Millhouse: A White Comedy


1h 32m 1971

Brief Synopsis

A satire on President Richard M Nixon.

Film Details

MPAA Rating
Release Date
Oct 1971
Premiere Information
New York opening: 28 Sep 1971; San Francisco Film Festival opening: 8 Oct 1971; Los Angeles opening: 9 Oct 1971
Production Company
Emile de Antonio, Inc.
Distribution Company
New Yorker Films
Country
United States

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 32m

Synopsis

The film follows the career of Richard Milhous Nixon from roughly 1950¿1970, focusing on certain key "crises." After showing a wax statue of Nixon as it is assembled as Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, the film moves to Nov 1962, as Nixon delivers his concession speech after losing the California governor race to Jerry Brown. Author Jules Witcover states that Nixon ran for governor in order to avoid a possible presidential contest against John F. Kennedy in 1964. During the California race, Brown accuses Nixon of having secured a sizeable corporate loan for his brother while he was in office as Dwight D. Eisenhower's vice president (1953¿1961). Proclaiming his honesty and innocence, Nixon challenges Brown to a public debate. Earlier, in 1947, Nixon, then a lt. commander with the U.S. Navy, runs for Congress against Jerry Voorhis. Campaign manager Murray Chotiner skillfully monopolizes press coverage and declares Voorhis a Communist, after which Nixon easily wins the election. He is named to the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) where, in 1948, he gains fame for pursuing the case of Alger Hiss, a government official charged with leaking information to the Russians. Various journalists detail the ways in which HUAC, led by Nixon, conspires to convict Hiss, regardless of a lack of clear evidence. After searching the home of accuser David Whittaker Chambers, Nixon and his men discover microfilm hidden in a pumpkin containing state secrets. On this, possibly planted, evidence, Hiss is indicted. During Nixon's 1950 campaign for the Senate, he accuses opponent Helen Gahagan of Communist associations, and after winning that election, is chosen as the Republican candidate for vice president in the 1952 election. That campaign is marked by a scandal in which Nixon is accused of accepting funding from California industrial financiers. When Eisenhower's support wanes, Nixon makes his famous "Checkers" speech on national television, reading a supposedly complete financial history and confessing to having taken one gift: a cocker spaniel puppy named Checkers. The speech is successful, and the Republicans win the race. During that administration, Nixon visits Latin America, dismissing the hostile demonstrations there, and debates Khrushchev in Russia. In 1960, Kennedy is elected president, but after his 1963 assassination, the Republicans choose Barry Goldwater to run against Lyndon B. Johnson and Nixon throws his support behind Goldwater, hoping to position himself as a party unifier. Although Goldwater, as predicted, loses by a landslide, Nixon emerges as frontrunner for the 1968 campaign, despite his exhortations that he does not plan to run. At the Republican National Convention in Miami Beach, the police react violently to riots and protests, resulting in the several deaths and injuries. While outside the mainly black protesters are arrested, inside Nixon echoes Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech, stating that he sees a day when all people have an equally bright future. Nixon uses television as a tightly controlled, key element in his campaign, cultivating an aura of intimacy with the camera. After spending twice as much money as on any previous campaign, he is elected president. His rhetoric in office repeatedly refers to Republicans as a "silent majority" and to himself as an intellectual. Although his campaign has skirted the issue of foreign policy, he immediately pursues an increasingly aggressive American role in the Vietnam War. The film follows a brief outline of events in Indochina leading up to the Vietnam War, and then, over a speech of Nixon declaring that American interests in the war are purely altruistic, a long list is shown of American companies based in Southeast Asia. The documentary ends with a speech by Nixon recalling that he heard Guy Lombardo on VJ Day, and hopes to hear him again "when we end the next war."

Film Details

MPAA Rating
Release Date
Oct 1971
Premiere Information
New York opening: 28 Sep 1971; San Francisco Film Festival opening: 8 Oct 1971; Los Angeles opening: 9 Oct 1971
Production Company
Emile de Antonio, Inc.
Distribution Company
New Yorker Films
Country
United States

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 32m

Articles

Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint - A 4-Disc Set of Unconventional Documentaries


Labeling Emile de Antonio as a radical filmmaker sounds like a way of slotting him into a convenient pigeonhole, until we hear the genial man referring to himself with the exact same phrase. In the 1960s, De Antonio marshaled the newly appreciated power of film by buying some 200 hours of old 1954 TV kinescopes from CBS for $50,000. It was the entire TV coverage of the Army-McCarthy hearings. Because it was "no longer of interest", CBS was considering tossing it all into an incinerator. De Antonio fashioned the old film into his 1964 feature film Point of Order. The irreplaceable documentary stands as key evidence against those who would insist that Senator McCarthy was a patriot brought down by a leftist conspiracy.

Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint gathers four of De Antonio's later, even more controversial docus. They played in New York and in college towns, when they weren't effectively banned by the government, as De Antonio claims was the case with Millhouse: A White Comedy. All are essential to any serious study of documentary film.

1968's In the Year of the Pig assembles prime news film to tell the story of Vietnam in the 20th century. It was practically the only record available of the historical reality of Southeast Asia at a time when Americans were bombarded daily with rhetoric about Freedom and the Communist threat. Avoiding an imposed narration, De Antonio simply stacks newsreel and archive footage behind some very good interviews with people like Daniel Berrigan and the late David Halberstam. The footage delineates the efforts of French colonialists to retake control of Vietnam after WW2, and with the help of the United States, suppress the country's attempts to re-unite. When America takes the leading role in the late 1950s the news film shows a succession of puppet tyrants placed in power. Advisors become fighting troops and a faked attack in the Gulf of Tonkin is used as the lever to get America fully involved.

De Antonio obviously guides the footage, playing La Marseillaise on Vietnamese instruments as the defeated French quit the country. The show begins with an electronic audio montage of helicopter rotors that may have been the inspiration for the opening of Apocalypse Now. The docu underplays President Kennedy's role in the Vietnam disaster, but the images we see of Eisenhower, Johnson and Nixon are highly unflattering. Much of the footage is surprisingly effective, even forty years later. A witness describes the awful spectacle of a Vietnamese monk immolating himself, and then the highly visible Madame Nhu brazenly states that the monks were paid to burn themselves, incited by foreign influences. It's interesting to see personalities like Gerald Ford making grave pronouncements about developments in Vietnam, while Kennedy-era appointees like Robert McNamara visit the country. Lyndon Johnson's sober pledge for 'no wider war' seems so sincere that we have to wonder what exactly mandated the major combat commitment that began in 1965.

The film shows footage of North Vietnam's defenses and the way its entire population is enlisted in the war effort, which in 1968 was considered by many to be subversive propaganda giving comfort to the enemy. In his commentary De Antonio claims that some theaters attempting to show the film were intimidated by vandalism and death threats.

In the Year of the Pig was heavy-duty campus screening fare in the late 1960s. Emile de Antonio again showed great ingenuity in gaining access to controversial news film. It now plays as priceless found footage, a record of history that would otherwise be lost -- or suppressed. Network news of later decades, such as coverage of the First Gulf War, is now tightly controlled corporate property.

Millhouse: A White Comedy was intended as mirthful character assassination, on the principle that one can't be too unkind to Richard Nixon. De Antonio doesn't need to distort a thing, as a simple collection of news film reveals Nixon to be a consummate dirty politician. Nixon gets elected to the congress by spreading rumors that his opponent Jerry Voorhis is "soft on Communism." He then leaps to the Senate by smearing opponent Helen Gahagan Douglas as a "pinko", distributing her voting record printed on pink paper. Nixon's major career move comes when he turns the investigation of accused spy Alger Hiss into a media event. Millhouse (which purposely misspells Nixon's middle name) resurrected the Vice Presidential candidate's controversial "Checkers" speech, in which he sidestepped accusations of special backing by large companies by offering an absurd and irrelevant "heartfelt" appeal to the American people.

We see Nixon's motorcade attacked by South Americans during a goodwill tour. He gets chummy with puppet rulers in Vietnam and performs his awkward early exit from politics after a failed Californian Gubernatorial bid. His supposed farewell is a near-psychotic speech that finishes with a bitter, "You won't have Nixon to kick around any more." At a 1968 rally, he assures his audience that Hubert Humphrey is really a radical. Elected on the promise to get America out of Vietnam, Nixon instead insists that the U.S. will leave Vietnam only with honor, and the bombs start falling.

Millhouse is a personal attack, undeniably. It begins with the installation of a (really bad) likeness of the President in a wax museum. Pat Nixon stares like a zombie at most public appearances, while the presidential daughters often look unhappy or uncomfortable. Nixon sweats behind microphones and avoids Q&A sessions in favor of a rigged meet-the-voters TV show complete with signs that ask the studio audience to applaud. Bob Hope entertains a political dinner with jokes about homosexuals, and a gyrating go-go dancer makes Nixon uncomfortable by dancing about two feet from his nose. A White House reception uses Marine Corps musicians to provide a brass fanfare more appropriate for the entrance of a Roman Emperor. Finally, as Nixon claims that America has no plans to exploit Vietnam or place permanent military bases there, De Antonio scrolls an endless list of American corporations that have already begun business in Saigon.

Underground, from the Bicentennial year, is a departure from Emile de Antonio's previous works. It uses pieces of older documentaries but focuses mainly on a filmed interview with actual Weather Underground fugitives, public enemies high on the FBI's most wanted list. The nation's law apparatus was unable to locate the SDS splinter group that had carried on a campaign of anti-government bombings in the early 1970s in the hopes of igniting a revolution.

De Antonio reports that he had little difficulty contacting the radicals-in-hiding. Along with cameraman Haskell Wexler and editor Mary Lampson, he filmed the interview in a California safe house, avoiding his subjects' faces by filming them through sheets and from behind. One camera angle used by De Antonio became a hot topic of discussion among film students. The Weathermen and women are filmed through a mirror. We see De Antonio, Lampson and Wexler with his camera staring right at us, but only the backs of the subjects' heads. The angle states exactly how the film was made and acknowledges the presence of a camera at all times. What's more, it suggests that the filmmakers are an active part of the testimony, and not separate from it. To some the shot suggests solidarity with the Weathermen. Others see it as a challenge to the F.B.I.: we're exercising our First Amendment rights and we're not hiding from anybody.

Underground disturbs not because it allows the Weathermen to state their case, but because De Antonio adds his own documentary editorializing that implies approval and collaboration. Actually, the Weather Underground almost single-handedly killed off the legitimate anti-war and anti-government protests of the 1960s. Considering the grief their violent activities caused for their victims and their own cause, the Underground doesn't occupy a very sympathetic page in history. Conservatives still use their example to equate patriotic activism with terrorism. Being daring outlaws in the eyes of America sounds great in a Jefferson Airplane song. But the Weathermen characterize the bombings that killed people as innocent mistakes, evading responsibility just as do the power elite they wish to bring down. Reporting on wanted fugitives is protected free speech, but it is disturbing to see De Antonio flashing friendly smiles at his subjects. Underground comes off as endorsing more than just the Weathermen's idealism. Is the film a grand experiment testing the limits of film journalism, or just plain irresponsible?

De Antonio makes himself the subject of Mr. Hoover and I. The director addresses the camera directly, telling us that J. Edgar Hoover is the most villainous American in history and the renegade leader of an out-of-control secret police force. De Antonio recounts his experience applying for his own F.B.I. record with the Freedom of Information Act. The F.B.I. used bureaucratic dodging to avoid complying with that law. An informant told De Antonio that his sensitive files were surreptitiously placed with those of one of the Weathermen, to keep him from accessing them. One letter that Hoover didn't want released requests that, in the case of a "national emergency", Emile de Antonio be considered for "custodial detention" -- an evasive euphemism for imprisonment in a concentration camp.

We see De Antonio at a campus speaking engagement, talking with John Cage while the musician bakes bread, and getting his hair cut by his wife. It's here that De Antonio proudly calls himself a Communist and a radical, and says that he loves his country and simply wants to make it better, as opposed to politicians who want careers. He talks about his movies going unseen because of threats (vandals painted the word "Traitor" on a screen in California) and feels that the Nixon administration saw to it that corporate-owned theaters wouldn't play Millhouse. He also comes off as something of a conspiracy buff in regards to the JFK assassination, in reference to his film Rush to Judgment. Like Underground, Mr Hoover and I ends with a simple statement of political idealism. The director is a sincere and likeable speaker, but we can't help but feel that his earlier documentaries using mostly unaltered historical footage are much more persuasive.

Distributed by Image, Home Vision's four-disc DVD set of Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint is a welcome release. All four features are transferred in fine condition, and the only time that the quality drops is in the poorest of the kinescope sources. Just the same, the infamous Checkers speech (included uncut separately) is the best I've seen it on film or video. In the Year of the Pig has a full director commentary and a vintage TV interview with De Antonio. Millhouse carries the Checkers speech and an excellent interview from a TV show called Alternative Views. Underground has an even more interesting Alternative Views interview. An insert booklet contains fine essays by Dan Streible, Jonathan Kahana. Jonathan Rosenbaum offers a spirited defense of Mr. Hoover and I.

For more information about Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint, visit Image Entertainment. To order Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint, go to TCM Shopping

by Glenn Erickson
Emile De Antonio: Films Of A Radical Saint - A 4-Disc Set Of Unconventional Documentaries

Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint - A 4-Disc Set of Unconventional Documentaries

Labeling Emile de Antonio as a radical filmmaker sounds like a way of slotting him into a convenient pigeonhole, until we hear the genial man referring to himself with the exact same phrase. In the 1960s, De Antonio marshaled the newly appreciated power of film by buying some 200 hours of old 1954 TV kinescopes from CBS for $50,000. It was the entire TV coverage of the Army-McCarthy hearings. Because it was "no longer of interest", CBS was considering tossing it all into an incinerator. De Antonio fashioned the old film into his 1964 feature film Point of Order. The irreplaceable documentary stands as key evidence against those who would insist that Senator McCarthy was a patriot brought down by a leftist conspiracy. Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint gathers four of De Antonio's later, even more controversial docus. They played in New York and in college towns, when they weren't effectively banned by the government, as De Antonio claims was the case with Millhouse: A White Comedy. All are essential to any serious study of documentary film. 1968's In the Year of the Pig assembles prime news film to tell the story of Vietnam in the 20th century. It was practically the only record available of the historical reality of Southeast Asia at a time when Americans were bombarded daily with rhetoric about Freedom and the Communist threat. Avoiding an imposed narration, De Antonio simply stacks newsreel and archive footage behind some very good interviews with people like Daniel Berrigan and the late David Halberstam. The footage delineates the efforts of French colonialists to retake control of Vietnam after WW2, and with the help of the United States, suppress the country's attempts to re-unite. When America takes the leading role in the late 1950s the news film shows a succession of puppet tyrants placed in power. Advisors become fighting troops and a faked attack in the Gulf of Tonkin is used as the lever to get America fully involved. De Antonio obviously guides the footage, playing La Marseillaise on Vietnamese instruments as the defeated French quit the country. The show begins with an electronic audio montage of helicopter rotors that may have been the inspiration for the opening of Apocalypse Now. The docu underplays President Kennedy's role in the Vietnam disaster, but the images we see of Eisenhower, Johnson and Nixon are highly unflattering. Much of the footage is surprisingly effective, even forty years later. A witness describes the awful spectacle of a Vietnamese monk immolating himself, and then the highly visible Madame Nhu brazenly states that the monks were paid to burn themselves, incited by foreign influences. It's interesting to see personalities like Gerald Ford making grave pronouncements about developments in Vietnam, while Kennedy-era appointees like Robert McNamara visit the country. Lyndon Johnson's sober pledge for 'no wider war' seems so sincere that we have to wonder what exactly mandated the major combat commitment that began in 1965. The film shows footage of North Vietnam's defenses and the way its entire population is enlisted in the war effort, which in 1968 was considered by many to be subversive propaganda giving comfort to the enemy. In his commentary De Antonio claims that some theaters attempting to show the film were intimidated by vandalism and death threats. In the Year of the Pig was heavy-duty campus screening fare in the late 1960s. Emile de Antonio again showed great ingenuity in gaining access to controversial news film. It now plays as priceless found footage, a record of history that would otherwise be lost -- or suppressed. Network news of later decades, such as coverage of the First Gulf War, is now tightly controlled corporate property. Millhouse: A White Comedy was intended as mirthful character assassination, on the principle that one can't be too unkind to Richard Nixon. De Antonio doesn't need to distort a thing, as a simple collection of news film reveals Nixon to be a consummate dirty politician. Nixon gets elected to the congress by spreading rumors that his opponent Jerry Voorhis is "soft on Communism." He then leaps to the Senate by smearing opponent Helen Gahagan Douglas as a "pinko", distributing her voting record printed on pink paper. Nixon's major career move comes when he turns the investigation of accused spy Alger Hiss into a media event. Millhouse (which purposely misspells Nixon's middle name) resurrected the Vice Presidential candidate's controversial "Checkers" speech, in which he sidestepped accusations of special backing by large companies by offering an absurd and irrelevant "heartfelt" appeal to the American people. We see Nixon's motorcade attacked by South Americans during a goodwill tour. He gets chummy with puppet rulers in Vietnam and performs his awkward early exit from politics after a failed Californian Gubernatorial bid. His supposed farewell is a near-psychotic speech that finishes with a bitter, "You won't have Nixon to kick around any more." At a 1968 rally, he assures his audience that Hubert Humphrey is really a radical. Elected on the promise to get America out of Vietnam, Nixon instead insists that the U.S. will leave Vietnam only with honor, and the bombs start falling. Millhouse is a personal attack, undeniably. It begins with the installation of a (really bad) likeness of the President in a wax museum. Pat Nixon stares like a zombie at most public appearances, while the presidential daughters often look unhappy or uncomfortable. Nixon sweats behind microphones and avoids Q&A sessions in favor of a rigged meet-the-voters TV show complete with signs that ask the studio audience to applaud. Bob Hope entertains a political dinner with jokes about homosexuals, and a gyrating go-go dancer makes Nixon uncomfortable by dancing about two feet from his nose. A White House reception uses Marine Corps musicians to provide a brass fanfare more appropriate for the entrance of a Roman Emperor. Finally, as Nixon claims that America has no plans to exploit Vietnam or place permanent military bases there, De Antonio scrolls an endless list of American corporations that have already begun business in Saigon. Underground, from the Bicentennial year, is a departure from Emile de Antonio's previous works. It uses pieces of older documentaries but focuses mainly on a filmed interview with actual Weather Underground fugitives, public enemies high on the FBI's most wanted list. The nation's law apparatus was unable to locate the SDS splinter group that had carried on a campaign of anti-government bombings in the early 1970s in the hopes of igniting a revolution. De Antonio reports that he had little difficulty contacting the radicals-in-hiding. Along with cameraman Haskell Wexler and editor Mary Lampson, he filmed the interview in a California safe house, avoiding his subjects' faces by filming them through sheets and from behind. One camera angle used by De Antonio became a hot topic of discussion among film students. The Weathermen and women are filmed through a mirror. We see De Antonio, Lampson and Wexler with his camera staring right at us, but only the backs of the subjects' heads. The angle states exactly how the film was made and acknowledges the presence of a camera at all times. What's more, it suggests that the filmmakers are an active part of the testimony, and not separate from it. To some the shot suggests solidarity with the Weathermen. Others see it as a challenge to the F.B.I.: we're exercising our First Amendment rights and we're not hiding from anybody. Underground disturbs not because it allows the Weathermen to state their case, but because De Antonio adds his own documentary editorializing that implies approval and collaboration. Actually, the Weather Underground almost single-handedly killed off the legitimate anti-war and anti-government protests of the 1960s. Considering the grief their violent activities caused for their victims and their own cause, the Underground doesn't occupy a very sympathetic page in history. Conservatives still use their example to equate patriotic activism with terrorism. Being daring outlaws in the eyes of America sounds great in a Jefferson Airplane song. But the Weathermen characterize the bombings that killed people as innocent mistakes, evading responsibility just as do the power elite they wish to bring down. Reporting on wanted fugitives is protected free speech, but it is disturbing to see De Antonio flashing friendly smiles at his subjects. Underground comes off as endorsing more than just the Weathermen's idealism. Is the film a grand experiment testing the limits of film journalism, or just plain irresponsible? De Antonio makes himself the subject of Mr. Hoover and I. The director addresses the camera directly, telling us that J. Edgar Hoover is the most villainous American in history and the renegade leader of an out-of-control secret police force. De Antonio recounts his experience applying for his own F.B.I. record with the Freedom of Information Act. The F.B.I. used bureaucratic dodging to avoid complying with that law. An informant told De Antonio that his sensitive files were surreptitiously placed with those of one of the Weathermen, to keep him from accessing them. One letter that Hoover didn't want released requests that, in the case of a "national emergency", Emile de Antonio be considered for "custodial detention" -- an evasive euphemism for imprisonment in a concentration camp. We see De Antonio at a campus speaking engagement, talking with John Cage while the musician bakes bread, and getting his hair cut by his wife. It's here that De Antonio proudly calls himself a Communist and a radical, and says that he loves his country and simply wants to make it better, as opposed to politicians who want careers. He talks about his movies going unseen because of threats (vandals painted the word "Traitor" on a screen in California) and feels that the Nixon administration saw to it that corporate-owned theaters wouldn't play Millhouse. He also comes off as something of a conspiracy buff in regards to the JFK assassination, in reference to his film Rush to Judgment. Like Underground, Mr Hoover and I ends with a simple statement of political idealism. The director is a sincere and likeable speaker, but we can't help but feel that his earlier documentaries using mostly unaltered historical footage are much more persuasive. Distributed by Image, Home Vision's four-disc DVD set of Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint is a welcome release. All four features are transferred in fine condition, and the only time that the quality drops is in the poorest of the kinescope sources. Just the same, the infamous Checkers speech (included uncut separately) is the best I've seen it on film or video. In the Year of the Pig has a full director commentary and a vintage TV interview with De Antonio. Millhouse carries the Checkers speech and an excellent interview from a TV show called Alternative Views. Underground has an even more interesting Alternative Views interview. An insert booklet contains fine essays by Dan Streible, Jonathan Kahana. Jonathan Rosenbaum offers a spirited defense of Mr. Hoover and I. For more information about Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint, visit Image Entertainment. To order Emile de Antonio: Films of a Radical Saint, go to TCM Shopping by Glenn Erickson

Quotes

Trivia

Notes

In Millhouse: A White Comedy, director Emile de Antonio uses interviews, newsreel footage and television outtakes, skipping backward and forward in chronology. The film begins with a written quote by Richard Milhous Nixon (1913-1994) proclaiming the necessity of tenacity in the competitive instinct. Although the onscreen credits include a copyright statement for the Whittier Film Corporation, the film was not registered for copyright.
       Several critics commented on the deliberate misspelling of Nixon's middle name, Milhouse, which appears in the title and in several subtitles during the film as Millhouse. De Antonio stated in an October 1971 New York Times article, "There's no point in explaining an intentional ambiguity," then went on to note that the new spelling "is heavier that way." A LAHExam article declared that the director misspelled the name in order to signal his lack of objectivity.
       An October 1971 Daily Variety article indicated that de Antonio bought most of the television footage used in the film from WABC-TV in New York, and that he was repeatedly denied permission to interview Nixon. The film includes the famous clip from Knute Rockne-All American (1940, ) during which Pat O'Brien, as the Notre Dame coach urges his team to "Win one for the Gipper." The clip was inserted as an ironic counterpoint to Nixon's exhortation during the 1964 Republican convention to "win this one for" the ailing but still beloved Dwight D. Eisenhower.
       De Antonio (1919-1989) was a noted documentarian, political activist and art supporter. In the 1950s, he became an active member of the New York art world, promoting such artists as Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenburg. His close relationship with Andy Warhol led to the film Drink, in which Warhol filmed de Antonio drinking until he passed out. That film was not released theatrically. De Antonio's first picture, 1964's Point of Order!, chronicles the United States Senate's Army-McCarthy hearings (see below).
       After the release of Milhouse: A White Comedy, as noted in the October 1971 Daily Variety article, the Democratic National Committee tried to purchase the documentary, but de Antonio refused to sell it. The filmmaker, a self-avowed Marxist, stated that he supported neither party, and added in the October 1971 New York Times article that he did not make the film to help the Democrats win the upcoming 1972 Presidential election.
       Millhouse: A White Comedy caused de Antonio to be added to the Nixon White House's so-called "enemies list." On April 9, 1974, almost a year after Nixon's resignation, Daily Variety reported on the recent release of previously classified White House documents, one of which revealed that de Antonio and the film were being closely watched by government officials. In memos to presidential counsel John Dean, Treasury Department official John J. Caufield warned that the film was gaining popularity and promised that "a significant derogatory dossier" was being built on the filmmaker, to be used "at a propitious moment." Time then reported on September 23, 1974 that reporter Jack Anderson had revealed the week earlier that the film had been partially funded by three nieces of Vice President-designate Nelson Rockefeller.

Miscellaneous Notes

Released in United States 1971

Released in United States 1971