Chapter Eight
“Following the Supreme Court’s ruling that movies didn’t have First Amendment protection, local governments passed laws restricting the public exhibition of ‘indecent’ or ‘immoral’ films.”
The trio of jocks half lounging on the top riser settled more comfortably and prepared for sleep. Jason mentally sighed and kept talking.
“Public pressure resulted in the establishment of a national censorship board, which in 1930 became the Motion Picture Production Code. You may have heard it referred to as the Hays Code.”
“But why wouldn’t movies have First Amendment protection?” someone called out from the second row.
“Good question. Because the court believed film and the film industry could too easily be manipulated and used for eville.”
This earned several titters and a couple of outright laughs.
“The major principle governing the code was that no picture would be produced which could lower the moral standards of viewers. This wasn’t just about avoiding the prurient or the gratuitous, though that certainly was part of it. The idea was, the sympathy of the audience should never be with criminals. Not just with criminals, though. In this context, evildoers included anyone who flouted societal norms and conventions. For example, a woman who left her husband and child to be with her lover shouldn’t be surprised to find herself beneath the wheels of a train before the end credits.”
Eye rolls, mutters, some laughs, and a lot of glances at the clock on the wall. The jocks in the back slumbered peacefully on. If Jason had actually been teaching this course, he’d have to, eventually, do something about that back row, but happily, not his problem. Frankly, he’d rather tackle a dozen gun-toting art smugglers than a row of smart-ass college kids. At least in the former case he could arrest the assholes.
“By the way, there’re plenty of people and organizations on both sides of the political spectrum that still feel films and filmmakers should adhere to a particular vision of morality or ethics or political correctness, whatever you want to call it. But anyway, in 1968 the Production Code was replaced by the MPAA film rating system, which is still in effect. Sort of.”
But I digress.
He was liable to digress a lot given that these were topics he tended to be passionate about. He and Sam frequently debated the positive and negative aspects of censorship. Sam took a ruthlessly pragmatic view. He was always going to view artistic integrity as secondary to keeping people safe. Jason couldn’t view artistic freedom as a black-and-white issue.
“Anyway, back when the production code was still in effect—and regardless of how sensitively they might be handled—certain behaviors would not appear in films. Nudity, for example. Profanity, drugs, white slavery, scenes of childbirth, and ridicule of the clergy were not permitted.”
Unsurprisingly, these kids found the list more sidesplitting than shocking.
“By that token, films portraying homosexuality—listed under sexual perversion in the Code—in a positive or sympathetic light were no-go. Even the inference of homosexuality was no-go. As were films openly depicting interracial relationships, premarital or illicit sex, bearing children out of wedlock, and so forth. Which isn’t to say that such films weren’t made. Filmmakers had to get creative to figure out ways to make the movies they wanted to make. Which is what brings us here today.”
And so on and so forth. Jason spent forty minutes relaying everything he’d crammed into his jetlagged brain the night before.
The good news was he’d remembered more than he’d thought he would. The bad news was, unless he could find someone to translate Professor Dahle’s notes, he was going to end up doing as much or more homework for this class than these damned kids.
It wasn’t like anyone in here was a suspect. The students who had attended Ono’s classes six months ago were scattered to the four winds, i.e., enrolled in other courses. By all accounts, Ono hadn’t fraternized with her students. It was extremely unlikely she’d have allowed one into her apartment, especially at night. If anyone had been with her, it was someone she’d invited in. Someone she trusted.
No, Jason’s so-called teaching was simply to provide cover for his snooping around campus, asking awkward questions and making a general nuisance of himself. With the exception of Senator Ono, no one was expecting much to come of this investigation. Jason? Jason needed a win, but he wasn’t going to manufacture a case that didn’t exist.
He couldn’t help hoping that there was a case, though.
When the seminar concluded and the last student filed out, Jason popped a throat lozenge and tried once again to phone Calida Lois, Ono’s indie director girlfriend. The woman she’d apparently had a physical confrontation with only hours before her death.
This was his fourth try. He’d phoned yesterday afternoon and left a message with the usual spiel about who he was and what he wanted, but had received no return call. He’d tried first thing that morning and again between classes, but no reply. So he wasn’t hopeful he was going to catch the elusive Ms. Lois without hunting her down in person.
But on the second ring, she picked up with a flat, “Speaking.”
“Ms. Lois? This is Special Agent West. I phoned earlier.”
“Yes, I know. This is starting to feel like harassment.” The intonation was African-American. Her voice was high and indignant.
“I apologize for giving that impression. Professor Ono’s family is unsatisfied with the outcome of the initial investigation into her death, and I’ve been authorized to—”
“I know! I know!” Lois broke in. “They think I murdered Georgie, even though I’m the only person in her goddamned life who ever actually cared about her.”
Jason had been prepared for defensiveness. Her fury gave him pause. He said—still neutral, still courteous, “No one has suggested anything remotely like that.”
“Then you must not be listening because the old man absolutely believes it.”
“I can only assure you that’s not the theory he shared with me yesterday.”
She didn’t speak, but he could hear the angry rise and fall of her breathing.
“Ms. Lois—Calida—can we meet? I just want to talk to you. You knew Professor Ono better than anyone. I’d prefer to have this conversation in person.”
She shrieked, “Hell no, we can’t meet! Are you serious? You’re not dragging me down to some police station or FBI office. I know how that goes. And I’m not—I repeat, not—giving you permission to enter my work space or my home or my—”
Jason held his cell away from his ear until the volume dropped to non-eardrum-piercing decibels. He said quickly, “What if we met for dinner? You choose where and when. I promise this isn’t any kind of trap. I just want your insight.”
Another one of those raspy pauses. There was a lot of pent-up—and not so pent-up—emotion there. Also a fair bit of paranoia. What the hell had the cops said to her during their investigation to make her feel so threatened?
He was sure she was going to turn him down flat, but once again she surprised him.
“Intercrew in KTown. Eight o’clock. Do not be late. And you’d better be alone.” She hung up.
Oh. Kay. Well. That sounded both hopeful and ominous.
Jason pocketed his cell. He figured he had just enough time to make it to the phone-booth-sized office he’d been assigned in the basement—er, on the ground floor of the Archive Research and Study Center—in order to check his messages, grab his notes, and meet with Aric Bern, Chair of the Department of Film, Television, and Digital Media.
The UCLA campus had changed a lot since his student days, but he still knew a couple of shortcuts. The carillon bells were chiming as he strode through the arches of Royce Hall. Powell Library in sight, he nearly walked into a slender guy with tousled blond hair and—oh shit.
Alexander Dash.
Second time in two days? What were the odds of that? Apparently one hundred percent.
Alex, peering at his cell phone, barely glanced up at the near collision, but then did a double take.
“Jason?”
Jason considered and dismissed the idea of pretending he didn’t recognize Alex. He summoned a quick smile. “Hey! Alex.”
After yesterday, he’d known this was liable to happen, so why hadn’t he headed if off by contacting Alex first?
Alex’s smile held a tinge of bewilderment, his blue gaze flicking from Jason’s shaved head to his black ankle-zipper boots. “It is you! I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Almost was not good enough. Maybe he should have gone ahead and dyed his hair and beard red.
Jason said with a cheeriness he didn’t feel, “It’s me!”
“What are you— Are you teaching here?”