http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/UsefulNotes/TheHaysCode

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The Hays Code was the informal name for The Motion Picture Production Code, adopted in 1930 but not seriously enforced until 1934. The Code was a set of rules governing American filmmaking that shaped—and in many ways stifled—American cinema for over three decades. It also happened to completely overlap with The Golden Age of Hollywood.

The Pre-Code Era of Hollywood cinema stretched from around 1928 to 1933, and the contrast between films made before and after the Hays Code was enacted shows the impact censorship had on American cinema. Films like Howard Hawks' Scarface (1932) were far more brazen and upfront about Damn, It Feels Good to Be a Gangster!, lacking the Do Not Do This Cool Thing tacked-on correctives seen in films like Angels with Dirty Faces (though even during this era, with Hawks' film, the studio added scenes and changed the title to Scarface: The Shame of the Nation to appease local censorship boards). The landscape was also less politically correct, as actors and actresses played all kinds of roles. Lots of pre-Code films have a surprisingly feminist slant; working women are even regarded with sympathy and affection. William A. Wellman's Heroes for Sale (1933) shows a Shell-Shocked Veteran returning from World War I falling into morphine addiction. Directors such as Josef von Sternberg worked with Marlene Dietrich to create provocative explorations of sexuality and power. 1930's Morocco even featured the first lesbian kiss in sound cinema.

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During the later years of The Silent Age of Hollywood and the Rise of the Talkies, Hollywood became inundated with public complaints about the perceived lewd content of films. Scandals centered around big stars (most infamously Fatty Arbuckle) and the ensuing media frenzy made vocal sections of the public call for the government to rein in Hollywood. As luck would have it, the U.S. Supreme Court had ruled in 1915 that films did not qualify for First Amendment protection.note The ruling in the 1915 case, Mutual Film Corporation v. Industrial Commission of Ohio, said essentially that because film was a purely commercial endeavor, it therefore had no artistic merit, and thus could not count as free speech. This reasoning was quite obviously nonsensical, given that many works considered in 1915 to be "obviously" high art from earlier eras (such as the plays of William Shakespeare and the paintings of Leonardo da Vinci) were at the time of their creation also "purely commercial endeavors", but it was legally binding nonetheless. The decision was overturned in 1952 by Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson. Congress began to consider creating a national censorship board akin to the ones found in several states both before and after the Mutual Decision.

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To stop the government from censoring or banning films, Hollywood decided to do the deed themselves with the Hays Code, a set of production directives voluntarily adopted by all the major studios that would ostensibly prove to Congress (and the public) that Hollywood had cleaned up its act. Will H. Hays, a former Postmaster General, did not create the Code, but he was the first head of the office of its enforcement, so his name became more-or-less permanently attached to it. Amongst filmmakers, Joseph Breen was the main man behind censorship, and the Hays Code was also known as the Breen Code. The Code placed a number of restrictions on all films produced, distributed, or exhibited by the members of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA), the organization today known as the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA).

The Hays Code restrictions were as follows:

These rules could be slightly skirted in film adaptations; for example, they managed to keep the famous line "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" in Gone with the Wind because the (mild) swearing was in the original novel. This was especially true for faithful adaptations of William Shakespeare's plays, which were likely considered too artistically significant to censor (Hamlet, for instance, was filmed over a dozen times despite its main theme of revenge being something normally prohibited by the Office).

Since the Code did not apply to the stage, aspiring screenwriters could (and did) write plays about subjects too sexy or politically controversial for Hollywood. In New York (at least), stage censorship—though not unheard of—was far less of a threat than it had been in the 1920s (when Mae West was jailed and the Wales Padlock Act was passed), and comedies quite freely made fun of the movie censors. One particular pin-up image was created specifically to see if someone could break every single Code provision in a single still.

But even in the period of the worst censorship, several films and directors managed to subvert it. The Preston Sturges comedy The Miracle of Morgan's Creek is a case in point; the film stars Betty Hutton as a good-time girl who gets impregnated by a GI Soldier and gives birth to six children. Martin Scorsese, in his documentary on American movies of the same period, noted that some filmmakers used cinematic means and subtlety to suggest complex themes (and even subvert censorship mandates). This always involved the usage of subtext, Meaningful Background Event, and Stylistic Suck in the Happy Ending, which often made such endings very unconvincing to audiences and helped them sense the subtext lying just underneath. Scorsese cites films like Johnny Guitar, which was a major Take That! to the Witch Hunt and the Red Scare, and directors like Samuel Fuller and Douglas Sirk, who kept pushing the boundaries of content. Fuller's The Steel Helmet, made in 1950, was the first film that addressed the internment of Japanese-Americans in the Second World War, and he continued to make anti-racist films throughout that decade. His Film Noir, Pickup on South Street, provoked the ire of J. Edgar Hoover himself—but Fuller had the friendship of 20th Century Fox boss Darryl F. Zanuck, who backed him through all this. Douglas Sirk's Imitation Of Life, made in 1959, was the most successful Universal film until Airport, and it portrayed the reality of race relations in pre-Civil Rights era with a stark eye. Elia Kazan, on the other hand, pushed the boundaries of sexuality with films like Baby Doll, A Face in the Crowd, and Splendor in the Grass.

The mere fact that censorship had to be so rigorously enforced in the first place stands as a testament to how (and how often) directors and screenwriters tried to resist it. Even a classic like Rebel Without a Cause featured a barely-concealed gay character as a sympathetic character (Bury Your Gays is enforced, but it's clearly treated as a tragedy). Genre films tended to fall Beneath Suspicion, so directors of Film Noir or The Western often had a freer hand than directors who made Oscar Bait films, the Epic Movie, or The Musical. The B-Movie side of things wasn't taken seriously by Moral Guardians; as a result, films like The Big Combo, Detour, Touch of Evil, Murder by Contract, and The Crimson Kimono had more progressive and interesting content than the A-movies they played with on a double bill.

In 1948, the Supreme Court neutered the MPAA's ability to enforce the Code over all films shown in the US. The "Paramount Decision" (read more about that in Fall of the Studio System), among many other things, ended the ability of the "Big 5" (MGM, Paramount, Fox, Warner Brothers, and RKO) studios to own the entirety of movie production, distribution, and exhibition. The major studios sold their theater chains, which meant they technically lost all say in what could be shown in those theaters. The new theater owners were no more eager to incur the wrath of the US government than the Big Five had been, though.

But the Supreme Court itself began to undercut the purpose of the Code (to prevent federal government censorship of the film industry) starting in 1952. The Italian film The Miracle by Roberto Rossellini featured controversial use of religious imagery; its American release provoked a severe outcry. Film distributor Joseph Burstyn sued to have the short film's license reinstated in New York, and the Supreme Court did just that in what is now known as the "Miracle Decision", which helped give film First Amendment protections as an artistic medium. In the 1960s, a wave of European films (particularly British and Italian films like Alfie and Bicycle Thieves), none of which were subject to the Code, tackled gritty topics that American studios couldn't touch because of the Code. American theaters could show these films without the MPAA's prior approval thanks to the Paramount Decision; when the MPAA tried to demand the censorship of those films, its efforts backfired and the Code ended up looking even more ridiculous. The Supreme Court essentially ended the MPAA's ability to even attempt censorship over any film with the 1965 Freedman v Maryland decision.

Prior to the Court loosening the reins, domestic filmmakers mounted serious challenges to the Code in the 1960s. The Pawnbroker featured an artistically-essential topless scene and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? featured equally-essential harsh language. Against the considerable critical acclaim of these films and overwhelming public sentiment, the Hays Code tried to bend—those films were considered "special exceptions"—but this opened the door for every daring filmmaker of the day to ask for similar consideration. This change of criteria also encouraged film company executives to stop cooperating with the Code: it was one thing for the Code's censors to have objections about specific content that fell into agreed-upon criteria, but it was quite another for those censors to act as de facto film critics who could arbitrarily determine which films were of good enough quality to make them "exceptions".

In 1966, MGM released the film Blowup—which failed to gain Hays approval due to its relatively explicit erotic content—in direct defiance of the Code. The MPAA and the Code could do nothing to stop MGM from distributing the critically-hailed film, which became a smash hit. Other studios soon followed MGM's lead when it became clear that the public's opinion of the Code had changed. Also in 1966, Jack Valenti was elected MPAA president with the specific promise to move from the Code to a ratings system, in theory based on the age-appropriateness of the film. The MPAA Film Rating System eventually replaced the Code, and though it has altered slightly over the years, it is still in use to this day. The fall of the Hays Code rid Hollywood of the last Golden Age relic and marked the beginning of the "New Hollywood" era of the late '60s and the '70s. Unfortunately, the transition to the rating system proved awkward with ugly incidents such as kids watching the first modern adult horror film, Night of the Living Dead (1968), and a review by Roger Ebert's is as much about how the kids were becoming genuinely traumatized seeing a high-tensity story definitely not made for them.

In the years since its creation, the MPAA rating system has itself been criticized by many people—notably film critic Roger Ebert and the filmmakers of This Film Is Not Yet Rated—for doling higher ratings based on depictions of sex, gay people, or other controversial topics (and obscenity, to a certain extent) than depictions of violence. Other complaints note the lack of transparency about exactly why certain films get the ratings they do (for example, several films listed with "nothing offensive" as the whole MPAA content description have received PG ratings).

Stephen Colbert's book I Am America (And So Can You!) contains a parody "excerpt" from the Code, including rules such as "Characters may not walk and chew gum at the same time," "If a train is shown entering a tunnel, the tunnel shall not be portrayed as enjoying it," "Characters may not discuss the high suicide rate among dentists in a manner that implies they have it coming," and "For Christ's sake, somebody put a bra on Jean Harlow". The excerpt also deliberately omits rule #666, and also #669 for good measure.

Another example of mocking the Hays Code goes all the way back to 1942. In "A Tale of Two Kitties", a classic Looney Tunes cartoon directed by Bob Clampett, the cats Babitt and Catstello plot to devour the ever-prepared Tweety Bird. At one point, Catstello is on a ladder to Tweety's nest and struggling with his fear of heights, while from the ground, Babitt starts pushing his buttons by yelling, "Give me the Bird! Give me the Bird!"—to which Catstello turns to the audience to say, "If the Hays Office would only let me, I'd give 'im the boid, all right". The really fun thing here is that animated shorts like this showed many different examples of breaking the Code—excessive violence (though completely bloodless, of course) and (what was then) harsh language—simply because they were animated in ways that took everything to a level of pure parody. Rules were subverted, but in as overt a way as possible. (A non-animation example of this sort of Hays Code subversion would be The Three Stooges shorts, which were able to be the first to satirize Adolf Hitler in Hollywood.)

The full text of the code can be found here . The Broadway musical A Day in Hollywood/A Night In The Ukraine takes the text of Production Code and has the cast dance to it .

Critic Michael Medved, who is one of the very few film critics who supports Moral Guardians in many cases and who is more recently a right-wing Talk Radio host, makes the argument in at least partial support of the Code: "While many of the specific rules in the old Production Code look thoroughly ludicrous by todays standards, it is instructive to recall that Alfred Hitchcock and Howard Hawks, John Ford and Billy Wilder, George Cukor and Frank Capra and Orson Welles all somehow managed to create their masterpieces under its auspices." He was rebuked with the counter-argument that films by these directors were made in spite of the Code, and Executive Meddling is responsible for flaws in even the greatest films of this time, especially in the case of Welles. Medved also argues that after the demise of the Code, motion picture attendance fell—from ~44 million per week in 1965 to ~19 million per week in 1969—and that attendance has never reached the levels of the post-TV, pre-ratings age since, in absolute numbers (since 2000, for example, attendance in the US & Canada has fluctuated between 2528 million tickets sold per week). Others note that this has little to do with the Code in any real sense. Hollywood had been paranoid about the drop in movie attendance since the loss of their distribution arm, and throughout The '50s they countered television with a bunch of gimmicky movie exhibitions, and then expensive roadshow releases which in The '60s became unprofitable thanks to the failures of Cleopatra and Hello, Dolly!. There are additional factors that have nothing to do with the importance of censorship.note The explosive growth in broadcast television, cable, and home video of all kinds since 1977 has helped keep attendance down, but broadcast television was responsible for the previous disastrous drop, from ~90 million tickets sold per week to ~45 million between 194853, and attendance had leveled off for the previous decade. Neither cable nor home video would enter American homes until the late '70s. Historians who try to blame video for causing the drop off between 196669 have a difficult case to make. It's also pointed out that, although the attendance of motion pictures did drop significantly, the movie industry still survived and even prospered. Indeed, the 50 highest grossing movies of all time were all made years after the collapse of the Code. The biggest point missing is that the Hays Code was never erected to increase movie attendance; it was erected out of fear of local organizations interrupting or halting distribution in a number of states and out of fear of national censorship. These external tensions happened because of the movie business's great popularity and expansion. The fact that other popular media such as television, video games and comic books have their own censorship systems, and that TV especially in the The New '10s has broken boundaries in nudity and violence and still maintained its mass viewership, proves that moral censorship has little or no relation to viewership as opposed to technology and accessibility.

Compare this with The Comics Code, which enforced similar restrictions on the Comic Book medium.