Cinema has a thousand fathers, all of them labored
at nearly the same time to create the illusion of pictures moving. In the last part of the nineteenth century the illusionists began capturing brief events in “moving” pictures.
It wouldn’t become cinema until the events evolved into stories in the first part of the twentieth century. Innovators in England, France, Germany, and America all contributed significantly to the history of cinema.
Only Hollywood became synonymous with Cinema.
None of this would have been possible without Peter Mark Roget (1779-1879). One day, while peering through venetian blinds, Dr. Roget observed carts on the street moving in jerky procession. He reasoned the effect was caused by the venetian blinds’ interruption of vision.
The series of stationary images when joined as one created an impression of continuous movement. He developed his observation into a paper which he presented to the Royal Society: The Persistence of Vision with Regard to Moving Objects.
Every “moving” picture since is indebted to Dr. Roget’s observation.
Mechanical devices making use of the effect proliferated. Most were toys. Many still are. I remember a fat, 5”x5”x2” comic book from my youth. It was called a flip-book. When flipped through, tiny drawings at the upper right corner would come to life. Even though Micky Mouse movies were around
at the time, this simple throwback still had its charm.
The eighteenth-century toys remained toys until electricity and ongoing advancements in technology made cinema possible.
Prototypes paved the way. Eadweard Muybridge’s serial photographs of running horses and dancing ladies preceded celluloid strips of motion-picture film. The still images projected by magic lanterns preceded action images on cinema projectors. Stereoscopes preceded 3-D cinematography – though the movie version’s annoying red/green glasses have yet to be improved.
Silent films learned how to talk. Black & white films became flushed with color. Green-screens and digital animation made it possible for impossibilities to appear realistically real. Even so, technology can’t make a boring story interesting. Classic silent films like Nosferatu will always be more compelling than special-effect extravaganzas like Godzilla vs. Kong.
Technology can make a good story better but only when it’s used in service of the perfect compination of: Story, Director, Actor, and Great Cinematography. When this corporation of SDAC clicks they make great Cinema - reliably. Why is this reliable formula so often ignored?
The same studios that produce Junk also produce Art.
Don’t they know the difference? Don’t they care?
Of course they know the difference, and of course they care. Time allotted, funding available, and the huge complexity of film-making conspire against the best of intentions.
It takes millions of dollars and an army of individuals to make a single feature-length film. Things go wrong. How could they not? It’s surprising Art is ever achieved.
Rembrandt had to worry about paint, brushes, patrons, and canvas. Cinematic Art has to worry about more than can be reliably kept track of, including bad weather and accidents.
Directors are often thought of as artists of cinemagraphic art. That’s misleading. Artists and Directors are separated by a big difference.
Rembrandt didn’t have to ask anyone about how he should paint. Individual artists and writers work as they please.
Directors have to please studio moguls, producers, accountants, and nervous investors.
If they can manage all that - then they can please themselves.
Despite the difficulties, Art in the form of great films, does get made.
How this happens is a mystery. If it weren’t
a mystery it might be done all the time. Great films seem guided by providence beyond human understanding.
Production for the film, Apocalypse Now, was famously racked by interminable setbacks: hurricane, equipment failure, broken promises, bad scheduling, script-writer mutinies, a grossly fat Marlon Brando, and the heart-attack of Martin Sheen.
The final film bore little resemblance to the film planned.
It was better than planned. Why? How?
Is there a ghost in the machinery of cinema that guides certain films to excellence, while dooming other films to junk? It’s an inexplicable explanation. Maybe like the poet, Homer, Directors should call upon the Muse to guide their work
to glorious fulfillment.
There are few works of Great Cinema. Those few makeup for all the rest.
Cinematic storytelling at its best outperforms any other form of Art.