronologically broader mirror (four generations, including historian Henry Adams) of what the Kennedy family would like to become for American history (a more pertinent mirror of the Roosevelt family, made of individual personalities rather than family ties: Theodor, Franklin Delano and Eleanor). In light of the Adams chapter, the complete reading of Kennedy’s book (in audiocassette, later in CD format) by Kennedy’s son, John jr. is particularly moving. JFK finds in the Adams family a mirror of vulnerable figures, sometimes the harbingers of the difficult transition to the Jefferson and Lincoln presidencies; JFK would like to exorcise it towards a presidential destiny under the sign of courage.
Sorensen’s ghost
JFK knew how to surround himself by talented collaborators, who were meeting him on a daily basis (vice-president LBJ was only an occasional participant to those gatherings). JFK’s brother, Bob, was his closest collaborator, but others were notable for their loyalty and insight, such as spokesman Pierre Salinger; on the other hand, Robert McNamara, who shared with Dean Rusk the task of assisting in matters of foreign policy, was responsible – after JFK’s death – for the Vietnam war escalation (he later reneged it in an uninfluential moral crisis). The most brilliant personality within JFK’s staff is Ted Sorensen, a “radical liberal” who would later support Obama, the US president who followed more closely the Kennedy legacy.
As a senator, JFK sought Sorensen’s help in drafting Profiles in Courage, as well as his own speeches. Still quite conservative in his views by comparison with his presidential itinerary, Kennedy feels the need to confront the views of a self-declared liberal without trying to hide the differences in opinions with his colleague.
Three important essays by Sorensen are on display here: two of them, in Italian translation, are overall assessments of the Kennedy movement; the third, in its original version, is his political autobiography, accompanied by a monograph about him, reconstructing what is appropriately titled a “ghost”: not only a “ghost writer”, but also the recurring “ghost” of Kennedy himself.
Afro-Americans and the racial issue
At the end of the 1960s, the Vietnam war – defined by some historians as the second American civil war – became a central theme of debate in the United States and worldwide. The unsolved questions of the Civil War, however, had to be addressed throughout the entire decade, beginning with the Kennedy presidency. Ironically enough, as the 1965 centennial of Lincoln’s assassination was approaching, another vice-president called Johnson – like Lincoln’s successor – replaced JFK after his murder in 1963.
The racial issue had pervaded the entire history of the United States; in the 1960s, however, the question became more deeply intertwined with two additional aspects: a moral one (about which one of the greatest personalities of those years, Martin Luther King, jr., embraced the opposition to the Vietnam war by claiming that he could not accept the segregation of his own moral consciousness), as well as a social component. It is not our intention to underplay here the cultural and religious connotations of the subject. In the 1960s, however, with the increasing radicalization of the political debate and the widespread refusal of racial integration, concepts such as marginalization, proletariat and lumpen-proletariat – with their concurrent refusal to accept the idea of a working class aristocracy – became increasingly linked to the African-American protest.
As the urgency of these issue kept coming to the surface, only Bob Kennedy, in the late period of his activity during his brief and tragic electoral campaign, began to fully understand the connection between these themes, probably encouraged by his experience of super-magistrate who clashed with people like Jimmy Hoffa and other promoters of the working class aristocracies. Aside from getting to be better acquainted with the poorest African-American population, Bob extended his reach to the Latin-American community by befriending the social activist Cesar Chavez.
On the other hand, the two brothers found themselves rather unprepared to cope with this matter at the time of the JFK presidency, preoccupied as they were to delay the conflagration of the racial issue. This provides an ulterior justification to the imperative to look at the JFK presidency as a formative experience, brutally interrupted in 1963.
A major paradox ensued: a president, LBJ, so much focused on the project of a “great society” as to be able to achieve the broadest and most innovative legislation on the themes of integration and welfare, was nevertheless oblivious to the areas of marginalization in America. Basically, he regarded Vietnam as a sequel to the Korean war, another opportunity to counteract communism.
Alabama
JFK’s initial involvement as a President with the racial issue (a prelude to his late speeches about racial integration) is earmarked by the episode of the entrance of African-American students Vivian Malone and James Hood at the door of the University of Alabama on June 11, 1963, against the will of segregationist governor George Wallace, cleverly orchestrated by JFK and RFK and implemented by attorney general Nicholas Katzenbach. The event, wide documented by photo- and television journalism, is also portrayed in Robert Drew’s film Crisis: Behind a Presidential Commitment, one of the greatest aesthetic achievements of Kennedy’s politics. Drew claims that the mages of the film are in direct opposition to the theory that the event had been staged. He is absolutely right: the faces of JFK and RFK are eloquent testimonies of the uncertainties of the moment. By the same token, however, everybody in the film behaves like great actors, even the “bad guy” Wallace, but especially the two incredible black students (especially Vivian, so beautiful in her demeanor). Katzenbach is both likeable and effective. It’s a perfect casting, worth of a great American movie; still, we constantly feel that what is happening is definitely real, a moment in history reflecting a problem whose solution is rife with ambiguities.
Women’s rights
A presidency that recognized the centrality of women could not avoid confronting the issue of feminist activism and the need of a truly modern legislation, even though – at the legislative level – LBJ was bound to be the president who would eventually find an organic approach to the issue.
The photo of this meeting, and the attached document, however, are eloquent testimonies of JFK’s commitment to women’s cause.
Once again, it is important to recall the innovative echoes brought by American cinema of the period. Surprisingly enough, another Irish conservative – Leo McCarey – marked towards the end of the Eisenhower era the transition to a society where the focus of power appears to be lost: we are referring to a Rally ’Round the Flag, Boys!, in which women are ecologically demolishing the military expansion in the most remote areas of the country.
November 22, 1963
In all likelihood, the predominant state of mind of those who look at JFK’s murder sixty years after the tragic event is still the same that was felt by those who heard the live broadcasts about it: a sense of sheer disbelief. For a few hours, it was hoped that the victim would survive, also a form of denial that the country of which JFK was president was held hostage of such a gesture, regardless of the perpetrator. That hope quickly vanished, and the incredulity further increased when the supposed murderer was killed by an alleged avenger. If this had been the script of a movie, such a plot would not have seemed very plausible.
And yet, in the American cinema of those years, there was a feeling that something uncontrollable was in the air, as foreseen by two novels that inspired two films directed by John Frankenheimer: Richard Condon’s The Manchurian Candidate (1959), brought to the screen in 1962, and Seven Days in May (1962) by Fletcher Krebel and Charles W. Bailey II, whose film adaptation went into production in early 1963 and was made when Kennedy was still alive, but was completed only in the following year with a modified ending.
JFK had read the novels, and felt uneasy about them. The first was about the attempted murder of a presidential candidate, whose executor was a hapless veteran of the war in Korea; in the other, the very ability of American democracy – and of his president – to counteract a military coup was brought into question.
In preparation for the first film, the producers and the protagonist (Frank Sinatra) consulted on multiple occasions the White House in order to ensure that some anti-communist features of the story would not obstruct the efforts to foster a dialogue with the Soviet Union, but the White House did not request any changes. After JFK’s murder, the producers withdrew the film from the theatres as a gesture of respect towards the president; it was reissued several decades later, and it is still remembered as a beautiful and haunting work.
The two Frankenheimer films belong to that genre, or sub-genre, known in Italy as “fantapolitics”. It included works such as Advise and Consent (1962) by Otto Preminger, probably the ultimate masterpiece in this vein, as well as other films about the nuclear threat; beginning with the great science fiction films of the 1950 by Jack Arnold and others, and through the great noir metaphors from Robert Aldrich, they became “fantapolitics” with On the Beach (Stanley Kramer, 1959) and the two Columbia films shot in 1963 and released in 1964, Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove (even in this case, one of the endings shot for the occasion was discarded as a token of respect for the Kennedy family), and Fail-Safe by Sidney Lumet.
This genre would come to its end after JFK’s murder, maybe because truth had surpassed fiction. Still, cinema remains a key aspect of the events in Dallas: the amateur movie by Abraham Zapruder, which testifies the tragedy with precision and uncalculated emotion, stands out as one of the most compelling documents of cinema’s revelatory power, so much so that it was bound to inspire of one of the best writings by Pier Paolo Pasolini about film theory, Discorso sul piano-sequenza (Observations on the Sequence Shot) from 1969, later included in his book Empirismo eretico (Heretical Empiricism).
Alongside photography, of which this exhibition presents some examples, cinema documented the mourning that followed the event, and the choreographed emotion of the funeral. We shall return to this point when discussing the fourth floor of the exhibition.
The corpus of Kennedy-related documents which will become part of the rich and varied Kennedy Collection at the Cineteca del Friuli began to be assembled in Gemona by two very young people, Piera Patat and Livio Jacob. The earliest traces of their efforts found in the collection are the newspaper clippings and front pages published immediately after the murder; others were unfortunately lost after the 1976 earthquake in Friuli. Immediately after the assassination, Piera – whose father had recently passed away – felt the need to write a letter to Caroline (six years old on November 27, 1963 ) and share her condolence for the loss of her dad. A response card, shown here, was received by Piera a few months later.
Searching for the truth: the Warren Report and its critics
It would be a mistake not to acknowledge that America and the whole world still need to know the truth about what really happened. It would also be sad to fear that this would be equal to endorsing conspiracy theories, now a pervasive practice of sectarianism and the Internet.
With its 27 volumes, shown here in their first edition, the Warren Report would seem to convey through its own sheer size and scope that everything has been scrutinized and clarified. The gesture with which Lyndon B. Johnson receives a volume from the Commission, emphasizing its weight, is a message to all Americans that everything that could be attempted in the search for the truth had been achieved.
Those who have read the whole report, however, have found many inconsistencies in it. We are mentioning here its two main researchers, showing the Italian editions of their volumes: they are two magistrates and writers, whose texts were used in the production of some investigative films on the subject.
Mark Lane collaborated to two key cinematic works: Rush to Judgement (1967), which – as customary in Emile de Antonio’s creative output – is a documentary that is immune from imposing ready-made truths, and instead allows the viewer to freely interpret the materials and the testimonies included in the film; and Executive Action (David Miller, 1973), written by Dalton Trumbo, the first fiction film about the murder, produced against widespread ostracism by Edward Lewis, who also produced Seven Days in May. In both films, Burt Lancaster plays the role of a right-wing general.
In 1973, however, America had not yet metabolized its grief, and the film was more or less ignored. What became a box office hit, thus reopening the search for the truth (earning the wrath of president Gerald Ford, who was a member of the Warren Commission) was instead Oliver Stone’s JFK (1991), inspired by the books of the other research magistrate, Jim Garrison.
CIA, FBI
The Kennedy administration was persuaded that the federal investigative agency (FBI) and the agency for international intelligence, CIA, should be run in compliance with a continuity model, that is, irrespective of any change in presidency. Its interlocutors were therefore J. Edgar Hoover, who had established the FBI in the 1930s, and Allen Dulles, who was already director of the CIA. The relations with both agencies were, however, rife with conflictuality. FBI and CIA were, as a matter of fact, two parallel hubs of power in US society, and in the management of international affairs.
Larry Cohen’s film The Private Files of J. Edgar Hoover (1977), about the lifetime director of the CIA, is of particular importance; Dulles, on the other hand, didn’t have the same appeal as a character, and his personality is somehow superimposed to his role. Strangely enough, only Dulles was part of the Warren Commission, despite the fact that the investigation was quintessentially federal rather than international in its nature – something that was carefully ignored at the time.
Bob Kennedy
The two volumes exhibited here are Italian editions. One was published at the time of Bob’s electoral campaign and his killing on June 6, 1968, a few months after the assassination of Martin Luther King; the other is one of the many that appeared up until today about his figure, often paired to that of his brother. They both reveal that – even outside the US – the actions of these two personalities had been perceived as a welcome breath of fresh air, and their killings as the end of a hope.