Cinematograph
Cinematograph 1 by Steven Mayerson
The Cinema is a vast, mostly unexplored realm. It has a century-long recorded history that has become partially accessible to anyone with a DVD or VCR. Most people, even cinephiles, have at best explored film history only slightly. Many countries have produced documentaries, propaganda, animation, entertainment, short subjects, and “ephemeral” productions, since the birth of the film medium.
To get a sense of the number of films available think about one category — animation. Major studios like MGM and Warner Brothers produced thousands of cartoon features and shorts. There are also extensive catalogues produced by lesser-known animation studios like Fleischer and Ub Iwerks. In addition to these works, the cinephile can explore the numerous sound and silent cartoons produced by foreign studios and thousands of commercial and experimental films that have been independently made.
The sheer volume of material available makes it almost impossible to see more than a tiny portion of the available films. With interest, research and tenacity we can explore this vast realm filled with surprises and hidden gems.
I consider myself an interested explorer of Film History. As a young teenager I discovered the Granada Organ Loft in West Seattle, an old movie palace with gilded decorations and velvet curtains that showed only silent films. At the start of each show, an illuminated keyboard console rose majestically from the floor. The keyboard was connected to a pipe organ on the right side of the screen and a baby grand on the left side. The keyboard play could play either instrument or both at once, and had access to a gong, a siren, a bell, and gizmos that produced novelty effects.
I was usually the only young person in the whole theatre. The regulars occasionally gave me odd looks but I didn’t care; I knew that this was a rare chance to see silent movies as they were originally presented. There was no inappropriate piano score tacked onto the film like I had seen on T.V. Talented, professional accompanists were hired from all over the country to play music to the image and the action on the screen. I loved it. For one night at a time, I could be transported to another era.
One of my favorite discoveries was The Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney. I was delighted to see that parts of the film were tinted to match the scene. When the phantom’s mask was ripped off, the entire screen turned red, enhancing the weird effect.
When I saw these films presented as they were meant to be seen, I realized that silent films could be further improved by changing the way I looked at them. If I slowed down and accustomed myself to the slower pace of silent films, they became much more fun to watch. It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It has also been said that when you change the way you look at something, what you look at changes.
The advent of home viewing is a two-edged sword. Yes, it allows us access to the available films, but even “giant” plasma screens and surround sound systems can not duplicate the immersive experience that a cinema creates. It is much more difficult to be “lost in the picture”. At home, there are endless distractions, including conversations, and at the same time, the crowd ambience of a cinema is absent. These factors affect the way we experience a motion picture.
Perception is an amazing process. Visiting a museum can be a lot like seeing a movie, as I discovered when I visited the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in around 1971. We usually move past a series of canvases arranged for a visitor’s enjoyment, and on this occasion, I enjoyed looking at many rewarding and challenging paintings, but then arrived at one which left me feeling nothing. It just hadn’t registered, so I moved on to the next one, but then I thought maybe I had just not seen that painting, so I went back for another look.
The painting was by the Surrealist Matta. It was the same mass of amorphous brush strokes I had seen before, but I was determined to see it, so I just stood and stared. After awhile, something amazing started to happen. The transparent brush strokes coalesced into a hill, and then a tree appeared, then a tunnel, and finally a cave, until my attention arrived back at the top of the hill. The painting blossomed right before my eyes!
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned from this amazing experience. We take perception for granted, as if we understood the process, but it is really a fluid and mysterious event. We see through individual “rose colored glasses” tinted by our accumulated visual, emotional, and educational experiences. Of course some people’s glasses are tinted pea green or black, similarly affecting their perception. That’s why two different people can look at the same picture and see completely different images. It is also true that other factors affect our perception. Even the food we’ve just eaten or the stress we may be experiencing can do the same.
This fact was brought into focus the next time I went to the same exhibition. I stood again in front of the same Painting by Matta and I could not make the tree or the tunnel or the cave appear, even though I knew they were there!
There is passive looking and there is active looking. Often I’m content to be a passive movie watcher, but sitting down and being an active viewer can bring to light a whole new level of meaning to a work. This happens when we look at the symbolism of a film and pay attention to what the film makers are doing with lighting, music design and other cinematic ingredients. Films rich in symbolism and original technique, like Fritz Lang's “Metropolis,” are rewarding to explore from an informed perspective. In next month's Cinematograph, I will share some of my insights into Lang's tour de force.
The Cinema is a vast, mostly unexplored realm. It has a century-long recorded history that has become partially accessible to anyone with a DVD or VCR. Most people, even cinephiles, have at best explored film history only slightly. Many countries have produced documentaries, propaganda, animation, entertainment, short subjects, and “ephemeral” productions, since the birth of the film medium.
To get a sense of the number of films available think about one category — animation. Major studios like MGM and Warner Brothers produced thousands of cartoon features and shorts. There are also extensive catalogues produced by lesser-known animation studios like Fleischer and Ub Iwerks. In addition to these works, the cinephile can explore the numerous sound and silent cartoons produced by foreign studios and thousands of commercial and experimental films that have been independently made.
The sheer volume of material available makes it almost impossible to see more than a tiny portion of the available films. With interest, research and tenacity we can explore this vast realm filled with surprises and hidden gems.
I consider myself an interested explorer of Film History. As a young teenager I discovered the Granada Organ Loft in West Seattle, an old movie palace with gilded decorations and velvet curtains that showed only silent films. At the start of each show, an illuminated keyboard console rose majestically from the floor. The keyboard was connected to a pipe organ on the right side of the screen and a baby grand on the left side. The keyboard play could play either instrument or both at once, and had access to a gong, a siren, a bell, and gizmos that produced novelty effects.
I was usually the only young person in the whole theatre. The regulars occasionally gave me odd looks but I didn’t care; I knew that this was a rare chance to see silent movies as they were originally presented. There was no inappropriate piano score tacked onto the film like I had seen on T.V. Talented, professional accompanists were hired from all over the country to play music to the image and the action on the screen. I loved it. For one night at a time, I could be transported to another era.
One of my favorite discoveries was The Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney. I was delighted to see that parts of the film were tinted to match the scene. When the phantom’s mask was ripped off, the entire screen turned red, enhancing the weird effect.
When I saw these films presented as they were meant to be seen, I realized that silent films could be further improved by changing the way I looked at them. If I slowed down and accustomed myself to the slower pace of silent films, they became much more fun to watch. It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It has also been said that when you change the way you look at something, what you look at changes.
The advent of home viewing is a two-edged sword. Yes, it allows us access to the available films, but even “giant” plasma screens and surround sound systems can not duplicate the immersive experience that a cinema creates. It is much more difficult to be “lost in the picture”. At home, there are endless distractions, including conversations, and at the same time, the crowd ambience of a cinema is absent. These factors affect the way we experience a motion picture.
Perception is an amazing process. Visiting a museum can be a lot like seeing a movie, as I discovered when I visited the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in around 1971. We usually move past a series of canvases arranged for a visitor’s enjoyment, and on this occasion, I enjoyed looking at many rewarding and challenging paintings, but then arrived at one which left me feeling nothing. It just hadn’t registered, so I moved on to the next one, but then I thought maybe I had just not seen that painting, so I went back for another look.
The painting was by the Surrealist Matta. It was the same mass of amorphous brush strokes I had seen before, but I was determined to see it, so I just stood and stared. After awhile, something amazing started to happen. The transparent brush strokes coalesced into a hill, and then a tree appeared, then a tunnel, and finally a cave, until my attention arrived back at the top of the hill. The painting blossomed right before my eyes!
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned from this amazing experience. We take perception for granted, as if we understood the process, but it is really a fluid and mysterious event. We see through individual “rose colored glasses” tinted by our accumulated visual, emotional, and educational experiences. Of course some people’s glasses are tinted pea green or black, similarly affecting their perception. That’s why two different people can look at the same picture and see completely different images. It is also true that other factors affect our perception. Even the food we’ve just eaten or the stress we may be experiencing can do the same.
This fact was brought into focus the next time I went to the same exhibition. I stood again in front of the same Painting by Matta and I could not make the tree or the tunnel or the cave appear, even though I knew they were there!
There is passive looking and there is active looking. Often I’m content to be a passive movie watcher, but sitting down and being an active viewer can bring to light a whole new level of meaning to a work. This happens when we look at the symbolism of a film and pay attention to what the film makers are doing with lighting, music design and other cinematic ingredients. Films rich in symbolism and original technique, like Fritz Lang's “Metropolis,” are rewarding to explore from an informed perspective. In next month's Cinematograph, I will share some of my insights into Lang's tour de force.