This paper discusses The Cabinet Cabinet Of Dr Caligari (1920) and analyses how it conveys Foucault’s theory of madness. The protagonist in this film, Francis, appears in the prologue and then narrates us the story. As such, the bulk of the film is seen through his eyes, he is both a character in the tale and its narrator. However, in the epilogue we realise we have not been experiencing a memory, but a delusion. As such, the main bulk of the film, between the framing mechanism, can be seen as an exploration of Francis’s madness from inside his phenomenological experiences (Gutting, 1989, p. 57). This paper will examine how the film illustrates Foucault’s notion of madness, as found in ‘Madness and Civilisation’, through our experience of Francis, paying special attention to the four keys areas of the mise-en-scene (Foucault, 1967).

The first aspect of Foucault’s philosophy, that this film exemplifies, is his emphasis on madness as a construct of an individual. Rather than using the person as an object of medical diagnosis, Foucault believed that we must analyse madness on its own terms, by determining the ‘concrete forms it takes in the psychological life of an individual’ (Gutting, 1989, p. 56). This is what Foucault calls ‘phenomenological psychology’ (Foucault, 1987, p. 45). In the film, the mise-en-scene encourages us to experience Francis’s world from his subjective view. The set, painted by Expressionist artists, is particularly apt to show Francis’s state of mind. Foucault would claim that Francis has made a projection of himself into a world that he has constituted and which expresses his existence(Gutting, 1989, p. 61). As such we are made highly aware of the man-made features of the set. Although, as we will see, humanity is ill-fit in this world; Francis’s world made concrete through set design. The establishing shot of the film shows Holstonwall, an abstract amalgamation of pointed roofs and triangular mountains in strange perspective (Fig.1). Diagonals replace the vertical, and horizontal and acute angles replace curves, even in the everyday shapes such as doorways and windows (Powell, 2005, p. 27).

The second aspect of the mise-en-scene, the staging and direction of the actors, compounds the experience of madness. We are kept in a state of suspense throughout the film through hints that the fantasy we are experiencing with Francis is incomplete. The slow iris in and out, which is used throughout the film, isolates parts of a picture, blocking our orientation in the frame, before expanding (Fig.2). Our orientation is further effaced by the actors. Their wide-eyed gazes off scene perturb our expectations of eye-line match and point of view shots. The characters frequently occupy themselves with things we cannot see, whether through these visual distractions off-scene or, as in the asylum, by physically handling non-existent things (Powell, 2005, p. 26); we see a pianist playing without any visible keys and a demagogue addressing no one (Powell, 2005, p. 31). They each occupy their own fantasy and for us to understand their individual madness we must ‘attempt to capture the world as lived by the patient’, as Foucault urged us to do in his early work (May, 2003, p. 289). The disorientation is key to entering the psychological experience of madness with Francis, in which we experience his isolation and unease. The staging of the actors is at all times unnatural and broken, in part because of the constraining set design. The flat background throws the actors into relief, making them strange and inhuman. In some cases the deranged set has the effect of blurring the line between the man-made and the actors. The animate actors lose their humanity; they are made inorganic, whilst the inanimate gains life (Powell, 2005, p. 28). This dissolution of the difference in the mechanical and the animate is consistent with Expressionist aims, in which material objects are transformed into emotional ornaments (Kracauer, 1974, p. 69), furnishing what Foucault would call the ‘interior dimensions’ of the mad (Foucault, 1954, p. 69). In Francis’s room, for example, the rounded padded chaise lounge represents his relative comfort, whilst the high back chair dominating Alan’s room indicates Francis’s apprehension at this part in the story (Fig.3).

The lighting throughout this film also adds to our experience of Francis’s phenomenology. ‘Light’ is painted directly onto the set and often in discord to the actual lighting, which serves to efface our rules of perception (Kracauer, 1974, p. 69). The low key lighting is harsh and unforgiving, creating high contrast, and is entirely produced by on set lights which allowed more control of the effects. Tints are used to indicate the time of day or draw attention to Francis’s emotional response to certain points in the narrative. For example Jane’s lounge is tinted with purple, representing Francis’s romantic feelings for her, whilst blue and yellow tints indicate night and daylight (Fig.4). Alan’s murder is depicted entirely through the interplay of Cesare and Alan’s shadows, allowing this psychologically damaging event to be communicated through Francis’s psyche. Francis cannot recreate this event in stark light, and so instead confines it to the shadows, and this is how we see it. Perhaps for the same reason, the murdered bodies are represented by lit bundles of white sheet, often tumbling off the bed. The inanimate dead bodies, so conveyed, bear striking similarity to Jane asleep on her bed, all white sheets, lit brightly and still. This indicates Francis’s inability to conceive of Jane in a fulsome way, reducing her to a stock character, a maiden-in-distress, a body.

The costume of the characters signifies how Francis is conceiving other people in his mind. What is most striking about Francis’s costume is its ordinary nature, particularly in contrast to Caligari’s stylised hair and absurd cloak, or Cesare’s skin tight leotard (Coates, 1991, p. 36). This serves to highlight his different-ness from Caligari and Cesare, whose costumes make the actors inhuman. The still of Dr. Caligari in the town hall looks like a painting, made absurd with the high seat for the clerk and the black lines on Caligari’s gloves and hair (Fig.5). His eyebrows are painted flat to his face and when he moves he becomes a mess of abstract forms. Contra to Cesare’s skin-tight leotard, which shows he has no autonomy from his costume, no individuality to express through clothing. The close-up of Cesare also looks like a painting (Fig.6), with heavy eyeliner, horizontal mouth and brows, a straight hair line and striped polo-neck (Powell, 2005, p. 28). Francis is not stylised in his costume or make up. His hair is naturalised and his make-up is discreet and minimal, serving only to outline his features against the strong lighting on set. Foucault may suggest this is because Francis sees himself as alien to this world, one of murder and insanity. The schematized clothing of Caligari and Cesare create simple personas – ‘bad guys’. Francis’s self-perception is normal in relation to them, he is the hero, and perceives himself as so dressed.

The mise-en-scene is not merely an exploration of phenomenological psychology. It also displays the nuanced nature of this psychology. Foucault suggests that the psychological world of the mad is not isolated from their experience of reality ‘but occurring all the time’ (Gutting, 1989, p. 61). To think of the mad as removed from common experiences, is to classify them as something non-human. The recurrence of the asylum in the epilogue demonstrates how closely related the psychological world of the mad is to their ordinary experiences. The set design is identical with the same sunburst on the floor, serving as the placement for Francis in and outside the fantasy. The asylum, we discover, is Francis’s usual environment so it is unsurprising that is portrayed exactly in his fantasy, as the setting of Caligari’s descent into madness and Francis’s final heroic act. When Dr. Caligari is confronted with the dead Cesare he explodes in a manic rage and is wrestled into a strait-jacket. This desperate frenzy mimics exactly the movements Francis makes in the same circumstance in the epilogue. This mirrored staging demonstrates Foucault’s point that the important experiences of the mad will appear in their constructed world. At its core phenomenological psychology is a description of actual experience, made up of both the imagined and the shared (Foucault, 1970, p. 326).

Another way in which this closeness is portrayed is by the recurrence of characters who have provided the model for Francis’s fantasy, but who are essentially different in the epilogue. Although the set remains the same, the characters act differently towards Francis. His enemy, Cesare, is the picture of innocence, cradling a flower, and we note out of his leotard (Fig.7). Jane, his fantasy lover, is aloof and icy, passively staring off screen. Caligari is now the one in power and Francis is the mad one. The film therefore exemplifies Foucault’s notions of the phenomenology of the mad, as, essentially, constructed with reference to their genuine lived experiences.

The third key element of Foucault’s philosophy exemplified by this film is our modern consciousness of madness. Foucault outlines the shifts in our conceptions of the mad through time, and each era is represented in this film. The character of Cesare illustrates the Classical era of the mad as inhuman, irresponsible and therefore confined both physically and ontologically. Dr. Caligari can be seen as exemplifying the Renaissance era perception of madness as a form of entertainment, holding some magical or mystical knowledge. The interplay between Dr. Caligari/The Director and Francis reveals our modern conception of madness, and this is what I focus on below.

During the fantasy Dr. Caligari is communicated to us as he appears to Francis – a terrifying example of authority deranged with power (Kracauer, 1974, p. 65). Indeed fear is ‘an essential presence in the asylum’ (Foucault, 1967, p. 245). A key visual indicator of this relationship is when Francis is forced into a straitjacket. For Foucault the straitjacket is the perfect manifestation of our modern madness; constrained and controlled through a scientific, objective and supposedly humane mode of consciousness. The deep seated nature of this notion of madness is obvious within the film, permeating into Francis’s fantasy. At one point we see Francis’s notion of what it is to be a prisoner – disempowered by severe downward vertical lines and trapped by the patch of ‘light’ on the floor (Powell, 2005, p. 30) (Fig 8). Foucault criticised modern psychiatry for inspiring moral shame and fear as a ‘treatment’ for the mad and the basis of the doctor-patient relationship (Foucault, 1967, p. 247). This is echoed when the Director announces that he can ‘cure’ Francis, a distinctly modern notion. Contemporary psychiatry conceives madness as mental illness, by definition, curable. The asylum is converted into a medical space, justified by a scientific objectivity. The modern psychiatric doctor is seen by his patients as a thaumaturge, possessing a miraculous cure (Foucault, 1967, p. 273). This relationship infuses Francis’s psyche. Dr. Caligari is able to perform a magical act of communication with Cesare; but in doing so the doctor turns his patient into an object, as seen through the way Dr Caligari sits Cesare up and how, in the epilogue, Francis is similarly handled, manually made to sit before the Director, stiff with terror (Fig.9). ‘This new relation between insanity and medical thought …ultimately command[s] the whole modern experience of madness’ (Foucault, 1967, p. 269)

This paper has explored three key elements of Foucault’s vast philosophy of madness. The film’s mise-en-scene effectively communicates what Foucault would call the phenomenological experience of Francis’s madness. Through analysis of particular parts of the film we can illustrate the nuanced relationship the world of the mad has with their actual experiences. The final part of Foucault’s philosophy discussed here, was the way in which this film portrays our modern conception of madness as exemplified by the relationship between Francis and the Director/Dr. Caligari. When watching this film, I felt I was the character of the man to whom Francis tells his story. During the epilogue we discover Francis is mad, we withdraw from him, much like the unnamed man. But even at the last we don’t trust the Director, especially when he dons his spectacles and for a moment looks like Dr Caligari. However, if we are the man at the beginning, to whom Francis tells his story, a character who is clearly mad as well, we have to ask ourselves – are we all mad here?

Claire Travers


  • Coates, P. 1991. Gorgon’s Gaze: German Cinema, Expressionism and the Image of Horror. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  • Das Cabinet des Dr Caligari. 1919. [Film] Directed by Robert Wiene. Germany: Eureka Videos [DVD]
  • Foucault, M. 1954. Malade Mentale et Personalitie. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.
  • Foucault, M. 1967. Madness and Civilisation: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. London: Tavistock Publications Ltd.
  • Foucault, M. 1970. The Order of Things. New York: Random House.
  • Foucault, M. 1987. Mental Illness and Psychology. Berkeley: University of California Press.
  • Gutting, G. 1989. Michel Foucault’s Archeology of Scientific Reason. Cambridge : Cambridge University Press.
  • Kracauer, S. 1974. Caligari. In: From Caligari to Hitler : a Psychological History of the German Film. Oxford: Princeton University Press, pp. 61-76.
  • May, T. 2003. Foucualt’s Relation to Phenomenology . In: G. Gutting, ed. The Cambirdge Companion to Foucault (Second Edition). Cambridge: Cambirdge University Press, pp. 284-311.
  • Powell, A. 2005. Deluze and Horror Film. Edinburugh: Edinburugh University Press.

Further Reading

  • Foucault, M, Biswanger, L, ed. Hoeller, K. 1986. Dream and Existence. Seattle :The Review of Existential Psychology and Psychiatry.
  • Toombs, S. 1987. ‘The Meaning of Illness: A Phenomenological Approach to the Patient-Physician Relationship’ in The Journal of Medicine and Philosophy. 12. pp. 219-24


Figure 1. The establishing shot of the film and the background to the fair is an Expressionist drawing of Holstonwall. The pointed roofs bow inward and blend with one another and the trees. The shot is immediately disconcerting as the triangle focuses the audiences eye but with no apparent meaningful focal point. It also gives us a juxtaposition from the natural three-dimensional set of the prologue.

Figure 2. The iris is used to focus the audiences attention on certain parts of the frame, and serve to disorientate us. In the left image the round iris mimics an eye shutting or opening, and the last or first thing we see is Caligari. In the left image the diamond iris frames Cesare outside the window, expanding to show him at the back of Jane’s bedroom. The angular iris puts the audience on edge.

Figure 3. Tints are used to communicate subliminal emotions, in this case purple is used exclusively for Jane’s lounge, which is also the only set entirely without a straight line. The round orb lights the room, throwing circular patterns of light on the floor and up the walls. The white cloth and round table gives the room a cosy and welcoming feel. Francis feels most safe here.

Figure 4. In the left image the round padded chaise lounge represents Francis’s comfort in his room. Once Francis leaves this room for the last time his obsession with Dr. Caligari does not allow him to return. In the same position in the right image the straight backed chair dominates the frame. Alan’s room is overshadowed by it; perhaps a symbol of Alan’s impending death.

Figure 5. Dr. Caligari looks like a painting, with stylised black and white streaks in his hair and on his gloves.

Figure 6. The still of the close up of Cesare is reminiscent of Man Ray’s ‘Marquise Casati (1922)

Figure 7. Cesare is seen in the epilogue as the picture of innocence. His blunt fringe and austere make up is gone, and he is wearing trousers and a black top. He cradles a flower, peaceful and a still sad. The flowers remind the audience of our last experience of him, dead under the funeral pall.

Figure 8. The prisoner is surrounded with blunt shapes; even the ‘ball and chain’ is angular. Weighty downward columns make the prisoner look oppressed and the patch of light painted on the floor seems to contain him.

Figure 9. In the left figure Dr. Caligari dotes on the sleeping Cesare, with almost parental gestures. In the right image the Director approaches Francis with the same air of natural paternalistic authority. In both cases Cesare and Francis are manually manipulated for the whim of the Dr.



This paper examines Michel Gondry’s 2005 documentary: Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, in relation to the work of the Critical Theorist Herbert Marcuse (1888 – 1979).


At the time of filming, Chappelle was the most lucrative comedian in the USA. Enlisting the services of the innovative music video director Gondry, Chappelle sought to document his efforts of putting together a secret low-budget block party in the Bedford-Stuyvesant ghetto in Brooklyn, New York. Coming from a middle class background in Washington D.C., having been raised by his African-American mother (who has a PhD in linguistics), Chappelle is not – like his hero; the comedian Richard Pryor, who grew up in a brothel – a child of the ghetto. Chappelle’s sketch show: The Chappelle Show, shot him into the limelight in the early 2000’s, and he became renowned for his biting social satire. The show’s probably most famous sketch involved Chappelle’s humorous and controversial depiction of an elderly black male who is a blind white supremacist.

Inspired by Mel Stuart’s 1973 Wattstax, Block Party depicts Chappelle at the height of his powers bringing together artists and members of the public to attend a block party funded entirely by him. The aim of this appeared to be to create a carnival atmosphere in an area of deprivation in the manner of the ghetto parties of the 1970’s – 1980’s. By bringing the party to the block, as opposed to a popular, safe tourist spot like Central Park, sponsored by a multitude of profit-driven companies, Chappelle sought to create a more authentic event. It is apparent from the roster of artists that Chappelle recruited – who all performed for free – that his aim was not only to entertain, but also to educate. In the words of pioneering Hip Hop artist KRS-One, this party is what could be labeled as ‘Edutainment’.


As a German Jewish intellectual during the Third Reich, Marcuse settled in exile in Berkeley, California. His radical brand of social philosophy led him to become the father of the ‘New Left’ in the 1960’s and 1970’s USA counter-culture. Quite notably in relation to this paper, Marcuse served as the doctoral supervisor to Angela Davis: The Black Panther Party feminist and radical social activist.1 Marcuse is important in this reading of Block Party because of the great emphasis in his work on the power of the margins of society to affect revolutionary change. For Marcuse, such sections have the least to lose from the given state of affairs, and are thus able to literally see, feel and hear in a unique way. Marcuse thus repeatedly places great emphasis on black ghetto movements, as well as many different women’s movements. He also places an explicit emphasis on the power of art to affect real revolutionary rupture from within what he coins – alluding to Freud – ‘a repressive reality principle’.

Ghetto Hip Hop

Davis argues in a Marcusian vein that ‘‘[music] is a form of social consciousness – a special form of social consciousness that can potentially awaken an urge in those affected by it to creatively transform their oppressive environments… Ultimately, it can propel people toward social emancipation’’ (1998: 236). Marcuse substantiates such a claim in his later works including Counterrevolution and Revolt (1972) and The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique of Marxist Aesthetics (1979). All of the music featured in Block Party can be bracketed within the genre of Hip Hop. Born in the 1970’s in the ghettos of New York, pioneering artists with names such as ‘Afrika Bambaataa’, and the ‘Zulu Nation’, demonstrated a clear awareness of their African ancestry before enslavement in the USA, They also demonstrated an understanding of the Griot tradition among West Africafrom which they adapted modern Hip Hop; namely, that of an oratory tradition stretching back many hundreds of years. The noun ‘Hip Hop’ in the argot of the ghettos in which it was created refers to ‘intelligent (Hip) movement (Hop)’. For Marcuse, ‘black music’ – here he was talking in 1972 about blues and jazz, but his comments can be equally applied to Hip Hop – ‘’is the cry and song of the slaves and the ghettos which, born in an exasperated tension announces a violent rupture with the established white order’’ (1972: 114). Marcuse asserts that:

In this music, the very lives and deaths of black men and women are lived again: the music is body; the aesthetic form is the ‘gesture’ of pain, sorrow, indictment. However, with the takeover by the whites, a significant change occurs: white ‘rock’ is what its black paradigm is not, namely, performance. It is as if the crying and shouting, the jumping and playing, now takes place in an artificial, organized space; that they are directed toward a (sympathetic) audience.(1972: 114-5)

What Marcuse is alluding to is the watering down of a powerful aesthetic form once, for example, the Rolling Stones cover Otis Redding, thus transmuting pain into performance by way of unabashed plagiarism. The problem with this for Marcuse is that carnival performance – in the tradition running from Woodstock to Glastonbury – functions as a ‘‘safety valve to upturn order such that order may be maintained’’ (McKay 1996: 42). Whilst it may create a temporarily positive atmosphere, the performance ultimately merely reinforces the status quo.

For Marcuse, another language is necessary to break the all-pervasive discourse which engulfs any resistance by means of what he terms ‘‘incestuous reasoning’’ (1972: 133). He thus identifies black literature, music, argot and slang as a potentially revolutionary language of the ‘other’ (1972: 80), contra the hegemonic, incestuous discourse of the establishment. This language of the ‘other’ meets all of the criteria of Marcuse’s definition of the genuinely revolutionary, which can most powerfully reside in the margins, in what Marcuse asserts as:

The substratum of the outcasts and outsiders, the exploited and persecuted of other races and other colours; the unemployed and unemployable. They exist outside the democratic process; their life is the most immediate and the most real need for ending intolerable conditions and institutions. Thus their opposition is revolutionary even if their consciousness is not. Their opposition hits the system from without and is therefore not deflected by the system; it is an elementary force which violates the rules of the game and, in doing so, reveals it as a rigged game. (1964: 260)

To add to the revolutionary potential of Hip Hop described by way of Marcuse’s criteria above, he also interprets the ghetto as the site par excellence of meaningful resistance. Referring to the faubourgs of Paris during the eighteenth century, he observes that ‘‘confined to small areas of living and dying, [the ghetto] can be more easily organized and directed. Moreover, located in the core cities of the country, the ghettos form natural geographical centres from which the struggle can be mounted against targets of vital economic and political importance… and their location makes for spreading and ‘contagious’ upheavals’’’ (1969: 62). Hence in Block Party, we have many ‘outsiders’ using and performing black language, literature and music in the ghetto, thus encompassing all of the ingredients of Marcuse’s potentially revolutionary dynamite.

Contra Marcuse’s Revolutionary Block Party

Nonetheless, there is much to be said against the apparent revolutionary potential demonstrated in Block Party. For example, Chappelle’s humour is perpetually infused with misogyny, and his use of the noun ‘nigger’ – given that his self-proclaimed hero Richard Pryor eschewed it thirty years earlier – is unsettling and demonstrates a lack of genuine cultural and political awareness. Additionally, many of the artists that he enlists regularly demonstrate a level of misogyny in their works. As black female author and social activist bell hooks argues, Hip Hop music is often a site of black male expression of feelings of powerlessness in the system at large taken out on the ‘fairer sex’. She adds that ‘‘the openness of black males about rage and hatred towards females’’, results ‘‘at times worryingly [in] bragging in misogynistic rap about how they see sexuality as a war zone where they must assert their dominance’’ (2004: 68). Whilst the male artists in the film do not perform overtly misogynistic works, notably all three of the high-profile female performers featured in the film sing love songs eulogizing men.

Furthermore, following the contemporary Marxist theorist Slavoj Žižek’s analysis of contemporary dynamic capitalism, there appears to be what journalist Mark Fishers asserts in 2009’s Capitalist Realism,a ‘‘hard-headed embracing of a brutally reductive version of reality’’ (2009: 10), which has displaced any naive Marcusian hope that marginal culture could revolutionarily change anything.  This is depicted in the film by the wearing of t-shirts promoting symbols of anti-power, that have been most likely purchased through the capitalist mode of production. Reflecting the capitalistic Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara phenomenon, whereby pictures of the revolutionary communist Guevara are sold for corporate profit on everything ranging from pens to posters, the film depicts many members of both the audience, as well as the performers wearing a de facto uniform of the safe-zone ‘one-day warrior’; namely, a t-shirt with a picture of Guevara/Angela Davis/Marcus Garvey/Marvin Gaye/Muhammad Ali, and even Chappelle’s wearing of a Richard Pryor t-shirt.

Additionally, there is no doubt that Hip Hop since the early 1990’s has been heavily corporatized, with a lot of its early dynamism and revolutionary zeal replaced with hyper-masculinity, extreme misogyny and crude materialism. A lot of the artists in the film, Chappelle included, are guilty of this to some degree. The corporate appropriation of Hip Hop involved a re-branding and marketing which involved, more often than not, a crude glorification of the most negative aspects of marginal ghetto culture. Hip Hop’s contemporary position in the mainstream, with a dross lyrical content, and formulaic beat structures renders the majority of what is released as defunct in terms of revolutionary potential as the voice of the ‘other’.


In the words of Marcuse’s peer, Theodor Adorno, ‘’what slips through the net is filtered through the net’’ (1966: 85). Thus, any revolutionary zeal from black ghetto music from the margins must necessarily be through the power of the margins of the margins. This is where there is scope in the film for evidence of Marcuse’s hope being kept alive. There are enough moments provided by artists such as the independent-label pair ‘Dead Prez’, as well as ‘Mos Def’ – who is a ghetto-native of Bedford-Stuyvesant – and ‘Talib Kweli’ in particular, which, by way of explicit references to genuinely revolutionary figures such as Huey P. Newton of the Black Panthers, Harriet Tubman and Asata Shakur, demonstrate a clear understanding of their ancestry, and do not seek to glorify the harsh realities of ghetto life, but rather seek to ‘edu-tain’ through the aesthetic medium of Hip Hop.

History has not necessarily vindicated Marcuse’s claims, but it is clear that the margins are definitely able to see things afresh – no matter how little – and to create ruptures which the mainstream, by definition, cannot. Even whilst some of the performers, including Chappelle, grew up relatively comfortably, they still possess a very novel – if not revolutionary – way of seeing the world. This is exemplified by a humorous, but noteworthy scene in which discussion centres on how Chappelle correctly predicted that the Beltway sniper in 2002 was black simply because he was ‘taking weekends off’. This apparently trivial observation demonstrates a way of seeing unlike the establishment, and substantiates Marcuse’s claims. All things considered, the worth of the film resides in the depiction of the power of the ghetto carnival, and music of the ‘other’ to challenge, uplift and have positive – leading on to perhaps revolutionary – ramifications in the spirit of KRS-One’s ‘Edutainment’.

Dharmender Dhillon

Notes and Works Cited

  1. Angela Davis (1944 – ) was during the late 1960’s and early 1970’s on a most wanted list produced by the C.I.A as one of the most dangerous people in the USA. She wrote her doctoral thesis on Kant and Political Violence – some of which she wrote during a period of incarceration – and is now Distinguished Professor Emerita at the University of California, Santa Cruz. (See Olsson’s 2011 Black Power Mix-Tape 1967-1975).
  • Adorno, Theodor W. 1966: Negative Dialectics. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
  • Davis, Angela Y. 1998: The Angela Y. Davis Reader. Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell.
  • Marcuse, Herbert:
    ———1969: An Essay on Liberation. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
    ——— 1972: Counterrevolution and Revolt. London: Allen Lane.
    ——— 1964: One Dimensional Man. London: Abacus.
  • hooks, bell 2004: We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity. London: Routledge.
  • Fisher, Mark 2009: Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative? Ropley, Hants.: Zer0 Books.
  • McKay, George 1960: Senseless Acts of Beauty: Cultures of Resistance since the Sixties. London; New York: Verso.