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MANNY FARBER Noel King
'In the past' and now, once again, in the present, Manny Farber is being rediscovered in the wake of Da Capo Press's publication of a new, expanded edition of Farber's 1971 collection, Negative Space (1998). In June 1998, Vanity Fair incorporated him into their 'Hall of Fame', the second time that magazine had identified Farber as a figure of cultural significance. (Wolcott, 1986 and 1998) The new edition of Negative Space includes pieces Farber wrote with his partner, Patricia Patterson, for Film Comment, Artforum, and City in the mid 1970s, and features a wonderful interview with Farber and Patterson by Rick Thompson. It also includes an excellent preface from Robert Walsh (1998: ix-xiv) discussing some of the main features of Farber's writing.
In this special Framework 'Manny Farber Dossier' we contribute to Farber's film-cultural resurfacing by republishing some important pieces not included in the expanded edition of Negative Space. Our dossier is comprised of two articles written by Farber for Francis Ford Coppola's short-lived City magazine in 1975, both on aspects of the then 'new Hollywood'; an Artforum piece, co-written with Patricia Patterson, on the 1972 Venice Film Festival, which constitutes one of the earliest detailed American discussions of the significance of Rainer Werner Fassbinder's filmmaking; a translation of the 1982 Cahiers du Cinéma interview with Farber and Jean-Pierre Gorin, offering Farber's most extended discussion of the close relation between his painting and his film criticism. We are also very happy to republish Donald Phelps' celebrated 1969 discussion of Farber, 'Critic Going Everywhere,' from Covering Ground: Essays for Now, an out of print collection of essays on American writers, poets, and filmmakers. Appearing almost two years before the publication of the first edition of Negative Space, Phelps' piece describes 'the exasperated alertness, the seeming assurance (which, however, encompasses so many distractions), the combative skepticism which contribute to the most original and valuable film criticism in America today' (1969: 116). We complete the dossier by setting Phelps' piece alongside an astute appreciation of the significance of Farber, 'for now', from Australian film critic, Adrian Martin. II Gilbert Adair's approving reference to Farber is only the most recent in a series of dispersed testimonies to Farber's status as an exemplary cultural critic, one whose style of writing commands as much attention as the cultural judgements it conveys. When Robert Walsh directs our attention to Farber's prose in action, he identifies the central feature of any reader's encounter with Farber. As Walsh puts it, Farber 'fashioned a style whose prodigious vocabulary, flexible syntax, and racing pulse were exquisitely attuned to the phenomenologies of artistic process ...' (xi). David Bordwell made a similar point in Making Meaning (1989), his historical description of the institution, and academic institutionalisation of, film criticism, when he praised Farber as one of the rare critical practitioners capable of describing the 'surface of the work' (264). Bordwell quoted Farber on His Girl Friday (Howard Hawks, US, 1940), before saying, 'such rhapsodic evocation is one way to sharpen the reader's awareness of phenomenal qualities that ordinary criticism plays down' (264). The pertinence of this emphasis on Farber's style of writing is supported by a quick survey of some of the ways in which his criticism has been discussed over the last thirty years: the target is always the distinctive verbal style with which Farber delivers his (often iconoclastic) opinions. Almost every account searches for a way to describe the difference of this critical writing, and each quest for an adequate description generates startling analogies, and striking turns of phrase, as the reviewer's language briefly assumes a mimetic relation to the Farberian linguistic performance it seeks to describe. Farber 'does not interact with a film, he collides with it' (Kitses, 1971: 70); he writes like 'an aphorist on pep pills' (Alloway, 1964: 53), in a prose that is 'dense, busy, vaudevillian, multiplicitous.' (Thompson, 1971: 54) Indeed, the title of Richard Poirier's recently reprinted 1971 collection of essays on American culture, The Performing Self (1992) might have had Farber's writing in mind.
Many comments on Farber's critical style appear in the context of comparative reviews which place his writing - the first edition of Negative Space, or one of his essays - in the context of other individual acts of film criticism or pieces collected in anthologies. The reviewer's obligation to compare Farber with other contemporary ways of practising film criticism leads to emphatic pro and anti-Farber pronouncements, and also leads to the search for an appropriate way to describe the place Farber occupies within the American film culture scene. Reviewing Farber alongside Barbara Deming's sociological Running Away from Myself (1969), John Fell noted that the latter was light-on for 'a striking turn of phrase', whereas Farber's 'propensity for similes tapping our national iconography' was 'preeminently useful to the experience of American movie gesture, intonation, and underlife' (Fell, 1972: 35). Farber displayed 'a darting, absorptive sense of other goings-on, unbeknownst to the plot,' and described this in a language whose effect was 'to goad our sensibilities toward different perspectives, sometimes views which shock ponderous scholasticisms' (1972: 34). Rick Thompson's Cinema review, quoted earlier, put things nicely by saying Farber 'uses words to slam several dimensions of meaning across his sentences .... he tells what it's like to be inside the movie; something like the Raymond Chandler of movie criticism, he is a baroque stylist gnawing away at the American interior of the frame as environment' (1971: 54). In a similar spirit, T. J. Ross saluted Farber over Andrew Sarris and Dwight McDonald by saying:
Even reviews which end by opting for a different kind of film criticism from Farber's none-the-less describe his writing in exciting ways. Foster Hirsch favoured Pauline Kael's film criticism but still found time to provide an arresting description of Farber's 'verbal dazzle':
Barbara Rose (1971: 156) identified a fundamental Farber tenet as the belief 'that real culture is often found in unlikely places' and saw in Farber's writing a 'true critical intelligence' prepared to 'battle furiously with every homiletic platitude middlebrow thought can muster.' It's worth recalling her points as we encounter an offering from the emphatically anti-Farber camp. Charles Thomas Samuels (1971: 641-645) accuses Farber of creating a 'moviemania' destructive of the true grounds of a properly moral cultural criticism. According to Samuels, it is 'downright shocking' that Richard Schickel could call Farber the'father of all criticism.' Samuels is outraged that the 'formidable contempt for thought', the 'hostility to interpretation and hair-raising style' contained in Negative Space should come to readers 'with jacket praise not only from kindred spirits like Jonas Mekas and Susan Sontag .... but from comparative moderates, like Pauline Kael, and critics of sense, like (Dwight) McDonald and Wilfred Sheed' (642). Samuels' revealing aesthetic hierarchy uncovers itself even further when he becomes unhinged by the fact that Farber could compare Sam Fuller's Pickup on South Street (US, 1953) with 'Robert Bresson's Christian parable Pickpocket (France, 1959), and then opt for Fuller' (1971: 642). Samuels is convinced that the work of another critic under review, William Pechter, has been tainted by the moviemania of Farber and Andrew Sarris. His review ends by saying that 'trash movies' and 'trash novels' offend 'not only against taste but against the truth and stature of their subject', and he closes with this warning: 'A film critic who doesn't understand that, and who ignores sheer dumbness and falsity in his delight with technical manipulation or putative vitality is a part of the disease of Pop culture, whereas what we need now are antidotes' (645). Far from seeking antidotes to 'the disease of Pop culture', Lawrence Alloway, author of one of the first books on Pop Art, embraces the Popcultural moment (Alloway, 1964: 50-55). In his first assessment of Farber - part of a review of three film anthologies - Alloway says, 'the only article ... which reveals an uninhibited taste for pop movies is by Manny Farber' (1964: 53). The reference is to Farber's 'Underground Films' (Farber, 1998: 12-24), an article which must have appealed to Alloway's interest in 'the subtle relations that exist between producer and consumer in pop films' (53-54), seeming to offer support for his claim that 'the unit to be analysed in discussing pop films is often not the single movie but the cycle as it provides the audience with a flexible, continuing convention and a body of expectations and knowledge on which the filmmaker can count' (53). Later, in Violent America (1971) Alloway said that particular essay, together with Agee's essay on 'Comedy's Greatest Era,' constituted 'probably the best piece of writing on American popular films' (1971: 74, fn 39). In his expanded consideration of Farber's aesthetic, Alloway admired Farber's comments on 'the action films that show in double bills on the bright strip that runs across America from 42nd to Market Street,' praised his 'marvellous ... eye and memory for the original underground films,' and then offered the following caveat:
III Farber's relation to the film writing and cultural criticism that have come after him is explored in Adrian Martin's article, and it's interesting to set Martin's thoughts alongside some comments from other practising film-cultural critics, such as Jonathan Rosenbaum and J. Hoberman. In the 'Introduction' to his Vulgar Modernism (1991), Hoberman describes 1960s US film culture by alluding to the 'legendary' Winter 1962/1963 issue of Film Culture which included:
Andrew Sarris's 'Notes on the Auteur Theory,' Pauline Kael's appreciation of Shoot the Piano Player (François Truffaut, France, 1960), Jack Smith's paean to Maria Montez, and Manny Farber's manifesto 'White Elephant Art vs Termite Art', amid all manner of obscure enthusiasms, auto-interviews, reports, and historical documentations. In this sense, Farber was the decade's model critic (and mine, if I may wax confessional). Playing both ends off against the middlebrow, his pieces - published in periodicals ranging from Commentary to Film Culture to the second-string strokebook Cavalier to Artforum - were thick with inside references to painting, photography, and comic strips. Open to everything from action directors Sam Fuller and Don Siegel to underground figures such as the Kuchar brothers and Michael Snow to European synthesisers Chantal Akerman and R. W. Fassbinder (about whom Farber and his wife Patricia Patterson were the first American critics to write), Farber would claim in 1968 that 'now people who take films seriously study skin flicks, TV commercials, scopitone.' (4) Hoberman provided another take on Farber in an interview with Cineaste:
From a late 1990s vantage point it is possible to see Farber's writing linking productively with three other intriguing explorations of ways of looking at photographic and cinematic images: comments made by Roland Barthes (1981) in his reading of certain photographic images, Luc Sante's writing on anonymous crime scene photographic images (1992), and Roger Cardinal's notion of viewers 'pausing over peripheral detail' when faced with still and moving images (1986). Each piece addresses, with different terminology, Farber's notion of 'negative space' - defined by Rick Thompson as 'all the area in an image which is not the subject: the background, corners, air, in fact anything that does not claim our immediate attention upon looking at the image' (1971: 54). As Thompson also says, Farber focuses on a 'cinema of detail and gesture' (1971: 54). In his critical writing, and in his comments on painting and the 'centered image' in the Cahiers interview published here, Farber urges us to direct our attention away from the centre to the margin, suggesting that the most important meaning is likely to reside in unexpected places. Foster Hirsch had noted the way Farber 'will often single out details which lurk in the unostentatious corners of a film - the bit player with the special tic who suggests a whole way of life in a few seconds of screen time' (1971: 50). Farber encourages a mode of 'looking elsewhere', promoting peripheral detail over obvious, declamatory detail. Let the image work on you, Farber seems to say, wait, hesitate, look again. Compare this emphasis with the way the photographic detail of interest to Barthes 'occurs in the field of the photographed thing like a supplement that is at once inevitable and delightful ...' (1981: 47). For Barthes, 'A detail overwhelms the entirety of my reading' (1981: 49); moreover, it is an 'off-center detail' (1986: 51). Roger Cardinal displays a similar attitude when he promotes a way of 'looking askance' (1986: 113) that has 'everything to do with accident and caprice' (1986: 118). Cardinal urges a 'refusal of the obvious' (1986: 113), and says that we must refuse the 'fixation on congruity' (1986: 118) that is the consequence of learned habits of reading-seeing, in favour of a 'studied dislocation of the gaze from the centre of the frame to its quirky circumference' (1986: 114). He allows for the possibility that not 'every single act of wayward viewing will be a revelation' but still thinks it is worth turning a 'truant eye' (1986: 126) toward the 'phenomenal density' at the 'periphery of the frame' (127). In this way one might become the sort of 'connoisseur of peripheral detail' (1986: 122) who throws 'into question the articulacy of filmic centrism' (1986: 128). When Cardinal says that some cinematic moments 'induce the conventionally centred gaze to relax into a different mode and to explore facets of the frame beyond the orbit of ordinary attention' (1986: 126), his notion of the 'conventionally centred' and of 'ordinary attention' connect with Farber's notion of 'negative space.' And I suspect Farber would approve of Cardinal's suggestion that we adopt a strategy of viewing which 'roams over the frame, sensitive to its textures and surfaces - to its ground' (1986: 124). Cardinal's argument is engaging with Barthes' 'studium/punctum' binary, in which the 'punctum' figures as 'that accident which pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me)' (1981: 27). Another statement from Barthes, concerning the mutual constitution of the object to be viewed and himself as a certain kind of viewer - 'in this glum desert, suddenly a specific photograph reaches me: it animates me, and I animate it' (1981: 20) - resonates in Luc Sante's comment about the grim photographs that occupy his attention in Evidence. These bleak images offer 'the voice print of a scream', every photograph 'haunted and, further, … the occasion of haunting' (1992: 61). And much as the punctum filled detail sets Barthes off ('the mark of something … has triggered me, has provoked a tiny shock, a satori…' 1981: 49) so Sante's 'non-method … consisted of trusting in a certain magnetic charge - I would know what I was looking for when I saw it' (1992: xi). Once ensnared, there is no evading the beckoning power of these images: 'the pictures would not leave me alone. I found that I thought about them frequently' (1992: xi). For Sante, the idea of a non-centred looking is shown by the fact that these 'pictures are silent, or are pools of silence within a commotion discernible only at their borders' (1992: 98). The phenomenological aspect in all these writings is evident in the extent to which each critic insists on the aleatoric nature of the thing that holds his attention; each is in thrall to an unexpected, unanticipated dimension of the object under scrutiny, and each must bear witness to this adventitious encounter in a sensuous critical language. As Sante says, 'through the act of looking, we own these pictures, or, rather, they thrust themselves upon us' (1992: 98). This is not so far from Stanley Cavell (1981) explaining he is 'always saying that we must let the films themselves teach us how to look at them and how to think about them' (25) or Dudley Andrew (1984) saying he has been 'selected' by particular films, and that his encounter with them is a cultural conversation in which 'the films have the first word, and frequently, the last' (xi). IV Most critics who write about Farber, whether falling into pro, anti, or middle-ground camps, agree that his reviews and essays offered the first serious appreciations of directors like Howard Hawks, Raoul Walsh, William Wellman, Don Siegel, and Samuel Fuller. It is accepted that Farber led the way in conferring artistic dignity on Hollywood action films, B films, and genre films made from the 1930s to the late 1950s, his engaging analyses highlighting both the unpretentious simplicity with which these films told their stories and the self-effacing purity of their visual style. Farber will always be famous for the essays, 'Underground Films,' and 'White Elephant Art vs Termite Art.' Indeed, the former is reprinted in a recent tribute to Howard Hawks, and Farber's place in the history of film criticism is acknowledged (Hillier and Wollen, 1996: 35-45). Hawks' films offered one instance of 'termite art' and of that polemical notion, Farber recently said, 'It's a good theory. I'm not dis-proud of it,' then added, with characteristic perversity, that it was an 'unreadable piece' (Edelstein, 1994: 22). Farber's essay attacked 'masterpiece art, reminiscent of the enameled tobacco humidors and wooden lawn ponies bought at white elephant auctions decades ago' (1998: 137). Some distinguished cinema names supposedly exhibited White Elephant tendencies. Michelangelo Antonioni's 'aspiration is to pin viewers to the wall and slug them with wet towels of artiness and significance' (1998: 143). Both Tony Richardson (The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner UK, 1962) and Francois Truffaut (Jules et Jim France, 1961) 'blow up every situation and character like an affable inner tube with recognisable details and smarmy compassion' (1998: 139-140). Farber's favoured 'Termite Art' was found in films, like Laurel and Hardy's, which had 'no ambition towards gilt culture' and left no message 'other than the signs of eager, industrious, unkempt activity' (1998: 135). Anyone tempted to see in this preference an image of Farber as an American primitive dismissing intellectual, foreign-language cinema would be chastened by Farber's offering the late Akira Kurosawa's 1952 Japanese classic Ikiru (Living) as an example of Termite Art's desire to 'nail down one moment without glamorizing it' (1998: 144). Whatever Farber's current opinion of this article's readability, one measure of its cultural worth is apparent in the number of people who have returned to it in later and different contexts, and put it to work. According to Lance Olsen (1995), cyberpunk king William Gibson came upon this essay while attending the University of British Columbia in 1976, and it became 'one of the few essays that directly influenced Gibson's aesthetics' (Olsen, 1995: 290). Olsen mobilises Farber's categories to explain Gibson's 'mongrelizing of discursive worlds' (292), arguing that 'Gibson's termite project' is 'the product of a kind of bricoleur's brinkmanship' (292). This describes the extent to which Gibson's hybrid form of science-fiction writing mixes genres, appropriating elements from westerns, hard-boiled detective novels, spy thrillers, and the tradition of American southern grotesque writing. In his Cineaste interview J. Hoberman saw 'Termite Art' continuing in such things as 'Super 8, or slide shows with found materials', and expanded the 'White Elephant' canon by nominating Stanley Kubrick for inclusion as the 'quintessential 'White Elephant', ... spending millions of dollars on these incredibly inflated, heavy-message movies like Clockwork Orange, that seemed to be a waste of resources but had this way of situating themselves in the marketplace and attracting everybody's attention, like some kind of baleful magnet' (Niroumand, 1992: 53). In 1992 Michael Sragow reviewed a batch of contemporary films by putting Farber's terminology into play (53-55), adding to the White Elephant list some films which had recently won the Golden Palm at Cannes: sex, lies, and videotape (Steven Soderbergh, US, 1989), Wild at Heart (David Lynch, US, 1990), and Barton Fink (Joel & Ethan Coen, US, 1991). Sragow's review targeted 'the antique sheen' attaching to Bille August's filming of Ingmar Berman's script, Den Loda Viljan/The Best Intentions (Sweden, 1992). In a similar move, it was said that Norman Renés Prelude to a Kiss (US, 1992) 'doesn't look like a White Elephant, but it plods like one' (55). Sidney Lumet's A Stranger Among Us/Close to Eden (US, 1992) was added to the list, chiefly because Melanie Griffith's portrayal of Emily Eden, a New York undercover cop investigating a murder in the Hasidic community, 'is a B-picture heroine stuck in an absurdly self-conscious prestige project' (1992: 55). In making these aesthetic assessments, Sragow works with Farber's two categories, elaborating them by adding new film titles to take account of films currently on release. A more interesting move comes when he suggests that historical changes in the American film industry require a modification of Farber's binary. According to Sragow, genres formerly associated with Termite Art have disappeared: 'the flea-market films that were a staple of American moviegoing in general and of genre-hopping in particular have all but vanished. How can they exist in a pop-movie culture dominated by big-budget effects and robots?' (1992: 53) As if that cultural loss were not bad enough, Sragow claims that today's neo-B films exhibit the traces of White Elephantism: 'These days, when a neo-B emerges on the big screen and wins some attention, ... , it's apt to have an air of self-importance that's absolutely white-elephant-like, as the filmmakers lay out intellectual positions in scenes that are conceived like placards and come equipped with slogans' (1992: 53). V In his review of the first edition of Negative Space, Ernest Callenbach said: 'For readers who only know Farber by his famous piece on 'underground' (action) pictures, this new volume will establish that he is indeed one of our first-rank critics, with a very personal vision, an often irritating style, and faster ideational reaction-time than anybody around' (1971: 28). This assessment connects with some comments from Jonathan Rosenbaum (1997) in his recent memoir of time spent teaching with Farber in San Diego. Rosenbaum says straight-out that Farber is 'the most important American film critic' (1997: 62), and makes the sharp point that the principal cultural function performed by Pauline Kael's criticism was that of allowing 'some intellectuals' to 'feel less guilty for shunning the challenge of difficult films' (1997: 63). Rosenbaum reminds us (as do Hoberman and Callenbach in their different ways) that Farber wrote with great insight on highly intellectual forms of art cinema, avant garde and experimental cinema, discussing Straub-Huillet, Chantal Akerman and Michael Snow. His painter's eye examined, with an admirably open mind, any combination of sounds and images to discover how they worked. If he often dismissed high culture objects, he also often praised them, and performed the same double-operation on pop-culture artefacts. Rosenbaum praises Farber's 'literary' prose for the way it performs a 'work of evocation, suggestion, analysis, and mimesis' (1997: 71) and ends his memoir by relating an anecdote of driving (by night) with Farber, discussing two films they'd just seen, The American Friend (Wim Wenders, West Germany, 1977), and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (Steven Spielberg, US, 1977). In a teasing moment of narrative (in)completion, Rosenbaum refuses to disclose what Farber had to say on these films (1997: 73-74). For Farber-watchers this anecdote joins such other moments of lost Farber criticism as the famous non-taped, unpublished, extemporised comments he made on The Honeymoon Killers (Leonard Kastle, US, 1969) during a lecture at MoMA. Still, we have here in this dossier a reproduction of the Farber painting inspired by that film. And while it will always be the case that Farberphiles want him (and Patterson) to publish again on recent movies (a personal plea, what do they think of Aki Kaurismaki, in particular, Kauas Pilvet Karkaavat/Drifting Clouds (Finland/Germany/France, 1996), as the Rolling Stones told us back in the 1960s, you can't always get what you want. In Scorsese on Scorsese (Thompson and Christie, 1996), Martin Scorsese recalls a time in the early 1970s when he and scriptwriter-director Paul Schrader 'made a pilgrimage out to see Manny Farber, the critic, in San Diego' (53). With Da Capo's new, expanded edition of Farber's writing on the movies, and with the material contained in this dossier, many readers may make an equivalent pilgrimage. References Adair, Gilbert 'L'Arroseur Arrosé, or the Critic Criticized' (1998) in Projections 8 London: Faber: 28-32. Alloway, Lawrence (1964) 'Critics in the Dark' in Encounter: 50-55. Alloway, Lawrence (1971) Violent America: The Movies 1946-1964 New York: Museum of Modern Art. Andrew, Dudley (1984) Film in the Aura of Art Princeton: Princeton UP. Barthes, Roland (1981) Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography trans. Richard Howard New York: Hill and Wang. Bordwell, David (1989) Making Meaning: Inference and Rhetoric in the Interpretation of Film Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1989. Callenbach, Ernest (1971) 'Recent Film Writing: A Survey,' Film Quarterly 24, 3: 11-32. Cardinal, Roger (1986) 'Pausing over Peripheral Detail,' Framework 30-31: 112-130. Cavell, Stanley (1981) Pursuits of Happiness: Hollywood's Comedies of Remarriage Cambridge, Mass: Harvard UP, 1981. Deming, Barbara (1969) Running Away from Myself: A Dream Portrait of America Drawn from the Films of the 40s New York Grossman Publications, Inc. Edelstein, David (1994) 'A Painter, but Still a Critic,' New York October 17: 22. Farber, Manny (1998) Negative Space: Manny Farber on Movies New York: Da Capo. Fell, John (1972) 'Cinema Journal Book Reviews,' Cinema Journal 11, 2: 34-37. Hillier, Jim and Peter Wollen eds (1996) Howard Hawks: American Artist London: BFI, 1996. Hirsch, Foster (1971) 'Books,' Film Society Review 6, 9: 49-50. Hoberman, J. (1991) Vulgar Modernism: Writing on the Media and Other Arts Philadelphia: Temple UP. Kitses, Jim (1971) 'Negative Space,' Film Comment: 70-71. Niroumand, Mariam (1992) 'A Vulgar Modernist: An Interview with J. Hoberman,' Cineaste 19, 1: 53-55. Olsen, Lance (1995) 'Virtual Termites: A Hypotextual Technomutant Explo(it)ration of William Gibson and the Electronic Beyond(s),' Style 29, 2: 287-313. Phelps, Donald (1969) 'Critic Going Everywhere,' in Phelps, Covering Ground: Essays for Now New York: Croton Press: 115-121. Poirier, Richard (1992) The Performing Self: Compositions and Decompositions in the Languages of Contemporary Life Rutgers: Rutgers UP. Rosenbaum, Jonathan (1997) 'They Drive by Night: The Criticism of Manny Farber,' in Rosenbaum, Placing Movies Berkeley: Univ. of California Press: 59-74. Rose, Barbara (1971) 'Manny at the Movies,' US Vogue 157: 156, 200. Ross, T. J. (1971) 'Hour of the Critics: Some Further Trots, and Gallops', Round the Scene, December 13: 248-255. Samuels, Charles Foster (1971) 'Moviemania and its Antidote,' Modern Occasions 1: 641-645. Sante, Luc (1992) Evidence New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Sragow, Michael (1992) 'Menagerie,' The New Yorker July 27: 53-55. Thompson, David, and Ian Christie eds (1996) Scorsese on Scorsese London: Faber and Faber. Thompson, Richard (1971) 'Books,' Cinema 6, 3: 54-56. Walsh, Robert (1998) 'Preface,' in Farber (1998): ix-xiv. Wolcott, James (1998) 'Hall of Fame,' Vanity Fair June: 146. Wolcott, James (1986) 'Manny Farber's Termite Art,' Vanity Fair May: 40, 43. |
