Karin Littau’s essay on the most famous Lumière brothers film, Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat (1895), makes the argument that the significance of the film comes from the visceral physical response it inspired in those who saw it at the time of its release. Littau draws intriguing comparisons between the cinema of the past and the cinema of today- both the kinds of films released, and the spaces in which a spectator could view them, writing, “the Cinématographe was in full view, rattling noisily, and producing black-and-white pictures, which were not only very grainy but also flickered annoyingly… films were not projected in utter silence,” (30-31). I think that, as Littau alludes to, we take much of the contemporary cinematic experience for granted; modern movie theaters feature gigantic screens, hidden and silent digital projectors, plush seats (sometimes even full recliners), and a dark and quiet atmosphere. It seems as though today, nearly every aspect of how we experience a movie in theaters is controlled by the socially-acceptable assumption that a film screening is to be immersive, magical, and suspended between reality and imagination.
Littau muses on the question proposed by Yuri Tsivian: “did film have a kind of direct impact then… that is now forever lost to us?” (31). If the Lumière brothers were able to elicit such a dramatic and physical response to their films, shown in a way that made absolutely no attempt to transport viewers away from the noisy, smelly, loud modern world, it is perhaps a testament less to their skills as filmmakers and more to the sheer power the invention of cinema had over its first audiences. I wonder if cinemas now seek to supplement that first original experience with amenities; knowing that they will never be able to reproduce such a shocking and electrifying experience, I suppose it is all one can do to attempt to compensate with armchairs and air-conditioning.
No comments