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The Focal Point. None of these problems invalidates the French theory. Film has all but replaced the novel as the chief topic of cultural talk on the campus and at many cocktail parties. Audiences as well as critics need someone to praise or blame for the total product. Given that need—and his new intellectual credentials—the director has become the focal point of film making. Henry Hathaway (True Grit), Howard Hawks (Red River) and John Ford (Cheyenne Autumn) have been reappraised as the prime movers of the west ern. Alfred Hitchcock has been called an eminent psychologist for his shrewd manipulation of audiences as well as actors. Some of the praise seems fulsome: Jerry Lewis has been compared favorably with Ingmar Bergman and Orson Welles. Still, general acceptance of the auteur theory has given American directors new power with major studios and fresh rapport with audiences. Though no American film maker has yet achieved the stature of Italy's Visconti or Britain's David Lean, a handful seem to be well on their way: ∙ ARTHUR PENN. A product of television and stage work, Penn successfully brought his Broadway hit, The Miracle Worker, to the screen. At first, he proved better at transferring than at creating. His early experiment, The Left-Handed Gun, starring a self-conscious Paul Newman as Billy the Kid, paid heavy homage to the Actors Studio. Mickey One was a sedulously Francophilic film with Warren Beatty in the unlikely role of Everyman. But both movies displayed a moral force and a growing understanding of the possibilities of film. With Bonnie and Clyde, Penn abruptly became an internationally recognized film maker. In his newest film, Alice's Restaurant, Penn gives visual substance to Mocking-Bard Arlo Guthrie's instant-hit record of last year. Penn currently is working on Little Big Man, a study of the contemporary American Indian, with Dustin Hoffman in the title role. ∙ STANLEY KUBRICK. A favorite of the French theorists, Kubrick ironically has the most difficulty fitting their procrustean bed. His films are alike only in their lapidary craftsmanship and strong visual sense. At his best, Kubrick created America's finest antiwar movie, Paths of Glory. At his worst, in Lolita, he flattened Nabokov's Krafft-Ebing satire and missed the author's parody of motel Americana. With the innovative successes of Dr. Strangelove and 2001, he recouped much of his prestigé. Still, there remains some doubt as to whether Kubrick has retained his ability to create characters of psychological breadth and substance. His newest project—a life of Napoleon—should answer that question. Orson Welles' old appraisal still holds: "Kubrick is a great director who has not yet made his great film." ∙ MIKE NICHOLS. Unlike Kubrick and Perm, Nichols arrived in Hollywood with formidable riches and reputation. As an entertainer he had been (with Elaine May) a cutting satirist. As a Broadway director he was known as a Midas: everything he directed became a hit. His first film, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, proved to be an erratic success notable for its mature dialogue and some puerile performances. By comparison, The Graduate was as mixed as its reviews. Only the audience was unanimous: box office grosses totalled over $50 million. Now completing Catch-22, Nichols seems to have recognized his past errors. "It