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Film provides an alternative medium for assessing our interpretations of cultural icons. This selective list looks at the film and video sources for information on and interpretations of the life of Woody Guthrie.

China is the one of the biggest producers and consumers of alcohol in the world. With as many secrets as there are languages, we take a unique look at the drinking habits of a country yet to come to terms with increasing alcohol problems. David Arthur presents for the first time findings from his pioneering research into Chinese drinking habits and their cautious moves in dealing with its consequences.

This paper describes the personal history and intellectual development of Morris B. Holbrook (MBH), a participant in the field of marketing academics in general and consumer research in particular.

The paper pursues an approach characterized by historical autoethnographic subjective personal introspection or HASPI.

The paper reports the personal history of MBH and – via HASPI – interprets various aspects of key participants and major themes that emerged over the course of his career.

The main implication is that every scholar in the field of marketing pursues a different light, follows a unique path, plays by idiosyncratic rules, and deserves individual attention, consideration, and respect … like a cat that carries its own leash.

In the case of MBH, like (say) a jazz musician, whatever value he might have depends on his originality.

Reflecting on the contingencies and felicitous moments of life and career, a senior scholar celebrates the intellectual community and friends that inspired and sustained his efforts.

The silhouette of the little fellow with baggy trousers, decrepit oversize shoes, undersize derby, frayed short cutaway, sporting a bamboo cane and jet black mustache is recognized worldwide. Charlie Chaplin's slight 5′ 4″ stature complemented that costume, his symbol for a lifetime. Hunched shoulders, sorrowful face, and frightened air made Charlie look all the more vulnerable. As early as 1916, the reputable English magazine Tatler commented, “The lineaments of Mr. Chaplin are known to the uttermost ends of the earth and his face may be described as one upon which the sun never sets.”

The deadhead subculture – centered around the band Grateful Dead – has been active for 50+ years. Despite its longevity, academic work is sparse compared to other music subcultures. Given its durability and resilience, this subculture offers an opportunity to explore subcultural development and maintenance. I employ a contemporary, symbolic interactionist approach to trace the development of deadhead subculture and subcultural identity. Although identity is a basic concept in subculture research, it is not well defined: I suggest that the co-creation and maintenance of subcultural identity can be seen as a dialectic between collective identity and symbolic interactionist conceptions of individual role-identity.

THERE were three of us—Cranmer, Bannerman and I— the local field strength of the diminutive PANJANDRUM OIL COMPANY; a miniature Dad's Army, a thin red line protecting the Company's flanks from the attacks of the insidious majors in a continuing David and Goliath confrontation, and occasionally fixing bayonets for a charge into the enemy positions. “They don't like it up 'em, you know!” is Bannerman's standard wry comment on such a sortie. Today we were jostling among the noon‐day drinkers in Willoughby's, like drought‐maddened cattle at some dusty African water‐hole, bespeaking a moist luncheon and getting our suits pressed in situ, as it were, into the bargain. Passing a drink from that bar to the rear ranks was about as easy as working a ball out of a tight scrum. Performing astonishing feats of dexterity Cranmer nevertheless presently emerged through the legs of the thronging patrons, thrusting upon me not only the expected foaming pinta, but also an unexpected whisky chaser; a devious act of generosity patently intended to compromise me into some corresponding response not yet specified. I took the benison with some misgiving and drank thoughtfully. “You do owe me a favour, you know, Antrobus!” he declared, a shade reprovingly, taking a long draught and watching my changed expression closely—and it was, of course, true. If that amazon of a matron with the faintly drawn Mexican moustache and parturient beard had discovered me in the nurses' quarters after the party … my future would not have been worth an old five gallon drum.