| Although the plot line of the
film itself was quite provocative, it was the “explicit” three
minute “sex scene” involving Jeanne and her young lover that
became the focal point in the controversy. (Indeed, an ad for the film
that ran in the Sun Press titillatingly proclaimed, “When all conventions
explode…in the most daring love story ever filmed!”) Les Amants
was released in the United States in 1959, where it played in dozens of
art theaters around the country, generally without incident. In several
locations, however, including Boston and Memphis, sanitized versions of
the film were shown. Like other states, Ohio had an obscenity law that,
among other things, prohibited the possession and exhibition of obscene
films. Thus, when the manager of the Heights Art Theater, Nico Jacobellis,
decided to show the film in its entirety, he risked running afoul of state
law. |
| audiences “who take their
entertainment seriously and wish to think.” A further measure
of Jacobellis’s commitment to serious art was his establishment
of a gallery in the lobby of the Heights Art Theater in which he planned
to exhibit a collection of works of contemporary Italian artists that
he had recently imported. Ironically, the grand opening of the new gallery
was slated to coincide with the Northeast Ohio premier of Les Amants in
November 1959, which, as events unfolded, no doubt cast a pall over the
gala.
Advance publicity for the film aroused the attention of Cleveland Heights
Police Chief, Edward Gaffney, who suspected the film might violate state
obscenity laws. As he had done on several occasions in the past, Chief
Gaffney ordered several of his deputies to attend the first showing of
the film on November 13 to determine if it was obscene. The men concluded
that it was and, as the second screening of that evening began, Cleveland
Heights police, accompanied by Gaffney, raided the theater, seized the
film, and arrested Jacobellis. Within days he was indicted by a Cuyahoga
County grand jury and charged with violating state obscenity laws—a
felony in Ohio. In the wake of his arrest and indictment, Cleveland police
raided Jacobellis’s home after an anonymous tipster told police
that the theater manager had other obscene films in his possession. No
such materials were ever found.
Local sentiment was divided over the case. One Cleveland Heights resident
commended the actions of the police for taking action “to protect
us from filth spewing forth from a tarnished screen.” The individual
went on to declare that such “foreign film garbage” was “demoralizing
and degrading to our community,” and, touching upon one of the salient
issues in setting obscenity standards, insisted that simply because “a
certain film is being shown in other sections of the state and nation
is no excuse for our accepting it in Cleveland Heights.”
By contrast, the Cleveland Civil Liberties Union criticized the police
for over-stepping their authority, noting that under state law, only a
duly constituted jury, not the police, had the power to declare a motion
picture to be obscene. And Sun Press publisher and editor Harry Volk,
in the first of several of his “Top of the Hill” columns,
conceded that while such films ought to be strictly limited to adults—a
restriction already scrupulously enforced by Jacobellis—the question
of whether something should be deemed art or obscenity was ageless and,
ultimately, best left to individual determination. In June 1960, a trio
of judges in the Cuyahoga County Common Pleas Court found Jacobellis guilty
of possessing and exhibiting an obscene film and fined him $2,500. Both
a county appeals court and the Ohio Supreme Court upheld the conviction,
with the state supreme court declaring that the film lacked redeeming
social importance according to local community standards—which was
the contemporary test for determining whether a work of art could be declared
obscene.
For Jacobellis, the case had potentially serious ramifications beyond
the question of obscenity. At the time of the controversy, Jacobellis
was in the final stages of completing the process of becoming a U.S. citizen.
His application was held in abeyance pending final resolution of the case.
He had also recently married a young Italian woman from the area and,
within a year, a son would be born to the couple. If the conviction stood,
his efforts to become a naturalized citizen and the integrity of his family
would be imperiled.
Supported by a team of lawyers from New York, Jacobellis doggedly appealed
his case to the United States Supreme Court, which issued its ruling in
June 1964. By a 6-2 margin, the Court reversed the convictions, although
there were divergences of opinion among the justices. Most members of
the Court sought to clarify the definition of obscenity, holding that
national community standards of decency trumped those of local communities.
And since locales that found the film objectionable, such as Cleveland
Heights, were in the minority, the tastes of the majority of theater managers
nationwide, including Jacobellis, must prevail.
Nevertheless, it was the folksy concurring opinion of Justice Potter
Stewart for which this case may best be remembered. Like his peers in
the majority, Stewart struggled to precisely identify what it meant for
something to be obscene. He acknowledged that laws could prohibit such
obscene material as “hard core pornography” but demurred to
identify specific types of works which might fall into that category.
Nevertheless, Stewart concluded, “I know [pornography] when I see
it, and the motion picture involved in this case is not that."
Three nights later, Les Amants resumed its run at the Heights Art Theater.
A large ad for the film triumphantly proclaimed: “Thanks to the
U.S. Supreme Court you can now see Louis Malle’s The Lovers and,
in accordance with your constitutional rights, enjoy your freedom of opinion
and expression!” Ironically, within a decade the Jacobellis ruling
was overturned. Reflecting the nascent backlash against the perceived
cultural excesses of the 1960s, the Court ruled that the idea of nationwide
community standards was untenable. As a result, the Court reverted to
a more restrictive position, declaring that any measure of community standards
must reflect local sentiments.
Today, the explicit material in Les Amants would not create much of
a stir. Indeed, it might easily be passed off as a “wardrobe malfunction”
or a rather sedate music video. But in 1960s America, standards were very
much in flux, and one person’s art house film was another’s
pornography. As the times have changed, so have the grounds upon which
struggles over civility are waged. Yet the fact that people continue to
care about such issues reflects the vitality of, and passion for, the
community in which we make our homes. |
