The three eldest Wonsal brothers were born in the Russian empire; a fourth was born during a stopover in Canada during their family’s migration to America. Taking the name Warner, the Wonsals eventually settled in Baltimore where, even as teenagers, the brothers dreamed of making movies. Reviewing a new book by David Thompson about the brothers and Warner Bros. studio, Linda Tucker writes:

[The] book reveals the brothers’ underlying reason for the movies they chose: their desire to leave behind the ways of the old country and become steeped in the American myth, transforming the way they and the rest of the country saw themselves. . . . The brothers’ first significant production was My Four Years in Germany, based on a sensationalist book, in 1918—[a film intended to support the U.S. effort in World War I].

The Jazz Singer, which came out in 1927, was the historic turning point for Warner Bros. It was about one character’s struggle to be both Jewish and American—a cantor’s son and a vaudeville entertainer. Al Jolson, the star, personified Jewish storytelling for a universal audience. Sam Warner was the one who pushed for the movie to have sound, and Jack signed Jolson. . . .

But the Warners were anxious for theirs not to seem like a Jewish business; they wanted to be American. Casablanca, released in 1942, did not emphasize the Jewish experience. It is also the most celebrated movie the Warners ever made—and one of the most cherished in Hollywood. [Thompson writes]: “A big element in the charm of Casablanca is that underlying air of comradeship, and of an international cast coming together at a moment when everyone was appreciating how the war was turning strangers into allies. [Humphrey] Bogart and Dooley Wilson were the only Americans with sizable roles.”

While it is commendable that administrators of several universities finally called upon police to crack down on violent and disruptive anti-Israel protests, the actions they have taken may be insufficient. At Columbia, demonstrators reestablished their encampment on the main quad after it had been cleared by the police, and the university seems reluctant to use force again. The school also decided to hold classes remotely until the end of the semester. Such moves, whatever their merits, do nothing to fix the factors that allowed campuses to become hotbeds of pro-Hamas activism in the first place. The editors of National Review examine how things go to this point:

Since the 10/7 massacre, Columbia’s Jewish students have been forced to endure routine calls for their execution. It shouldn’t have taken the slaughter, rape, and brutalization of Israeli Jews to expose chants like “Globalize the intifada” and “Death to the Zionist state” as calls for violence, but the university refused to intervene on behalf of its besieged students. When an Israeli student was beaten with a stick outside Columbia’s library, it occasioned little soul-searching from faculty. Indeed, it served only as the impetus to establish an “Anti-Semitism Task Force,” which subsequently expressed “serious concerns” about the university’s commitment to enforcing its codes of conduct against anti-Semitic violators.

But little was done. Indeed, as late as last month the school served as host to speakers who praised the 10/7 attacks and even “hijacking airplanes” as “important tactics that the Palestinian resistance have engaged in.”

The school’s lackadaisical approach created a permission structure to menace and harass Jewish students, and that’s what happened. . . . Now is the time finally to do something about this kind of harassment and associated acts of trespass and disorder. Yale did the right thing when police cleared out an encampment [on Monday]. But Columbia remains a daily reminder of what happens when freaks and haters are allowed to impose their will on campus.