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Paying for the damage: The Quiet American Revisited.

Graham Greene's The Quiet American, published in 1955, has twice caught the interest of respected filmmakers. Joseph Mankiewicz directed his adaptation of the novel in 1958, while Phillip Noyce returned to the text nearly a half century later. These radically different presentations reflect the different historical contexts in which they were filmed and show how the Vietnam War continues to be revisited and reshaped. Mankiewicz transposes what he called a "cheap melodrama in which the American was the most idiotic kind of villain" (qtd. in Geist 269) into an anti-Communist dramatization of America's fledgling foreign policy in Indochina. By returning to The Quiet American of the late fifties with four decades of hindsight, Noyce is able to treat his film with full awareness of America's pending escalation and defeat in Vietnam, something that Greene and Mankiewicz could only imagine.

Greene's controversial and popular novel provides attractive adaptation possibilities. It is part political thriller, part romance, and part detective story set in exotic Indochina in 1952. A washed-up reporter for the London Times, Thomas Fowler pits his fatalistic experience against the newly arrived American's youthful innocence in an effort to hold onto Phuong, his Vietnamese mistress, in a contest that symbolizes old and new world attitudes towards Indochina. In the novel, Fowler underscores the danger of Alden Pyle's lethal innocence:
 he was too innocent to live. He was young and ignorant
 and silly and he got involved. He had no more
 of a notion than any of you what the whole affair's
 about, and you gave him money and York Harding's
 books on the East and said, "Go ahead. Win the East
 for Democracy." (31-32)


In the 1950s, Joseph Mankiewicz ennobles Pyle's idealism while simultaneously emptying Fowler of political significance. Noyce's 2002 departure from the novel also centers on the characterization of the American; this time, however, Pyle is less ignorant and more menacing in his idealism. Mankiewicz privileges the murder investigation and Fowler's jealousy of Pyle as a motive, while Noyce favors the self-reflective intimacy and pathos of Greene's work. The 1958 screenplay written by Mankiewicz and the 2002 script by Christopher Hampton and Robert Schenkkan both adhere closely to the novel. What separates the two films, principally the reimagining of the character of Pyle, does not occur until late in the story when Pyle responds to the terrorist attack he helped organize at the Place Garnier.

Joseph Mankiewicz bought the movie rights to The Quiet American just a few months after it was published in the United States in 1956. Though the director/producer claimed he was not pressured by United Artists to put a pro-American spin on the novel, Robert Lantz, executive vice-president of Figaro Productions (the film's production company), claimed the filmmaker boasted about the change: "I will tell the whole story anti-Communist and pro-American" (qtd. in Geist 268). According to Mankiewicz' biographer, Kenneth Geist, the director denied ever making the boast; however, Mankiewicz was quoted in the Saturday Review on January 25, 1958, saying that he "often wanted to do a picture about one of those ice-blooded intellectuals whose intellectualism is really just a mask for completely irrational passion" (27). As director and screenwriter, Mankiewicz reversed the anti-Americanism of Greene's novel into a decidedly patriotic film. In an interview to promote it, Mankiewicz said, "Greene's book made me so mad, I was determined to make a picture of it" (qtd. in Weales 492-93). (1) Some time in early 1956 he contacted Colonel Edward Lansdale, USAF, for advice on the plausibility of his intended revision. Lansdale was a legendary CIA operative and staunch Diem supporter--sort of the Ollie North of his day and the model for Marlon Brando's character in The Ugly American (1963). To his credit, through his numerous State Department and Vietnamese contacts, Lansdale knew more than any American about a "third force"--i.e., a third alternative to Communist or French rule in Vietnam.

His alliance with this notorious spy makes clear the direction Mankiewicz intended for his film because he set out to shift the blame for the terrorist bombing of the Place Garnier in Saigon on January 9, 1952 from Colonel The (Pyle's third force Leader--Greene promoted him to general) to the Communists. Lansdale wrote to Mankiewicz: "in keeping with your treatment of this [incident's] actually having been a Communist action, I'd suggest that you just go right ahead and let it be finally revealed that the Communists did it after all, even to faking the radio broadcast (which would have been easy to do)" (qtd. in Pratt 301). (2) After the attack, The claimed credit for the two bombs via a broadcast over the National Resistance Front radio. Lansdale could have arguably been the most influential and biggest fan of Mankiewicz' film. On October 28, 1957 he wrote to President Ngo Dinh Diem:
 Just a little note to tell you that I have seen the motion
 picture, "The Quiet American," and that I feel it will
 help win more friends for you and Vietnam in many
 places in the world where it is shown. When I first
 mentioned this motion picture to you last year, I had
 read Mr. Mankiewicz' "treatment" of the story and
 had thought it an excellent change from Mr. Greene's
 novel of despair. Mr. Mankiewicz had done much
 more with the picture itself, and I now feel that you
 will be very pleased with the reactions of those who
 see it. (qtd. in Pratt 307)


Diem should have been pleased; in the film Pyle refers to meeting an impressive Vietnamese while taking classes at Princeton. Pyle believes this man (Diem, though he is not directly named) will be the third force and that The, with his army, will be one of his chief supporters.

On the same day Lansdale wrote Diem, he also wrote to his friend and supervisor, General O'Daniel: "Thanks to you, I attended the screening of 'The Quiet American' in Washington last Thursday. It was quite an experience to see and listen to a mature approach to such recent events in Vietnam, and one so understanding of the things free men believe in" (qtd. in Pratt 308). Mankiewicz had endorsed the government's position on Vietnam, and, judging by the praise of Lansdale, created a film in keeping with the accepted Cold War ideology of his day.

The eight-week shoot began on January 28, 1957, with Michael Redgrave as Fowler and Audie Murphy as Pyle. Mankiewicz originally wanted Montgomery Clift to play the part of Pyle opposite Lawrence Olivier as Fowler. Clift, not yet recovered from an auto accident, cancelled. Angered that Clift was replaced with the B-western movie actor, Olivier pulled out, and Michael Redgrave signed on to replace Olivier as Fowler. Audie Murphy was a bold but logical choice for the role of Pyle given Mankiewicz' revision of the novel. By 1958, Murphy had established himself as a motion picture action star. The most decorated soldier of World War II became a national celebrity with a cover story in Life Magazine on July 16, 1945, his boyish good looks and battlefield credentials opening the doors to Hollywood. Starring as himself in the smash To Hell and Back (1955) briefly gave him the keys, but, by 1958, with his stardom rapidly descending from its zenith, Murphy began knocking on closed doors. The Quiet American would be his only dramatic departure from formulaic westerns and combat films. Still, the face that appeared on the cover of Life in 1945 and again won over audiences in 1955 was just the face Joseph Mankiewicz needed to sell his version of The Quiet American. In Thomas Pryor's December 14, 1956 article in the New York Times, Mankiewicz gushed that Murphy was "the perfect symbol of what I want to say" (35). The American hero-turned-actor in a supporting role received top billing over Michael Redgrave, his more accomplished co-star.

Michael Redgrave did not get along with Audie Murphy, finding the inexperienced actor stiff and hard to work with. At one point he asked Mankiewicz if he would please direct Murphy to at least blink once in a while. The character Pyle, as his name suggests, was to be a pain in the ass, and supposedly Audie Murphy excelled in that aspect of the role. Redgrave was also distressed by Murphy's insistence on constantly carrying a sidearm. Murphy's jests about his experience in Saigon justified Redgrave's concern: "The first thing I did was go to the nearest army post and draw a .45 and 500 rounds of ammunition, which I kept in my hotel room. The commies were only sixteen miles from Saigon at the time, and you never knew what was going to happen. I figured if they were going to get me, I'd give them a good fight first" (qtd. in Graham 268). (3) Murphy was not a versatile actor; he pretty much played himself, which worked well for Mankiewicz' concept of the film. Possibly to increase the sincerity of the character or to make Murphy more convincing in the role, Pyle's home was switched from Boston to Murphy's native Texas. Mankiewicz did little to downplay the actor's heroic status. In an early scene in the film when Pyle rescues Fowler from a burning watchtower, Fowler sarcastically remarks, "we're not a couple of movie marines. You won't even get the girl in the end." Oblivious to the snide remark, Pyle responds, "this is the fireman's lift. I learned it in the Boy Scouts--my good deed for the day." Audie Murphy fashions Pyle into the consummate do-gooder without a hint of irony.

Greene was enraged by Mankiewicz' reworking of his novel, openly criticizing the film during the production and after its release. His harshest attack, appearing first in the International Film Annual (1958), leaves no question regarding his feelings about the film:
 The most extreme changes I have seen in any book of
 mine were in The Quiet American; one could almost
 believe that the film was made deliberately to attack the
 book and the author, but the book was based on a closer
 knowledge of the Indo-China war than the American
 director possessed, and I am vain enough to believe
 that the book will survive a few years longer than Mr.
 Mankiewicz' incoherent picture. (qtd. in Geist 278) (4)


Greene was right about the short life of Mankiewicz' film but would not be alive to criticize the second adaptation of his novel.

While the first film premiered in a little over a year after the novel was published in the United States, the second would take almost fifteen years to hit theaters. Sydney Pollack initially acquired the rights in 1988 and "promised a more faithful remake" (Daily 10), but, following the commercial success of Platoon (1986), Vietnam combat films saturated the market in the late eighties. Pollack sat on the rights for seven years without even getting a script drafted.

Phillip Noyce, an Australian director, stumbled onto the idea for a remake of The Quiet American quite by accident while traveling in Vietnam in 1995. Calling, coincidentally, from the Graham Greene suite in the Hotel Continental, Noyce tracked the film rights to Sydney Pollack at Paramount, who at that point was ready to relinquish his desire to direct the film. Another six years transpired before the estimated $30 million could be raised to fund the picture. Completed in 2001, only to be shelved by Miramax for a year after the 9/11 attacks, The Quiet American (2002) finally premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September 2002. Four weeks later, Congress would authorize military force to disarm Iraq. Once again, The Quiet American could not have appeared at a more prophetic time.

Though not a highly decorated war hero like Audie Murphy, Brendan Fraser, playing Pyle in Noyce's version, is best known as an action and comedy star. The critical praise he earned as Clayton Boone in Gods and Monsters (1998) is overshadowed by popcorn hits like The Mummy (1999), George of the Jungle (1997), and Dudley Do-Right (1999). Casting an underestimated actor against the more experienced Michael Caine repeated Joseph Mankiewicz' strategy of putting Audie Murphy opposite Michael Redgrave. Just as audiences believed in the sincerity of Audie Murphy as Pyle, they were equally willing to accept Brendan Fraser's innocence in the role. Phillip Noyce voiced his enthusiasm for Fraser in an interview with Martin Grove of The Hollywood Reporter: "Fraser brings to his performance a sense of innocence and even a kind of goofiness that turns out to be a marvelous cover for a character who we learn soon enough is really an American spy.... [A]ll of the light-weight roles that he's been playing hopefully contribute to catching the audience off-guard" (1). Fraser also possesses a physical presence that works remarkably well in the film. When Pyle first arrives in Saigon, his size and enthusiasm reminds the viewer of a clumsy Labrador puppy, but, by the time of the terrorist bombing, Pyle intimidates like a German shepherd.

Actor chemistry also played a significant role in the believability of Fraser's Pyle. In both Noyce's script and the novel, the characters develop a mentoring relationship within their first meeting when the newly arrived American must ask the seasoned Brit about how to distinguish the sound of a grenade from the backfire of a Citroen. Comparatively, throughout Mankiewicz' film, Fowler never truly befriends Pyle (the same could be said for Redgrave and Murphy). Caine did befriend and mentor his younger co-star, an act that translated to the film. Robert Schenkkan and Christopher Hampton's screenplay emphasizes the mutual friendship that exists despite their shared interest in Phuong. After a few months of separation between the two characters, prompted by Pyle's failed marriage proposal to Phuong, Fowler sees Pyle near Tanyin and says, "somehow I wasn't surprised to see him there; I was surprised to be pleased to see him." Throughout the film Noyce develops a father-son relationship between the two characters. Fowler is more threatened by the youthful virility of his friend than by his American idealism.

Hints of Pyle's suspicious behavior compromises the friendship between the two men more than the competition over Phuong. In Greene's novel, Fowler is aware of Pyle's espionage but is dismissive of his enterprise as being part of Pyle's innocent idealism: "for it was already the gossip of Saigon that he was engaged in one of those services so ineptly called secret" (71). In Noyce's film, Fowler, finding his journalistic instincts not completely dormant, questions some of Pyle's puzzling behavior such as his miraculous punt to Phat Diem, Joe Tunney's presence at the interview with General The, (5) and the American Legation's support at The's parade. Fowler's observations, once pieced together, function as the climatic flashback sequence after the terrorist bombing at the Place Garnier.

The two films vary stylistically from each other by emphasizing different themes introduced in the novel. Mankiewicz stresses the detective story and political intrigue of the novel, while Noyce emphasizes the character relationships and the introspective quality of Greene's text. Robert Krasker, director of photography, shot The Quiet American (1958) in a style reminiscent of his film noir classic, The Third Man (1949). In contrast, Christopher Doyle, Noyce's cinematographer for The Quiet American (2002) and Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002), captured a richly textured mood warmed by the glow of an opium pipe and cooled by the damp rottenness of Phat Diem. He frequently shot in close ups, hanging on the actor's eyes. The final newsreel montage zooms in on the wounded eye of an American soldier to close the leitmotif of bearing witness that orders the film.

These two opposing approaches to Greene's novel suggest gross differences between the films. In the end, their effects are vastly different, but ultimately not until the end. True, Mankiewicz takes his shots at Greene's anti-Americanism, mostly by capitalizing on what Greene offers in the text. One twist, Granger, no longer Fowler's uncouth foil, sobers up. Contrary to the novel, he does report from the trenches. Mankiewicz, arguably depicting himself in the role of Granger, includes a jingoist lecture from the hard-hitting reporter at Phat Diem. The sloppy drunk with Granger is conspicuously made British. Still, Mankiewicz' script sticks closely to the novel. The most damning line of Fowler's was lifted verbatim from the novel: "Suddenly I couldn't bear his boyishness any more. I said, 'I don't care [that] for her interests. You can have her interests. I only want her body. I want her in bed with me. I'd rather ruin her and sleep with her than, than ... look after her damned interests'" (59). Noyce depicted Fowler's love for Phuong more favorably than Mankiewicz did and cut the misogynistic line. He also took liberties in building a friendship between Pyle and Fowler and hinted at a more disingenuous American than Greene intended; yet both actions seem fitting to the spirit of the novel.

The three works diverge most clearly in what Pauline Kael, reviewing the earlier film, referred to as "the offending compromises of the last reel" (336). The terrorist bombing at the Place Garnier resolves both films with contrary actions by Pyle. The scene in the novel begins with Fowler sitting in the Pavillon, a cafe he would normally shun because of its crass American clientele, to avoid an awkward encounter with Phuong. While at the bar he finds himself for a moment "envying them [two American women] their sterilized world, so different from

this world that I inhabited--which suddenly inexplicably broke in pieces" (160). Fowler runs to save Phuong, who he believes is at the milk-bar at the epicenter of the explosion. He meets Pyle in the chaos, and both witness the carnage. Here is the precise moment of departure for Greene, Mankiewicz, and Noyce. In the novel Greene writes:
 Pyle said, "It's awful." He looked at the wet on
 his shoes and said in a sick voice, "What's that?"

 "Blood," I said. 'Haven't you ever seen it before?'

 He said, "I must get them cleaned before I see
 the Minister."

 I don't think he knew what he was saying. He was
 seeing a real war for the first time .... He looked white
 and beaten and ready to faint, and I thought, "What's
 the good? He'll always be innocent, you can't blame
 the innocent, they are always guiltless. All you can do
 is control them or eliminate them. Innocence is a kind
 of insanity." (162-163)


It is not surprising that Mankiewicz alters Pyle's action in this scene, but the extent of the change led many critics to call it a "travesty" and galled Greene. Much like the novel, Mankiewicz' scene begins in the Pavillon. Fowler rushes to find Phuong but is held back by Vigot and the Vietnamese police, who treat the desperate Fowler as a nuisance. Compared to the helpless Fowler, Pyle, looking like George Washington crossing the Delaware, rides into the square bestriding the running board of a vehicle marked "United States Operations Mission." Fowler slinks into the trunk of the wagon as it passes. Pyle, more astute than the flagging reporter, had arranged to have Phuong absent from the milk-bar because he had "heard rumors that there might be a demonstration." When Fowler connects Pyle to General The and the bombing, Pyle incredulously reproves him: "What are you talking about? You must be out of your mind." Angered by Fowler's insinuation and inaction during the melee, Pyle condemns Fowler: "Why don't you just shut up and help somebody!" The blood on the shoes is gone; Pyle's innocence is not naivete, it is guiltlessness.

This moment is also the point at which one would expect Noyce to hold to his promise of being faithful to the novel. Brendan Fraser is no Audie Murphy in this scene, but he is not, as described in the novel, "impregnably armoured by his good intentions and his ignorance" (163) either. Noyce overcompensates for a painful history by making Pyle sinister. Noyce flinches in the face of Greene's moral and political challenge: that America's foreign policy in Indochina was dangerously naive, so dangerous as to necessitate murder. Assassinating a deceitful spy for his zealotry is more palatable than killing an indefatigable naif. According to Greene, Pyle must be stopped because he "comes blundering in and people have to die for his mistakes" (174). The Pyle in Noyce's 2002 film does not blunder; he is neither ignorant nor innocent. Rather, he is myopically driven by his idealism.

The revelation that Pyle is not what he appears to be occurs slowly as Fowler, back in his office, reflects on the massacre with his assistant, Heng. Washing blood off his hands, Fowler says, "Did you see Pyle? He spoke Vietnamese like it was his native language." In the Place Garnier, Pyle barked orders at an American photographer to get shots of the wounded and bullied a Vietnamese police officer to stay out of the way. While doing so, he callously wipes blood off of his pant leg with casual, reprehensible indifference. Pyle's actions at the Place Garnier could not have been more varied between the novel and the two films, nor could they be any more telling of each creator's general theme.

From the terrorist bombing until the respective endings, each work continues on its own trajectory. In the novel, Fowler meets with Pyle at his apartment and recalls the words of Captain Trouin and Mr. Heng that "one has to take sides. If one is to stay human" (174). Fowler becomes engage. He takes a volume of poetry to the window, the prearranged signal to the Communist assassins that Fowler will have Pyle on the bridge to Dakow at nine o'clock, and reads from Arthur Hugh Clough's "Dipsychus":
 "I drive through the streets and I care not a damn,
 The people they stare, and they ask who I am;
 And if I should chance to run over a cad,
 I can pay for the damage if ever so bad.
 So pleasant it is to have money, heigh ho!
 So pleasant it is to have money." (177)


Pyle responds disapprovingly: "That's a funny kind of poem," not getting the gibe. Up to his last meeting with Fowler, Pyle projects a dangerous ignorance that cannot be controlled or cured, only eliminated.

Mankiewicz not only changes the delivery of the lines, but he also replaces Clough's poem altogether. Four lines from Othello reinforce Fowler's jealousy from losing Phuong:
 Though I perchance am vicious in my guess,
 As I confess it is my nature's plague
 To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy
 Shapes faults that are not. (3.3.146-49)
 Mankiewicz then delivers his most strident attack on


Greene himself in dialogue directed at Fowler. Pyle accuses the burnt-out Englishman of being "an adolescent boy who keeps on using dirty words all the time because he doesn't want anyone to think he doesn't know what it's all about. You're going to hate this; I think you're one of the most truly innocent men I'll ever know." Mankiewicz redirects the innocence that was once projected onto Pyle and turns Fowler into the political naif. In the 1958 film Pyle dies a wrongful death because Fowler, driven by jealousy, is duped by the Communists' manipulations.

In the 2002 film, Brendan Fraser's Pyle knowingly finishes the poem for Fowler, making him Fowler's intellectual equal as well as signifying his identification with Clough's indifferent driver. Pyle's youthful power and pugilist's stance dominate the frame as he commands more than questions Fowler: "We can disagree and remain friends, can't we, Thomas?" The assumed naivete is gone. Fowler confronts his friend's deceit: "It's you, isn't it? Joe Tunney, the staff at the Legation, General The, they all take their fucking orders from you, Pyle." Pyle then ends the scene by lecturing on the amount of financial aid the United States has provided France, the Domino Theory, and the ironic claim that today's bombing will save lives.

Fowler's fortunes in the last scene provide the final departures. All three works, the novel and the two films, end with Fowler stating, "I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry" (189). In the novel, Fowler gets ostensibly everything he wanted--a divorce, an extension from the Times, and Phuong--but ends existentially alone.

In 1958 Mankiewicz punishes Fowler for the murder of Pyle. Fowler confesses the sorry line to Vigot, the French investigator. Mankiewicz continues the sentence by having Phuong publicly reject him after Fowler desperately pleads for her return. Wilkins, a fellow correspondent at the club, predicts tomorrow's news story, suggesting that Fowler is washed up professionally as well as personally: "Let me put it to you as a reporter. The celebration of the Chinese New Year was briefly interrupted at the Cholon Restaurant by a shabbily dressed, middle-aged Caucasian who appeared suddenly on the dance floor, unshaven, unwashed, and unwanted, and made a nuisance of himself by haranguing a young Vietnamese girl." The movie ends with the defeated Fowler retreating into the crowd, stripped of anything of value to him.

In 2002 Noyce ends the film with the hindsight of almost fifty years of history. Again, Fowler wishes for someone to say sorry to, but this time Phuong is there to reply, "Not to me," while affectionately hugging him. Fowler continues busily at his typewriter getting out the day's dispatch. An extreme close-up of the keys striking the paper dissolves into a montage of news clips detailing the escalation of America's involvement in Vietnam, each one bylined Thomas Fowler. So, as circumstances worsen for America, Fowler actually benefits personally and professionally.

Much of the power of Greene's novel, when read in the new millennium, is due to its prophetic qualities. In the dedication, Greene insists, "This is a story and not a piece of history." Unfortunately, The Quiet American became a chillingly accurate foreshadower of history. Mankiewicz' 1958 film remains an artifact of Cold War ideology, frozen in history. When asked if he intended his 2002 film to be a cautionary tale, Noyce replied, "I don't believe that one makes films to be cautionary tales, but they become them." However, he added, "I thought at the time, it's weird how his [Greene's] portrait of the American political evangelist of the early '50s contained the same zeal that has guided American foreign policy through to the present--a zeal born out of the best intentions" (Blackwelder 1). Through a series of delays, which in hindsight appear as good fortune, Noyce achieved a cautionary tale with the prescience of the original.

Notes

(1) Gerald Weales, in his article "The Quiet American Redux," includes an excerpt from Mankiewicz' interview with James O'Neill, Jr. of the Washington Daily News on January 8, 1958 in which he describes Pyle's character as "a cardboard, stupid, weak-kneed idiot. In fact, Greene's book made me so mad I was determined to make a picture out of it. The book was insulting to America and Americans."

(2) Weales questions the authenticity of the exchange between Mankiewicz and Lansdale, suggesting the unlikelihood that Mankiewicz would contact the Military Assistance Advisory Group (MAAG) in March prior to purchasing the filming rights in the summer of 1956.

(3) Murphy was first quoted in an article by Bob Thomas. "Texas Audie Murphy Making 29th Western." Morning News [Dallas] 27 Nov. 1963. 4 Greene's comment first appeared in "The Novelist and the Cinema-A Personal Experience." International Film Annual. No. 2. Ed. William Whitebait. New York: Double Day & Co., 1958. p. 55. It is safe to say they were also his final words on the subject. Norman Sherry's extensive biography of Greene discusses The Quiet American at length in Volume II; however, the recently published Volume III (1955-1991) does not mention Mankiewicz' film.

(5) The screenplay by Christopher Hampton and Robert Schenkkan replaces the Caodaist Festival at Tanyin as depicted in the novel with Fowler visiting General The's mountain compound for an interview. Pyle is suspiciously present with his medical aid team and is able to get Fowler past The's guards and into the interview.

Works Cited

Blackwelder, Rob. "Noyce Delights in Double Duty." SPLICEDwire. 7 Oct. 2002. <http://www.splicedonline.com/02features/pnoyce.htm>.

Geist, Kenneth L. Pictures Will Talk: The Life and Films of Joseph L. Mankiewicz. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1978.

Graham, Don. No Name on the Bullet: A Biography of Audie Murphy. New York: Penguin Books, 1989.

Greene, Graham. The Quiet American. New York: Penguin Books, 2002.

--. The Quiet American: Text and Criticism. Ed. John Clark Pratt. New York: Penguin Books, 1996.

Grove, Martin. "Noyce's 'Quiet American' Something to Shout About." The Hollywood Reporter.com. 22 Nov. 2002. <http://www. hollywoodreporter.com/thr/article>.

Kael, Pauline. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1968.

Knight, Arthur. "One Man's Movie." The Saturday Review 41 (1958): 27.

Pryor, Thomas M. "Producer Finds 'Quiet American.'" New York Times. 14 Dec. 1956: 35.

"The Quiet American Remake." Daily Variety. 1 Mar. 1991: 10. Weales, Gerald. "The Quiet American Redux." Gettysburg Review 16 (2003): 487-501.

William S. Bushnell, LCDR, USNR is a master instructor and associate chair of the English Department at the United States Naval Academy where he was also a graduate. He earned his master's degree in English from the University of Rhode Island. While at the Naval Academy, LCDR Bushnell has taught freshman English and courses in film studies, the literature of war, and the literature of Vietnam.

LCDR William S. Bushnell, USNR

United States Naval Academy
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Title Annotation:Special In-Depth Section
Author:Bushnell, William S.
Publication:Film & History
Article Type:Critical essay
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Date:Jul 1, 2006
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