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A study of the life and work of Gordon Zahn (1918-2007), one of the most significant and formative figures in the history of the US Catholic peace movement. During World War II, Zahn was one of only a handful of US Catholic conscientious objectors, an experience that first put him in contact with Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker. Following the war, Zahn completed a PhD in sociology at The Catholic University of America where Paul Hanly Furfey’s “supernatural sociology” had a profound effect on him. After joining the faculty at Loyola University, Chicago, Zahn won a Fulbright year in Germany (1956-57) where he discovered the story of Franz Jägerstätter, the Austrian Catholic farmer, husband, and father who was beheaded by the Nazis in 1943 for refusing to participate in Hitler’s military. It was Zahn’s 1964 book In Solitary Witness that introduced Jägerstätter to an international audience and led to his beatification by Pope Benedict XVI in 2007. This work, along with Zahn’s several other books, secured his place as a leading intellectual in the Catholic peace movement. His work influenced the discussions of war and peace at the Second Vatican Council and he was enlisted as an expert witness during the drafting of the US Catholic Bishops’ pastoral letter on nuclear weapons, The Challenge of Peace (1983). Zahn made one of the most intellectually developed cases in the US for "Catholic pacifism"—two terms that both Catholics and pacifists had long regarded as deeply incompatible. Forging a Catholic pacifist position led him to be far more perceptive and critical of US political and military institutions than most of fellow US Catholics. Ultimately, Zahn saw the Catholic Church as the only institution capable of resisting, and support those who resist, modern warfare and the modern war-making state. His traditional view of the Church grounded his claim that Catholics can be pacifist and his further assertion that the Church should serve as a “source of dissent” for Catholics and others, especially during times of war. While marginalized within the broader US Catholic intellectual community, Zahn found common cause with other Catholic luminaries who are now seen to be ahead of their time, including Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, and Daniel Berrigan. Gordon Zahn’s story serves as a template for telling the broader story of the US Catholic peace movement and the development of Catholic attitudes on war and conscientious objection that took place within the twentieth century.

The Hollywood blacklist, which began in the late 1940s and ran well into the 1960s, ended or curtailed the careers of hundreds of people accused of having ties to the Communist Party. Bernard Gordon was one of them. In this highly readable memoir, he tells a engrossing insider's story of what it was like to be blacklisted and how he and others continued to work uncredited behind the scenes, writing and producing many box office hits of the era.

Gordon describes how the blacklist cut short his screenwriting career in Hollywood and forced him to work in Europe. Ironically, though, his is a success story that includes the films El Cid, 55 Days at Peking, The Thin Red Line, Krakatoa East of Java, Day of the Triffids, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, Horror Express, and many others. He recounts the making of many movies for which he was the writer and/or producer, with wonderful anecdotes about stars such as Charlton Heston, David Niven, Sophia Loren, Ava Gardner, and James Mason; directors Nicholas Ray, Frank Capra, and Anthony Mann; and the producer-studio head team of Philip Yordan and Samuel Bronston.

One of the twentieth century’s most important filmmakers—indeed one of its most important and influential artists—Ingmar Bergman and his films have been examined from almost every possible perspective, including their remarkable portrayals of women and their searing dramatizations of gender dynamics. Curiously however, especially considering the Swedish filmmaker’s numerous and intriguing comments on the subject, no study has focused on the undeniably queer characteristics present throughout this nominally straight auteur’s body of work; indeed, they have barely been noted.

Queer Bergman makes a bold and convincing argument that Ingmar Bergman’s work can best be thought of as profoundly queer in nature. Using persuasive historical evidence, including Bergman’s own on-the-record (though stubbornly ignored) remarks alluding to his own homosexual identifications, as well as the discourse of queer theory, Daniel Humphrey brings into focus the director’s radical denunciation of heteronormative values, his savage and darkly humorous deconstructions of gender roles, and his work’s trenchant, if also deeply conflicted, attacks on homophobically constructed forms of patriarchic authority. Adding an important chapter to the current discourse on GLBT/queer historiography, Humphrey also explores the unaddressed historical connections between post–World War II American queer culture and a concurrently vibrant European art cinema, proving that particular interrelationship to be as profound as the better documented associations between gay men and Hollywood musicals, queer spectators and the horror film, lesbians and gothic fiction, and others.

For twenty-six years, the FBI devoted countless hours of staff time and thousands of U.S. taxpayer dollars to the surveillance of an American citizen named Bernard Gordon. Given the lavish use of resources, one might assume this man was a threat to national security or perhaps a kingpin of organized crime—not a Hollywood screenwriter whose most subversive act was joining the Communist Party during the 1940s when we were allied with the USSR in a war against Germany. For this honest act of political dissent, Gordon came to be investigated by the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1952, blacklisted by the Hollywood film industry, and tailed by the FBI for over two decades.

In The Gordon File, Bernard Gordon tells the compelling, cautionary story of his life under Bureau surveillance. Drawing on his FBI file of over 300 pages, which he obtained under the Freedom of Information Act, he traces how the Bureau followed him from Hollywood to Mexico, Paris, London, Rome, and even aboard a Dutch freighter as he created an unusually successful, albeit uncredited, career as a screenwriter and producer during the blacklist years. Comparing his actual activities during that time to records in the file, he pointedly and often humorously underscores how often the FBI got it wrong, from the smallest details of his life to the main fact of his not being a threat to national security.

Most important, Gordon links his personal experience to the headlines of today, when the FBI is again assuming broad powers to monitor political dissidents it deems a threat to the nation. "Is it possible," he asks, "that books like this will help to move our investigative agencies from the job of blackmailing those who are critical of our imperfect democracy to arresting those who are truly out to destroy us?"