Featured Guest:
Philippa Gates

Philippa Gates is an Associate Professor of Film Studies at Wilfrid Laurier University in Canada as well as Film Studies Program Coordinator. She holds a Ph.D. in Film and Visual Culture from Exeter in the UK. Her publications include Detecting Men: Masculinity and the Hollywood Detective Film (State University of New York Press, 2006) and the co-edited collection The Devil Himself: Villainy in Detective Fiction and Film (Greenwood Press, 2002), as well as articles on the film versions of The Maltese Falcon, the contemporary Hollywood war film, the female film detective, the African-American film detective, and John Woo’s action films. Her latest book, forthcoming in 2010, examines the history of the female detective in Hollywood film and is entitled Detecting Women: Gender and the Hollywood Detective Film.

We recently spoke to her about her last book Detecting Men: Masculinity and the Hollywood Detective Film (State University of New York Press, 2006).

You saw a gap in scholarship and decided there was a need to write Detecting Men.

I have to admit that – at least initially – my interest in the genre was less professional than personal. My father had raised me on re-runs of the 1960s Perry Mason television series and my mother had introduced me to Agatha Christie; then as a teenager I discovered Hitchcock and film noir and the rest, as they say, is history. In my final year of undergrad, I took my genre theory course at the same time as a detective fiction class and also began working on masculinity in melodrama (on John Woo’s action films). These research interests came together in my doctoral research when I realized that – except for film noir – the detective film as a genre had been basically overlooked by scholars. While there were some excellent tributes to the genre detailing specific characters or adaptations of detective fiction, including books by William Everson (1972), Jon Tuska (1978), and Michael Pitts (1979), there were few critical or scholarly commentaries on the genre. The one exception is Frank Krutnik’s In a Lonely Street (1991) but, again, that book focuses on noir only. I was inspired to attempt a recovery of the genre beyond noir and consider the ways that the genre had evolved over the decades from the 1930s to the 2000s. I remember during my Ph.D. thinking how lucky I was to be working on something that I truly loved: my work was to watch, research, and write about my favorite genre. After completing my Ph.D., I spent a couple of years revising and expanding my thesis and the finished project was Detecting Men which was published by State University of New York Press in 2006.

You state that your aim is to “investigate the dominant trends or cycles that, in themselves, offer a cohesive treatment of masculinity in relation to good and evil/law and order as the hero, but in comparison with one another demonstrate shifts in social conceptions of masculinity.”

My years of researching the detective film have led me to the conclusion that a film’s thematic concerns are determined less by a genre’s conventions and more by contemporaneous social concerns. Thus, the end product of my research was to identify the major shifts in the genre and to account for those shifts by exploring the social, economic, and political context of a specific time. The recent shift in film genre criticism (see Nick Browne) has been to explore genres as products of specific socioeconomic and industrial moments rather than as a cohesive body of films over a long period of time. The detective genre as a term, then, does connote consistency over the decades as it identifies a group of texts with the common topic of the investigation of a crime and the common structure of the detective as protagonist; however, the genre is not cohesive in terms of its representation of detectives. Rather than search for generic cohesion, Detecting Men exposes the individual trends that were popular in specific decades in order to demonstrate that the thematic concerns of films are determined less by generic convention and more by socioeconomic change. For example, the British classical sleuth and the softboiled versions of American fiction’s hardboiled detectives dominated the screen in the 1930s; the 1940s saw both replaced by the American hardboiled private eye in film noir; the private eye was replaced by the police detective who shifted from conservative and stable in the late 1940s, to neurotic and often corrupt during the 1950s, to almost absent from the screen in the 1960s, to a violent vigilante by the early 1970s. The hardboiled private eye returned in the late 1970s and early 80s but was overshadowed by the dominance of the cop as action-hero by the mid-80s. The 1990s and 2000s, however, saw the return of the sleuth with the educated, intelligent, middle-class criminalist (think Gil Grissom from CSI). Although other kinds of detectives existed during each of these decades, these were the dominant trends within the genre of the detective film and each represents a shift in social attitudes towards law and order and the type of masculinity that society deems heroic – at the time.

Ultimately, the detective genre is about containment, closure, and fantasies of resolution.

Certainly, mainstream versions of the genre are – whether in print, on the big screen, or on TV. The detective narrative presents a problem – “whodunit” – to be investigated and resolved by the end of the story. The detective narrative not only wraps up the case by the conclusion but also the issues of gender, race, law and order, heroism and villainy it has raised. No matter how grey these issues may seem at the beginning of the narrative, the majority of mainstream detective narratives – especially Hollywood films – firmly identify good with the law and evil with the villain who transgresses it. Even if we like Hannibal Lecter (especially as played by Anthony Hopkins), we know that he is insane and dangerous and that the detective – whether Clarice Starling or Will Graham (played by CSI’s William Petersen and later Edward Norton) – is the character with whom we should identify. The detective narrative also offers closure in terms of social fears about crime as the villains – no matter how seemingly unstoppable – are eventually brought to justice. The detective offers the ultimate line of defence for society from evil and, thus, the detective film offers fantasies of resolution for social anxieties concerning law and order. There is something very satisfying about the detective genre: it neatly wraps up the mystery along with quelling our anxieties about contemporary life.

You argue that “contemporary Western society does not necessarily recognize the multiplicity of masculine experience and tends to prescribe a standard masculine role to its male subjects regardless of their individuality.”

Although society – and, by extension, Hollywood – suggests that masculinity is relatively homogeneous (i.e. that a “real man” is easy to identify), the social reality is that different men embody different types of masculinity. Social determinants such as class, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and age can have an impact upon individual men in terms of their actual lived experience as a man. This is perhaps more obvious when we look to different cultures and recognize what kinds of masculinity they value compared to ours: for example, in Latin America, machismo is admirable for men to display and is a product of a different history than ours (namely, the impact of colonialism). Hollywood, however, only rarely centers on non-white and non-heterosexual protagonists; similarly, it would be rare to have a protagonist who is old, poor, or effeminate without these determinants being something that the hero must overcome (i.e. these determinants are regarded as problematic). However, if one does not see oneself projected in the image of one’s society in its cultural products, one is likely to feel marginalized.

Gender studies scholar Judith Butler argues that gender identity is a construct determined by culture to enforce the heterosexualization of desire by establishing distinct opposites of masculine and feminine (17). For example, traditionally masculinity is defined as strong, dominating, controlling, confident, powerful, and active whereas femininity is defined as weak, submissive, vulnerable, emotional, and passive. While shifting social conceptions of gender have altered over the past decade or so with men now being expected to exhibit what were once seen as only feminine characteristics (e.g. being demonstrably affectionate with partners and children), these conceptions are still generic and individuals are expected to conform to them. With the cultural definitions of gender being so intractable and hypothetical as opposed to being fluid enough to allow for real people’s individual personalities and experiences, it seems inevitable that these fixed notions of gender will prove problematic and that individuals will attempt to fulfill those expectations through the performance of culturally-determined gender identity. Cinema offers a constructed, performed, and ideal masculinity while promising its audiences that that masculinity is a real and attainable one. Despite the fictional nature of narrative film, audience attitudes are shaped by the cultural objects they consume; Hollywood film offers fantasies of heroic and romantic success embodied by glamorous stars that can be desired or emulated.

So the Hollywood detective has evolved over the years as a response to perceived crises in American masculinity as well as evolving with changing ideals of American masculinity?

It seems so. When society values the strong, silent type, stars like John Wayne and Arnold Schwarzenegger are going to be the type of stars that are popular. I cannot tell you how many male friends of mine started working out with weights as teens in the 80s in the hopes of emulating Schwarzenegger’s body! It is perceived crises of masculinity – from the impact of war to the empowerment of women – that incite popular culture’s circulation of retributive types of masculinity (the epitome of manliness). During the 1930s, men who embodied suavity and sophistication like William Powell were popular, and actors with tough-guy looks like Humphrey Bogart were relegated to minor roles as “heavies”; however, World War II brought actors like Bogart to the fore because they looked downtrodden, disillusioned, and conflicted – just the right associations for film noir’s dark rendering of urban America. Similarly, the gun-toting “musculinity” of the 1980s gave way to a new kind of crime-fighter in the 1990s. Heroism was no longer necessarily defined as white, muscular, working-class, and male, and, instead, we saw the proliferation of the middle-class, well-educated professional. The detective genre moved away from the crime-fighting in the literal sense with an emphasis on action and, instead, returned to the sleuth – this time in the form of the criminalist – with a focus on forensics, profiling, and technology as the new weapons for triumphing over evil. With the emphasis on mental/internal rather than physical/external abilities, the detective genre opened up a space for black, female, and older detectives. Of course, at any one time there is more than one popular type of actor, but it is fascinating how certain types become popular as social opinion changes in terms of what is regarded as the model of masculinity.

Talk a little bit more about the shifting wordview in the context of the noir detective and the femme fatale.

Yes, the more I research film during the Depression and World War II, the more I see a quantum shift in the conception of gender at the dawn of the 1940s. Ironically, in a decade characterized by the economic and social upheaval of the Great Depression, Hollywood did offer progressive and transgressive (proto-)feminist role models who resisted their socially prescribed roles. By the 1940s, however, female characters who attempted to take charge in their relationships with men were branded as femmes fatales and were punished (i.e. killed off) or restored to their socially prescribed place in the home as subordinate to their husbands. Also, in film noir, masculinity becomes the central focus rather than necessarily “whodunit.” The hero’s masculinity is tested and proven through not just his successful completion of the investigation but also through his encounters with women: will he fall for the charms of the femme fatale or resist her and embrace the more natural, dependent, and nurturing woman?

And, of course, noir makes a comeback in the 1970s during the Vietnam conflict in films like The Long Goodbye (1973) and Chinatown (1974) and, in the 1980s during “the gender war,” in films like Body Heat (1981) and Basic Instinct (1992). Noir no longer evokes a critique of American society during and immediately after World War II and, instead, has become a kind of visual shorthand for psychological murkiness. The signifiers of noir – the femme fatale, cigarette smoking, hazy light cut by ceiling fans or Venetian blinds, contrast between light and dark, shadows, rainy streets at night, etc. – evoke noir’s association with dark psychology, crime, and intrigue. As the product of postmodernity, contemporary crime films pick-and-mix different styles and use noir conventions to evoke associations of villainous behavior and morally questionable characters rather than necessarily masculinity in crisis.

World events again precipitated the shift from the “musculine” action cop of the 1980s to the procedural cop of the 1990s.

World events do have an impact on attitudes towards various aspects of a society – and provide Hollywood with fears/anxieties/fodder on which to capitalize. The Depression spawned gangster films and musicals – the former exploring the impact of the socio-economic downturn on American society and the latter often disavowing/ignoring it. Certainly, the creation of the vigilante cop-hero Dirty Harry in the early 1970s can be linked to President Nixon’s hard-line politics regarding crime, America’s emasculation caused by Vietnam, and the loss of confidence in law enforcement. Similarly, Susan Jeffords, in her landmark book Hard Bodies (1994), argues that heroic masculinity altered during the 1980s under President Reagan’s administration. With Reagan’s pro-active militarism in terms of international concerns, scholars like Douglas Kellner refer to films like Top Gun (1986) as “a Reaganite wet dream” (75). When we feared Soviet infiltration or Columbia drug running, we looked to one kind of hero – as we did in the 1980s – who could wield muscle and firepower; now that we fear that criminals are intelligent and not readily identifiable, we look to a different kind of hero who possesses superior brainpower.

Although the serial killer may not be the cause of the majority of crime in society (i.e. in real life), he (and he is most often male) does represent the most violent kind of criminal to affect the middle-class society of mainstream film audiences and readers of crime fiction. Thus, the proliferation of the serial killer in film can be seen as emerging from a desire to entertain audiences rather than to portray crime accurately. The serial killer does not kill for the traditional motives of jealousy, greed, and power but because he is psychopathic and cannot help himself. The serial killer represents a social disease in our era of anonymity – a metaphor for moral degeneration and/or AIDS. Our growing cities produce increasing proportions of crime and at the same time individuals are more isolated despite and/or because of electronic technology – technology that improves global communications but deters face-to-face interactions (voice-mail, e-mail, text messaging). The serial killer plays on this fear of alienation by suggesting that the greatest threat to the individual is the anonymous “other” who can be a neighbor or a stranger. The contemporary detective narrative, however, reassures us that while science and technology may be responsible for our vulnerability to the serial killer, the detective-hero has mastered the science and technology to track, identify, and stop him.

In your book, you note a shift in the 1990s. Actors like Bruce Willis begin looking for more comedic and sensitive roles.

Detecting Men, I felt that actions stars like Willis – as Susan Jeffords noted in the case of Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone (see “Can” and “Big”) – had started to send up the very kind of tough guys they had played in the 1980s in a new era of self-parody in the 1990s. What I have explored since then is how Clint Eastwood established a kind of model in the 1990s to reinvent himself from an out-dated tough guy reliant on muscle and firepower (note the harpoon gun Dirty Harry sports in The Dead Pool [1988]) to a more sensitive and vulnerable hero in films from Unforgiven (1992) to Blood Work (2002) – by highlighting his aging body and focusing on relationships with children rather than lovers. Stallone, Willis, and Harrison Ford have echoed this “Eastwood model” notably in the last couple of years with the resurrection of their 1980s heroes – Rambo and Rocky, John McClane, and Indiana Jones, respectively. Stallone has also followed in Eastwood’s footsteps in his attempt to garner respect as a director (Rocky Balboa [2006]). In the millennial action film, our 80s tough-guy heroes have been recast as more physically vulnerable because they are older and more in touch with their emotions because they are parents. It was the only way these stars could compete with the rise of the younger action stars – from Brendan Fraser (the Mummy series [1999, 2001, 2008]) to Matt Damon (the Bourne series [2002, 2004, 2007]) – who replaced the aging action heroes in the late 1990s because they were more emotionally sensitive (i.e. more in keeping with contemporary ideals of masculinity).

You close chapter six with a very provocative statement: “So perhaps the greatest danger of overidentification with the serial killer for the criminalist is that the serial killer is actually carrying out the criminalist’s own secret, and similar, desires.” We’d like to hear more about this.

In Dirty Harry (1971), Eastwood’s detective chafes against the restrictions placed on him by the law; he is unable to bring a violent killer to justice unless he operates outside of the law and, in effect, commits murder himself. Similarly, some contemporary criminalist narratives challenge viewers’ attitudes towards the law – namely, is murder justified if the “victim” is a ruthless killer? I guess the most explicit realization of this is the television series Dexter (2006-ongoing). Dexter is a detective and a serial killer; the series pushes boundaries by asking viewers to identify with a man who would typically be labeled the villain. Other films have toyed with this problematic identification with the criminal – from Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986) to The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) and the Hannibal Lecter films (1986, 1991, 2001, 2002, 2007). As Linnie Blake suggests, the serial killer is the last American hero, as embodying the independence, violence, and freedom from the law that the frontier hero first evoked (208). Criminals operate outside of the social and legal bounds that restrict the choices of the detective – well, at least until they get caught! In films like Insomnia (2002), we see the detective (played by Al Pacino) overidentify with the prey he seeks (played by Robin Williams) and how sorely he is tempted to break the law for his own selfish goals. The serial killer can be a very exciting and seductive character – just look at the popularity of Hannibal Lecter.

You also argue that “contemporary mainstream cinema is not completely void of black protagonists, but it does seem to offer black experience to its audience only when that ‘otherness’ can be contained and regulated. The contemporary detective film offers Hollywood the ideal space for the presentation but also the containment of the black protagonist because one of its main codes is the isolation of the hero.”

The contemporary detective film through its code of isolating the hero can offer a representation of black experience that is “non-threatening” (in Hollywood’s terms) to mainstream (i.e. white) audiences with the presence of black stars on screen but without an address of race or ethnicity as a central issue. In other words, the detective could easily be white without altering the plot or themes of the film, and, therefore, avoids any issue of race completely. In fact, some of the most significant black detective roles were originally intended for white actors – for example, Eddie Murphy’s role in Beverly Hills Cop (1984) was meant for Sylvester Stallone, and Danny Glover’s role in Lethal Weapon (1987) for Nick Nolte. Like the western, the detective is defined by the lone hero who enters a social space to restore order but does not remain in that social space. If he stays, then he will no longer be an effective law enforcer because the skills he is required to possess in order to defeat the enemy – violence, toughness, lack of emotional involvement – are qualities deemed anti-social. This generic convention, as well as those of a lack of sexuality and lack of action, is exploited by Hollywood to bring black stars to the screen – cashing in on their fame and appeal to both white and black audiences – without having to tackle the issues that the representation of America’s black community might entail. My new research project (Detecting Race) is to explore this very issue in relation to Asian detectives from Charlie Chan in the 1930s to Jackie Chan in the 2000s.

Talk a little bit more about Clarice (Jodie Foster) in The Silence of the Lambs. Why is she such a compelling character?

Clarice is such a ground-breaking character in so many ways. The Silence of the Lambs redefines presumed gendered identities: the female detective is not merely a masculinized woman, or the killer, Jame Gumb, an emasculated male killing to assert his manhood. Ultimately, Clarice proves herself a good F.B.I. agent, empowered by her ambition, experience, her skills in behavioral science, psychology, profiling, and – most significantly – her femininity. By embracing her emotional connections with the killer’s victims, rather than suppressing them, she is able to find the killer and rescue a young woman from his clutches. As Yvonne Tasker has suggested, “The film does not simply allow Clarice Starling her autonomy; it is positively celebrated” (21). Indeed, Clarice is a landmark female detective. In fact, I am not sure that Hollywood has topped her in any of the criminalist films since 1991 despite her imitators played by Ashley Judd in Kiss the Girls (1997) and Twisted (2004); Angelina Jolie in The Bone Collector (1999) and Taking Lives (2004); and Diane Lane in Untraceable (2008).

On another subject, you observe that 9/11 and the War on Terror “are still being filtered through the American imagination.” Do you predict more films with youth fighting international terrorism?

I think that the youth heroes born out of the late 1990s have endured and proliferated – for example, Matt Damon in the Bourne films (2002, 2004, 2007) and Leonardo DiCaprio in films like Body of Lies (2008); however, we have also seen the return of our 1980s action heroes – like Ford’s Indy and Willis’s McClane. I think that I was concerned that 9/11 and the War on Terror would incite a return of hardbodied action heroes – just as the Cold War had spawned them. Interestingly, however, those 80s heroes have had to adjust to our millennial sensibilities regarding masculinity and heroism. Notably, McClane is lost in the virtual world of the twenty-first century and requires the assistance of a youth hero (played by Justin Long who is best known for personifying the Mac in the commercials for the computer). Having said that, I would point out that it tends to be the youth hero fighting overseas as opposed to the aging action heroes. Military heroes, certainly, have to be team players in “The Army of One” so you are not going to see McClane or Rambo enlisting any time soon (even if their age were not a factor). Certainly, Willis’s attempt at such a role in Tears of the Sun (2003) was unsuccessful with critics and audiences. As long as we have conflict and vested interests in the Middle East, there are going to be more films about heroes fighting enemies there and, I think – at least for now – those are going to be young and idealistic heroes (think of Josh Hartnett’s hero in Black Hawk Down [2001]).

Tell us about your forthcoming book.

Detecting Women: Gender and the Hollywood Detective Film (in press) is intended as a companion to Detecting Men. The new book offers a similar exploration of the relationship of gender and genre from 1929 to today – except with a focus on the female detective. I had first explored the female detective film in criminalist films from The Silence of the Lambs (1991) onwards in a chapter of Detecting Men – in terms of how she represented a negotiation of masculinity as a woman operating within the predominantly male world of homicide investigation. When I began the new stage of my research in the mid-2000s, I did not set out with the goal to write a book focused on female detectives; instead, I was interested in pre-noir male detectives of the 1930s like Nick Charles (The Thin Man), Charlie Chan, and The Saint. After some digging in the archives, however, I realized that there were dozens and dozens of films (especially B-films) in the 1930s centered on female detectives. I was floored that these women and films had been all but ignored in scholarship and felt compelled to recover them because they were so exciting and progressive – the product of the modern, American, urban experience. The first part of the book explores the prolific “girl reporter” (such as Torchy Blane, played by Glenda Farrell in seven of nine films), and other amateur detectives of the 1930s (including schoolmarm Hildegarde Withers, teenager Nancy Drew, and nurse Sarah Keate), their gradual disappearance in the 1940s, and the few instances of female detective in film noir. The second part considers the crime-fighting heroines of blaxploitation in the 1970s, the popular female lawyer thrillers of the 1980s, and the criminalist detectives who have been prolific since Clarice Starling appeared in the early 1990s.

From her first appearance in nineteenth-century fiction to the contemporary criminalist film, the female detective has struggled to be both a successful detective and a successful woman. The only female detectives who seem to have avoided this dilemma are those who are either too old – e.g. spinster Jane Marple and widow Jessica Fletcher – or too young – e.g. teenager Nancy Drew – for romantic relationships and thus elude the complications that arise when career and romance compete. The vast majority of fictional female detectives from 1864 to today, however, have been forced to make a decision to pursue either love or detection because the two are seen as mutually exclusive – the former requiring the detective to be feminine and the latter masculine. In terms of feminist criticism, this exclusivity has incited debate amongst scholars whether the female detective is merely an impossible fantasy as embodying both feminine and masculine traits or a realistic model of feminist empowerment. In terms of popular debate, it is often assumed that it took the women’s movement beginning in the 1960s to spark empowered representations of women in Hollywood film and that classical Hollywood tended to construct female characters in keeping with old-fashioned (read: Victorian) values and gender roles. In the new millennium, we assume that we have made progress in terms of equal rights and opportunities across the lines of class, race, sexuality, and especially gender; however, contemporary mainstream film does not necessarily advance themes any more progressive than those touted in film more than half a century ago. I think the most important contribution of the Detecting Women project is to recover the surprisingly sophisticated, nuanced, and complex treatment of working women in Depression-era Hollywood film. The prolific female detective of 1930s Hollywood film was an independent woman who put her career ahead of the traditionally female pursuits of marriage and a family and who chased crime as actively as – and most often with greater success than – the official male investigators who populated the police department. Most importantly, the female detective did so and was not punished for her transgressions of traditional female roles – as she would be in subsequent decades.

In terms of the bigger picture, another aim of Detecting Women is to evince how the most interesting and challenging representations of the female detective occur on the margins – in 1930s B-mystery comedies and 1970s exploitation films – rather than in big-budget and award-winning films. And, just as Detecting Men aimed to explore the evolution of the male detective in Hollywood film, so too does Detecting Women delineate the popular trends in terms of the female detective in film, the social issues that each trend explores, and the social attitudes towards women that each espouses. The detective film – whether featuring a sleuth or a criminalist, and crime in the Depression-era metropolis or twenty-first-century cyberspace – presents a fantasy of resolution for social anxieties concerning crime – and, more interestingly, gender.

Works Cited

Blake, Linnie. “Whoever Fights Monsters: Serial Killers, the FBI and America’s Last Frontier.” The Devil Himself: Villainy in Detective Fiction and Film. Eds. Stacy Gillis and Philippa Gates. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002. 197-210.

Browne, Nick. “Preface.” Refiguring American Film Genres: History and Theory. Ed. Nick Browne. Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1998. xi-xiv.

Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. London: Routledge, 1990.

Everson, William K. The Detective in Film: A Pictorial Treasury of the Screen Sleuth from 1903 to the Present. 3rd paperbound ed. Secaucus, NJ: The Citadel Press, 1980.

---. Detecting Women: Gender and the Hollywood Detective Film. Albany, NY: State U of New York P (in press).

Gates, Philippa. Detecting Men: Masculinity and the Hollywood Detective Film. Albany, NY: State U of New York P, 2006.

Jeffords, Susan. “The Big Switch: Hollywood Masculinity in the Nineties.” Film Theory Goes to the Movies. Eds. Jim Collins, Hilary Radner, and Ava Preacher Collins. New York: Routledge, 1993. 196-208.

---. “Can Masculinity be Terminated?” Screening the Male: Exploring Masculinities in Hollywood Cinema. Eds. Steven Cohan and Ina Rae Hark. London: Routledge, 1993. 245-262.

---. Hard Bodies: Hollywood Masculinity in the Reagan Era. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1994.

Kellner, Douglas. Media Culture: Cultural Studies, Identity and Politics between the Modern and the Postmodern. London: Routledge. 1995.

Krutnik, Frank. In a Lonely Street: Film Noir, Genre, Masculinity. London, Routledge, 1991.

Pitts, Michael R. Famous Movie Detectives. Metuchen, NJ: The Scarecrow Press, 1979.

Tasker, Yvonne. The Silence of the Lambs. London: BFI Publishing, 2002.

Tuska, Jon. The Detective in Hollywood. New York: Doubleday & Co. Inc., 1978.

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