Introduction Near dusk, on the evening of September 30, 1955, a telephone rang at the main gate of Warner Brothers Studios. When the guard on duty answered, a woman on the other end said that she was calling from Paso Robles War Memorial Hospital. Speaking calmly, without emotion, she told him that an actor who worked at the studio, James Dean, had been killed that evening in a car accident. Though Dean had starred in a mere three films and only one -- East of Eden -- had been released at that point, the guard knew who he was. The untamed young actor's reputation in the industry was growing much faster than his film resume. And only a few days earlier, he had been stopped by security for speeding around the lot in his brand-new Porsche and told never to drive there again because he might kill somebody.Immediately after hanging up the phone, the guard called Warners' publicity department, and word began to spread throughout town. "It was like a strange wind that came right through the streets of Hollywood," said screenwriter Stewart Stern about the news. And that wind blew quickly through Dean's favorite hangouts: Googie's diner, the Villa Capri, the Chateau Marmont. It cast a pall over that evening's black-tie functions: the Whisper Ball, sponsored by Jane Russell's new World Adoption International Fund, and the Deb Star Ball, a beauty pageant hosted by the town's makeup artists and hairstylists. At the Deb Star Ball guests thumbing through the official program were stunned to find a full-page ad that Dean had taken out thanking his makeup artist, which featured nothing but a close-up of Dean's eyes staring back at them. When the wire services got hold of the story, radio and TV stations around the country interrupted their programs to announce Dean's death to his growing legion of fans, young people who had responded enthusiastically to their first emotionally wrenching encounter with him in East of Eden.Despite the immediate sense of shock and loss that accompanied the news, Dean's death might not necessarily have gone on to become such an enduring tragedy on the basis of East of Eden alone. After all, Dean's career had only just begun, and he wasn't the first young promising actor who would never get the chance to fulfill his potential. His sudden demise might have been just another sad story in a town full of sad stories, eventually fading away like a bad Technicolor print or a once-famous star of the silent screen. But the image of Dean was about to seep deeper into the public consciousness when, less than a month after his fatal accident, Warner Brothers released his second film -- Rebel Without a Cause.Almost immediately, Dean's image became inseparable from Jim Stark, the character he played in Rebel. With his white T-shirt, blue jeans and red jacket, Dean was instantly transformed into an adolescent ideal. His magnificent confusion, pained fragility, sexiness and even his narcissism made Jim Stark the template for teen rebellion. In fact, in many ways, Rebel Without a Cause invented the teenager.Largely because of his work in Rebel, James Dean remains an undeniable force half a century after his death. But Dean's presence is not the only reason for the film's continuing relevance. Rebel Without a Cause asserted a romantic, mythic notion of adolescence that remains with us, that colors the way we see our own youth. And its preeminence resulted from the intense interactions of many fresh, raw-nerved personalities who came together at critical junctures in their lives and careers, including actors Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo and fledgling screenwriter Stewart Stern. Even the film's young supporting players -- who portrayed the various gang members -- contributed to the film's authenticity. But more than anyone, it was director Nicholas Ray who continually stoked Rebel's fire.The forty-three-year-old Ray was so