Early cinema in Russia and its cultural reception 9780415726542, 0415726549, 9780415838658, 0415838657, 9781315852010, 1315852012, 9781315855660, 1315855666

Table of contents :
Content: Foreword Tom Gunning Introduction Part 1 1. Early Cinema Architecture and the Evolution of the Social Composition of Cinema 2. Projection Technique as a Factor in Aesthetic Perception 3. The Acoustics of Cinema Performance 4. The Reception of Interference Part 2 5. Shifting Textual Boundaries 6. The Reception of the Moving Image 7. The Reception of Narrative Categories 8. The Reception of Narrative Devices. Postscript

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EA R LY CINEMA IN RUSSIA AND ITS CU LTU R AL RECEPTION Yuri Tsivian Translated by Alan Bodger Edited by Richard Taylor

ROUTLEDGE LIBRARY EDITIONS: CINEMA

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R O U T L E D G E L IB RARY ED ITIO NS : CIN EM A

Volume 37

EA R LY C IN E M A IN RU SSIA A N D ITS C U L T U R A L R E C E P T IO N

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EARLY CINEMA IN RUSSIA AND ITS CULTURAL RECEPTION

Y U R I T SIV IA N Translated by A LA N BOD GER Edited by R IC H A R D TAY LOR

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Routledge Taylor & Francis Group

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published in English in 1994 This edition first published in 2014 by Routledge 2 Park Square, M ilton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, 0X 14 4R N Simultaneously published in the USA and C anada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, N Y 10017 Routledge is an imprint o f the Taylor & Francis Group, an inform a business © 1991, 1994 Yuri Tsivian © 1994 Routledge, translation All rights reserved. No part o f this book m ay be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, w ithout permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be tradem arks o r registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation w ithout intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-0-415-83865-8 (Set) elSBN: 978-1-315-85201-0 (Set) ISBN: 978-0-415-72654-2 (Volume 37) elSBN: 978-1-315-85566-0 (Volume 37) Publisher’s Note The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality o f this book but points out that some imperfections from the original m ay be apparent.

Disclaimer The publisher has m ade every effort to trace copyright holders and would welcome correspondence from those they have been unable to trace.

Early Cinema in Russia and its Cultural Reception

Yuri Tsivian Translated by Alan Bodger with a foreword by Tom Gunning Edited by Richard Taylor

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London and New York

First published in Russian in 1991 as The H istory o f Film R eception: Cinema in Russia, 1896-1930 by Zinatne Publishers, Riga, Latvia Revised English Language edition translated by Alan Bodger first published 1994 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Sim ultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 © 1991, 1994 Yuri Tsivian Translation © 1994 Routledge Typeset in Tim es by Ponting-G reen Publishing Services, Chcsham , Bucks Printed and bound in G reat B ritain by B iddles Ltd, G uildford and Kingslynn All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, m echanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any inform ation storage or retrieval system , w ithout perm ission in w riting from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Tsivian, Yuri Early Cinem a in Russia and Its Cultural Reception. (Soviet Cinem a Series) 1. Title. II. Bodger, Alan III. Series 791.430947 Library o f Congress C ataloging-in-Publication Data Tsivian, Yuri. flstoricheskaia retseptsiia kino. English) Early cinem a in Russia and its cultural reception / Yuri Tsivian; translated by Alan Bodger. p. cm. Rev. ed. of: Istoricheskaia retseptsiia kino. 1991. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. M otion pictures-R ussia (Federation)-H istory. 2. M otion pictures audiences-R ussia (Federation)-H istory. 3. M otion pictures-R ussia (Federation)-A ppreciation. I. Title. PN 1993.5.R9T7713 1994 791.43'0947-dc20 94-2200 ISBN 0 -4 1 5 -0 7 1 3 5 -6

For Roman Timenehik

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Contents

L ist o f illustrations G eneral ed ito rs’ preface A cknow ledgem ents A bbreviations Note on transliteratio n , translation and the R ussian calendar Forew ord Tom G unning Introduction

viii ix xi xiii xiv xv 1

PART I 1

E arly cinem a architecture and the evolution o f the social com position o f cinem a

15

2

P rojection technique as a facto r in aesthetic p erception

49

3

The acoustics o f cinem a p erform ance

78

4

The reception o f interference

104

PART II 5

Shifting textual boundaries

125

6

The reception o f the m oving im age

135

7

The reception o f n arrative categories

162

8

The reception o f n arrative devices

177

Postscript N otes B ibliography Index

216 218 249 265

Illustrations

(B etw een pp. 6 6 -7 7 ) 1 The S plendid-P alace cin em a in R iga 2 The V ulcan cinem a in M oscow : several houses knocked into one auditorium 3 The long auditorium 4 A dvertisem ent for the Just Like Paris cinem a in St P etersb u rg 5 The rectangular period o f cinem a arch itectu re: the AT in R iga 6 The rectangular period o f cinem a architecture: the S h an tser in Kiev 7 The foyer o f the M arble Palace 8 A dvertisem ent for the Saturn in St P etersb u rg , 1913 (B etw een pp. 1 3 8 -4 3 ) 9 A nna K arenina [1914]: the tragic heroine co n tem p lates h er destiny 10 Satirical view s o f cinem a (a ) M. M ik h ailo v ’s 1910 caricatu re o f c in e m a ’s ‘im possible ju x ta p o sitio n s’: Lev Tolstoy and G lupyshkin (the R ussian nam e for the French com edian, A ndré D eed) (b ) P. W .’s view o f a ‘ty p ic a l’ scene from a 1910 film, the ‘dan ce o f the A p ach es’ (c ) 1. S tep an o v ’s 1913 depictio n o f the ‘em b a rra sse d ’ view er stealing incognito into the ‘electric th e a tre ’ 11 ‘C in em a’s dispute w ith th e a tre ’, from the jo u rn a l Theatre a n d A r t, 1914 (B etw een pp. 2 1 4 -1 5 ) 12 Film posters (a ) A W ild Force [D ikaya sila, 1916] (b ) L ife is a M om ent, A rt is F o rever [Z h izn ’ - m ig, Iskusstvo - vechno, 1916], starring Ivan M osjoukine (c ) The A b yss [B ezdna, 1917] (d ) M a rried by Satan [V enchal ikh S atana, 1917] (e ) The A utum n o f a W oman [O sen’ zhenshchiny, 1917] (f) We A re N ot G uilty o f T h eir B lo o d ! [V ikh krovi my nep o v in n y !, 1917]

General editors’ preface

C inem a has been the predom inant p opular art form o f the first h alf o f the tw entieth century, at least in E urope and N orth A m erica. N ow here was this m ore apparent than in the fo rm er S oviet U nion, w here L enin's rem ark that 'o f all the arts for us cinem a is the m ost im p o rtan t’ becam e a cliché and where cinem a attendances w ere until recently still am ong the highest in the w orld. In the age o f m ass politics Soviet cinem a d eveloped from a fragile but effective tool to gain support am ong the o v erw helm ingly illiterate peasant m asses in the C ivil W ar that follow ed the O ctober 1917 R evolution, through a w elter o f ex p erim en tatio n , into a m ass w eapon o f p ropaganda through entertainm ent that shaped the public im age o f the Soviet Union - both at hom e and abroad and for both élite and m ass audiences - and latterly into an instrum ent to expose the w eaknesses o f the past and present in the twin processes o f g lasno st and perestroika. Now the n ational cinem as o f the successor republics to the old USSR are encountering the sam e bew ildering array o f problem s, from the trivial to the term inal, as all the o th er ex-S oviet institutions. C in em a’s central position in R ussian and Soviet cultural h istory and its unique com bination o f m ass m edium , art form and entertain m en t industry have m ade it a continuing battlefield for conflicts o f broader ideological and artistic significance, not only for R ussia and the Soviet Union but also for the w orld outside. The d ebates that raged in the 1920s about the relative revolutionary m erits o f d ocum entary as opposed to fiction film, o f cinem a as opposed to theatre or painting, or o f the proper role o f cinem a in the forging o f post-R evolutionary Soviet culture and the shaping o f the new S oviet m an, have their echoes in cu rren t d iscussions about the role o f cinem a vis-à-vis o th er art form s in effectin g the cu ltural and p sychological revo lu tio n in hum an co nsciousness n ecessitated by the p rocesses o f econom ic and political tran sfo rm atio n o f the fo rm er S oviet U nion into m odern dem ocratic and industrial societies and states governed by the rule o f law. C in e m a ’s central position has also m ade it a vital instrum ent for scru tin isin g the blank pages o f R ussian and Soviet h istory and enabling the present generation to com e to term s w ith its ow n past.

x

General editors’ preface

T his series o f books intends to exam ine R ussian and S oviet film s in the co n tex t o f R ussian and S oviet cinem a, and R ussian and S oviet cin em a in the co n tex t o f the political and cu ltu ral h isto ry o f R ussia, the S oviet U nion and the w orld at large. W ithin that fram ew ork the series, draw in g its auth o rs from both E ast and W est, aim s to co v er a w ide variety o f topics and to em ploy a broad range o f m eth o d o lo g ical ap p ro ach es and p resen ta tio n a l fo rm ats. Inevitably this will involve p loughing once again o v er old ground in o rder to re-exam ine receiv ed o p in io n s but it p rin cip ally m eans in creasin g the breadth and depth o f our k now ledge, finding new answ ers to old q u estio n s and, above all, raising new q u estio n s for fu rth e r e n q u iry and new areas fo r fu rth er research. Yuri T sivian’s book fulfils several o f these o b jectiv es and opens up tw o m ajor fields o f enquiry. O n the one hand, it brings to o u r atten tio n one o f the great lost periods in cinem a history, that o f /»-^-R evolutionary R ussia, against m uch o f w hich /w if-R e v o lu tio n ary S o v iet cin em a w as enjo in ed to react. T sivian draw s out the d istin ctiv e c h aracteristics o f that cinem a, from the specific m eaning o f close-ups to the in sisten ce on ««happy en d in g s, from the am biguous significance o f the foyer to the p erv ad in g influence o f S ym bolism and its p ecu liar obsessions. On the oth er hand, as Tom G unning points out in his forew ord, T sivian takes recep tio n stu d ies fu rth er than they have previously been taken by W estern academ ics by ex p an d in g the co n tex t o f reception to include the w hole ex perience o f film view ing in R ussia at the turn o f the century. T his in turn raises new q u estio n s that can be app lied back to reception studies o f cinem a in oth er co u n tries. T siv ian ’s book is th erefo re a significant contribu tio n to the study o f cinem a histo ry as a w hole. T he continuing aim o f the series is to situate R ussian and S oviet cinem a in th eir proper historical and aesthetic con tex t, both as a m ajor cu ltural force in R ussian history and Soviet politics and as a cru cib le for ex p erim en tatio n that is o f central significance to the dev elo p m en t o f w orld cinem a culture. B ooks in the series strive to com bine the best o f sch o larsh ip , p ast, present and future, w ith a style o f w riting that is accessible to a broad readership, w hether that read ersh ip ’s p rim ary interest lies in cinem a or in R ussian and S oviet political history. R ichard T aylor and Ian C hristie

Acknowledgements

T he title o f this book - E arly C inem a in R ussia a n d its C u ltu ra l R eception cam e about as a last-m inute decision. The R ussian original w as entitled The H istory o f F ilm R eception: C inem a in R ussia, 1 8 9 6 -1 9 3 0 , and was about tw ice the length o f the present volum e, w hich covers a sh o rter tim e-span. This accounts for the shrinkage: rather than com press the w hole silent period into 100,000 w ords, I follow ed R ichard T ay lo r’s suggestion and cut out the 1920s, on the assum ption that the Soviet period m ust be m ore fam iliar to the W estern reader. My story now ends in 1920 - the last y ear o f private film production in Russia. The change o f the key word w as prom pted by a letter from Tom G unning, to whom I had the nerve to send the E nglish version o f this book as soon as the m anuscript w as (or so 1 thought) ready to be show n to anyone. T ogether with other kind suggestions (w hich the read er w ill find integrated in the book), Tom G unning observed that the term 'rec e p tio n ' as used by W estern film scholars has a d ifferen t shade o f m eaning from m ine, w hich is based on the w ay reception is traditio n ally understood w ithin R ussian cu ltural studies. B ecause G u n n in g ’s letter defines this variance in approach as liberating rather than co nfusing, I decided to let the term ‘recep tio n ’ stay as it is, ju st specifying it as ‘c u ltu ra l’. I am profoundly indebted to Tom for this and other valuable suggestions. I cannot list all those to w hom 1 am indebted for the preparation o f the R ussian version o f this book, but I m ust ju st m ention the nam es o f my c o ­ authors on other w orks: R om an T im enchik, w ith whom I w as privileged to work on an anthology o f R ussian articles and poetry on cinem a from 1896 to 1917 and w hose su g gestions the reader will recognise ex ungue leonem', M ikhail Yam polsky, w hose know ledge o f W estern film culture helped me better understand film culture in R u ssia; and Yuri L otm an, w hose c o n v er­ sations - I w ould like to hope - have influenced my vision o f cu ltural history. W ith only one exception, the sta ff o f the archive collections m entioned in the list o f abbreviations readily assisted me in my searches. I should like to express my gratitude to the sta ff o f w hat w ere then called the C entral Film M useum in M oscow, the State Film A rchive o f the USSR [G osfilm ofond],

xii

Acknowledgements

and to the highly efficient and know ledgeable archivists at the C entral State A rchive o f Literature and A rt o f the USSR. For the English version, my gratitude goes to my translator Alan B odger for his helpful suggestions, his excellent R ussian and his patience with the neurotic author. R ichard Taylor is to be thanked for all these things as well, and also for his clever guidance through the stages o f bringing this book to fruition. Bruno and Zanete A scuki, Zenta Au/.ina, Boris Avramets, Eileen Bowser, Stephen B ottom ore, Ben Brew ster, Paolo C herchi U sai, Andrei Chernyshev, M arietta C hudakova, H aralds Elceris, M ikhail Gasparov, Julian G raffy, M iriam H ansen, Chris H orak, Naum K leim an, Nat K lipper, Hiroshi K om atsu, Albin K onechny, A leksander Lavrov, G eorgi L evinton, O lga M atich, Lina M ikhelson, V iktoria M ylnikova, N atasha N usinova, A leksandr O spovat, Irina Paperno, Tatyana Pavlova, Inga Perkone, Jayne Pilling, Kathy Porter, David Shepard, Svetlana Skovorodnikova, Yevgeni Toddes, Lyubov Z am yshlyayeva and R ashit Yangirov are am ong those who kindly helped me with different things at different stages. And I am infinitely indebted to the Pordenone Silent Film Festival - its organisers as well as its regulars, o f whose collective m ind I am proud to feel m yself a part. Yuri Tsivian

Abbreviations

GAP

GBL GFF GIK GPB

IMLI

IRLI

LGALI LGITM IK

MKhAT RKM RLM TsGALI TsGIAL TsMK VGIK

A rkhiv G lavnogo arkhitekturno-planirovochnogo upravleniya Rizhskogo gorispolkom a [A rchive o f the A rchitectural and Planning D epartm ent of the Riga M unicipal E xecutive C om m ittee] Otdel rukopisei G osudarstvennoi biblioteki imeni V. I. Lenina [M anuscript D epartm ent o f the Lenin State Library] (M oscow) G osudarstvennyi fil’movyi fond SSSR (G osfilm ofond) [State Film Archive o f the USSR] (M oscow) G osudarstvennyi institut kino [State C inem a Institute, 1930-4] G osudarstvennaya publichnaya biblioteka im eni M. E. SaltykovShchedrina [M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin State Public Library] (St Petersburg) O tdel rukopisei Instituta m irovoi literatury imeni A. M. G o r’kogo [M anuscript D epartm ent o f the A. M. G o r’kii Institute o f World Literature] (M oscow) Otdel rukopisei Instituta russkoi literatury (Pushkinskii Dom) [M anuscript D epartm ent o f the Institute o f Russian Literature (Pushkin House)] (St Petersburg) Leningradskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv literatury i iskusstva [Leningrad State A rchive o f Literature and Art] (St Petersburg) Leningradskii gosudarstvennyi institut tcatra, m uzyki i kino [Leningrad State Institute o f T heatre, M usic and Cinem a] (St Petersburg) M oskovskii khudozhestvennyi akadem icheskii teatr [M oscow Art Theatre] Rlgas kino m uzejs |R ig a C inem a M useum] Muzei istorii literatury i iskusstva im eni Ya. R ainisa [J. Rainis M useum o f the H istory o f Literature and Art] (R iga) T sentral’nyi gosudarstvennyi arkhiv literatury i iskusstva [Central State A rchive o f Literature and Art] (M oscow ) T sentral’nyi gosudarstvennyi istoricheskii arkhiv L eningrada [Leningrad Central State H istorical A rchive | T sentral’nyi m uzei kino SSSR [Central Film M useum o f the USSR] (M oscow) V sesoyuznyi gosudarstvennyi institut kino |A ll-U nion State Cinem a Institute, since 1934] (M oscow)

Note on transliteration, translation and the Russian calendar

T ransliteration from the C yrillic to the L atin alphabet is a peren n ial problem for w riters on R ussian subjects. We have opted for a dual system : in the text we have transliterated in a way that w ill, we hope, ren d er R ussian nam es and term s m ore accessible to the n o n -sp ecialist, w hile in the scholarly apparatus we have adhered to a m ore accu rate system fo r the sp ecialist. A ccepted E nglish spellings o f R ussian nam es have been used w herever po ssib le and R ussian nam es o f G erm anic o rigin have been retu rn ed to th eir roots. T he translation o f film titles poses p roblem s as R ussian does not have eith er an indefinite or a definite article. We have p referred to insert an article: hence The B attleship P o te m k in , The A rsen a l, etc. T he co n v en tio n by w hich S oviet films are know n by bald titles like E a rth , M other, S trike is itself arbitrary: consider, for exam ple, how C h e k h o v ’s plays have becom e know n in E nglish as The S ea g u ll and The C h erry O rch a rd, but Three Sisters. R ussia did not abandon the Ju lian ca le n d ar and rep lace it w ith the G regorian until F ebruary 1918. D ates in the R ussian c ale n d ar are therefore in the nineteenth century tw elve days, and in the tw en tieth cen tu ry until the chan ge thirteen days, ‘b e h in d ’ those in co u n tries that had ad o p ted the G regorian calendar earlier: hence the R evolution o f 25 O cto b er 1917 [O ld Style] took place on a date m arked elsew h ere as 7 N ovem ber. W here appropriate, both dates are given in the text.

Foreword Tom Gunning

In this m odest-seem in g volum e Yuri T sivian casts a probing beam o f illum ination into som e o f the most obscure areas o f film history. And the terrain he lights up with his careful assem bly and insightful reading o f the records o f early film view ing in R ussia not only changes our sense o f the history o f this period but also, I believe, causes us to re-evaluate som e o f our m ost basic theoretical and historical assum ptions about what a film is and how it affects its audiences. The territo ry Tsivian enters into here has rem ained basically uncharted for decades (at least in E nglish). F irst, he is dealing with cin em a's first tw o decades, a period which has only recently benefited from both thorough research and a theoretical perspective unclouded by narrow assum ptions o f organic evolution or sim ple narratives o f progress. In addition, Tsivian explores this previously ignored period in R ussia. For m ost W estern film h istorians R ussian film has sim ply been equated with S oviet cinem a, relegating the large num ber o f films made in R ussia before the O ctober R evolution to the status o f little-seen w orks against whose theatricality and decadence the m asters o f Soviet cinem a revolted. H ow ever in the last decade our sense o f the h istory o f R ussian films has been tran sfo rm ed , largely through the e ffo rts o f T sivian, w ho (aided by the historical factor o f glasnost and the heroic effo rts o f the M oscow film archives and a num ber o f W estern film enthusiasts) has brought to the W est the riches o f R ussian silent film and such forgotten film artists as Yevgeni Bauer. But Tsivian has chronicled the production background and the stylistic evolution o f R ussian films before the R evolution in his previous book S ilen t W itnesses: R ussian F ilm s 1908-1919. W ith this new book he m oves into another obscure aspect o f film history - that o f film reception, rath er than production. It is only recently that the concept o f reception has been directly addressed in both theoretical and historical studies, first in literature and then in the other arts. A lthough often tacitly assum ed, the co ntribution that a viewer, listener or reader o f a w ork o f art m akes to the final im pression w hich a work leaves in history has rarely form ed the central subject o f critical enquiry. A num ber o f scholars have begun to prow l through research m aterial in order to discover the factors that d eterm ined reception o f films in A m erican history

xvi

Foreword

including (am ong oth ers), Jan et S ta ig e r’s p io n eerin g w ork In terp retin g M ovies: Studies in the H isto rica l R eception o f A m erican C inem a, R oberta P earson’s and W illiam U ric c h io ’s research into the au d ien ces for early film and th eir cultural backgrounds and assum ptions, B arbara K lin g e r’s w ork on the way the m elodram as o f D ouglas Sirk w ere prepared for au d ien ces by p ublicity and understood by co n tem p o rary rev iew ers, Steve N e a l’s probing o f w hat genre term s actually m eant to d istrib u to rs and ex h ib ito rs d uring the sound era and, from a bold theo retical p o sitio n , M iriam H ansen’s in v estig a­ tion o f the public sphere o f A m erican silen t film , B a b el a n d B abylon: S pectatorship in A m erican S ilen t F ilm . 1 But, if Tsivian shares a basic area o f enq u iry and a n um ber o f assum ptions w ith these scholars, his disco v eries and even m ethods may prove su rprising to readers fam iliar w ith recent W estern studies in film recep tio n . To a large extent this is because the ex p erien ce o f film going that he inv estig ates takes on a different form from the d om inant m odes o f film recep tio n in the W est. It is perhaps o f m ore th eo retical in terest to note that T sivian uses the investigation o f reception to push our understan d in g o f the film text beyond its traditional borders. A nd, since he ex p lo res not only the official sources utilised in the W est (trade jo u rn a l ed ito rials and review s and o th e r form s o f jo u rn alism ) but also the w orks o f poets and nov elists, he uncovers a uniquely vivid picture o f the disco v ery o f cinem a, one that will strike readers both w ith its unusual intensity and, perhaps, w ith an uncanny fam iliarity. The first published reactions to m otion pictures in the U nited S tates cam e prim arily from jo u rn alists w ho saw the film s in specially arran g ed press screenings or theatrical prem ières. T hese screenings took place in such respectable sites as the Edison laboratories in W est O range, in large vaudeville theatres such as K oster and B ia l’s M usic Hall in New York City, o r in sm aller lecture halls, w hich frequently presented scientific m arvels accom panied by explanatory lectures. These jo u rn alists were m ainly anonym ous or, if their nam es are know n, they m ean little to us today. In sim ple but effective prose they registered their approval o f the latest tech n o lo g ical invention and generally praised it for its life-like realism . For m any jo u rn alists the invention o f m otion pictures was a source o f national pride, since the m achines that they first saw w ere either A m erican inventions or direct offspring, so they believed, o f the kinetoscope invented by T hom as E dison, the ‘W izard o f M enlo P a rk ’, the peep-show device that had sparked interest in m oving pictures. But, if we turn to the canonical early account o f p rojected films in R ussia, the scene shifts sharply. The young w riter w ho review ed an exh ib itio n o f the L um ière ciném atographe in 1896 at the N izhny N ovgorod F air saw the films projected at A u m o n t’s c a fé ch a n ta n t as one part o f a program m e o f e n te rta in ­ m ent w hich cloaked, and perhaps au gm ented, A u m o n t’s true e n terp rise p ro stitution. T he latest tech n o lo g ical m arvel cam e spiced w ith a foreign flavour - m ore precisely a p iquant P arisian savour o f easy French m orals and was associated less w ith scientific cu rio sity than w ith lasciv io u s visual

Foreword

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pleasure. The context in w hich the rev iew er received these m oving im ages certainly shaped his p erception o f them . D escribing the L u m ières’ film La P artie d 'écarté, he noted ‘the cupidity o f the p layers is b etrayed by the trem bling fingers and by the tw itching o f their facial m u sc le s’, ex pressive d etails that have eith er not been noticed or have been in terp re ted m ore innocently by m ost oth er view ers o f this film. For the m ost part, how ever, it was the contrast betw een the L u m ières’ b asically innocent view s o f daily life and their place o f exh ib itio n that struck the R ussian jo u rn a list, who happened to be the em erging man o f R ussian letters M axim G orky. Instead o f a w orkm anlike jo u rn a listic account cele b ratin g the m arch o f progress, G o rk y ’s review recalls a literary essay filled w ith m etaphors and dom inated by suspicious dissatisfactio n w ith both the films and the place w here they w ere show n. A lready this sim ple contrast betw een A m erican and R ussian reactions to the earliest projections o f m otion pictures d em onstrates essential points made by Yuri Tsivian in this pioneering and revelatory study. As a theoretical starting-point Tsivian posits the view that no film is com pleted until it has been received - view ed and pondered on - and that this reception not only com pletes the film but does so in a very specific way that bears the mark o f the historical and social position o f the view er. A jo u rn a list in preR evolutionary R ussia seated in a house o f sem i-ill repute sees a film very differently from an A m erican new spaperm an poised at the feet o f T hom as Edison, let alone a co ntem porary film scholar crouched over a view ing table in a film archive or a student dozing in a university lecture screening room. R ecords o f the reception o f films will tell us, T sivian proves, not only about the films them selves, but also about the assum ptions and view ing protocols of the view er who left the record, perhaps even revealing things o f w hich the original w riter was only dim ly aw are. The w riter on films filters his or her perception o f the films through more than a subjective grid. As they p articipate in the passions and tacit assu m p ­ tions o f their age and nation (not to m ention class and gender) they stain the im age they present o f the film with them . In addition, the im m ediate context of their view ing experience - the theatre, the m usical accom panim ent and the environm ent in w hich a film is projected - all m ay leave an im print on v iew ers’ im pressions o f the films they w atch, as G o rk y ’s aw areness o f being dow nstairs from a bordello certain ly shaped his sense o f L a P artie d ’écarté. T herefore. T sivian opens up a w hole new dim ension o f film history in this book. He not only captures the way the reception o f films reflects a particu lar place and tim e, but he analyses film reception as a confluence o f cultural forces. T heatre architecture, m usical accom panim ent, speed o f projection, the condition o f prints and a host o f oth er con tin g en cies usually dism issed as ephem era are all dem onstrated to have shaped the unique experience o f film in R ussia during the first decades o f the tw entieth century. T his may be the m ost excitin g aspect o f this unique study, an analysis o f

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all the elem ents o f cinem a that m ade a strong im pression on R u ssia ’s first film view ers, from the snak e-lik e hissing o f the light source fo r certain early film projectors to the fascination exerted by the sudden falling o f a shadow o f a m em ber o f the audience on to the screen, o b scu rin g m om entarily the figures in a dram a com posed o f light. As T sivian proves, a truly detailed and h istorical picture o f film recep tio n m akes the b o u n d aries betw een the aesthetic and the contingent waver, as early spectato rs becom e en tran ced by all aspects o f the new m edium , often priv ileg in g accid en ts o f technology over the in ten tio n s o f artistry . T hese rev elatio n s o f the ran g e o f cin em atic exp erien ces that view ers fo cu sed on d u rin g this early perio d call into question, 1 believe, previous th eories o f the p leasu res o f cinem a as com ing prim arily from fantasies o f visual m astery o r n arrativ e eng ag em en t. The richness o f the accounts o f early film view ing that T sivian has uncovered m ust m ake us rethin k the nature o f the fascin atio n that m otion p ictu res exerted historically, and perhaps co ntinue to ex ert today. O ne m ight be tem pted to question w hether one o f the m ajor sources that T sivian draw s on - the d escriptions literary w riters have left o f early cinem a in poem s, letters or m em oirs - may have eccentrically determ in ed this rather de-centred and im pressionistic im age o f cinem a reception. Tsivian does in fact indicate that, given the nature o f w ritten records o f film view ing experiences, he cannot claim to provide an overview o f the m ajority o f R ussian audiences, particularly the illiterate audiences o f the p rovinces. His account o f film reception necessarily focuses on the ed u cated and urbane au d ien ces o f M oscow and St Petersburg. However, there is strong evidence that the effect o f contingent elem ents like m usic or projection speed was w idely and even officially recognised as shaping audience response to film s generally. Perhaps the clearest indication o f this com es from the very specific regulations covering the show ing o f films portraying the Im perial Fam ily. Such film s, Tsivian reveals, had to be show n w ithout m usical accom panim ent (for fear that m usic inappropriate to im perial dignity m ight underm ine the spectacle), cranked by hand at a proper speed w ith the theatre m anager present (to avoid the risible effects overcran k ing or undercran k in g m ight give to im perial deportm en t) and show n separately from any o th er film s in the program m e. T his last po in t su b stan tiates T siv ian ’s d isco v ery that the eclectic program m es o f short films that m ade up early film show s w ere often received in a way that blurred the barriers betw een one film and the next, so that unrelated films projected in close succession often gave birth to surreal ‘phantom n arrativ es’ in w hich the action o f one film carried o v er into the next. The protocols o f im perial projection guarded against precisely the sort o f creative reception Tsivian claim s w as ram pant in turn -o f-th e-cen tu ry R ussia as a num ber o f convergent factors w ere com bined by view ers to create a truly unique film experience. Im perial authority had to be on guard against such sem iotic infection and m andated an isolated controlled reception, rather than the carnivalesque sem iotic blends that delighted R u ssia’s first film audiences.

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If we return to G o rk y ’s description o f the L um ière film s, other contrasts betw een his reception o f these m oving im ages and the m ost fam iliar accounts o f first films in the W est assert them selves. M ost W estern jo u rn a lists stressed the life-like quality o f the new invention, its ability to extend the p ossibilities o f photography into the portrayal o f m otion. But for G orky this addition o f m otion to photography did not so m uch increase te ch n o lo g y ’s ability to capture life as create an uncanny parallel universe resem bling ours but with m arked deficiencies: ‘a life deprived o f w ords and shorn o f the living spectrum o f colou rs - grey, so u n d less, bleak and d ism al life ’. For G orky the cinem atograph presented a phantom w orld, not life but ‘its soundless sp ectre’. G o rk y ’s description m ost certainly de-fam iliarises our dom inant contem porary reception o f these film s, w hich are usually presented in film history books as bold steps in the progress o f an art and industry, exem plars o f realism and ancestors o f the docum entary film. In fact, sim ilar if less eloquent responses to the ghostly aspect o f early film can be found in the W est, but they appear less frequently than the optim istic and progressive claim that through this new technology man has in a sense trium phed over death. A lthough G orky was not a S ym bolist, he was aw are that his highly m etaphorical and fantastic d escription o f the cinem atograph resem bled the prose o f this literary m ovem ent cu rren t in R ussia at the turn o f the century. T sivian in this volum e rev eals how m uch the Sym bolist m entality shaped the reception o f cinem a in R ussia, at least am ong the urban educated classes. The dim ly flickering silent b lack -an d -w h ite im ages o f m otion pictures were experienced by m any o f the S ym bolists not as the latest step in realism (w hose tem porary lack o f sound and co lo u r could be seen as prelim inary stages in the pursuit o f total cinem a) but rather as phantasm agorical m oonlit visions w hich conveyed the Sym bolist sense o f a veiled and occult reality o f w hich the visib le w orld w as m erely a shadow . Fyodor Sologub. the Sym bolist w riter, found a perfect m etaphor for the crepuscular dream -like existence experienced by these aesth eticised pre-m odernists when he w rote: 'W e are but pale shadow s like pictures in a cinem a.’ By draw ing on the im pressions o f early cinem a left by literary figures as m uch as jo u rn alists, T sivian uncovers both the S y m b o lists’ role in R ussian reception o f cinem a and those areas o f the cinem atic experience that the S ym bolists could h ighlight uniquely. W hile the old er g eneration o f S ym ­ bolists like D m itri M erezhkovsky and Z inaida G ippius view ed cinem a w ith suspicion as a m echanical product o f a m odern culture fo r w hich they had little sym pathy, the som ew hat y ounger S ym bolists A lex an d er Blok and A ndrei B ely em braced the new m edium precisely as an em bodim ent o f a fascinating and frightening new w orld exem plified by urban life, speed and instability. For Blok the cinem a form ed an essential p art o f the ‘city m y ste ry ’ that obsessed him . Here again T sivian’s understanding o f film reception as including the w hole dynam ics o f w hat he calls the ‘p oetics o f film p e r­ fo rm an ce’ reveals w hat drew these m ajor w riters to the cinem a. For Blok the

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new experience offered by the cinem a as opposed to theatre lay p artly in its casual nature, the aleato ry aspect o f a spectacle one sim ply ‘dropped in to ’ as part o f the random trajecto ry o f a city flâneur. T hese ch ance en co u n te rs w ith the cinem a, like an erotic city pick-up, endow ed it w ith a d iffe re n t energy from the traditional arts and served as an initiatio n into the new atm osphere o f m odernity. If the S ym bolists saw nearly ev ery th in g as em blem s o f occu lt fo rces o f transform ation, the cinem a appeared ripe as a source o f m etaphors. Sym bolist w riting constantly reflects the sense o f being on the brink o f som e great catastrophe, m oving tow ards a cataclysm o f change. F or Bely the sudden explosions and transfo rm atio n s o f the trick film genre so p o p u lar in c in e m a ’s first decade presented a tang ib le im age o f the instab ility o f ex isten ce, liable to explode suddenly in a p u ff o f han d -co lo u red sm oke and d isso lv e into nothingness. F or B ely such film tricks p o rtray ed visib le reality as nothing m ore than ‘a lady su fferin g from a cold, a lady w ho sneezes and explodes. A nd w e, w ho hold on to her; w ho are w e ? ’ B ely and o th er S y m b o lists approached cinem a as an unexpected prophecy, a preview o f an ap ocalypse they all felt w as im m inent. T hey w ere rig h t, o f co u rse, even if we now understand the transfo rm atio n that shook th eir society as social and political rath er than the m etap h y sical and o ccu lt esch a to n that they aw aited. T he cinem a served as a h a rb in g er o f tech n o lo g ical chan g e and, ju s t as the R evolutionary S oviet society em braced it as a m odern m edium uniquely suited to convey the m essage o f a new M arx ist society, the S ym bolists saw its pale illum ination castin g the shadow s o f the final tw ilig h t (a phantom w orld, as G orky had first announced) w hich anticipated the w orld o f the dead. T his com plex im age o f a cinem a received w ith am b iv alen ce, announcing a future that w as feared as m uch as desired, stands at the cen tre o f the R ussian reception o f early cinem a. If the cinem a seem ed to sum m on up a prim al fear o f a w orld o f shades this was partly b ecause p re-R ev o lu tio n ary R ussia w as a dying society obsessed w ith im agining its ow n dem ise. B ut bey o n d this historical specificity the S ym bolist recep tio n o f early cinem a also brings to light an undertone evident in a num ber o f early recep tio n s o f film. T he very unfam iliarity o f this uncanny reception reveals a dim en sio n to the em erg en ce o f cinem a ignored in m ost canonical h istories. S ince the recep tio n s d iscussed by T sivian are for the m ost part encounters w ith som ething very new, they approach a m edium we now take for g ranted as novel and exotic. As T sivian puts it, ‘going to the cinem a in those years alw ays had som ething o f the sam e sense o f adventure that flying has for u s’. Not the least o f the interests o f these accounts o f cin e m a ’s em ergence is their de-fam iliarising effect on a contem porary reader as we en co u n ter a novel experience o f the uncanny pow er o f cinem a, generally occluded in W estern film theory and history. U ndoubtedly R ussian intellectuals were peculiarly suited to speculate on this em issary o f m odern W estern technology and m ass culture from an am biguous view point. But they alert us to a m o tif that did appear, even if it

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was never dom inant, in early W estern receptions o f cinem a. C ertain com m en­ tators on film ’s first appearance in the U nited S tates and Europe also recognised the strange ontology o f this new m edium , its phantom -like position betw een the present and the absent, displaying a trace rather than a full-bodied presence, as w ell as the hypnotic and trance-like fascination it exerted over view ers. T his uncanny dim ension o f the film m edium may still persist today to be explored both by certain avant-garde practices as well as p opular genres such as the horror film (a genre frequently m arked by a self-conscious invocation o f the pow er o f the film m edium ). The film spectator from the period o f the discovery o f the cinem a w as, as Tsivian puts it, a ‘m edium -sensitive film v iew er’, one w ho w ent to see a film show in order to experience the new m edium m ore than to see a specific film. In other w ords, the earliest period o f film reception foregrounds the attraction o f film going itself often o v er the specific story o r co ntent o f the film s show n, w hich m ay serve as little m ore than pretexts for a trip to the cinem a. Since this attitude inverts what we usually understand as the priorities o f film goers for m ost historical periods, it allow s us to explore reception from a different angle. It invites us to develop theses about other pleasures o f film going which may yet persist beneath the culturally dom inant regim es o f n arrative and inform ation. It encourages us to ask new q uestions about historical spectators and even to w onder if co ntem porary spectators are as ‘m e d iu m -ob liv io u s’ as som e academ ic theo rists seem to assum e. O ne finds in T sivian’s book, then, not only a rich d escription o f a type o f historical spectator, the literate urban film v iew er o f p re-R ev o lu tio n ary R ussia, but also a new perspective on w hat sort o f q uestions we can ask concerning historical film view ers and the range o f issues and inform ation relevant to such investigations. As reception studies have becom e p art o f film history, the concept o f the film view er has m oved from a d isem bodied theoretical ‘sp ectato r-in -th e-tex t’, w hich w as sim ply an epiphenom enon o f the film itself (established, o f course, by a co ntem porary film analyst), to a quest for the flesh-and-blood audience m em bers w ho sat before the screens on tangible seats in actual theatres. T his attem pt to rediscover em bodied and historical film view ers has led film historians to m ove beyond film analysis and begin sifting through sociological surveys o f audiences, new spaper and trade review s and oth er accounts for the traces o f the film experiences which constitute the ground o f a history o f reception. W hile T sivian’s w ork is m ost certainly a co ntribution to this endeavour, the specific nature o f his approach has yielded unique insights. Instead o f placing the accent on interpretation o f plots that a survey o f contem poraneous review s inevitably e n tails, T siv ian ’s use o f poetry and literature from the period o f the em ergence o f cinem a sketches an audience m em ber who reacted as m uch to the tem perature o f the theatre, the social life enacted in the foyer, or the effect o f a sudden break in the film, as to the film ’s plot. R arely has our sense o f the film view er been so sensual and physical,

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so attuned to the actual environm ental pressures o f the film show. A film view er w ho can evaluate n on-aesthetic aspects o f the film show - such as the scratches that the film print has acquired o v er m any p ro jectio n s - and endow them w ith a new sort o f m eaning reveals the uniquely creativ e pow ers o f film v iew ers w ho do no t sim ply p assiv ely d eco d e film texts bu t create new thresho lds for aesthetic experience. In his analysis o f B e ly ’s and S o lo g u b ’s 1918 (unfilm ed, b u t still stylistically revo lu tio n ary ) film scripts, T sivian show s these S ym bolist film goers in c o r­ porating into their proposed film s som e o f the accid en ts o f film pro jectio n that drew their attention as spectators (such as scratch es and breaks in the film ), re-w orking them as co n scio u s elem en ts o f film sty le. As T sivian indicates, reception indeed com pletes a film, d isp lay in g a creativ e p ow er that can be fed back into film production. B ut to u n derstand this circ u it fully one needs to explore film view ing as an active process sensitive not only to the purported m eanings o f the film texts but also to its accid en ts as w ell as its surrounding environm ent. As the R ussian F o rm alists d em o n strated around the end o f the perio d T sivian covers, de-fam iliarisin g an ex p erien ce takes on a critical and aesthetic function by intensifying our ex p erien ce o f som ething too often taken for granted. T sivian not only surveys the histo rical recep tio n o f cinem a in preR evolutionary R ussia in this book, he d e-fam iliarises o u r co n cep t o f both reception and the film text to take in ho rizo n s rarely sighted prev io u sly by film historians.

Introduction

CULTURAL RECEPTION Ideally, the practice o f film history presupposes that each fact be considered from a dual perspective: as it appears to the film historian today and as it was view ed by the spectator at the tim e. On the one hand, history reads texts; on the other, each text has its ow n history o f readings. It is scarcely w orth discussing the evolu tio n o f film d iscourse if we think o f d isco u rse as som ething restricted to the films them selves. It is not only things that change, but the m easure o f things. If we adm it that films im ply their view ers, we have also to adm it that it is not only films but view ers too that are subject to evolutionary change. In this respect a study o f film reception can be expected to provide a significant correctiv e to any m erely factual history o f film. T his book presents an attem pt to historicise the notion o f the view er in R ussia in the years betw een 1896 and 1920. Yet it is not about ordinary cinem agoers. In my attem pt to reconstruct contem porary reception, I have had to rely upon w ritten evidence, yet m ost R ussian audiences could neither read nor w rite; no trace o f their response survives. N or was this response clear to contem poraries. In January 1916 The P etrograd C inem a Journal w rote about w hat they called in those days ‘the reaction o f the cro w d ’: ‘The cinem agoer is as silent and m ute as the cinem a itself . . . the cinem a public, a new public brought into being by this new form o f theatre, is enigm atic and incom prehensible.’1 Even today, I know o f no one in R ussia w ho w ould be prepared to claim that they had the key to this enigm a. This book, then, is an attem pt to reconstruct the response to cinem a o f the educated R ussian public rather than to give a general overview o f R ussian spectatorship as a whole. Yet it is not ju st about the reception o f films by cinem a critics (although it does refer to contem porary film review s). N or is it a history o f a ‘v iew er-in -th e-tex t’, an ‘im plied su b je c t’ believed to appear at the point w here textual strategies converge. W hat this book is about is w hat m ight be called cu ltu ra l reception. I am interested in reflective rather than reactive response. By ‘reflectiv e’ I mean a response that is active, creative, interventionist, or even aggressive. Let us

2

Introduction

take an exam ple: tw o co n tem p o rary n ew sp ap er acco u n ts o f the L um ière bro th ers’ 1896 program m e. C om pare the d ifferen t w ays their authors describe the m onochrom atic effect film im ages produced. A co rresp o n d en t o f The N ew R eview [N ovoc obozrenie] w rote that he w as struck by the lack o f the su n ’s w arm th and o f bright, living co lo u rs.2 The P aris co rresp o n d en t o f N ew Tim es described w hat took place on the screen in the follow ing w ords: ‘The lighting is not quite natural; it’s ju s t like bright m o o n lig h t.’3 In the first exam ple the v isual text is rev ealed as deficien t and is describ ed in term s o f ‘a b se n c e ’: you see the sun and yet you feel no w arm th; you see the light but p erceiv e no colours. In the second the sam e ab sence o f co lo u r is described as a p ecu liarity rath er than a deficiency; the m onochrom e ‘blacka n d -w h iten ess’ o f the im age w as identified (or, rather, in ten tio n ally m isidentified) as a special q u ality o f the w o rld this im age p o rtray ed . Film im ages fascinated the w riter b ecause they tu rn ed day into nig h t and the sun into the m oon. The distinction betw een the tw o exam ples m ay seem m icro sco p ic, y et it m arks the boundary betw een tw o types o f response: that p ertain in g to the psychology o f sense p erception and that involving cultural interpretation. The next logical step w ould be to describe the w orld o f cinem a as a w orld of eternal night; and indeed, that is w hat we find in M axim G o rk y ’s 1896 article on the sam e subject: If only you knew how strange it felt. T here were no sounds and no colours. E verything - earth, trees, people, water, air - w as p ortrayed in a grey m onotone: in a grey sky there w ere grey rays o f sunlight; in grey faces grey eyes, and the leaves o f the tree w ere grey like ashes . . . Silently the ash-grey foliage o f the trees sw ayed in the w ind and the grey silhouettes o f the people glided silently along the grey ground, as if condem ned to eternal silence and cru elly punished by being deprived o f all life ’s co lo u rs.4 T hus, w here one w ould ex p ect a descrip tio n o f a deficient im age, one finds a sophisticated description o f a w orld 'm a d e stra n g e ’. T his is the way cultural reception w orks. At the input we have a sim ple m oving im age, at the output we get a ‘reception te x t’ th at G orky h im se lf c h aracterised as rich and com plicated: ‘The im pression they created w as so unusual, so com plex and original! I shall try to convey the essence, but I doubt w hether I shall be able to capture every nuance.’5 A rem arkable analogy borrow ed from a book w ritten in 1924 by the P olish philosopher K arol Irzykow ski helps to give an idea o f the way cu ltu res read technology. The analogy is Irzy k o w sk i’s response to the q u estio n raised by the French theory o f p h o to g é n ie : ‘W hat is the nature o f cinem a?" Such q uestions, Irzykow ski argued, have no possible answ er w hatsoever: ‘C inem a is a technical invention, but it is treated as if it w ere cap ab le o f being “ so lv e d ” like a chess pro b lem .’6 In culture there are phenom ena that may be likened to the interpretation of

Introduction

3

blurs or sm udges. A ccording to the vision or im agination o f the viewer, random plaster stains, dam p marks or sm udges o f ink on a wall may be seen to resem ble certain objects. By elongating them or adding bits to them one can get these m arks to ‘yield u p ' the hidden object, so that even som eone w ithout any artistic ability can sketch a tolerable representation o f it. The history o f language, for exam ple, brings up more and more ‘lexical sm udges’, which are then piously given m eaning. W ord precedes idea: in the beginning is the word, then com es the search for its m eaning. Fictitious problem s appear, which are, however, in one sense both valuable and fru itfu l.7 T his astonishing rem ark w as m ade at least one year before the ink-blot test invented by R orschach was m ade know n to the general public. The task o f those who take up the study o f cultural reception is q uite sim ilar to that o f the R orschach psychologist: to sum m arise and interpret the recurrent asso cia­ tions and fixed ideas that each culture reads into the ‘m oving sm u d g es’ o f early cinem a.

THE TROPES OF FILM RECEPTION The m anner in w hich view ers received the first films can be defined as a culturally condition ed response to cinem a as a m edium . Yet w hat does ‘culturally co n d itio n ed ’ m ean? Is there any way in w hich hum an responses are not culturally c o n d itio n ed ? Strictly speaking, any act o f behaviour (including reactive ones such as sham e or fear) can be described as being culturally determ ined. A less definitive approach, how ever, w ould be more instrum ental. In 1908 the Sym bolist poet A lexander Blok m ade the follow ing rem ark in a letter to a friend after reading Bram S to k e r’s D racula : ‘I finished it in two nights feeling terrib ly frightened. And then I realised ju st how deep this [fear] w ent, quite apart from any literary con v en tio n , e tc .’1* T his distinction betw een literary and non-literary, that is, betw een learned and instinctual responses, will help us tow ards a b etter understanding o f the way in w hich view ers responded to the first films. For exam ple, we are used to believing that the feeling o f fear reported by audiences at the L um ières’ cinem a show s was an instinctive reaction to the train that was about to leave the screen and burst into the auditorium . This may be true in the m ajority o f cases. N evertheless, in a num ber o f contem porary accounts this filmic event was articulated in term s o f previous literary experience. This is how V ladim ir Stasov, a w ell-know n art and m usic critic of the day, described, in an 1896 letter to his brother, the im pression the L um ières’ program m e made on him: ‘All o f a sudden a whole railw ay train com es rushing out o f the picture tow ards you; it gets bigger and bigger, and you think it’s going to run you over, ju st like in Anna K arenina - it’s incredible.’9 In m any w ays reception m eans acculturation, ju st as S taso v ’s response to Lum ière was m ediated through T olsto y ’s novel. ‘R e a l’ fear acquired cultural fram ew ork and turned into ‘lite ra ry ’ fear.

4

Introduction

Take another exam ple, that o f m irrors and p o rtraits. In the R ussian cinem a of the 1910s m irrors and p o rtraits w ere often used to create ‘m y stic a l’ or ‘u n can n y ’ e ffe c ts.10 Yet as an early m etaphor fo r the m edium , the m o tif o f living m irrors and living p o rtraits w as a part o f R ussian film culture years before it was incorporated textually into R ussian films. Tw o sources can be cited to illustrate this point. O ne o f them is a book of m em oirs by O lga V ysotskaya, a R ussian theatre actress o f the 1910s. At that tim e, cinem a in R ussia v enerated the cu lt o f letters and w riters w ell know n to R ussian culture as a w hole. B eginning in 1909, film -m akers w ere in the habit o f hunting dow n fam ous w riters, and a short film about ‘w riter so-and-so in his garden’ w ould be a reg u lar new sreel item . The follow ing story from V y sotskaya’s m em oirs is about one such film: O ne evening at M ey erh o ld ’s place I m et A lexei T olstoi. ‘A re you free n o w ?’, he asked, ‘In a cinem a o ff O fitserskaya S treet they are show ing a picture about m e. L e t’s go and see it.’ O n the screen Tolstoi w as show n sitting on a bench, then taking out a cig arette and lighting it. ‘You know I don’t know w hy - but I feel frig h ten e d ’, A lexei N ikolayevich said, and left the theatre. I stayed to w atch the m ain film .11 A sim ilar thing happened to L eonid A ndreyev, an o th er w ell-know n w riter o f the tim e. A fter having seen his ow n face on the screen in 1909, A ndreyev w rote an article in w hich he tried to analyse the p ecu liar feelin g this experience evoked: C inem a kills the very idea o f identity. Today my m ental im age o f m y self is still form ed by what 1 am at this m om ent. Im agine w hat w ill happen w hen the cinem atograph splits my self-im age into w hat I was at eigh t years old, at eighteen, at tw enty-five! . . . W hat on earth w ill rem ain o f my integrity if I am given free access to w hat I was at d ifferen t stages o f my life? . . . I t’s frig h ten in g !12 As these tw o stories seem to indicate, early film recep tio n w orked by putting new life into old literary clichés. W hatever its im m ediate cause, m ore often than not the first shock o f seeing im ages in m otion assum ed the form o f recognisable cultu ral p attern s. We w ill call them the ‘tropes o f film recep tio n ’. T hese patterns (or tropes) form ed a b u ffer zone betw een film and culture. Specifically, fam iliar faces on the screen w ould evoke the m o tif o f doubles and duality w ith the traditional accesso ries o f m agic m irro rs and haunted portraits. The kind o f fear ex p erien ced by A ndreyev and Tolstoy belonged to the sam e literary trad itio n as, fo r ex am p le, ‘S aint A gnes o f In tercessio n ’, an unfinished m ystical sto ry by D ante G abriel R ossetti in w hich the hero recognises his ow n face in an ancient painting: ‘I can recall my feeling at that m om ent as one o f acute and exqu isite fear.’ 13 It can be argued that som e early p ictures d ating back to the trick period o f film history had their ow n way o f textualising such an initial response. From

Introduction

5

1899 to 1908 at least eight films by M éliès alone w ere variations o f the ‘living p o rtra it’ p lo t.14 T here is a Pathé trick com edy preserved at the N ational Film A rchive in London under the G erm an title L ebendige S piegelbilder [Living M irror Im ages]: a character com es out into the street holding a large mirror. Each tim e a passer-by is reflected in it, the m irror brings the reflection to life and sends it back into the street to pursue its terrified owner. T his trick film tells us as m uch about m irrors as about the cinem a itself and the p henom eno­ logical fear em bedded in its reception.

CINEMA AND SYMBOLIST SENSIBILITY To study film reception, therefore, m eans to research the position accorded and the m eaning ascribed to this or that feature o f cinem a w ithin the dom inant cultural pattern o f the epoch. The 1900s - a decade during w hich the m ajority o f R ussian audiences becam e fam iliar w ith cinem a - were the years when R ussian culture was dom inated by the m entality o f S ym bolism , and one o f the tasks o f this book will be to show the specific w ays in w hich cinem a was absorbed by R ussian Sym bolist culture and m ade a part o f its vocabulary. In the sum m er o f 1896 when the cinem a was first show n in R ussia, M axim G orky called the cinem a, in his above quoted article about the L um ière perform ance, ‘The K ingdom o f S hadow s’: T hree men are seated at a table, playing cards. T heir faces are tense, their hands m ove sw iftly. The cupidity o f the players is b etrayed by th eir trem bling fingers and by the tw itching o f their facial m uscles. They play . . . Suddenly, they break into laughter, and the w aiter, w ho has stopped at their table w ith beer, laughs too. T hey laugh until their sides split but not a sound is heard. It seem s as if these people have died and their shadow s have been condem ned to play cards in silence into e te rn ity .15 T his description is a literary allusion, not unlike that o f Stasov, for whom the L u m ières’ train evoked T olstoy’s A nna K arenina. O n the one hand, it is an accurate rendering o f La P artie d ’éca rté [The C ard-G am e], shot by the Lum ières in 1895. On the other hand, this film rem inded G orky o f the ‘gam e in H e ll’, an archetypal literary situation found in R ussian folk tales and in Pushkin’s ‘Sketches for F a u st’, to w hich G o rk y ’s description seem s to refer. At a feast in S atan’s palace P ushkin’s Faust accuses D eath o f cheating, and D eath answ ers: Be quiet, foolish youth! T hink you can catch me out? We don’t play for m oney here, But ju st to pass the ete rn ity !16

6

Introduction

W hat was it that caused G orky’s m ind to leap from Lumière to Pushkin? Early film reception works very much like the m echanism o f ‘de-fam iliarisation’ [ostranenie] that V iktor Shklovsky, one o f the key figures in the R ussian Form alist school of literary criticism , believed was the basic principle o f art. It is a complex game o f sim ilarities and dissim ilarities, o f the presence and absence o f fam iliar features. The uncanny feeling that films som ehow belonged to the w orld o f the dead was prom pted by m utually contradictory signals (or ‘com m ands’, to use a com puter analogy) com ing from the image. Some o f them drew attention to the life-like quality o f film, others rejected life: the presence o f m ovem ent made the im age look strikingly life-like, while the absence o f sound and colour turned it into a haunted frame. Furtherm ore, the early spectator was aw are o f the fact that the fleeting m om ent on screen was in fact som ething that could be endlessly repeated, and this aw areness helped to project the picture into eternity. A gam e on film turned into a game in the world o f the dead. The uncanny quality o f the film m edium, registered by G orky in 1896, was a feeling shared by many. One can alm ost say that Russian w riters treated cinem a as a m inor literary cliché. Just as the circus was a frequent m etaphor for the human condition in turn-of-the-century culture (Pablo Picasso, Leonid Andreyev, H ermann Bang), so the cinem a becam e a convenient m etaphor for death, and the them e saw several variations. In 1907, for exam ple, M ikhail A rtsibashev published his novel Sanin, in which he tried to describe the everyday environm ent as seen through the eyes o f a dying person: Semyonov heard sounds clearly, but it was as if he couldn’t hear them , and as if figures moved noiselessly, like shadow s in a cinem atograph. Now and again fam iliar faces drifted into his field o f vision, but it was as if they were strangers, striking no chord in his memory. By the bed next to his a man with a strangely shaven face was reading a new spaper aloud, but Semyonov was unable to understand why he was reading or to whom. . . . The lips m oved, the teeth opened and closed, the round eyes turned, the sheet o f paper rustled, the lam p burned evenly on the shelf, and what appeared to be large, sinister black flies soundlessly and incessantly circled around it.17 In 1911, in her novel The D evil’s D oll, Z inaida G ippius (a m ajor Sym bolist w riter) used this m etaphor to renovate the traditional literary landscape o f St Petersburg. As shown above, the black-and-w hite quality o f the film im age was pow erfully evocative of the transform ation o f ‘day into n ig h t’ and of ‘sunlight into m oonlight’. For Z inaida G ippius, however, the colourless figures o f the screen evoked the legendary ‘W hite N ig h ts’ o f R u ssia’s northern capital and, by association, the phantom s that they were believed to conjure up. Hence the night scene in The D ev il’s D oll, set in a St Petersburg public park: It was already tw elve o ’clock. The garden stirred, not com ing to life

Introduction

7

exactly, but everything seem ed to be in motion; the darkness thickened around the tables; on the stage grey shadows quivered, the grey dead of the cinem atograph, their w hispers cutting through the sound o f the music. ‘Look, isn’t that a symbol o f our m odern, white nocturnal Petersburg life?’ Ryzhkov, who had had far too much to drink, asked Zhulka. She turned away, show ing no interest. ‘The cinem a’s boring. It’s stupid . . . everyw here you look . . . you can’t get away from it.’18 The ‘sym bolism ’ that the fictional Ryzhkov perceives in the cinem a (and which his girlfriend ignores as a com m onplace observation) was a part o f a larger cultural pattern, the so-called ‘m yth of St Petersburg’. The city had been built on m arshland at the arbitrary comm and o f Peter the G reat, and the myth, created in the nineteenth century by Pushkin, Gogol and Dostoyevsky, condemned it as an artificial and ‘unorganic’ city, haunted by phantom s and doomed to perish. In the early tw entieth century the St Petersburg myth became a favourite point o f reference for Russian Sym bolist w riters, to whom the ending of the world and the sw am p-like instability o f seem ingly solid reality were of special interest as literary motifs. Cinem a presented an easy way of m odernising the myth; besides, o n e’s first response to cinem a was so much like reading Sym bolist prose that in his 1896 article Maxim G orky felt he ought to point it out; This is not life but the shadow o f life and this is not movem ent but the soundless shadow o f movement. I must explain, lest I be suspected o f sym bolism or m adness. I was at A um ont’s café and I was watching the L um ières’ cinem atograph - moving photographs.19 Twenty years later the idea of an internal identity between film reception and the reception of St Petersburg in Russian literature was explicitly form ulated in an article by Fyodor O tsep (not yet a film director but an adolescent adherent o f Russian élitist poetry): [In cinema] we are dealing with a m anifestation o f delusion, a kind of hallucination. After D ostoyevsky’s evocative descriptions, St Petersburg (now Petrograd) has become regarded as a devilish hallucination. Even Pushkin, as we can see from several o f his rem arks, felt the same about the city. Cinem a is an entire, transparent land; it is a hallucination all the more m ysterious in that it conceals within itself some idea or other that we have still not grasped.20

MECHANICAL VERSUS ORGANIC In a 1914 short story by Zinaida G ippius the nihilist hero sells his soul to the Devil and finds him self, instead of in Hell, on a cinem a screen:

8

Introduction

I w alked about, I could m ove - but I was surrounded by a cinem atograph: everything was black and grey, fast-m oving. A gitated and voiceless. And I too was part o f the cinem atograph. I w asn’t afraid, ju st b o red .21 Soon the hero discovers that this grey and silent ‘cin e m a tic ’ version o f H ades (w hich is w orse than to rm ent) is a punishm ent for those w ho do not believe in H ell: it is a Hell for nih ilists, a v isualised N othing [Nihil]. A w orld w ithout faith is like the w orld o f the cinem a: full o f m ovem ent but devoid o f life. T his passage brings us to an im portant categ o ry o f film recep tio n , one for w hich R ussian film literature had a nam e: ‘the fallacy o f m o v em en t’ [lozh’ d vizheniya]. For G ip p iu s (and her h ero) ‘rap id and a g ita te d ’ m ovem ent b etrayed the cinem a even m ore than its ‘grey and v o ic ele ss’ im age. T his ju d g em en t was connected w ith R ussian B ergsonianism . H enri B ergson (a F rench ‘process p h ilo so p h e r’, w hose book C reative E vo lu tio n 22 w as p u b ­ lished in R ussian translation in 1914 and w as m uch discu ssed in M oscow and St P etersburg) used cinem a as an exam ple o f false im pression o f continuity. A ccording to B ergson, a tem poral process cannot be depicted spatially. Film s reg ister m ovem ent by slicin g it into reg u lar d iscrete sectio n s o f space (fram es), w hereas, in reality, tim e is d uration; it is ex p erien ced as continuous and cannot be m easured. R ussian film literatu re seized on the idea. T heatre periodicals published sim plified form s o f B erg so n 's reasoning that argued the o n tological su p eri­ ority o f stage over screen. T he argum ent w ould run as follow s: In cinem a static m om ents are the basis o f ev ery th in g . T h eir sw ift su cces­ sion creates m ovem ent and a kind o f plastic picture. But this m ovem ent, this plasticity, this rhythm , is only a m irage, a delusion. . . . The m agic force o f living rhythm is unknow n to cinem a and it cannot be replaced by a cheap aesthetic su b stitu te, by lavish décor, by ex p en siv e d resses, a superabundance o f flow ers, etc. Even genuine m ountains, seas, streets, and w alls are unable to conceal the absence o f living rhythm . In theatre art all this can be conventionally conveyed by décor, by painted scenery, as long as the rhythm o f the m ovem ent is genuine. In cinem a it is the oth er way round: instead o f décor there is real nature and build in g s, but real rhythm is replaced by a kind o f ‘décor o f rh y th m ’.23 B ergson’s repudiation o f cinem a had yet an o th er dim ension co nnected w ith his intuitivism and his notion o f élan vital [living m om entum ]. U nlike the spacialised ‘p u b lic’ tim e, m easured by clocks and falsified in a series o f film fram es, tim e as duration can only be intuited. D iscursive reason was believed to be too m echanical to grasp the living soul o f tim e. T his distinction bore rich fru it in R ussian film literatu re. R ussian aesthetic thought in the age o f Sym bolism was still d om inated by a fundam ental axiom on the nature o f art as form ulated by the G erm an R om antics: that art is a living organism . ‘L iv in g ’ and ‘o rg a n ic ’ w ere the tw o key w ords used to

Introduction

9

express the highest praise for a product o f the creative im agination. To speak o f a w ork o f art as ‘m ech a n ical’ w ould be unam biguously pejorative. The idea o f art and culture as organic form s (or as ‘form s o f life ’, w hich at that tim e appeared synonym ous) was reinforced by the aesthetics o f art nouveau, the m ost influential style in pre-F irst-W orld-W ar R ussia. F ascin ­ ated by D arw in’s excursions into the depth o f the biological past, art nouveau artists created a biom orphic style that favoured organic form s and was itself based on patterns o f natural grow th.24 The m achine was cast as the antithesis o f life; being a m achine, cinem a was judged to be incom patible with art. D m itri M erezhkovsky, the S ym bolist w riter and a founding m em ber of a fam ous religious and philosophical discussion group, expressed a dictum that was much quoted at the time; the cinem atograph is first and forem ost a m echanical phenom enon and can never com pete with the theatre as as organic p h enom enon.25 Z inaida G ippius (M erezh k o v sk y ’s w ife and co llab o rato r) attem pted a deeper phenom enological analysis o f what present-day film theorists term ‘the cinem a ap p aratu s’: Try not going to the cinem a for ten years . . . then go to see a film . . . W hat strikes you first? . . . You have grow n too accustom ed to the m ovem ent of life, and the filmic fallacy o f m ovem ent, its blatant (in the sense o f obvious) tem poral ‘po in tillism e’ [p u n ktu a l'n o st’] - the way m om ents o f tim e are broken up to reveal the spaces betw een them - serves only to confuse the unpractised eye. We are frig h ten ed by them in the sam e way we are frightened by a m echanism that passes itself o ff as an organism - by an autom aton, for exam ple. An organic m ovem ent, o f w hatever kind, is linked w ith its rhythm , and. through it, w ith time. A m echanical m ovem ent arbitrarily violates this link and evokes a feeling o f alarm in an organic being w ith a norm al physiology. The fallacy o f m ovem ent is not all: it is only the first thing you notice. A larm ingly agitated objects, anim als, hum an figures and faces have only the fo r m o f life; they have no colour, that is light, since co lo u r and light arc indivisible: light alw ays has a p articu lar colour, or it d o esn ’t exist at all. The chopped-up, ju m p y m ovem ent o f colourless figures is far more rem iniscent o f a dance o f death than the flow o f life. . . . Look at that grim acing, greyish face; those lips, black as earth with their soundless m outhings; that eye w ith its glassy sheen . . . W hen the m uscles contract into a cadaverous sm ile, then, how ever much the trom bones may ring out, a hum an being can not help but give a shiver.26 As this disturbing diagnosis indicates, cinem a in R ussia was brought into the H offm annesque universe o f R om antic and p ost-R om antic literature. As subsequent chapters w ill argue, the ‘organism m y th ’ affected various aspects o f early film culture including the choice o f m usic, the interior décor o f film theatres and even the form o f narrative itself. The dem ise o f this influence

10

Introduction

lies outside the chronological fram ew ork o f this book. The First W orld W ar brought the a rt nouveau epoch to an end. The new age o f m achines and m achine production w ould redefine the old paradigm . A rt as o rganism was soon to becom e an outdated idea. The B auhaus in the W est and C o n stru c tiv ­ ism in R ussia w ould proclaim the m achine an ep ito m e fo r art. V iktor Shklovsky w ould assert th at it took a m otorist really to understand how art was ‘m ad e’. D ziga V ertov w ould invent his ‘m etrical m o n ta g e’ and announce the advent o f the ‘new electrical m an’. The ‘m echanical a rt’ o f cinem a w ould see itself hailed as the dom inant art o f the tw entieth century.

THE IMAGE OF THE TEXT C ultural aw areness was probably the key feature in R ussian art at the turn o f the century. R ussian p ainters w ere unrivalled in the art o f filigree stylisation; R ussian theatres w ere fam ous fo r their parodies; R ussian p o etry (and not ju st poetry) identified itse lf closely w ith m usic. The gift o f textual m im icry was held in high esteem . C inem a too w as part o f this gam e. A s early as 1897 sev eral daily new spapers in R ussia started to run colum ns under the title o f ‘The C in em ato ­ g ra p h ’. The contents had nothing to do w ith cinem a, but w ere an in d iscrim in ­ ate m edley o f casual street scenes and fragm ents o f overheard conversations: in short, ev erything that seem ed not to fit into any o th er colum n. Such a colum n (previously know n as a ‘m isc ellan y ’) w as now legitim ised by the very first, L um iere-inspired im age o f the cinem atic text: the un restricted flow of fragm entary, disconnected, o u tdoor scenes. For all that was said and w ritten criticisin g the ‘m echanical n ature o f cin em a’, R ussian w riters w ere secretly in love w ith the technology they so loudly denounced. As M axim ilian V oloshin (a leading Sym bolist poet) w rote in 1910: ‘The popularity o f the cinem a is prim arily based on the fact that it is a m achine; and the soul o f the co ntem porary E uropean, in its m ost naive aspects, is turned tow ards the m achine.’27 A lthough spectato rs w ere not ad m itted to the pro jectio n box, it w as com m on know ledge that films w ere recorded on a celluloid ribbon and kept in reels. As integral to film reception as the screw to the m ental im age o f a steam ship, the im age o f the ribbon ag reed w ith the im age o f cinem atic narrative as perceived as cum ulative, episo d ic, p erennially unw inding text. C inem atic n arrative was perceived as a kind o f W agnerian ‘en d less m elo d y ’, as som ething that co rresp o n d ed textually to the endless celluloid strip on w hich it was recorded - the im age pinpointed by O sip M an d elstam ’s sarcastic m etaphor ‘the m etam orphic ta p ew o rm ’,28 or im printed in the w ell-know n nam e o f a French fairground cinem a o f the 1890s, the 'L en tie lectro p lastich ro m o m im o co liserp e n to g ra p h ’,29 the ‘le n ti-’, ‘p la s ti-’ and ‘se rp e n to -’ segm ents o f w hich sem antically reinforced the im pression p roduced by the form at o f the w ord. B ecause film s w ere purchased o r rented in term s o f

Introduction

11

footage, the length of a film would be indicated im m ediately after its title and announced proudly on the advertising posters. Defining the form at o f the narrative in m etrical term s (as if one were selling lengths o f dress m aterial) seem ed so funny that the habit becam e proverbial. C inem a, o r the Innocent Victim o f M ad P assion and an O ld M an's B loodthirsty L o ve, a stage sp o o f w ritten by the playw right B oris G eyer and perform ed on the stage o f the Petersburg satire theatre. The D istorting M irror, in 1 9 1 1, was announced as a ‘pow erfully dram atic d ram a 11,764 m etres long in co lourful colours, natural nature and d ialo g u es.’30 The notion o f projection speed (as well as the vague idea that cinem a was all about sprocket w heels and gears) reinforced the im age o f the cinem atic text as a function o f tim e and distance, a race against tim e. O ne theatre critic w rote o f Yevgeni B a u e r’s S ilen t W itnesses [Nem ye svideteli, 1914] that it m oved ‘no faster than four m iles an h o u r’.31 And this is the way an o th er critic d escribed how Yakov P ro tazan o v ’s M iss M ary [Panna M eri, 1916] - a title that sounded to a Russian ear like the nam e o f a racehorse - was projected in several M oscow film theatres: It is rum oured that horse-racing has recently been organised at the Ars, the M odern, the A rtistic and at other cinem a theatres, and has been attracting great crow ds. M iss M ary started o ff in the first race at a speed o f 200 m etres a second, and galloped hom e confidently at the sam e pace. H er partner [V ladim ir] G aidarov, a man with a feeble constitu tio n , had tw o refusals and cam e in half a lap beh in d .32 A lthough prim arily this critical m etaphor was aim ed at the habit o f projecting films w ithout breaks betw een reels (a novelty for 1916), it also hyperbolises the endless loop as a cultural im age o f film.

OVERLAPPING IMAGES As subsequent chapters will argue in m ore detail, reception w orks like a diffusing lens: w hatever com es into its field ’goes out o f fo c u s’ and com es to look like som ething else rather than itself. As soon as the im age o f cinem atic discourse as a ceaselessly unfolding ribbon was settled in the collective m ind o f Russian audiences, we find it applied to things oth er than cinem a, for exam ple, literature. Here is what O sip M andelstam w rote in his 1912 review o f the Russian translation o f Jack L ondon's stories: W hat the cinem atograph does best are so-called scenic pictures: London portrays the endless m onotony o f the northern landscape, daubed on like a painted panoram a, and flickering like a living photograph that hypnotises the reader by its autom atic readiness to show as m any thousand m etres as you please. L ondon’s ‘a rtistic ’ device is continuity o f actio n .33 The w ays we perceive things intertw ine and overlap. O ne can say that

12

Introduction

reception w orks by superim p o sin g im ages one on another. We start by contrasting cinem a to traditional narrativ e; then we com e to disco v er cinem a w ithin literary discourse. H ere we have to do w ith som ething sim ilar to w hat R obert S chm utzler calls 're c ip ro ca l o sm o sis’ in tu rn -o f-th e-cen tu ry c u ltu re .34 O ne ought to think o f it as an ensem ble rath er than as co n sistin g o f discrete art form s. W hat follow s is an exam ple o f how such an ensem ble is co n stitu ted . In 1913 the general craze for cinem a reached its peak in R ussia; this w as also the year when R ussian F uturists intensified th eir o n slau g h t on ‘the public ta s te ’. T hese events (purely coin cid en tal as seen by an art h isto rian ) were treated by contem po raries as tw o aspects o f a single phenom enon. O n 1 January 1914, an influential con serv ativ e n ew spaper sum m arised the cu ltural life o f the past year thus; W hat events can we call typ ical for the year that has ju s t passed? . . . if we were to answ er this question frankly it w ould em erge that w hat interested m ost people was W illy F errero [a seven-year-old A m erican-born con d u cto r touring in E urope], M ax L inder and the F uturists: a W underkind, a clow n, and a bunch o f h alf-w its. . . . People chased after novelty fo r n o v e lty ’s sake; the m ain m over w as c u rio sity ; the m ain attractio n - the rapid succession o f im p ressio n s. People looked as briefly and as q u ick ly as p ossible, and chased on after tom orrow .35 The reception o f tw o separate phenom ena - cinem a and F utu rist p o etry overlapped and form ed a single im age o f w hat the au th o r o f the above article called ‘the increasingly fev erish pulse o f the big c ity ’. The im m ediate consequence o f this w as the process o f m utual distillatio n . The im age o f the cinem atic text was cataly sed and d istilled from w hat readers perccived as the vagaries o f Futurist p oetics; sim ilarly, cinem a contrib u ted to the im age o f F uturist discourse. U n gram m atical, asy n tactic, incoherent, spasm odic, senseless - these are only som e o f the features that F uturists and cinem a w ere found to have in com m on. H ere is one such statem ent (from the pen o f Fyodor O tsep): The F uturists have n eith er w onder, nor b e lie f in w onders. But if such things do not exist, then long live d runken visions, n ightm ares, d elusions. . . . It is the sam e in the cinem atograph: instead o f ecstasy, there are h allu cin a­ tions; instead o f pathos, there are dru n k en daydream s. . . . It is as if the cinem atograph and F uturism are c o n v erg in g .36 Intertextuality is not alw ays the p roperty o f the text itself. S om etim es we find it only in post-textual im ages. O ne m ight say that reception provides a kind o f refracting, d iffusing m edium w hich alone enables separate texts to be seen as convergent. T his ju stifies the study o f film reception as a step tow ards the history o f film culture and the true h istory o f film.

Part I

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Chapter 1

Early cinema architecture and the evolution of the social composition of cinema

THE INNER SPACE OF CINEMA, 1904-8 As long as cinem a rem ained an am bulant form o f entertainm ent, no specific cinem a architecture existed in Russia. C inem a show s w ere put on in rented prem ises, m ost frequently in seasonal theatres. P roprietors o f m obile cinem as had hired circus m arquees, m arket stalls, vacant storeroom s, docksidc w arehouses, e tc .1 If any special prem ises did exist at that tim e, they were only sm all, light structures like fairground booths. A ttem pts w ere never­ theless made to adapt to specifically R ussian conditions. Vast distances and bad roads made overland travel very difficult, and so, in 1906, a ‘floating electrical th eatre’ that could house five hundred spectators was erected on a barge tow ed by a riv er steam er. It was called the Stenka Razin; its planned route was dow n the Volga river. It had coloured sails and its crew and ushers were supposed to be dressed as R azin’s brigand gang. Since its projection m achine was m ost probably equipped w ith oxygen lam ps, it w as extrem ely likely that it w ould eventually catch fire. Fortunately, it did so before the first spectator set foot on board. The Stenka Razin was the last leviathan o f the am bulant age. A lready in 1903 property ow ners, w ho had p reviously been unw illing to provide prem ises for cinem a, began to rent out co n v ersio n s.2 G radually a kind o f cinem a hall with its own architectonics began to em erge. The interior o f the early cinem as in the 1904-8 period d iffered greatly not only from that o f buildings w here public am usem ents had previously taken place but also from that o f the cinem as that cam e later. This early type o f auditorium did not last long; in 1908 it was pushed out from the centre o f tow n to the fringes. Betw een 1904 and 1908 the cinem a theatre, as a ru le, consisted o f a single room w ithout a foyer or vestibule. If - as m ost frequently happened - the cinem a was in a converted flat with the partition w alls rem oved, the public cam e into the building by the main staircase and bought their tickets at a desk behind the door, ju s t inside the au ditorium . The follow ing descrip tio n s capture the atm osphere o f those early auditoria. As early as 1919 the critic I. N. Ignatov was rem iniscing w ith nostalgia:

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In those days, when cinem a was in its infancy, the electric theatres sought refuge in hum ble prem ises, w here the spectators som etim es sat on w ooden b enches, w here there w ere no deco ratio n s or any am enities for the public, but w here you could enjoy so m any lively and cu rio u s im p ressio n s.3 In his m em oirs A. L. P asternak also recalled those early days o f cinem a: T he door o f the auditorium had been rem oved from its hinges, possibly as a safety precaution in case o f fire, and replaced by a heavy plush curtain, w hich w as tightly clo sed during the perfo rm an ce. It divided the darkened auditorium from the brightly lit landing. T w o o r three row s o f plain bentw ood chairs were arranged in row s in the room . The P athe projector, with its trade m ark o f the ‘all-seein g and a ll-k n o w in g ’ cockerel, stood in front o f the audience, not at the back as in all later cinem as, and brought to m ind our m agic lantern. It was m ounted on a sort o f prim itiv e stand, rath er like a trestle. On the wall in front o f the p ro jecto r hung a screen: if not a sheet, as we had at hom e fo r the m agic lantern, then som ething equ ally crude, w hich suddenly began to undulate during the p erfo rm an ce.4 The R ussian actor A lexander W erner describ ed his child h o o d m em ories of the early cinem a in O dessa: It w as a sm all, perm an en tly stuffy room crow ded w ith chairs. D ow n at the front stood som e w eird ap p aratu s, w hich we lads found terribly fascinating, but w hich w as jealo u sly guarded by a m ysterious m an w hom we called eith er ‘the m ech a n ic’ o r ‘the tech n ician ’. He was both im presario, ow ner o f the ‘theatre o f illu s io n s’ and tick et collector. He w as the one w ho cranked the handle and the one who collected the m oney. O n the wall hung a grubby bit o f cloth, called the screen, and this w as the focus o f all our attention. The audience, w hich usually co n sisted o f ch ild ren and young people, were pretty u nrestrained in their behaviour; they chew ed seeds and m unched apples, throw ing the husks and cores on the floor, and som etim es at one another.5 F inally, a sem i-au to b io g rap h ical essay by the film jo u rn a list V sevolod C haikovsky gives us som e idea o f the average size o f a M oscow cinem a at about that tim e: In S eptem ber 1904 a cinem a belonging to tw o sisters, B elinskaya and G enzel, opened on T verskaya Street, at the co rn er o f B olshoi G nezdnikovsky Lane. It w as a sm all room , w ith only tw enty-four seats and standing room at the back for another thirty. Those at the back used to chew seeds all the tim e and spit out the husks on the heads o f the people in the seats. O ld B elinskaya used to sit inside the room selling the tickets, w hile G enzel was the usherette, dealing vigorously w ith irrepressible sm all boys w ho were real pests and drove these tw o ladies to distractio n .6

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THE EARLY CINEMA AUDITORIUM AS AN OBJECT OF CULTURAL RECEPTION T he few descriptions cited above are enough to suggest that the atm osphere o f the cinem a auditorium was unique am ong the range o f visual public entertainm ents existing at the beginning o f the tw entieth century. It was not. therefore, ju st the films that cam e into the focus o f film reception; the m ilieu also played a part. M em oirists, who give us scrupulous and lively d escrip t­ io n s o f the interior o f cinem a auditoria, telling us how the perform ances took place and how the audience behaved, do not, as a rule, rem em ber the films them selves. T his is not sim ply because the films were alw ays changing, w hile the space they were being show n in stayed the sam e. It is also because at that tim e people who w ent to the cinem a looked around them m ore keenly than they do today. Early patrons were fascinated not by films alone but rather by films and the environm ent, w hich, taken together, contributed to the as yet undifferentiated, overall im pression o f ‘c in e m a ’. Let us look now at two details that went to m ake up this im pression: the illum ination and the tem perature o f the auditorium . In the early 1900s the source o f light used in cinem a p ro jecto rs was not electricity but m ainly ether-oxygen burners, o r ‘sa tu ra to rs’. For the cinem agoer o f those years the sp lu tterin g o f the lam ps, the flickering, y ellow ish, unsteady beam o f the projector, the faint but ex citin g sm ell o f the eth er were essential attributes o f the show .7 A nother feature o f e th e r-o x y g e n p rojectors (apart from the im proved L aw son b u rn e rs)8 w as that they o verheated very quickly, and w hen this happened the tem perature in the auditorium rose significantly. O ne M oscow cinem a w as even nam ed ‘The Hot B o x ’ [G oryachaya budka], and no doubt the large V olcano cinem a on T aganskaya Square held m ore than m erely exotic asso c ia tio n s fo r M uscovites. The situation looked all the m ore unreal since the audience were not supposed to take o ff their coats, although etiq u ette - quickly dictated by pressure from the rear row s - required the rem oval o f headgear. At the b eginning o f the century it w as not done to rem ain in a public place w ith o n e ’s coat on: this was allow ed only in church. In w inter (the season o f cinem a) som e people dropped into the cin em a ju s t to get w arm . The n ew sp ap er satirist L olo [M unshtein] published a eulogy in verse to cinem a, w hich had the follow ing lines: ‘We w ent to the pictures. My g irlfrien d w hispered: “ I t’s as lovely and w arm as a T urkish b a th !’” 9 And a casual passer-by, stro llin g on the streets o f V asilevsky Islan d in St P etersb u rg , could easily reco g n ise a cinem a from a distance: ‘C hatterin g sp arro w s on telephone w ires/C louds o f steam from the cinem a d oors . . . M0 However, the dom inant feature, which im m ediately d eterm ined the nature o f cinem a reception in early tw entieth-century culture, was the darkened auditorium . A lthough com plete or partial darkness was fam iliar from m agic lantern show s and som e theatre p erform ances, it w as in cinem a that it

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acquired the character o f a dom inant cultural sym bol (in the Tadzhik language the first word for cinem a w as, in fact, the w ord for darkness, ‘to rik isto n ’) .11 For a new com er to cinem a, the darkness o f the auditorium , coupled w ith the silence o f the characters on the screen and the black-and-w hite quality o f the im age, m ight stir an association w ith the depths o f the ocean or a subterranean w orld. Several passages from Russian film literature could be cited to illustrate this point, but the best exam ple can be found in an essay by R obert M usil: ‘M ute as a fish and pale as an underground creature the film sw im s in the pool o f the barely v isib le’ [‘Stum m wie ein Fisch und bleich wie U nterirdisches schw im m t der Film im Teich des N ursichtbaren’].12 T his m etaphor provides a graphic exam ple o f the way in w hich an ordinary trope o f film reception may grow into a (very G erm an) phenom enological statem ent. T hus, the darkness o f the au ditorium , w hich w as b elieved to enhance the reception o f the film and to m ake it e asier for the v iew er to be draw n into the w orld o f the im age, itself becam e an ob ject o f reception, in a way, this was a repetition o f an effect experienced som e tw enty years earlier by E uropean theatre audiences under the im pact o f W ag n er’s m usic dram as. As R ichard S ieburth w rites: U nlike the French theatres, w hich trad itio n ally kept the h ouselights on during the entire p erform ance (thus effectiv ely m aintaining the audience itself as part o f the sp ectacle), B ayreuth plunged its public into a co m ­ m unity o f shared darkness. W ith all attention reverently d irected at the illum inated stage, the en tire aesthetic ex p erien ce o f dram a thus took on the m ystical quality o f a religious event - the theatre as tem ple, the audience as anonym ous officiants at a redem ptive rite .13 In a sim ilar m anner, the sig h t o f h alf-illu m in ated faces silen tly c o n ­ centrated on the rectan g le o f light evoked im ages o f o ccu lt c ircles, in p articu lar the rituals o f secret sects, w hich A ndrei B e ly ’s novel The Silver D ove had done so much to bring to the in terest o f the public. In 1910 M axim ilian V oloshin w rote about cinem a: ‘In a sm all room w ith bare w alls, rem inding one o f the pray er room s o f the flagellants, an ancient, ecstatic, p urifying rite is en acted .’14 W hen in 1902 the w ell-know n n ew spaper rep o rter N. G. Shebuyev visited the all-night sh elter fo r vagrants at the K hitrov m arket in M oscow , he was not slow to com pare it w ith the cinem a: I held up a candle and illu m in ated the faces o f my in fo rm an ts. It flickered o ver tram ps and dow n -an d -o u ts. F aces shone fo r a few m om ents in the light o f the candle and then disap p eared in the sem i-gloom . It w as living c in e m a .15 S h eb u y ev ’s com parison ow es m uch to the stubborn reputation o f cinem a as the nadir, the und erw o rld , the cata co m b o f culture. T his m o tif w as a variation on a them e that w as central to film reception in R ussia: cinem a as

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a w orld beyond the grave. In the Introduction I have discussed the way in w hich early film reception co ntributed to Sym bolist sensibility and how cinem a becam e part o f the m ythology o f St Petersburg. L ater on these them es will be treated m ore fully in the passages describ in g certain features o f A ndrei B ely ’s script for a film based on his novel P etersb u rg, 16 H ere it should be noted that ‘beyond the grave" did not refer ex clu siv ely to w hat was happening on the screen. R eception w orks by d iffusion rath er than d istin c­ tion: it blurs all boundaries. At tim es the entire edifice o f the film theatre, and not ju st the auditorium , w ould be described as the house o f the dead. Here is an exam ple. By co incidence, 1907 - the year the revolution o f 1905 was finally crushed - was also the year o f the big cinem a-building boom in Russia. In the gloom o f the moral depression that hung over the w hole nation these new buildings looked like om inous fungi on the dead bodies o f the cities. In an article o f that year A lexander K oiransky, w riting in em igration, described the scene: they (cinem as] grew like m ushroom s at a tim e when one had to d istract o n eself at any cost, w hen nerv es shattered by the upheavals o f the revolution were unable to stand theatre o r concerts . . . A nd they still have a forbidding air about them : tense (but not happy) faces in the strange, deathly light o f the electric lam ps; the gloom y auditorium ; the sepulchral voices o f the g ram o p h o n es.17 T hirty years later, in the age o f sound, the idea o f cinem a as an evocation o f eternal night appeared again in B oris P o p lav sk y ’s novel H om e fr o m the C louds, w hich describes the aim less w anderings o f another ém igré, this time a fugitive from the B olshevik R evolution o f 1917: 1 am free. I am com pletely free to turn right or left; to stay in the sam e place; to sm oke; to go hom e and go to bed in the m iddle o f the day; to go to the pictures in the daytim e, and thereby to pass in an instant from day into night, into the subterranean realm o f speaking sh ad o w s.18

THE ‘LONG AUDITORIUM’ PERIOD In 1908 a form er contractor, one A bram ovich, arrived from Siberia. He rebuilt the old house on T verskaya Street (opposite M am onovsky Lane), w hich used to belong to the Shilovsky fam ily and w here, long ago, G linka introduced M uscovites to his new w ork, Ruslan a n d Ludm illa. But the draw ing room was too sm all for a cinem a auditorium , so A bram ovich pulled down the internal w alls and turned it into a hall big enough to hold three hundred people. It was thought o f at the tim e as a large and splendid cin em a.19 C onversions o f this kind w ere typical for the end o f the 1900s. At this time it becam e the custom to pull dow n the p artition w alls in form er residential

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prem ises in order to form som ething like suites o f room s. T his w as w hen cinem a audito ria took on the shape o f a long gallery. T he long, narrow hall was the m ost rational shape fo r a cinem a. The effectiv e area o f the screen was increased by placing it fu rth er from the projector, w hich at that tim e was m oved from the front row s to the back, and the angle o f view fo r those sitting at the sides was not too far o ff the optim um . T his kind o f auditorium w as not at all like a theatre, since in a theatre the acoustics did not allow the seats at the back to be situated too far from the stage, so in the 1908-15 period this elongated auditorium ( ‘that long giraffe-n eck ed h a ll’)20 becam e accepted as a distinctive feature o f the new form o f entertainm ent. The ‘long au d ito riu m ’ period did not see out the decade; in the chronology of architecture it com es betw een the period o f tem porarily hired, im provised auditoria and the age o f the luxury cinem as o f the 1910s. T he few cinem as w hich have avoided m ajor reco n stru ctio n have p reserved this archaic form untouched dow n to the present day; it coincides - u n expectedly - w ith the plan o f the nave in R om an C atholic and P rotestant churches. ‘C o rrid o r’, ‘tu n n e l’, ‘train co m p a rtm e n t’: the cinem a o f the ‘long au d it­ o riu m ’ period was too rem iniscent o f these functional spaces to enable the strict rationalism o f the oblong interior to surv iv e into the E m pire period o f cinem a style, w hich dom inated throughout the follow ing decade, and at the end o f w hich the evolution o f the auditorium could be sum m arised thus: ‘The building was at first narrow and elongated, it then started to becom e m ore square-shaped and is now w ell on the w ay to becom ing com pletely square.’21

THE EVOLUTION OF NAMES B efore passing from the ‘long au d ito riu m ’ period to the ‘rectangular p erio d ’, we ought to pause to consider another m etam orphosis that took place during those years, and w hich - it w ould appear - occurred for the sam e reasons that led to the evolution o f architectural form s m entioned above. T his was the wave o f new nam es for cinem a, which sw ept in at the turn o f the 1900s and 1910s. T here are tw o aspects in the h istory o f nam es that enable us to reconstruct the changing cultural context o f w hat we now call ‘cin e m a ’: nam es given to film theatres and nam es that w ere attached to the m edium itself. By 1902, the w ords ‘c in em ato g ra p h ’ and ‘k in e m a to g ra p h ’, w hich had entered the language in 1886 and had been used interchangeably, had lost their equality, w ith the latter G reek-rooted form com ing to be regarded as the m ore ‘cu ltu re d ’ o f the tw o. An articlc in N ew Tim es w rote o f ‘the k in em ato ­ graph, w hich the illiterate often call the “ c in e m a to g ra p h ” ’.22 O v er the next few years both w ords cam e to be regarded as o ld-fashioned: ‘It is high tim e to replace that clum sy w ord “ k in em ato g rap h ” ’, w rote the new spaper R ussian F reedom [R usskaya volyaj on 19 Jan u ary 1917 - very m uch in the spirit o f that year o f revolution. In the 1900s tw o abbreviations o f these w ords were b orrow ed from French

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and G erm an: ciném a and kinem a respectively; they w ere, how ever, still felt to be unsatisfactory. At that tim e a kind o f lexical am bivalence arose around cinem a, which lasted right up to the beginning o f the 1920s. On the one hand there was a shortage o f suitable term s, and on the oth er a num ber of regional variants: in the south of R ussia, for exam ple, the w ord ‘illu sio n ’ Iiilyu zio n | was used.23 T his situation led to an outburst o f inventiveness on the part o f am ateur lexicographers. From the beginning o f the 1910s articles on cinem a in the R ussian press w ould often begin w ith suggestions for new nam es. C inem a seem ed to attract the w ould-be arbiters o f cultural fashion; in the 1910s they produced an abundance o f neologism s. The word ‘k in em a’, which was treated in R ussia as a m asculine noun despite ending in a fem inine ‘a ’, offended the ear and was replaced by the m ore R ussian-sounding ‘k in em o ’. T his form spread, partly ow ing to a w ell-know n article by Leonid A ndreyev (1911) in w hich the author prefaced the w ord w ith the polem icalsounding epithet ‘G re at’ \V elikii].24 From then on, according to the press, ‘T hanks to Leonid A ndreyev, all new term s w hich the m odern age uses to describe the cultural role o f cinem a in o ur everyday life, are invariably accom panicd by the epith et “ G reat” .’25 In St Petersburg, ow ing to the twin processes o f haplology and popular etym ology, A n d rey ev ’s expression, ‘The G reat C in em a’ [Velikii K inem o], w as changed to ‘The G reat Silent O n e ’ [Velikii N em oi], a form w hich for som e tim e becam e the term in general use. At the sam e time the search for dim inutive form s o f ‘k inem atograph’ also continued am ong bisyllabic words. This was dictated by an attem pt to dom esticate the new form o f entertainm ent, and also by the grow ing stratifica­ tion o f cinem a genres. The internal m otivation behind this process is revealed, for exam ple, in the follow ing observations by a G erm an w riter in 1913: We m ust draw a d istin ctio n betw een the ‘K in em ato g rap h ’ and the ‘K in o ’. K inem atograph the fath er resem b les a resp ectab le, cu ltu red scholar, who has m ade a real c o n trib u tio n to learning . . . But what a differen ce there is betw een him and his o ffsp rin g , ‘K in o ’! How little the son resem bles his serious father! He keeps bad com pany and falls u n d er the influence o f the uned u cated .26 In that sam e year the R ussian critic P eter B oborykin, w riting from G erm any, w here - in his w ords - ‘the “ K in em ato g rap h ” is no longer even called “ K in em a”, but has been fu rther shortened to K in o ', suggested that R ussians should ‘adopt the latter form as the sim p lest’.27 A lthough the term ‘k in o ’ was already to be found in R ussian, it becam e the generally accepted word for cinem a only in the 1920s. At the beginning o f the 1910s it com peted - w ithout much success - with kintop, from the G erm an K intopp. K intop had first been suggested by A lexander K oiransky in 1907: ‘I like this word: “ k in to p ”. It is shorter and sounds better than the Parisian “ ciném o-chrom op hono-m éga-scopo-graph” . K intop - th a t’s a splendid name! I recom m end it to y o u !’28 The G erm an-derived kintop w as eventually shortened to a

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Japanese-sounding neuter noun ending in ‘o ’, as we see in a 1916 poem : ‘V m ertsan’i prizrachnom kinto . . . / G de nas ne vysledit n ik to ’. |In the ghostly cinem a hall . . . / w here no one w ill find us at a ll].29 In 1917 the artist A lexander Benois m ade a curious but unsuccessful attem pt to introduce into R ussian a term w hich, although form ed on the pattern o f reduplicating French nursery w ords, did not actually exist in French and was m ost probably the product o f his own linguistic im agination: ‘I h av e’, he w rote, ‘a crim inal w eakness for the cinem atograph, or - as one says now - “ the cin em a” , or even m ore sim ply - the k ik i.'i0 A m ong the dim inutive nam es that actually w ere in co lloquial use in R ussia during the 1910s, we m ay m ention kin em u sh a , kin em o sh ka , and a w ord that is still som etim es used today, kin o sh ka , w hich is the clo sest R ussian ever cam e to the A m erican ‘m o v ie s’. R u ssia ’s en try into the F irst W orld W ar and the en su in g n atio n alism brought d issatisfactio n w ith loan w ords, and the search fo r new term s turn ed into a drive fo r R ussification. T he w riter and critic A lex an d er A m fiteatrov proposed d v ig o p is, a caiq u e o f the w ord ‘c in e m a to g ra p h ’ [m oving d e ­ pictio n ], w hich w as in troduced by the M oscow jo u rn al P eg a su s in 191 6 -1 7 . In P etrograd Sergei G o ro d etsk y su g g ested the w ord zh izn o p is [life d e p ictio n ],31 possibly derived from the A m erican film com pany trade m arks ‘B io g rap h ’ or ‘V ita g ra p h ’, the second o f w hich was w ell know n in R ussia. T he term sveto tvo rc h estvo [lig h t c re a tio n |, in v en ted by N ikolai and V alentin T urkin, w as pro b ab ly also a tran slatio n o f the A m erican ‘p h o to ­ p la y ’, or the G erm an L ich tsp iel. As the above exam ples show, the ev o lu tio n o f the term indicates a m ove aw ay from the original, scientific-sounding G reek form o f the w ord tow ards dom esticated form s like kiki, o r cu ltiv ated form s like svetotvorchestvo. A sim ilar process took place w ith the nam es given to cinem a theatres. Initially the proprietors o f cinem a theatres nam ed them after the p articular m odels o f projector they had installed. In the early 1900s cinem as in M oscow w ere called the B ioscope, the T haum atograph, the Pathegraph, etc., and in St Petersburg there were also the M esster T heatre and the Edison T heatre. Early exhibitors w ent out o f their way to accentuate the technical aspect o f the new form o f entertainm ent, m aking up w ords like ‘E lectro b io g rap h ’, ‘Prim av iv o g rap h ’, ju s t as, in oth er E uropean co u n tries, nam es like ‘V elograph’, ‘C osm ograph’, ‘C ineograph’, etc. appeared.32 H ow ever, at the turn o f the 1900s and 1910s, cinem a pro p rieto rs carefully began to avoid these technical term s. If we com pare lists o f cinem as active during the m iddle and end o f the 1900s w ith sim ilar lists fo r the b eginning o f the 1910s, we shall see that the earlier lexicon o f scientific-sounding nam es w as giving way to nam es ev ocative o f lum inescence, or splendour. A typical exam ple: in 1910 the o w n er o f the first p erm an en t cinem a in R iga, the S ynchrophone, inform ed the c ity ’s build in g dep artm en t o f his intention to change its nam e to the N orthern L ights. O th er cinem a nam es typical for the

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1910s were: the Palace o f M irrors, the U niversal, the R enaissance, the N iagara, the Equator, the A labaster, the Lyre, the M irage, the H elius, the Ideal, and even the Z eppelin.

RECEPTION SHIFT The wave o f new nam es attached to film theatres was a part o f a m ore general process, w hich may be called a ‘reception sh ift’, that took place tow ards the end o f the 1900s: cinem a was changing its cu ltural identity. T his change corresponded with another m ajor shift going on around the sam e tim e, one that, on the surface, looked like a m ere renew al o f repertoire: dram atically constructed stories gradually replaced ‘trick film s’ and new sreels. In fact, as dem onstrated by Tom G unning and A ndré G audreault, this was m ore than a change o f fashion: films w ere changing their m ode o f address.33 The early ‘fairg ro u n d ’ cinem a had been centred on provoking the type o f response that, to use G u n n in g ’s term , pertained to an ‘aesthetic o f asto n ish m en t’.34 D isplay­ ing the apparatus o f cinem a (or, to paraphrase R ussian F orm alist idiom , ‘baring the tech n o lo g y ’) was a part o f this exhib itio n ist stratagem . Speaking o f film reception, this can be called a ‘sc io listic ’, or pseudo-scientific, period in its history: technology was on display in theatre w indow s, the projector occupied the centre o f the audito riu m , quasi-scientific term s featured in advertising posters and cinem a was still called the ‘cin em ato g rap h ’. O bviously, this type o f response ceased to w ork as soon as cinem a passed out o f the sphere o f ‘the n e w ’ and entered the sphere o f ‘the fa m ilia r’. Now cinem a was expected to behave according to dom estic rules. In term s of response, astonishm ent was giving way to n arrative involvem ent. Tricks were being replaced by tam er ‘real sto rie s’. In term s o f exhibition, the reception shift o f the late 1900s m eant adaptation to traditional form s o f culture. Prim arily, this was a declaratio n o f w ar on technology. The technical apparatus, proudly displayed in the previous decade, was pushed behind the scenes. Prejudice against ‘the m ech a n ical’ (w hich com es from the nineteenth century and w hich we still experience each tim e ‘high tech n o lo g y ’ - be it video, laser discs, or digital im ages, etc. - threatens to replace the ‘fa m ilia r’ cinem a) made cultural organism s resistant to an outright penetration o f this sort. E xhibitors had to conform : w herever possible, the new and the asto n ish ­ ing was replaced by the fam iliar and the respectable. T rue, it seem s nev er to have w orked as it ought to have done. Som e observers (like Z inaida G ippius and Igor G rabar) persisted in their disdain for cinem a, claim ing that it was a fatal cancer on the body o f culture; others saw it as heralding the daw n o f the new ‘m achine a g e ’. But, one way or another, ‘the m echan ical’, as opposed to ‘the o rg an ic’, rem ained one o f the principal axes o f film reception well into the 1910s. B esides, the ‘glam o ro u s’ nam es that cam e to replace the technical ones betrayed the som ew hat nouveau riche nature o f cin em a’s new cultural identity.

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The reception shift that cinem a underw ent before the 1910s made it run from one extrem e to another. New nam es also m eant a new style in the interior architecture o f cinem a theatres. The functional architecture o f the ‘long au ditorium ’ (dom inant in the sciolistic period) gave w ay to a hall fashioned after an opera theatre. In the new period the drive was to forget, suppress or force technological references out o f the fram ew ork o f film reception.

THE CITY CENTRE LUXURY CINEMAS: THE BEGINNING OF THE ‘RECTANGULAR’ PERIOD Som e o bservers see the end o f the 1910s as the perio d w hen the early auditorium began to ex h ib it signs o f arch itectu ral exuberance: C onverted shop prem ises no longer satisfied eith er the cinem a p roprietors or the public, so people who rented cinem as had to enlarg e them - as their profits increased - by knocking dow n m ain w alls, by replacing benches w ith bent-w ood ch airs or som e o th er m ore ex p en siv e seatin g , and by putting up heavy, expensive tap estries instead o f plain calico cu rtain s.35 Indeed, although the luxury cinem a really becam e estab lish ed only in the m id -1 9 10s, m odest signs o f the future style w ere already to be seen by 1907. A s B oris D ushen, a veteran film tech nician , recalled in his m em oirs: ‘several cinem as “ sud d en ly ” opened on N evsky Avenue, all at the sam e tim e; som e w ere even fitted out w ith “ lu x u ry -sty le ” in terio rs.’36 T he acto r N. I. O rlov, a friend o f F. A. V asilyeva, the dau g h ter o f a gold m erchant from O m sk, d escribed this event in detail: On one o f her trips abroad, F. V asilyeva saw a film being shot on a street in Paris. She w as cu rio u s, and asked the actors, cam eram en and d irecto r to explain w hat was going on. The F renchm en w ere flattered by the attention o f this rich R ussian lady and invited her to v isit the Pathé b ro th ers’ studios . . . she entered into n egotiations w ith them and m anaged to acquire, on very favourable term s, P a th é ’s screening rights fo r the w hole o f R ussia. She could screen all P ath é ’s p ictures in P etersburg free, but all the incom e from screenings in oth er R ussian tow ns (less the ad m in istrativ e and postal costs) had to be rem itted to Paris. The business took o ff straight aw ay and expanded rapidly. C inem as opened one after an o th er in Petersburg. T hese w ere all exact copies o f P arisian cinem as, w ith o rch estras, cafés, foyers, beautiful young barm aids and usherettes. The first cinem a, called Just like Paris |K ak v Parizhe], w as situated in a cosy, d etached house in a courtyard o ff N evsky Avenue. O utside there w ere tw o huge coloured p o sters o f Paris; in sum m er the en trance was decorated w ith flowers and in w inter w ith C hristm as trees. A d eep-pile carp et led the public into an eleg an t foyer. A fter tw elve o ’clock there w ere perfo rm an ces o f ‘P arisian g e n re ’ film s (of pornographic pictures, to be frank). T hese were put on free-o f-ch arg e for

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very select m em bers o f the city au th o rities (the c h ie f o f police, court officers and other officials, all w ith very sm art and respectable ladies). A second cinem a. Just like Nice [Kak v N itse], was opened on the other side o f the street, on the co rn er o f N evsky and L iteiny A venues. In this one there w ere tw o auditoria. On the ground floor they show ed very serious, docum entary pictures. I rem em ber one about how silk was produced; there was also one about subm arines . . . O n the first floor there were feature films. The décor was quite m agnificent; gilt fu rniture, huge gilt-fram ed m irrors, m arvellous carpets, silk m aterial on the w alls and door curtains to m atch. O f course, not everyone could afford to go to this kind o f cinem a; tickets cost from a rouble upw ards, and (as V asilyeva h erself used to say) they were really ju st places w here the w ell-o ff could m eet one another, where they could arrange their rendezvous.37 This kind o f secondary sp ecialisation o f the city-centre cinem a houses in the 1910s soon aroused disquiet. In G erm any E m ilie A ltenloh and K arl Lange argued that the auditorium should not be fully darkened. R udolf H arm s cited the advertisem ent o f one M annheim cinem a w hich ran; ‘V isit us. O urs is the darkest cinem a in tow n’.38 M. Sw artz considers that because o f the darkened auditorium it was predom inantly men who w ent to the cinem a in A m erica.39 Things were rather m ore decorously arranged in R ussia. The program m e o f the above-m entioned Just like Paris bore the m otto: “ ‘Lead the field, create the ideal cin em a!" T h a t’s our goal.’ In the sam e cinem a the publicity for Le B argy's and C a lm ettes’ film L 'A ssa ssin a t du D ue de G uise [The A ssassination o f the Due de G uise, 1908 [ was accom panied by the assurance: ‘All the tableaux are strictly d ecen t’. D ating needs affected the architecture o f R ussian city-centre cinem as through the provision of special boxes, w hich could be booked (fully or in part) for the season, or rented for the day or the perform ance. T elephones were a sign o f ‘loge de lu x e’ status, and they were installed in the luxury boxes at the Empire and the Just like Paris in P etersburg.40 T. V echorka recorded the psychology o f the habitué o f the ‘loge de lu x e’ in this poem w ritten in 1916: Enchanted by the cinem a, I recall it like a dream : In the shadow y ‘loge de lu x e ’, feeling like a queen. His coat still on, h e ’s w aiting there, C lutching a crum pled rose. And in the dark I feel his lips C aressing my scented hair. So secret and so urgent, the touch o f silky furs. So w icked and so w ilful, my sm iling, sinful gaze. Shadow s flicker on the screen, The violinist plays. The m orning cares ju st drift aw ay A cosy, rose-pink haze.41

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‘CENTRE AND PERIPHERY’ IN THE SOCIAL TOPOGRAPHY OF CINEMA By the beginning o f the First W orld War, according to one eyew itn ess, ‘the old, im provised, barn-like cinem a theatres had alm ost d isappeared from the centres o f the tw o capitals. In th eir place there rose up huge cinem a palaces, w hich w ere specially built for the screen and as carefully designed as if they could actually anticipate the p u b lic ’s taste in such m atters.’42 The distinction betw een the city-centre cinem as and those in the ou ter city areas also becam e a reg u lato r o f the repertoire. As early as 1907 the theatre critic L yubov G urevich drew attention to the differen ce betw een cinem as ‘intended for the in telligent cla sse s’, and ‘the w hole net o f sm all cinem as serving the general public, w hich w ere scattered throughout the streets and alleys o f the outer city d is tric ts’. A ccording to G urev ich , the latter were ‘particu larly interesting as far as their selection o f p ictures was c o n c e rn e d ’. T hey show ed sentim ental m elodram as and, gen erally speaking, ‘anything w ith a touching or m oving c o n te n t’.43 A t the b eginning o f 1909 ano th er observer, a review er for the n ew sp ap er L ife w riting u n d er the pen-nam e F lanyor [Flâneur], provided a m ore d etailed p ictu re o f the specific repertoires o f the central and outer city cinem as. A udiences o utside the centre preferred ‘predom inantly realistic film s, w hether dram atic or com ic; they d id n ’t like anything to do w ith fairy tales, w itch es, m agical tran sfo rm atio n s, e tc .’. N ew sreels, on the oth er hand, w ere w idely show n. The cinem a ow ners o f the Z am oskvoretsky district, fo r exam ple, ju s t south o f the riv er M oskva, ‘earned m asses o f m oney by show ing p ictures o f the M oscow floods. E very view er w as flattered by seeing pictures o f his ow n daily life (no m atter how dull) on the screen.’44 T he sam e author rep o rted the d etails o f the rep erto ires o f the central M oscow luxury cin em as: ‘If it’s a dram a, then it’s got to be a particu larly bloody one. If it’s a com ic p icture, i t ’s caricatu red to the nth degree. The public enjo y s the d ep ictio n o f h o rro rs, cata stro p h es, and o f course anything even rem otely to do w ith sex.’45 N eya Z orkaya has pointed out that passage in M aria B ek e to v a ’s m em oirs w here she describes A lexander B lo k ’s stro lls around P etersburg: A lexander A lexandrovich d id n ’t like sm art luxury cinem as w ith th eir w ellscrubbed clientèle. He co u ld n ’t stand places like the P arisian a o r the Soleil for the sam e reasons that he hated N evsky and M orskoi Avenues: they w ere full o f that sam e class o f w ell-fed bo u rg eo is, gilded youth, prosperous engineers and aristo crats w hom he detested and w hom he called the ‘dregs o f so c ie ty ’ . . . He loved to get to som e o ut-of-the-w ay place in the P etersburg district or E nglish A venue (not far from his flat), w here the audience consisted o f all sorts o f people w ho w ere far from being eith er sm art or w ell-fed - m ost o f them w ere naively im pressionable - and w here he could surren d er h im self to the cinem a w ith his ow n form o f childish curiosity and delight.46

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Such behaviour should certainly not be thought eccentric: am ong Russian intellectuals o f the 1910s it was a m atter o f good taste to prefer the outer city districts to the centre. It was the reverse o f snobbery: for Blok, going to films or attending circus w restling m eant getting o n e se lf involved w ith w hat he believed to be the 're a l R u ssia’. Sharing the ‘n a iv e ’ unm ediated reactions o f w orking-class audiences to the equally u nsophisticated stories they saw on the screen was B lo k ’s way o f establishing contact with ‘the p e o p le ’. There was also m ovem ent in the opposite direction. The real, flesh and blood audiences o f the ou ter city cinem as (as opposed to the idealised ‘folk au d ien c es’ beloved o f d em o cratically m inded intellectuals) w ere also a t­ tracted to the luxury film theatres o f the city centre. We can reconstruct the social stratification o f the internal space o f the central theatres by studying the differentially priced seating layout (see 3 1 -3 ): it is clear that the less w ell-off public did visit them . M ost probably, the inhabitants o f the outer city districts used to go to their local cinem as during the w eek, w hereas the luxury theatres o f N evsky Avenue in St P etersburg, or A rbat S treet in M oscow, served m ore for their Sunday evening entertainm ent. S hortly after 1917, when m ost social b arriers collapsed, the central theatres were flooded by w orking-class cinem agoers. Ignatov observed this ‘class m in g lin g ’ in 1919: It w as easier to observe these groups w hen they took them selves to d ifferen t establish m en ts - the one to the fringes o f tow n, the oth er to explore the enticing prospects o f the centre - than when they com e together and m ingle in one establishm ent. T his m ingling has becom e particularly noticeable lately, and there can hardly be a single cinem a w here the ‘outer c ity ’ people do not heavily outnum ber the ‘c e n tra l’ g roup.47 S till, for all the relativ ity o f this d ivision in term s o f attendance, the opposition o f periphery to centre was an im portant com ponent o f reception. T his may be confirm ed by co n sid erin g the ex perience o f the provinces; provincial cinem as were alw ays situated in the centre o f tow n. A 1914 article in a M oscow cinem a m agazine described a typical provincial scene: On the m ain square, right opposite the tow n hall, a garland o f fairy lights shines out around the façade o f the M agic electric theatre. A dozen o r so steps away, on the other side o f the street, nestles the E xpress ‘theatre o f illusions'. A round the co rn er o f the next block we glim pse the suffused light from tw o large lanterns: this is the third cinem a, the Em pire. And finally, at the very end o f the main street, w here the bazaar begins, there is the G iant, in its own bright pool o f light. This is a com m on sight in any sm all provincial tow n. For a population o f tw enty-five or thirty thousand there are at least four electric theatres, w hich for som e reason o r other are all grouped close together on the one main street.48 N evertheless, the opposition o f centre and periphery, w hich was initially a feature o f the tw o capital cities, was not long in appearing in the provincial

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cinem as o f R ussia, even in p laces w hich hardly deserv ed to be called tow ns. T here only needed to be tw o cinem as - usually nam ed after fam ous m etropolitan theatres - for one o f them to be regarded by the in habitants as ‘c e n tra l’, and the other as ‘o u te r’. C ount Sergei V olkonsky, w ho in 1917 lived fo r a w hile in the C ossack villag e o f U ryupino, later recalled: W hen 1 asked my landlord (the v illag e sex to n ) w hich cin em a (or ‘illu sio n ’, as it w as called there) w as the better, the A rtistic o r the M od ern , he replied that they w ere both good, but that there w as no co m p ariso n b etw een the kind o f people they attracted : ‘You ju s t ought to see the p eo p le w ho go to the A rtistic! I t’s all bo w ler hats and fea th e r boas, b o w ler hats and feath er boas . . ,’49

THE CONCEPT OF THE CITY-CENTRE LUXURY CINEMA The new generation cinem a theatres u n expectedly acquired som e rudim entary features w hose sole function w as to stress the fact that they w ere g enetically related to the auditorium o f the stage theatre. T he transition from the long to the square auditorium could be explained as a rational ad aptation to circu m ­ stances: the lim ited pow er o f the p ro je c to r beam m ade it im p o ssib le to lengthen the space indefinitely, and th erefo re to increase the size o f the auditorium it had to be w idened. T his w as w hat ultim ately brought cinem a proprietors to the optim al, egg-shaped, layout o f the au d ito riu m .50 B ut the introduction o f a curtain and som ething b earing a distan t resem blance to a theatre stage was certainly part o f a d eco r policy that was dictated by the recep tion shift discussed above. As Y evgeni M aurin observ ed in his g u id e­ book for cinem a organisers: S tric tly sp eaking , o f co u rse , the c u rta in is no t n e c essary for the cin em a itself; it is there fo r the view er, w ho in stin ctiv e ly asso c ia te s the b eg in n in g o f a th e a tric a l p e rfo rm an ce w ith the ra isin g o f the cu rtain d ividing him from the stage. The cu rta in co n v ey s a feelin g o f c o m p le te ­ ness, o f w holeness: w hen low ered, it in trig u es, and teases the im ag in ­ ation. So, as a co n cessio n to the p sy ch o lo g y o f the av erag e v iew er and all his h ab its, the cu rta in - we rep eat - is e sse n tia l, and this m ust never be fo rg o tte n .51 It is ch aracteristic that this dictum w as based on the ‘psychology o f the average v ie w e r’ o f 1916. It was only after the reception shift that the ‘feeling o f com pleteness, o f w h o le n e ss’ becam e part o f the v ie w e r’s psychology. Previously there had been no need to delin eate any kind o f w holeness because film s w ere show n in an unbroken, co ntinuous sequence. B esides, the view er o f the earlier ‘fairground p e rio d ’ responded to the technological nakedness o f the perform ance. M ost certainly, early view ers w ould have objected to the presence o f a curtain. C ontem porary reports and later rem in iscen ces record

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that there was usually at least one curious spectator who, oncc the show was over, approached the p rojector or the screen in o rder to exam ine it. For him the screen was part o f the ‘technical m a rv e l’, no less (if no m ore) intriguing than the projector itself: ‘Is it tran sp aren t?’ ‘Is there som eone hidden behind it? ’ The usual reaction o f this incredulous spectato r was to touch the screen with his fingers. O nce the ‘fairground p erio d ’ was over, the naked screen seem ed to start getting on p e o p le ’s nerves. In 1913 the The C inem a C ourier [K ino-K uryer] grudgingly m entioned ‘that . . . fram ed, w hite screen, which becom es an ugly w hite eyesore as soon as the auditorium is fully illum in­ a te d ’.52 Possibly, the ‘aesthetics o f in v o lv em en t’ that cam e to replace the ‘aesthetics o f astonish m en t’ were som ew hat underm ined by the flat surface that preceded and follow ed the three-dim ensional ‘im ages o f life ’. Be that as it may, the naked screen cam e to be regarded as som ething alm ost indecent, som ething that needed to be covered up by a curtain. The curtain cam e as a part o f the general drive o f the 1910s to drape the entire cinem atic apparatus, to give it new ‘cu ltu re d ’ nam es, to hide aw ay the projector, to kill the flicker, to suppress any suggestion o f technology. T his was a process o f readjusting film reception to m ore habitual cultural form s. The sam e process o f cultural m im icry was responsible for the appearance under the screen o f a ru d im en tary pro jectin g stage. On rare occasions divertissem ents were perform ed on it (although d ivertissem ents were not a ch aracteristic feature o f R ussian cinem a histo ry ), but usually this stage rem ained empty. In 1917 the poet and artist Pavel N ilus, who had decided to com e out in favour o f the dém ocratisation o f cinem a, launched a particularly strong attack on this accessory: The stage on w hich the screen stands, and the action w ithin its fram e, rem ind one o f the theatre, but the stage is only a residual feature, which has got to w ither aw ay; the cinem a stage will be replaced by a flat, w hite, m odern w all. A cinem a w ith a stage is m uch like a car designed to look quite needlessly - like a horse-draw n carriage; and we can see that this shape is now being replaced by other, m ore appropriate, d esig n s.53 However, in urging that cinem as should be rebuilt in the C o nstructivist spirit o f the future, N ilus had apparently forgotten that a ‘flat w hite w a ll’ in place o f a screen had been a universal attribute o f the earlier, im provised cinem as o f the sciolistic period; this dem onstrates ju st how firm ly the concept o f ‘cin em a’ had fused in the m ind o f the recipient w ith the concept o f the luxury interior. A lthough the cen tral cinem as o f the 1910s took the theatre as their architectural m odel, it is not surprising that they surpassed it in richness of décor. ‘E x cess’ is the key word for cinem a architecture o f the 1910s. W ith all the ‘arch aism s’ typical o f film palaces, architectural and technical devices were som etim es used in order to im ply that this w as the style o f the future. C ontem poraries, for exam ple, recalled the starry heavens, w hich, as in a

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planetarium , appeared on the ceiling in several cinem as w hen the lights went dow n. A ccording to V. Puce, the main cinem a in R iga, the P alladium , had one o f these ce ilin g s.54 T he P arisian a, the m ost co m fo rta b le cin em a on N evsky Avenue, w ith an au ditorium m ore than thirty-five feet long, had a vast ceiling w hich could be auto m atically opened out dow n the m iddle (presum ably like a double draw b rid ge). A cin em a like this is show n in B erto lu cci’s film La luna (Italy, 1979) and in E ttore S c o la ’s S p len d o r (Italy / U SA, 1989). The peculiar m ixture o f elem ents referrin g both to the past and the future m ade R ussian picture p alaces look like a late version o f arch itectu ral art nouveau. It w as a style that could also be seen in the arch itectu re o f international exhibitions. W hat w as the fate o f these lu x u ry film palaces a fte r O cto b er 1917? In the archives o f G osk in o [S tate Film C o m m ittee] a m and ate is p reserv ed au th o risin g the rem aking o f the A m ur cin em a into a p a n -A n a rc h ist c lu b .55 An idea o f w hat happened to this cin em a can be g lean e d from a sm all d etail found in a 1927 poem by Ilya S elv in sk y (w ritten long after the A n arch ist party w as officially d isb an d ed ) w here the a u th o r d esc rib e s an A n arch ist band sallying forth: The honey-cake troika, daubed in red. Pell-m ell dow n the pavem ent, bells a-tinkle. The lads w ith breeches from cinem a curtains. A blue fox fur round the d riv e r’s n eck .56 It m ust, how ever, be adm itted that the city -cen tre luxury cinem a served the public in w ays w hose passing can only be regretted. In 1913 the program m es o f the P rem ière T heatre on N evsky A venue co n tain ed the fo llo w in g a n ­ nouncem ent: ‘W ould m em bers o f the public w ishing to have the program m e deliv ered , kindly leave th eir ad d resses at the cinem a box o ffice.’ Som e cinem as, for exam ple, the C om ic, also on N evsky A venue, stated in their program m es: ‘We can give p erfo rm an ces in y our hom e. S p ecial rates av ailab le.’

THE SOCIAL TOPOLOGY OF THE AUDITORIUM In the 1910s there w as a jo k e about how to tell the ex p en siv e areas in the cin em a from the in ex p en siv e and the very ch eap seats: p ick y o u r way through the button-h o les, and w ade through the d iscard ed program m e area until you hear seed-husks cru n ch in g u n d er y our fe e t.57 The social s tra t­ ification o f the audito riu m , w hich today is im p ercep tib le - ex cep t possibly in segregation by ag e-group - was so cle a r in those days that fo r m any it was itse lf a sight w orth seeing. It is c h aracteristic that F yodor S ologub, in his poem ‘In the C in e m a ’ (1915), d escrib ed this scene w ith o u t ev en so m uch as m entioning the film:

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D own in the long, giraffe-necked hall A sudden break annoys the fans. Seat threes call out and bang and shout. Seat tw os ju s t laugh at all the fuss. W hile seat ones sit and quietly w ait.58 A pparently naive and sim p listic, this poem is rem arkable. It w as one o f S o lo g u b ’s experim en ts in intro d u cin g to R ussian literatu re sh o rt cam eo-like oriental form s (borrow ed from Persian and Jap an ese p o etry ). L ike Japanese ‘h a ik u ’, the poem con tain s a covert, unstated m etaphor. The ‘seat th re e s’, ‘seat tw o s’ and ‘seat o n e s’ recall the social stratificatio n o f the railw ay train w ith its first-class, seco n d -class and th ird -class carria g e s - a trad itio n al them e o f R ussian literatu re o f the late nin eteen th to early tw en tieth century (and also o f V ictorian art in E ngland). To be m ore specific, the allusion m ust have been to A lex an d er B lo k ’s fam ous lines, w here the social stratification o f the trav ellin g public is con v ey ed by the co lo u r coding then used in Russia: A nother line o f carriages Clangs and clatters along; The yellow s and blues are silent; In the greens there are tears and song.59 In term s of film reception, S o lo g u b ’s poem is based on a pivotal trope o f early film literature: cinem a as a runaw ay train w ith a ‘chaos o f tangled pan­ o ra m as’60 sliding past its w indow s; film as a celluloid railw ay rushing its story to the predeterm ined end; cinem a and L u m iere’s train; and, finally, the cinem a auditorium as a place w here d ifferen t social groups m ight p ro ­ visionally co-exist, or - to use a later term invented by M ichel Foucault - a kind o f ‘hetero to p ia’, a space for everyone. For, as Lynne Kirby w rites in her research on trains in early films: Both the train and the cinem a are h eterotopic siblings o f the railw ay station, w here the condensation o f urban life, as well as the juxtap o sitio n o f all social types entering and leaving, give the station an eclectic and undefinable character w ith respect to class and sex.61 And still, eclectic as it w as, this m icrocosm o f urban life was organised according to its ow n social rules. The first cinem as (1 9 0 4 -6 ) m ade do w ith just tw o price ranges. In R osenw ald's T haum atograph. for exam ple, w hich seated sixty view ers, ‘the expensive seats were in the first row, right in front o f the screen. Behind them there was standing room w hich cost fifteen kopecks.’62 As the au d it­ orium expanded, the standing area disappeared, and a price d ifferential was applied to the seats. In sm all theatres the front row s were considered the best; in the ‘long au d ito riu m ’ period, preferences changed. A ccording to M aurin:

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from the back seats o f a very long auditorium the im age on the screen will seem blurred (due to the distance the p ro jecto r beam has to travel), and consequently the m ost expensive seats will be those in the m iddle, w ith the ones n earer the front and the back g etting p rogressively cheaper.63 In the 1910s a cam paign again st cinem a w as launched by eye specialists. Several new spapers, quoting qualified o p tician s, spread the story that cinem a w ould cause ‘cin em ato p h th alm ia’, a disease that w ould ruin the ey sig h t o f a w hole generation o f view ers and possibly induce blindness am ong regular cin em ag o ers.64 It takes a sp ecialist to confirm o r deny the m edical basis for this assum ption; as to the w ave o f public apprehension it caused, it looks like another case o f ‘tech n o p h o b ia’, an inevitable stage in the h istory o f reception o f technical inventions.65 T he cinem a o w n e rs’ reaction (w hich w as ju s t as arb itrary as the ru m o u r of ‘cinem a b lin d n e ss’) w as to assert that the v ie w e r’s sight w as only affected if he or she sat in the first few row s; fu rth er back, in the m ore expensive seats, there w as really no problem . It w as about this tim e that the system w hereby the seats becam e m ore expensive the further they were from the screen (w hich still surv iv es today) w as established. Those who could afford to pay m ore m ade do w ith the back seats, w hich, perhaps, did not contrad ict the ‘p ro x em ic’ instin ct o f the betteroff, m ore reserved view er, w ho sought refuge in anonym ity and kept his internal distance from the events on the screen. A lthough the above assum ption may be true w ith regard to the psychology o f the urban m iddle classes, it certain ly w as not confirm ed by the b ehaviour o f a section o f the public who were q uite prosperous but not burdened with m iddle-class inhibitions or intellectual habits: the m erchant class. Ya. A. Z hdanov, w ho for m any years toured the cinem as o f R ussia w ith a group o f ‘film -reciters’ [kinodeklam atory], recalled that m erch an ts beh av ed in the cinem a ju s t as if they w ere at hom e; ‘they used to bring th eir ow n food in w ith them , and som ething to drink too. W hole fam ilies w ould occupy the front row s, and it was utterly im possible to p ersuade them that they could see better from further b ack .’66 The topography o f seat prices becam e extrem ely com plex in the luxurycinem a period. To the horizontal scale w as added a vertical scale for the twotiered auditoria. Since cinem a at that tim e took theatre fo r its m odel, the upper tier (in the shape o f a sm all am phitheatre w ith a raked g allery ) corresp o n d ed to the traditional theatre gallery (the ‘g o d s’) with seats at very reasonable prices. Even today cinem agoers feel that there is som ething slightly in ferio r about the balcony, although it gives, in fact, a very good view o f the screen. So that the ‘se le c t’ public w ould not have to m ix w ith the ‘com m on p e o p le ’, the gallery and the stalls w ere som etim es provided w ith separate ex its, their ow n foyer and vestibule. T his allow ed fo r the creatio n o f tw o isolated view ing areas for the one screen. But, even in the stalls, the seat prices were

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w idely d ifferentiated . The general area, from the second to the fourth sections, was called ‘the c h a irs’ [stu l’ya] w ith prices varying - according to a 1914 list - from 35 to 75 kopecks. The front area was called ‘the arm ch a irs’ [kresla], and seats there cost a rouble. A box for four at the A rtistic (on N evsky Avenue) cost 4 roubles; a ticket fo r a single seat in a box cost one rouble. In the T ivoli (also on N evsky Avenue) a box could be taken for ju st tw o or three people. The reason why boxes w ere so expen siv e was their ero tically loaded seclusion; this cultural connotation (confirm ed by w hat often really happened in cinem a boxes o f the 1910s) was inherited from the n ineteenth-century theatre ( ‘a m ysterious beauty in the b o x ’). T his is what som e film goers alluded to when they w ondered w ith feigned surprise why the prices should be so high when the view o f the screen was so poor.67 And p oor it w as indeed: boxes w ere usually situated along the sides and som etim es quite close to the screen, w hich m ade the screen im age look alm ost anam orphic. The poet M ikhail K uzm in, after he went to see D as K abinett des D oktor C aligari [The C abinet o f Dr C aligari, 1919], m ade the follow ing note in his diary: ‘We were ushered into a box upstairs; everything was distorted, but the film looked even better from this “ El G re c o ” persp ectiv e.’68 In the larger cinem as (like the Saturn in P etersburg), w hich had tw o or three auditoria with a differen t program m e in each, it was cheaper to buy one ticket for all the auditoria than for each one separately. U nused tickets for the three auditoria were valid for seven days. All cinem as offered children and students a fifty per cent reduction.

THE IMAGE OF THE CINEMA PUBLIC The acute sociological insight that characterised the R ussian press at the beginning o f the tw entieth century does not help us to form a clear picture o f the R ussian cinem agoing public. E m ilie A lte n lo h ’s book T ow ards a Sociology o f C inem a: the C inem a B usiness a n d the S o cia l Strata o f Cinem aG oers,69 published in G erm any in 1914, was im m ediately noted and sym ­ pathetically review ed in the periodical C ine-P hono,10 but did not lead to any com parable analysis in R ussian w riting on cinem a. As Ignatov found him self forced to adm it: ‘The cinem agoing public is as obscure and incom prehensible as the history o f the M idianites, and is extrem ely d iv erse.’71 The ‘d iv e rsity ’ of the audience was one o f the key concepts in w ritings on film. As early as 1907 it had becom e standard practice to present a breakdow n o f the audience by social class, follow ed by the all-em bracing ‘ev e ry b o d y ’. ‘The cinem a has its own special public, those w ho love its crow ded a u d ito ria ’ - w rote A lexander K oiransky in 1907 - ‘but it’s not ju s t the regulars, everyone absolutely everyone - goes to the cinem a.’72 At the very beginning o f 1912 A. Serafim ovich laid em phasis on the key word:

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If you look into the auditorium the com position o f the audience will am aze you. E veryone is there - students and p o licem en, w riters and prostitutes, officers and girl students, all kinds o f bearded and b esp ectacled in te l­ lectuals, w orkers, shop assistants, tradesm en, society ladies, dressm akers, civil servants - in a w ord: ev ery o n e.73 C inem a at the beginning o f the century, unlike both theatre, w hich attracted a ‘b e tte r’ public, and places o f ‘p o p u la r’ entertain m en t, w as valued fo r the w ay it appealed to a broad social spectrum . B ut vertical cro ss-sectio n s of the cinem agoing public were not supported by any statistics and, generally speaking, rarely pretended to be scientific. We ought to see such statem ents only as very broad social g eneralisations. E ssayists w riting about cinem a at that tim e w ere enam oured o f the im age o f the cinem a au d ien ce as a m icrocosm o f R ussian urban society as a w hole, and frequently saw the cinem a auditorium as anticip atin g the social changes they hoped for. K. and 0 . K ovalsky, for instance, who w ere literary essay ists o f leftist p ersuasions, clearly alluded in that sam e year o f 1912 to the role p layed by cin em a - in their opinion - as a prototype for the harm o n io u s society o f the future: You can com e across ju s t about everybody in the foyer: the elderly editor o f a solid progressive paper, a lady o f society, a university tutor, a nanny w ith the children o f a respectable fam ily, a schoolboy, a m erchant from the provinces, a typesetter, a street urchin, an officer cadet, a p rostitute. It is only on the neutral and undem anding te rrito ry o f the cinem a that the m ost varied levels o f society can m eet, all delig h tin g to g eth er in the vision o f a storm -tossed ocean or laughing at the cscap ad es o f G lupyshkin and M ax Linder. An invisible exchange of h eartfelt em otions takes place and all social and econom ic in equalities are fo rg o tten .74 It was also suggested that cinem a preserved the m ood o f unity that had prevailed in R ussian society at the tim e o f the 1905 re v o lu tio n .75 But chronolo gically (and gen etically ), it w as an article on cinem a by A ndrei Bely in 1907 that set the to n e.76 T his article w as p art o f the co n tin u in g polem ical debate betw een the M oscow and P etersburg groups o f S ym bolist poets and was levelled at the St P etersburg S y m b o lists’ idea o f the U topian society o f the future. A ccording to the Petersburg poets, the b asis for this society lay in R ussian sobornost (an u ntranslatable archaism suggesting som ething betw een togetherness and ecum enicity), and they held that this sp irit w as attainable through the ‘m y stica l’ theatre. In his article the M oscow S ym bolist Bely used the im age o f the cinem a public as an exam ple o f true and authentic unity: a dow n-to-earth sobornost, as opposed to w hat he thought to be the stilted theories o f the P etersburg S y m b o lists:77 The cinem a is a club. P eople com e to g eth er here to u ndergo a m oral experience, to travel to A m erica, to learn about tobacco farm ing and the stupidity o f policem en, to sigh over the m id in ette w ho has to sell her body.

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A bsolutely everyone com es here to m eet th eir friends: aristo crats and dem ocrats, soldiers, students, w orkers, schoolgirls, poets and p ro stitu tes.78 It was B ely ’s article that set the tone for treating cinem a as a kind of ‘U topia next d o o r’. T his tone, as well as the form ula he used in o rder to substantiate his idea ( ‘everyone and everything: this person and that; this thing and th a t’), was taken up, with very few changes, in article after article.

CINEMA AND THE PROSTITUTE Let us take a closer look at these passages portraying cinem a audiences. The collective, or, m ore precisely, the enum erative, im age o f the cinem agoing public, w hile varying from author to author, never om its to m ention the prostitute; usually she brings up the rear in the social groups represented. In his poem ‘A L iving P h o to g rap h ' [Z hivaya fotografiya] G eorgi C hulkov concludes a picture in verse o f the social structure o f the cinem a audience with a 'c lo se -u p ' o f this figure: Just The The The

look at the people bew itched by the scene: lad from the shop with his m outh open w ide. corsetted lady fit to explode, sullen tart staring, m oist-eyed, at the screen .79

W hat lay behind this recurrent m etonym : the prostitute in the cinem a? In 1913 an article by S. L yubosh appeared in The C inem atograph H erald w here these lad ies’ love o f cinem a was explained by the severity o f the Petersburg w inter: A fter sauntering professio n ally for hours up and dow n the N evsky or som e other street it is so nice to be able to snatch a sandw ich or a cake at K vissisan’s and to sit in the w arm th o f a cinem a and follow the extraordinarily m oving story o f an eleg an t P arisian co co tte or som e jilted baroness.80 How ever, the circu m stan ces o f everyday life are hardly sufficient to explain the persistence o f that repetitive im age. It seem s that the im age stands for the cinem a public as a w hole rather than for ju st a part o f it. The figure o f the prostitute, by com parison w ith the oth er m em bers o f the audience, seem s to express a higher collectivity; she represents, as it w ere, the im age o f the w hole audience in the sam e way as this im age stands for society as a whole. The sem antics o f the w ord ‘ev e ry o n e’, w hich is central to the form ula we are exam ining, fits equally the im age o f the audience and the im age o f the prostitute. T his is why in som e texts the list o f characters is reduced to this m etonym ic m inim um . T hus A lexander K ugel, d escrib in g a cinem a p er­ form ance in 1913, used only a single reference: ‘B eside me sat a young person w ith - I thought - slightly rouged checks. Probably som e “ priestess

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o f lo v e ”. H er eyes w ere m oist. She had brought her p urifying sacrifice to the altar o f cinem a.’81 The im age o f the p rostitute seem s to be as im m anently co nnected with film reception as that o f L u m ière’s train. As far as cinem a in R ussia is concerned, the figure o f the ‘priestess o f love w ith m oist e y e s’ is a part o f its m yth o f origin. The point is that the w ay film w as received in R ussian cu ltu re differed som ew hat from the way it w as received in the cou n try w here it was invented. The L u m ières’ first perfo rm an ces were set up as scientific d em onstrations, but in R ussia the public w as introduced to cinem a in rather disrep u tab le circum stances. It is w ell know n that the first larg e-scale acq u ain tan ce with cinem a took place at C harles A u m o n t’s café-ch a n ta n t on tour at the N izhny N ovgorod A ll-R ussian E x hibition in 1896. A um o n t’s T h éâ tre-co n cert P arisien w as reputed to be a brothel. From the very begin n in g , cinem a and prostitu tion w ere perceived, both by visito rs to the café and by visito rs to the first cinem a perform ances, as being closely related. R ussian literatu re was am azingly quick to pick up this perception. Tw o w eeks after v isiting the cinem a p erform ance at the N izhny N ovgorod E xhibition on 30 June or 1 July 1896, and after tw o reports in the local and O dessa press, M axim G orky published his short sto ry ‘R ev e n g e’ in no. 185 o f the N izh n y N o vg o ro d N ew sletter on 7 July. The story featured the L u m ières’ film, B a b y ’s B reakfast, and was based on tw o seem ingly unconnected ev en ts, w hich o ccu rred at about the sam e tim e and place. T w o days after G orky had seen the L u m iè re s’ film at the exhibition, Lily d ’A rtaud, one o f the ‘ch o ru s g irls’ at the café, tried to com m it suicide. From an article G orky w rote before the L ily d ’A rtaud incident, and w hich appeared in the N izh n y N o vg o rod N ew sletter on 4 July, we learn that A u m o n t’s ‘sh o w -g irls’ were supposed to go in to the auditorium and w atch the films together w ith the guests o f the estab lish m en t. In this article G orky touched on w hat w as to be the basis o f his story ‘R ev en g e’ the contrast betw een w hat was show n on the screen and the fate o f those ‘victim s o f social m o res’ am ong the girls o f the c a fé -c h a n ta n t: A young m arried couple and their bouncing baby are having breakfast. T hey are both so happy and the baby is so am using; it creates a lovely, w arm , im pression. But isn’t this p icture o f dom estic bliss out o f place at A um ont’s? A nother picture: happy, laughing, w orking girls are stream ing out o f the factory gates and into the street. T his is also out o f place. W hat is the point in rem inding the people here that there can be such a thing as a decent, hard-w orking life? The very best it can do is to cause a stab o f pain in the heart o f a w om an w ho sells her kisses for m oney. T h a t’s all.82 It may be noted in passing that the jo u rn al The N ew Word, w hich posed these rhetorical questions in its provincial press section w ithout m entioning G o rk y ’s nam e, offered its ow n ex p lan atio n o f w hy A um ont needed the cinem a: ‘w ithout it m any respected guests at the exh ib itio n m ight have found it distinctly aw kw ard to pay a v isit to A u m o n t’s.’83

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In ‘R ev en g e’ G orky - as if re-establishing the m issing connection betw een the show ing o f the film and the suicide o f Lily d ’A rtaud - chose as his them e the spiritual dram a of the prostitute who takes a new look at her life as a result of the im pression the L u m ières’ picture m ade on her: ‘I liked one picture in particular. It’s about a young couple, a husband and wife . . . th e y ’re so, w ell, healthy and attractive, you know . . . T h e y ’re having breakfast and feeding the baby - such a sw eet little thing! H e’s eating and pulling faces . . . Oh, it’s so lovely! You ca n ’t take your eyes o ff the picture, it’s so full o f m eaning . . . In this place, you know, w e ll. . . it really m akes you think.’ She stopped, lost for w ords, and drum m ed her fingers im patiently on the table. He noticed that her eyes had becom e som ehow deeper, and c le a r e r . . . It aroused his curiosity. ‘W hy do you like this picture in p artic u la r? ’, he asked. ‘It’s fam ily life !’, she exclaim ed, ‘I am a w om an, you k no w !’84 M etonym ic in relation to the social com position o f the audience, the im age o f the prostitute cinem agoer was not im m une to a m etaphorical reading. In 1917 one o f the contributors to The C inem a Jou rn a l devoted a w hole article to prostitution as a m etaphor not ju st for the cinem a audience but for cinem a as an art form: The spectator goes to the cinem a w ith the sam e cynicism w ith w hich he goes to a prostitute. He know s that w hat he is about to see is ju s t a pantom im e, a com edy, nothing m ore than that. He know s that the p ro sti­ tu te's caresses are no m ore than the studied gestures o f a puppet; but still he goes to her, and he goes to her because he has to have this pantom im e.85 The cheap luxury, the em otional repetitiveness, the sense o f entering a perverse and crim inal w orld, o f being totally im m ersed in the life o f the city, and finally the egalitarianism o f the street - these are the qualities that turned the cinem a and the brothel into another p air o f ‘heterotopic sib lin g s’. As one reads in M iriam H ansen’s recent book on sp ectatorship in A m erican silent film, cinem a as p rostitution appears am ong the international tropes o f film reception (particularly prom inent in early G erm an discourse on cinem a). T his m etaphorical association, according to H ansen, was a by-product o f the rapid enlargem ent o f the public sphere brought about by the new medium : ‘The cinem a, as an art form that thrives at intim ate com m erce w ith the urban m asses, prom ising happiness to everyone but faithful to no one, could only be troped as a pro stitu te.’86 Indeed, cinem a was often seen as an enorm ous m achine rew orking the private into the public. A student song rhym ed ‘P a th é ’ and ‘d é c o lle té ’. This is what A lexander K ugel w rote in 1913: ‘There is som ething naked, som e­ thing sham elessly physiological in the m ere fact that cinem a rem oves w alls and show s "life as it is ” in its m inute details: in bedroom s, in draw ing room s.’87 T his dictum show s that cinem a w ould not have been forgiven even

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if all its films had been strictly decent, and all the p rostitutes kept aw ay from its audiences. It was not so m uch films o r audiences as the very nature o f cinem atic discourse that p redicated in tru sio n , im m odesty and the violation o f privacy.

‘GOING TO THE PICTURES’: THE EVERYDAY BEHAVIOUR OF THE CINEMAGOER A key factor in the reception o f early cinem a w as that it could o ffer a casual, i.e. im prom ptu, experience. R esearchers have already discussed why A lex­ ander Blok, from 1904 onw ards, preferred the cinem a: it was because one could go at a m om ent’s notice and select o n e ’s film at random .88 Freedom from the usual ritual associated w ith visits to the theatre (evenings only, the bother o f getting tickets, dressing up, the burden o f socialising during the intervals) very soon becam e a recognised feature o f the p oetics o f the cinem a p er­ form ance. The actor K onstantin Varlamov, jo in in g those praising cinem a as ‘the m ost dem ocratic form o f en tertain m en t’,89 put it like this: ‘If, for instance, I am invited to the theatre, I think, “ C an I really be bothered? I’ve got to dress up, put on a dinner jack e t, collar and tie, studs and cuff-links. I ’d rather go to the cinem a, ju st as I am .’” 90 The cinem a proprietors took advantage o f this and the program m es - even o f large cinem as equipped w ith cloakroom s noted that ‘Ladies are m ost respectfully requested to rem ove their hats; outer garm ents need not be rem o v ed ’.91 A nother im portant feature o f the early stylistics o f cinem a perform ance was the rule w hich allow ed ‘the public to com e into the theatre at any tim e during the perform ance and to sit there as long as they lik ed ’.92 This system did not last long in R ussia - only until the program m e ceased to consist o f several separate short pictures. In G erm any the tradition o f the open perform ance lasted longer, and even in the m id-1920s one com m entator, com paring the earliest cinem as w ith the changes that had taken place by his day, observed: ‘O nly one custom has survived in cinem a till today: everyone can com e and go at any tim e, w hether in the m iddle o f the p erform ance, at the beginning or at the en d .’93 In A m erica and B ritain continuous perform ances lasted until well after the Second W orld War. C ontinuous perform ance, how ever, had co n sid erab le im portance fo r the w ay cinem a w as perceived. F irst, it gave the act o f cinem ag o in g an aura o f im provisation, o f adventure, o f illicit and ab ru p t departure from daily routine. In his diary Blok com m ents, ‘I w as on my way to visit som eone but ended up at the cinem a.’ O ne could probably find m any sim ilar rem arks in oth er d iaries o f the tim e. S econd, the early v iew er found h im self in a specific situation vis-à-vis the object p erceived. In the situation fam iliar to us, w hen the beginning o f the film is sy n chronous w ith o u r ap p earan ce in the auditorium , we experience the film as an ‘o bject for u s’. A p sychological dependence is estab lish ed betw een the text and its recip ien t. T he film im perceptibly becom es the reg u lato r o f the v ie w er’s behaviour, co m pelling

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him to appear at the beginning and to leave at the end. The behaviour o f the text and the behaviour o f the recipient are m utually conditioned. The casual continuous program m e did not assum e that the ob ject and subject o f perception were m utually determ ined. In the first place, unfixed entry into the auditorium redefined the concepts o f the beginning and the end o f the film. N ow adays com ing late to a perform ance m eans that we get an incom plete im pression o f the film; ju st as leaving before the end o f a perform ance lays the blam e for incom pleteness on the film itself. For visitors to the early cinem a the situation was quite different: ‘You d id n ’t have to rush to catch the beginning o f the film; the beginning was w herever you happened to com e in.’94 In other w ords film perform ance was perceived as continuous self-propelled action. It was to be received, by definition, in fragm entary fashion and in doses d eterm ined by the recipient him self. It can be said that, although the full extent o f the film was the sam e for the audience as a whole, each view er set his own beginning and end. The A m erican author Stanley C avell, on the basis o f his ow n experience as a cinem agoer, describes the difference betw een the tw o m odes o f p er­ form ance as follow s: W hen m oviegoing was casual and we entered at no m atter w hat point in the proceedings (during the new s or short subject or som ew here in the feature - enjoying the recognition, later, o f the return o f the exact m om ent at w hich one entered, and from then on feeling free to decide when to leave, or w hether to see the fam iliar part through again), we took our fantasies and com panions and anonym ity inside and left with them intact. Now that there is an audience, a claim is m ade upon my privacy; so it m atters to me that our responses to the film are not really shared.95 F urtherm ore, casual entry into the auditorium led to a m inim um o f interdependence betw een the film and the view er. For anyone dropping casually into the cinem a the film becam e one o f those events one com es across by chance. The film appeared as ‘text in itse lf’ rather than as ‘text for m e’, and its im prom ptu nature and autarchy placed it am ong the ranks of natural phenom ena. For the R ussian ob serv er in the early tw entieth century it w as, first and forem ost, the spontaneously dev elo p in g elem ent o f the m odern city. The S ym bolist im agination w elcom ed the cinem a exactly for this role as A ndrei B ely 's article ‘The C ity ’ [G orod]96 o r M axim ilian V oloshin’s ‘Thoughts on the T h e a tre’97 clearly show. E ntering a cinem a in the age o f Sym bolism , one com es into contact not w ith the film and not even with cinem a but with the city, condensed into cinem atographic text. For Blok this contact was in the nature o f a gam e in w hich the choice o f film, the choice o f cinem a and even the actual decision w hether or not to go to the cinem a, was not m ade by the individual but dictated by the dom inating spontaneity o f city life. A w ell-know n passage in a letter to E.R Ivanov in 1904 refers to this level o f reception:

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Yesterday I set off for your place. I suddenly saw that cinem a on Liteinaya Street. I went in and watched the moving pictures for about an hour. I sensed a kind o f symbolism in it all. but nevertheless 1 resolved to overcom e all the obstacles lying in wait for me on my way to Nikolayevskaya Street. This is no joke. There is a kind of city mystery here . . . hidden am bushes . . . The thing to do is to trick yourself into slipping past them. Oh, the city. . . .98 In Paris, where the culture of ‘flânerie’ was brought to a fine art, Jacques Vache in 1919 taught André Breton the proper way to go to the cinem a. In order to achieve the m aximum intensity o f im pression one should go into a cinem a ‘w hatever they are show ing, at any point in the perform ance, and dash o ff to another one at the first sign of boredom . . . and so on ad infinitum Breton m astered this technique and was staggered by the effect o f arbitrarily clashing im ages and actions. R ichard Abel suggests that this was how Breton first experienced what he later called ‘the su rreal’. 100 By the beginning o f the 1910s the poetics o f the Russian cinem a per­ form ance had begun to undergo a transform ation - a developm ent not unnoticed by the cinem a press. Gradually, beginning with the city-centre cinem as, the mode of perform ance changed. In Russia, as everyw here else in Europe, the style of the perform ance cam e to reflect the nature o f the repertoire. The fashion for full-length pictures did not o f itself threaten casual entry to the cinema; program m es not only gave the contents o f m ulti-reel films but also indicated what occurred in each reel. Things were more difficult with screen adaptations o f best-selling novels. In these cases the linearity of reception was more firmly grounded in the audience’s expectations; the public had the right to demand a sequential repetition o f the literary experience. A key event in this process was the screen version o f Henryk S ienkiew icz’s novel Quo Vadis? (dir. Enrico G uazzoni, Italy, 1912). The lavish scale o f this production affected the distribution procedure and the style in which it was presented. In Berlin the Cines com pany opened a special cinem a for the prem ière o f Quo Vadis? - G eorges Sadoul claim s that it was managed by the w riter H anns E w ers.101 There is an article by a w riter who was present at the prem ière. In it the author noted with surprise that the invitation ticket stated the time the film was to start and also requested that the audience should ‘appear in evening dress [G esellschaftstoilette]'.'02 The advance publicity put out by Russian cinem as show ing Quo Vadis? noted the length o f the perform ance (tw o-and-a-half hours with intervals betw een the parts), but did not say at what time it was due to start. Tension em erged betw een the custom o f im prom ptu visits to the cinem a and the tendency o f the new repertoire to im pose more rigid habits on the public. An open letter to film -makers from a group o f cinem a proprietors com plained that pictures were becom ing ‘unnaturally lo n g ’: ‘People who turn up after the perform ance has started are frequently obliged to wait an unusually long time for it to end; this is extrem ely tiring and naturally tends to put them o ff the cinem a’. 103

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An attem pt to sm ooth out this problem by creatin g som ething like a ‘sliding tim etab le’ o f perform ances w as made by the P etersburg Saturn cinem a on N evsky A venue, w hich ran three adjacent auditoria. H ere the p ublicity announcing Q uo Vadis? carried a special announcem ent: ‘In o rder to spare the public the inconvenience o f w aiting, the picture w ill be show n in its entirety in tw o auditoria sim ultaneously.’ 104 The psychological clim ate surrounding ‘going to the c in e m a’ also changed. In 1912 A rkadi Bukhov attem pted to portray the coarseness o f the cinem a public in an article in verse: Fragm ents flying on the screen, G lass and plates in sm ithereens. In the darkness belly laughter, H igh-pitched squeals and frenzied scream s.105 But ju st three years later, in 1915, the sam e author finds signs o f a new code of behaviour am ong the cinem a public. The kind o f cinem ag o er who chew s seeds and g u ffaw s at d ram atic m om ents is already dying out. You now gel the sam e sort o f people who flock to the theatre. The public is now ev olving its ow n tastes, even beginning to have its favourite actors and actresses . . . The public, which at first only dropped in to the cinem a in passing and was attracted by the announcem ent on the posters that you did not have to take o ff your galoshes and outer garm ents, is now beginning to see serial pictures and going two or even three evenings to see the sam e story over and over again . . . 106 Or, as one review er sum m ed it up, ‘people no longer say they “ drop in ” to the cinem a; they “ go to ” the cinem a, o r “ v is it” the cinem a, as they would the th eatre.’107 M eanw hile, although the situation had actually changed, w ith cinem a now occupying its own legitim ate slot in the tim etable o f everyday life, this had little effect on the style o f ‘going to the c in em a’. As before, the basic feature rem ained a carefully preserved spontaneity. It becam e ev ident during the 1910s that freedom from the ‘cloakroom ro u tin e ’ was itself ritualistic in character. Ignatov drew attention to this in 1919: the public, given m an k in d ’s inherent m ental conserv atism , is still c o n ­ vinced that going to the cinem a is not a tim e-consum ing business, that there are no fixed tim es for the start o f the p erform ance, and that the film begins w henever it happens to com e in. It h asn ’t been like that for som e tim e, but nevertheless the public still continues to m aintain that for busy people cinem a has the inestim able advantage over theatre that it does not oblige one to turn up at any definite tim e and that it allow s the audience, not the author, or the director, or the theatre adm inistration, to fix the start of the p erfo rm an ce .108

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O bservers inclined to self-an aly sis have d etected an elem ent o f hypocrisy in the psychology o f the cinem agoer. The sam e Ignatov singled out am ong the cinem a p ublic a large g roup o f ‘em b a rra sse d ’ sp ectato rs: ‘T hey are em barrassed and asham ed o f being in the cinem a; they laugh at the tragic sufferings o f the screen heroes and at th eir ow n visits to such seductive places.’109 A lthough som e review ers w ere inclined to attrib u te this am biguity to the specifics o f the national cu ltu re, non -R u ssian sources attest to its universal nature. Erw in Panofsky rem arked on it in the 1930s: Sm all w onder that the ‘b etter c la s se s’, w hen they slow ly began to venture into these early picture th eaters, did so, not by way o f seeking norm al and possibly serious en tertain m en t, but w ith that ch aracteristic sen satio n o f self-co n scio u s con d escen sio n w ith w hich we m ay plunge, in gay com pany, into the fo lk lo ristic depths o f C oney Island or a E uropean k e rm is.110 N. L o p atin ’s resp o n se clo th e d a sim ila r o b se rv a tio n in the form o f a new spaper aphorism : ‘We love cin em a so m uch and yet we try so hard to co n v in ce o u rselv es that we d esp ise th is ch eap and v u lg a r form o f e n te rta in m e n t’. 111 T he ostentatiously inform al ritual that going to the cinem a rem ained helped to reconcile this am biguity. W hat w ere its indications? C ontem porary o b ­ servers singled out the follow ing ch aracteristics as typical o f c in e m a g o e rs’ behaviour: spontaneity, group behaviour, v a cillatio n , a feigned lack o f sophistication and a system o f false m otivation. A studiously observed spontaneity reduced the d an g er o f being suspected o f ‘c in em an ia’. In 1916 a review er, noting the differen ce betw een theatre and cinem a crow ds, underlined the conventions attaching to both: do not im agine that it is the circu m stan ces o f everyday life that cause the psychological difference betw een them . You very rarely ju st ‘pop in’ to the theatre or sim ply put y our coat on and go. I t’s only young m en and th eir g irlfrien d s w ho do that. U sually you m ake lengthy p rep aratio n s, perhaps several days ahead; you fix on a day, choose the play, see w h o ’s acting in it etc., but you often set o ff for the cinem a w ithout any previous desire or inclination, ju s t at a m o m en t’s notice: ‘C om e on ev ery o n e, le t’s go to the cin em a!’112 G oing to the cinem a in a group contrib u ted to an atm osphere o f collective responsibility and m eant that the act itself involved no private preferences: A nd so the party sets out, often still not know ing w hich cin em a they are going to. C arried along in the crow d they go past one brightly lit entrance, w ith its vividly coloured posters, past another, hesitate, pass on and finally turn o ff som ew here into a crow ded foyer, ju s t as they are, in fur hats and galoshes . . . 113 T his also illustrates the elem ent o f vacillation. We see the feigned lack o f

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sop histication (w hich tu rn s into its opp o site) in the beh av io u r ‘o f those people who so despise the cinem a yet w ho suddenly turn out to be m ines of precise inform ation about w here the pictures are m ore interesting, or where the projector is not so je rk y ’. 114 A ddiction to the cinem a could be concealed by a system o f false m o tiv a­ tion, by referring to the force o f circum stances, as Pavel T avrichanin related: The w riter o f these lines, on m eeting acquaintances in the foyer, has often heard the follow ing kind o f sem i-justification: ‘W ell, you know, we ju st dropped in by chance . . . M aria Ivanovna and I were sitting at home and ju st popped out for a breath o f fresh air. We got a bit tired and she felt like a drink . . . Som etim es it’s am using, but m ostly i t ’s ru b b is h '.115 G oing to the cinem a could som etim es be explained aw ay by the curiosity o f an am ateur sociologist: ‘Com e on, le t’s go! . . . O f course the pictures aren’t interesting, but it’s alw ays curious to observe how fascinated the public is by triv ialities!’116 O r the pretext m ight be an interest in films as sym ptom s o f the decadence o f co ntem porary civilisation. We catch a glim pse o f this them e in the course o f the polem ic betw een K ornei C hukovsky and V ladim ir R ozanov in 1910. C h uk o v sk y ’s w ell-know n philippic against the cinem a in his lecture N at P inkerton a n d C ontem porary L ite ra tu re 117 drew the follow ing rem ark by R ozanov: How childish! You go to the cinem a, you see that all the benches are full and you shout like Jerem iah: ‘My people have perished, Jerusalem has perished . . .’ W ell, you were in the cinem a and ju d g ing by your lecture you must have seen nearly the w hole perform ance. So stop posing and pretending, and adm it that you did n ’t go there ju st to get m aterial for your lecture. It’s more likely that the subject suggested itself to you later on. W hile you were sitting there looking at the pictures you probably thought: ‘H ’m, th e re ’s a w hole literature here; I can m ake a lecture out o f th is!’ But until this occurred to you you were probably enjoying the entertainm ent not a lot, perhaps, but th a t’s why you had gone there: to be e n tertain e d .118 This, briefly, was the psychological clim ate that d eterm ined the p articular way the Russian audience received cinem a in the first tw o decades o f the tw entieth century. It found its m ost precise form ulation in L. D obychin’s novel, The Town o fN , w here the psychology o f the fam ily trip to the cinem a is expressed in the w ords o f a child narrator: We loved those dram as with th eir picturesque lakes; w here the poor girl would leave her baby at the rich m an’s door. We loved those com ic pictures too. ‘How silly !’, we w ould say from tim e to tim e . . . c o n ten ted ly .119 In his book Screening O ut the P ast, L ary M ay tells us that A m erican cinem a proprietors boosted the prestige o f their establishm ents by inviting to their prem ières representatives o f the best fam ilies: the R oosevelts, C arnegies,

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V anderbilts, e tc .120 Russian cinem a jo u rn als evidently had the sam e aim with their social colum ns: ‘H is Im perial H ighness G rand Duke Dm itri Pavlovich, at present residing in Kiev, visited the S hantser cinem a-theatre on 20th August and saw the whole perform ance.’121 W riting about the exiled King M anuel of P ortugal’s enthusiasm for cinem a, The C inem atograph H erald observed: ‘The royal couple never m iss a new film. The ex-K ing goodnaturedly queues up at the box-office and buys two tickets for the cheap seats, just like any other m em ber of the public.’122 In the early years o f the century there form ed in the mind o f the cinem agoer an im age o f cinem a as a space where the available and the forbidden com m ingled, where you could find yourself in the ‘cheap se a ts’ sitting next to the ex-K ing o f Portugal. In other words the space o f the cinem a acquired characteristics that linked it to the fictional world depicted on the screen. The foyer was the focal point for these characteristics.

THE EVOLUTION OF THE FOYER The film theatre foyer may seem an unim portant or peripheral detail o f film history; the first auditoria had only a non-soundproof curtain or a door to separate them from the outside world. As the foyer developed, however, it becam e an im portant part o f the v iew ers’ experience o f cinem a, and extrem ely im portant for those who are interested in the history o f film culture rather than ju st the history o f films. The point is that the world o f the foyer was m imetic o f the world on the screen, and, as som etim es happens with the periphery in art, it would exaggerate the features it absorbed. In M oscow the first foyer appeared quite early - at the end of 1904 at R osenw ald’s cinem a, in Solodovnikov’s A rcade. The proprietor intended this cinem a to attract the public by presenting a sym biosis o f the arts; its posters proclaim ed it to be a ‘C inem a-Theatre and Exhibition o f Post-C ards, W ater Colours and Pictures.’123 As well as the exhibition in the foyer R osenw ald displayed a ‘curiosity ’, the arm less artist Signor B artoggi. Essentially such a foyer was an offshoot o f the aesthetics o f the fairground - as was for several years the seasonal alliance betw een the Salam onsky circus and the Circus cinem a in Riga. In the period 1908 to 1913, the atm osphere o f an ordinary ‘n on-luxury’ foyer - a com m on w aiting room - bore the im print o f the same sentim ental idyll that observers found appealing in the repertoire o f these cinem as, which consisted in the main o f French - more rarely English melodram as with happy endings: Along the walls there are rows of rather inoffensive autom atic machines: a doll dancing on a five-kopek coin, a dw arf offering a bar o f chocolate, a singing nightingale, a fortune-teller . . . The thin fingers o f a dress-m aker, or o f a governess with her five-year-old charge, put a coin into the slot and a crow d o f spectators gathers around. An urchin with shiny black boots and

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darting eyes clum ps up and dow n w ith a tray o f sw eets. The scene in this unpretentious foyer has an uncontrived dom esticity, or rem inds one o f the saloon on a steam boat, w here everyone feels clo ser and m ore at ease than, for exam ple, in the th e atre .124 The increase in film footage made exhib ito rs redefine their earlier co n ­ ception o f the perform ance: the length o f the latter was now d eterm ined by the length o f the ‘feature film ’, and audiences had to get used to the novel idea that the perform ance began at a specific tim e. C inem a ow ners also had to face up to the need to provide som ew here for people to w ait before they could be allow ed into the auditorium . T his chain o f events led to changes in the architectural space o f cinem a, and by the m id-1910s the foyer had becom e an im portant part o f the film theatre. A com fortable foyer now had to have tropical plants, preferably palm s. Even in 1907 K oiransky had noted that bay trees had begun to appear in cinem a fo y e rs,125 and in 1913 the program m e o f the Saturn in Petersburg announced the introduction o f a w hole w inter garden in the cinem a, with daily concerts by a string orchestra. Let me take a brief ‘flash -fo rw ard ’ into the 1920s before discussing this ‘m im etic’ aspect o f the ‘luxury fo y er’. T here was a clear tendency in the cinem a architecture o f the 1920s to return to the pro to -C o n stru ctiv ist sim plicity o f the sciolistic period o f pre-1908. ‘L aying b a re ’ the technology was central to both the first and the last periods o f silent film culture (albeit for com pletely differen t reasons). It is not surp rising that am ong C o n stru ctiv ist artists at the end o f the 1920s voices were heard dem anding the abo litio n o f the foyer. In 1928 the arch itect N. L edovsky published in the jo u rn al C inem a a design for ‘the cinem a o f the fu tu re ’ (w hich he w anted to co n sist o f ten sm all au d ito ria) w ith the follow ing com m entary: The foyer is redundant and m ust die. L ogical organisation and econom ic considerations - econom y o f both tim e and space - dem and it. The consum er is tired o f w aiting for the beginning o f the p erform ance, no m atter how successfully this w aiting tim e may be re d u c e d .126 A week later the sam e jo u rn al published a reply, ‘W hat should an ideal cinem a be lik e?’, signed by M ikhail Boitler, the ow ner o f one o f the best cinem as in M oscow - Sergei E isenstein used to go there every day at the beginning o f the 1920s. B oitler ridiculed L ed o v sk y ’s crude utopia: ‘The fo y er’ - L edovsky lectures - ‘exists for w aiting; w aiting is unpleasant and useless; abolish w aiting and the foyer will disappear.’ But L edovsky doesn’t know how to abolish the w aiting. He thinks that you can do it by partitioning o ff several sm all auditoria w here you can let the public in after ten m inutes. T here w ill be about ten such sm all auditoria . . . Professor L edovsky’s ideal is to have a very old and basic cinem a hall w ith a pianist - ten orchestras are out o f the q u estio n - w ith one p ro jecto r and no

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cloakroom , no toilets and no heated exit. T h a t’s w hat he w ants us to accept as ‘the ideal, the way a h e ad ’; but, w hatever fantasies he m ay have from his rem iniscences o f the p io n eerin g days o f cinem a, all his c o n stru cts co llapse at the slig h test co n tact w ith ev ery d ay re a lity .127 W hat w as so im p o rtan t about the ‘lu x u rio u s’ fo y er o f the m id-1910s? T his w as a tim e w hen a p rocess began th at can be defined as the e x te rn a l­ isatio n o f cinem a styles. As early as the end o f 1913 a P etersb u rg n ew spaper rep o rter observed; There is a new technique o f acting (specific gestures and specific facial expressions) developed in cinem a and unconsciously ad opted by cinem agoers. T his new style not only p en etrates ev ery d ay life but also m akes its influence felt in the th e a tre.128 The externalisatio n o f art w as a p art o f the general tendency o f the age. T his is w hat A lister M ackintosh w rites about a rt nouveau cu lture: ‘O ne o f the central issues o f m odern art has been the erosion o f the idea that art is som ething separate from life. A rt now takes place in the streets as w ell as the art gallery, and the first m anifestation o f this idea w as the ad v ertise m en t.’ 129 A sim ilar process in film culture w as en h an ced by a public p assion for publicity postcards picturing film stars (the cu lt o f stars w as launched in R ussia by A sta N ielsen ’s film s). T hrough these p o stcard s film s cam e to influence the w orld o f fashion (especially m illin ery and hairsty les), body language, etc. The ex tern alisatio n o f cinem a style gave rise to an em erging subculture o f ‘c in ep h ile s’. In 1916 E m m anuel B eskin o b serv ed w ith surprise that people form som ething like a fo y er or a club o utside the cinem a. T hey stroll up and dow n, jo k in g and flirting, listening to w hat the p eople com ing out are saying and so on. The b right lig h ts illu m in ate the crow d; the sm art com m issionaire and the ‘vu lg ar ex travagant d é c o r’ lure them in .130 The arrival o f the ‘luxury fo y e r’ was o pportune. Its m usical w inter gardens presented a m ost natural place fo r the cin ep h iles to get together. T hanks to them , the exoticism o f the cinem a in terio r w as not ju s t a co m m onplace o f the style o f the era but rather a com m onplace o f the d om inant style o f cinem a. T he space o f the fo y er w as least o f all th o u g h t o f as a fact o f actual topography, as a part o f R iga, P etersburg or M oscow . The foyer was an e x traterrito rial space, and this w as u n derlined no t only by the d etails o f the décor. The Journal o f Journals w rote - not w ithout m alice - o f ‘grave ushers w ith southern p ro files’ slow ly cro ssin g the v e stib u le .131 W here does this figure com e from ? L ida B orelli, Pina M enicelli, F rancesca B ertini, w ho all released the essence o f the fe m m e fa ta le into the cinem a, bro u g h t to the style o f screen behaviour the static pose, w hich w as used to denote any em otion, w hether o f indecision or passion. N o less ex p ressiv e was the actin g style o f

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the influential D anish cinem a; in A sta N ielsen ’s acting the critical m om ents of the action were stressed by freezing the body in space - som ething which B arry Salt calls ‘an occasional w ell-placed “ th in k s” look tow ards the cam era.’132 This style o f screen behaviour w as adopted not only by cinem a ushers but also - and indeed m ainly - by the cinem agoers them selves, and this must have turned the foyer into som ething like a catalogue o f the m im ic and gesticulatory features o f this style. A review er for The M oscow G azette in M arch 1917 gave the follow ing description o f w hat took place at the door o f the auditorium : A tall, A nglicised gentlem an with an arrogant sm ooth-shaven face, his slender form draped in a faultlessly cut m ess jack e t, negligently proffers his ticket. An Italian orchestra plays in the spacious f o y e r . . . Ladies and gentlem en predom inate; their m ovem ents are th eatrical, they strike a f­ fected poses, their expressions are artificially anim ated and their glances m annered as they cast delib erately slow ly around the room or stare haughtily at the public. T here is a crow d o f slim and clean-shaven young men with unctuous physiognom ies striking uncertain poses as if follow ing som e studied exam ple. The attire, both m ale and fem ale, is fashionable, and it is as though its w earers adapt their m ovem ents to it. In the figures and faces o f alm ost all o f these people, from the effete young men o f androgynous appearance to high school girls w ith provocative eyes, from m erchants im itating foreign capitalists to sem i-intellectuals affecting E n g ­ lish style, one can detect a kind o f com m on pattern. One can feel som ething second-hand, som ething borrow ed and u n n a tu ral.133 The w orld o f the cinem a foyer, being free o f n arrative o bligations (unlike the world o f the screen), was the ideal space for m odelling cinem a style in its purest form . The ‘th eatricalisatio n ’ o f life in the m anner o f cinem a was such a fascinating business that - according to som e sources - there existed a w hole section o f the public that ‘took their curiosity no fu rther than the fo y er’. 134 B esides, this W ildean gam e (R ussian dandies w orshipped W ilde) was not alw ays ‘theatre fo r o n e se lf’. S p ecialists in cinem a arch itectu re insisted that a real foyer ought to be visible from the street: ‘W hen it’s cold or wet outside, the foyer, bathed in light w ith soft furniture and decorative plants, creates for the passer-by an im pression o f inviting co sin ess.’135 The A quarium cinem a on N evsky Avenue w as - o f course! - fu rnished with w indow s like these, floodlit and decorated w ith tropical trees. ‘The illu m in ­ ated w indow as stage, the street as theatre and the passers-by as audience this is the scene o f big-city night life,’136 w rites W olfgang Schivelbusch in his study on the industrialisation o f light in the nineteenth century. For the habitué o f the cinem a foyer that rectangle o f light giving on to the dark nocturnal street was even m ore alluring than the tw o-dim ensional screen for here the actor w as the habitué him self. T his was the space w here life cam e to im itate art.

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The relationship betw een the two foci o f cinem a style (the central one of the screen and the reflected one of the foyer) brings us back to the more general question o f the interrelationship betw een the concepts of centre and periphery. A letter from Boris Pasternak to Sergei Bobrov, w ritten in 1913, discusses this opposition o f the ‘c o re’ o f dram a (in the broadest sense) to its surrounding ‘plasm a’. Theatre - according to the w riter - is called upon to express the core, and cinem a the peripheral plasma: You will understand me if 1 call actuality - and the actuality o f the city the preferred stage o f lyric precisely in the sense I was talking about. B ecause the city as stage enters into a com petitive and tragic relationship with the auditorium of Word and Language that is all around us . . . Cinem a m ust leave to one side the core o f dram a and lyric - it distorts their m eaning; so much is clear to me already, I ’ll explain why below - . . . but only cinem a is able to reflect and record the system surrounding the core: its origins, its vagueness, its aura. And we have ju st seen that this husk of the grain is the central dram a o f the w ider stage. C onsequently, cinem a can grasp what is param ount here because it has access to what is secondary; and this last thing is that first thing. F ortunately cinem a distorts the core o f dram a because it is called upon to express what is true in it: the surrounding plasma. Let it photograph not the tale, but the mood o f ta le s.137 Pasternak is evidently referring here to the all-em bracing quality o f synecdoche in the poetics o f cinem a: spoken w ords reflected in silent intertitle; the whole conveyed in a fragm ent; cause invoked by consequence. But a paradoxical assertion o f the prim ary nature o f the aureola and not of the core itself can also be applied to cinem a as an object o f study, in which the use o f couplets such as ‘centre and p erip h ery ’, ‘screen and fo y er’, ‘film and reception’ should not imply that there is a difference o f value betw een the two term s in each couplet, with the first necessarily being more im portant than the second.

Chapter 2

Projection technique as a factor in aesthetic perception

THE IMAGE OF THE PROJECTIONIST T he previous ch ap ter dealt m ainly w ith the p h y sio lo g y o f cin em a life w ithout going into the q uestion o f how the view er u n derstood the tech n o ­ logical param eters o f the p erform ance. M eanw hile, the m achinery o f film projection gave rise to several persisten t ideas w hich - w ith g reater or lesser clarity - were shared by everyone w ho saw a cinem a p erform ance. The natural focal point fo r these ideas w as the figure o f the p ro jectio n ist, an im age that em bodied the basic oxym oron o f cin em a as a w hole: the m undaneness o f the arcane. The prim e m ythologising factor here was the fact that the figure o f the projectionist w as invisible. E xcept in the very earliest cinem a halls, where the projectionist stood in the m iddle o f the audience, the pro jecto r was alw ays situated behind the back row. B esides, as early as 1908 cinem a fire reg u la­ tions stipulated that the p rojector had to be housed in a sm all m etal-lined room , the so-called ‘b o x ’ w here the projectionist also sat. The view er could only assum e that there w as som eone behind him operating the w hole show. T his faceless figure left much room for fantasy. In the m odern study o f film reception there is a special sector called ‘apparatus th e o ry ’. A ccording to this theory, the apparatus (a concept that includes such spatial arran g em en ts as the placing o f the projector, the darkening o f the auditorium , the position o f the spectators in relation to the projectionist and the screen, etc.) ‘refers to the general co n d itio n s and relations o f cinem atic recep tio n , the tech n o lo g ically ch an g in g yet id eo ­ logically constant p aram eters o f the in stitu tio n ’. 1 Som e w riters w orking w ithin the fram ew ork o f apparatus theory insist on the analogy o f the auditorium with P lato ’s cave, an idea suggested by the beam o f light that em anates from behind the sp ectato r’s head and throw s shadow s on the wall in front o f him .2 Leaving aside the issue o f w hether or not this parallel helps to account for the way we perceive film s, I ought to observe that the im age o f P la to ’s cave belongs am ong the earliest tropes o f film reception. In R ussia, P lato ’s cave

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w as the closest analogy one could find to illustrate the fundam entals o f the S ym bolist poetic doctrine. In 1894 K onstantin B alm ont relo cated P la to ’s parable in the dark w orld beneath the sea, a favourite a rt nouveau setting. H is sonnet ‘U nderw ater P la n ts’, w hich w as not ju s t a poem but rath er a m etaSym bolist statem ent, tells o f the loneliness o f seaw eeds that dream o f the w orld above the sea w ith its light, its stru g g les and its flow ers that one can actually sm ell. The sonnet ends w ith these lines: No path leads to the land o f light and stru g g le, A ll around is cold and silen t water. - Now and again a shark g lides by. N o ray o f light, no sound, no greeting. T he choppy seas above send dow n O nly corpses and the w recks o f sh ip s.3 In 1904 Valeri B ryusov coined a fresh er version o f the p arable, fu rn ish ed w ith tokens o f m odernity - the telephone and the diving suit: We ‘d ecad en ts’, practitioners o f the new art, are all som ehow divorced from everyday reality, from w hat people like to call the real truth o f life. We go through life cut o ff from o u r surro u n d in g s (and this, o f course, is one o f our w eakest sides) as if we w ere w alking under w ater in a diving bell, preserving a telephone link only w ith those o utside o u r surro u n d in g s, on the surface, w here the sun shines.4 The cinem a w ith its bulky ap p aratu s (d ark n ess, b eam , screen) cam e o ppo rtu n ely to fu rth er update this P latonic idea. T he S ym bolist paradox concerning the true reality o f art and the m ere seem ingness o f actual life took ‘c in em atic’ shape in the follow ing point m ade by F yodor S ologub: C om pared w ith them [artistic im ages] we are but pale shadow s, like pictures in a cinem a. We are but m u ltiple d u p licate copies o f so m eo n e’s original, ju s t like those m any im ages o f w om en, played once and for all by the unique A sta N ielsen, that flash across cou n tless screen s.5 T he reflected space o f ‘shadow s on the w a ll’ suggests the idea that there exists another, ‘tr u e ’, space. The layout o f the auditorium p ointed back to the source o f the beam o f light, and at the apex o f this im aginary cone was the projectionist. It was this that m ade it seem as if the p ro jectio n ist was carry in g out the function o f an in term ed iary betw een this w orld and the next, an im pression w hich was conveyed in A lex an d er K ran z fe ld ’s m etaphor for the projectionist as the ‘high p riest o f c in e m a ’.6 W here does this figure com e from ? In his p io n eerin g stu d ies on the sym bolism o f telephones and tram s in R ussian poetry o f the ‘S ilv er A g e ’, R om an T im enchik traced vario u s asp ects th at ‘cu ltu ral b io g ra p h ie s’ o f ‘m o d ern ’ objects have in com m on. O ne o f these com m on features is that the

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existential m etaphorism that inform ed technical item s o f m odernity would lead to a m ediating figure being singled o u t.7 The eighteenth century with its clockw ork idea o f the world gave birth to the im age o f the Suprem e C lockM aker; im proved city lighting brought about G o g o l’s dem onic figure o f the L am p-L ighter; the telephone o p erato r (that ‘incorporeal d e ity ’) provided transcendental connections w ith the oth er w orld; likew ise, the T ram -D river and Film P rojection ist were fictionalised as m asters o f hum an destiny. Indeed, the train was perceived as a m achine w ith a once-and-for-all p redeterm ined trajecto ry o f m ovem ent, m uch in the sam e m anner as the cinem atograph was read as a m achine with an unchangeable program m e: w hile film characters were still rejoicing on the screen, th eir death was already there, lurking at the core o f the reel, though know n only to the projectionist. H ence an im age o f the p ro jectio n ist first draw n by K ornei C hukovsky in 1907: that o f a spotty lad p ossessing the com bined pow er o f a Dr Faustus and a Josh u a.8 The early cinem a pro jectio n ist did not alw ays rem ain invisible: ‘S om e­ tim es the box becam e so intolerably hot that the pro jectio n ist used to go out and sit for a w hile in the audito riu m .’9 At those m om ents the sense o f the projectionist as som ething o f a dem onic figure - one film review er in the 1910s chose the pseudonym ‘D em on S tra to r’ - contrasted am usingly w ith his w orkaday appearance. U nlike the chauffeur, av iato r or cam eram an o f the tim e, the projectionist did not w ear leather breeches and did not in any way ‘dress u p ’ for his jo b . The im age of the projectio n ist entered another plane, and the archetype o f P la to ’s cave gave way to ano th er genre o f literary discourse: the them e o f the transience o f the artist and the grandeur o f the im ages he evokes. T his them e typically appeared in poem s about cinem a, where the narrators were screen characters: beautiful w om en o r their gallant beaux, who depended entirely on the im becile projectionist to grant them the gift o f life as and when he chose: ‘A nd the sleepy p rojectionist com m ands me to life.’10 O r he could deprive them o f life, too: The projectionist with his purple nose Plunges all in dark and sleep. He d oesn’t even stop to ask How m any lives h e ’s snuffing o u t.11 This im age of the p rojectionist was reinforced by the danger o f fire. N itratebased film burned with an intense flame w hich was very difficult to e x tin ­ guish. C ontem poraries likened it to the way celluloid dolls burned - pingpong balls today burn the sam e way. The reader m ay recall that cinem a fire regulations stipulated that the p rojector had to be housed in a sm all m etallined room , the 'b o x ’, w here the projectionist also sat. O ne cannot under­ stand the atm osphere that prevailed in cinem as in those early days unless one takes into account several dreadful fires believed to have occurred due to projector m alfunction, and that their consequences w ere well know n to every

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v isitor to the c in e m a .12 As Y evgeni M aurin relates: ‘The slig h test hiccup in the running o f the projector, any abrupt break in the perfo rm an ce, any sudden brightening o f the screen, and a suppressed m urm ur runs around the hall; people begin to glance back nervously tow ards the pro jectio n box w indow .’ 13 In 1911 the m agazine O ur Week d escribed one such incident: T here w as a great com m otion recently at M ity ay ev ’s elec tric theatre: it is only by sheer luck that it did not end in disaster. A M r A and his w ife were sitting near the back o f the cinem a. B ehind them sat an e n g in ee r w ho had had too m uch to drink. The en g in eer started to take liberties w ith M rs A. He began to touch her hat, her arm , and so on. T he husband (w ho happened to be an arm y officer) noticed this o ffen siv e behaviour, leapt up, h it the engineer in the face, and p ulled his sw ord from its scabard. L uckily a man sitting nearby m anaged to restrain M r A. H earing the shouting, everyone im agined that fire had broken out and m ade a m ad rush for the exit. T here was a crush; several w om en fainted, m any tried to fight their way o u t on to the street. The w orst hurt w ere the children: one little girl w as so badly crushed that she began to cough up b lo o d .14 G oing to the cinem a in those years alw ays had about it som ething o f the sam e sense o f adven tu re that flying has fo r us today. T he one w ho w as exposed to the greatest d anger was o f course the p ro jectio n ist, w hich m eant that he could be seen as som ething o f a rom antic and chivalric figure. ‘O p ro jectio n ist, behind yo u r m a sk !’ ex claim ed the w riter Yuri K richevsky, referrin g to the front o f the p rojection b o x .15 S afety regulations dem anded that the w indow in it had a m etal shutter that could be closed like a viso r in case o f danger.

PROJECTION SPEED In the 1910s both cinem a cam eras and p rojectors w ere driven m ainly by hand, w hich m eant that the speed at w hich a film w as run dep en d ed on the cam eram an and the projectio n ist. W hen cam era speed and projection speed c oincided, the film ran norm ally and there w ere no o b jectio n s from the audience. But, as K evin B row nlow and B arry Salt have rem inded us, although the tw o speeds w ere m eant to coincide, this did not occu r o fte n .16 P ro jectio n ­ ists had no reserv atio n s about e x p lo itin g to the full the p o ten tial for im provisation offered by the d ifferen ce b etw een the tw o speeds. D m itri K irsanov, a film directo r particu larly noted for his feeling for slow rh y th m ,17 recalled the way films w ere show n in his hom e tow n o f Y urevo (now Tartu): I well rem em ber the im pressions o f m y first visits to the cinem a. It w as a long tim e ago, when the cin em ato g rap h first app eared , and since the K inem atograph, w here I used to go, w as in a p rovincial tow n w here lethargy w as a rule o f life, I saw m ost o f the films at a kind o f slow ed-dow n

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pace. It w as just like w atching a m odern slow -m otion film. C onsequently, the thing that m ost appealed to me in the cinem a w as the slow and unnatural m ovem ents o f the actors. I used to think, o f course, that the ability to m ove like that w as a special artistic gift, and I tried - w ithout success - to im itate the inim itable m ovem ents o f cinem a. 18 It w as, o f course, rare for the w hole film to be show n in slow m otion. U sually the projectionists, who w ere thoroughly fam iliar w ith the films and the au d ien ce’s reactions to the various scenes, altered the projection speed to match the shots: they speeded it up though the longueurs and slow ed it dow n for the sentim ental scenes. The m ost constant correlatio n w as that betw een projection speed and genre: chases and com edies w ere speeded up in projection. In one o f his essays G. K. C hesterton expressed his dissatisfaction with this practice: In order that a man riding on horse should look as if he w ere riding hard, it is first necessary that he should look like a m an riding on a horse. It is not even an im possibly rapid ride, if he only looks like a C atherine w heel seen through a fog. It is not an im pression o f sw iftness; because it is not an im pression o f an y th in g .19 In his m onograph on Abel G ance, K evin B row nlow m entions that som e projectionists used to synchronise the film with the accom panying m usical score, follow ing the c o n d u cto r’s baton rather than w atching the screen. There do not appear to be any com plaints about this practice in the 1910s, but for rapid editing it could be disastrous. Sergei E isenstein recalled that Edm und M eisel, who wrote the score fo r The B attleship P otem kin (1926), ruined a public show ing o f Potem kin in London, in the autum n o f 1929, by having the film projected slightly m ore slow ly than norm al, w ithout my agreem ent, for the sake o f the m usic. This destroyed all the dynam ics o f the rhythm ic relationships to such a degree that for the first tim e in Potem kin s whole existence the effect o f the ‘lions jum ping u p ’ caused laughter.20 The considerations w hich m ost o f all affected the choice o f projection speed were those o f the ‘picture tu rn o v e r’ factor. A review er for The Theatre Paper, com plaining o f the lifelessness o f plastic representation inherent - in his opinion - in the ‘m ech a n istic’ nature o f screen m ovem ent, did not hesitate to include the projectio n ist in his criticism : M oved by som e alien, heteronom ous w ill, the screen heroes only parody what is enacted in front o f the lens o f the studio cam era. T hey walk as no one in real life ever w alks; they gesture like puppets, and at the last perform ance they acquire the m agic ability to m ove and act w ith great speed and a truly am azing and fabulous alacrity.21 The last rem ark reveals the author to have been a regular cinem agoer. In the 1910s the cognoscenti avoided the late perfo rm an ces for fear o f falling victim

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to the projectionist w ho w as in a hurry to get o ff hom e. C in e-P h o n o , w ith the gravity befitting a specialist jo u rn al, ex plain ed w hat happened in such cases: If the film is m ade to run at - let us say - double speed, w ith thirty -tw o instead o f sixteen fram es a second, then all the m ovem ents on the screen w ill seem tw ice as fast as in real life. For exam ple, the steps o f a man w alking norm ally will look like rapid ju m ps: w alking tu rn s into running; every calm fluent gesture is turned into a jerk y , conv u lsiv e tw itch .22 E ven if view ers som ehow m anaged to com e to term s w ith the arbitrary beh aviour o f the projectio n ist, the last p erform ances could turn ou t to be disastro us for p articu lar styles o f acting. W hile the M ack S ennet kind o f com edy could not exist w ithout sp eed ed -u p m ovem ent, the statu esq u e p lasticity o f the R ussian actor needed to be pro jected if not in slow m otion exactly then certainly not at an accelerated speed. I have already m entioned (in another context) the Italian ‘d iv a ’ style o f acting, w hich co n stru cted a trajectory o f m ovem ent as a progression from one significant pose to another. T he R ussian cinem a o f the 1910s - not uninfluenced by the th eo ries o f dram atic tim ing associated w ith the M oscow A rt T heatre - raised this style o f acting to the level o f a co n scio u s aesth etic pro g ram m e. As K evin B row nlow observed, R ussian cinem a seem s to have only tw o speeds: ‘slo w ’ and ‘sto p ’. T his ‘stretch e d ’ style, recognised as a unique attrib u te o f R ussian cinem a, w as also accom panied by attem pts to give it a th eoretical basis. At one tim e it was energetically sponsored by the jo u rn a ls The P ro jecto r and P egasus. The form er wrote: It m ay sound paradoxical fo r the art o f cinem a (w hich got its nam e from the G reek w ord for m ovem ent) but the style o f our best cinem a actors am ounts to m oving as slow ly as possible. The art o f the screen relies on m im e in ju s t the sam e way as theatre relies on w ords. On the stage, actors try to speak distinctly, clearly, and w ithout undue haste; on the screen it is even m ore essential to m im e clearly and distinctly, and hence as slow ly as possible. E very one o f our best actors has his or her ow n style o f mim e: M osjoukine has his steely hypnotic stare; G zovskaya - her tender, e n d ­ lessly varied facial lyricism ; M ax im o v ’s m im e is tense and nerv o u s, w hile P o lo n sk y ’s is full o f refinem ent and grace. B ut all o f them subordinate their acting - w ith an unusual econom y o f gesture - to a rhythm that rises and falls particularly s lo w ly P We can easily im agine how frequently cinem a actors used to com plain about projectionists. In fact in 1914 this conflict was the subject o f an open letter from Ivan M osjoukine to The T heatre P a p er, in w hich the acto r vigorously brushed aside all accu satio n s that he had got the rhythm o f a p a rticu lar role quite w rong, and laid the blam e for this en tirely on the pro jectionist:

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W hen the film is being shot the cam era is run at a precisely set speed. It reproduces m ovem ents on the screen w hich co rresp o n d exactly to the acto r’s m ovem ents in front o f the cam era. If the sam e speed is used when the film is being projected the audience will see living people w ith fluent, slow m ovem ents . . . The gentlem en w ho ow n our cinem as recognise no such laws. A part from those few ‘first-cla ss’ cinem as w hich do take an interest in artistic co n sid eratio n s, w hat m ost o f them do, w hen the program m e is a long one and has to be show n three tim es a night (w hich cannot be done using the norm al, prescribed tem po), is to order the ‘lad in the b o x ’ to ‘speed it u p ’. The poor actors, through no fault o f their own, jum p and tw itch like cardboard clow ns and the audience, not initiated into the secrets o f the projection box, d ism isses them as untalented and inexperienced. I cannot tell you w hat it feels like when you see your ow n norm al m ovem ents transform ed into a w ild dance at the w him o f this m ere boy. You feel as if you were being slandered on all sides w ithout having any way o f proving your in nocence.24 The acting fratern ity and the projection room sta ff w ere constantly at loggerheads; their ho stility was trad itio n al. The film d ire c to r N ikolai Shpikovsky, not w ithout a certain fondness, describ ed how, in the 1920s, the great stage actor Ivan M oskvin, a tyro in the cinem a, successfully took on the air o f an old hand at the game: They say that at a w orking run-through o iT h e Station M aster [K ollezhskii registrator, 1925], M oskvin stated that the reason for his p oor acting in one part o f the picture was that the projectionist was cranking the handle too fast. This is quite superb - and touching. If the M oskvin o f the theatre strikes us as an exclusively unique and fresh actor on the screen, then this is only because it turns out that he loves cinem a and cares about the handle of the p rojector!25 But there was also a feedback betw een the projection box and the audience. If the film was going too fast the audience used to shout ‘D on’t rush the pictu re!’ [Ne goni kartinu!]. If the film was going too slow ly they would call out ‘Turn it, M ickey !’ [M ishka, v e rti!]. In the 1910s all projectionists were called ‘M ish k a’ (just as all M oscow cabm en w ere called ‘V anka’), and the phrase ‘Turn it, M ick ey !’ cam e from the im m ensely p opular 1911 satirical show The C inem atograph, staged in the D istorting M irror T heatre [K rivoe zerkalo] in P etersburg. ‘D on't rush the p ic tu re !’ still exists as a R ussian conversational idiom , though w ith no reference to film s, w hich are no longer m anually operated. Early projectionists were particularly fond o f playing w ith speed in those cases when the slow tem po was expected to be an integral part o f the event. Speeding up funerals and official cerem onies becam e notorious long before the idea occurred to R ené Clair. In 1915 the jo u rn al P egasus fulm inated at

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what by then seem ed to be an established practice: ‘solemn funeral proces­ sions are turned into crazy gallops through the streets; individuals do not gesture, they tw itch; hands flail about in the a ir-g o o d n e s s only know s w h at’s going on.’26 Traditionally, the kinesics o f social life in Russia presum ed an inverse relationship between the im portance o f an event and the speed with which it unfolded: as the im portance o f an event or a person increased, the action slowed down. The rule affected theatrical m ise-en-scene, diplom atic protocol and, to a certain extent, the kinesics o f everyday behaviour. Russians generally judged American films to be ‘too hectic’ [suetlivyi], and a standard epithet for a foreigner was ‘fidgety’ [vertlyavyi]. Old textbooks for theatre actors stressed that a Russian noble o f the M iddle A ges (a boyar) ought to be portrayed as being fat and slow - long before such an im age became a standard caricature o f a boyar. It was tacitly assum ed that events officially appoved o f as ‘h isto rical’ unfolded at such a slow tempo that the jerky medium o f film was unable to record them correctly. R ecom ­ m endations were sounded restricting the ‘cinem atisation’ of historical events that form ed part o f the educational curriculum in Russian schools.27 In the ‘Conclusion o f the Standing C om m ission o f the N ational Lecture C om m ittee on Q uestions R elating to the Use o f Film in Schools and Public Lecture H alls’, dated 11 N ovem ber 1915, one point stood out: ‘for technical reasons the m ovem ents o f the actors in cinem atic im ages are accelerated and therefore som etim es com ical. This is quite out o f place in the presentation o f historical ev en ts’.28 A year beforehand N. A. Savvin, an active educationalist, raised the alarm in The Education H era ld : In P rincess Tarakanova [K nyazhna Tarakanova, 1910] the m essengers give such hilariously exaggerated bow s to the Em press that you cannot help w anting to burst out laughing . . . In the last part o f N ero [Nerone e A grippina, Italy, 1914] the actor playing the E m peror sprints around the vast hall. N apoleon’s m incing little walk . . . [in the film The Year 1812 [1812 godj, Russia, 1912], Petronius in Quo Vadis? [Italy, 1912] with his ungainly m ovem ents . . . All this bears absolutely no resem blance to real life!29 The m agazine Life and the Law courts, hearing of a forthcom ing series of films based on the Old Testam ent, also expressed its concern: ‘the script o f the history o f the Jew ish people, which ran on the “ screen” o f the whole world for six thousand years, testifies that the “ G reat” Max L inder did not appear in it.’30 A ccording to censorship rules, new sreels involving the Im perial Family had to be projected at a specified speed, and the ow ner o f the film theatre had to be present in the projection box w hile the film was being show n.31 A lthough I know of no record of any particular case, this requirem ent

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indicates that som e p rojectionists with 'p ro g re ssiv e ' view s may have speeded up their m achines in order to poke fun at the Tsar.

TEMPUS REVERSUS Some early projectors could also be run backw ards. The aesthetic p o ssi­ bilities this presented w ere recognised in L u m ière’s tim e. His 1896 repertoire included La D ém olition d ’un m ur [The D em olition o f a W all) show n backw ards. In Febru ary 1897 an A m erican n ew spaper rep o rted ano th er novelty o f this sort: In one o f the cinem atographic view s to be show n the m achine w ill be run backw ards. The scene selected for this cu rio u s exp erim en t is the one representing the cro ssin g o f the Saône R iv er by the m ounted French dragoons. A fter the troopers reach the other side o f the stream the picture m achine will be reversed and the m en and horses w ill im m ediately start backw ard across the river, the scene closing with the horses backing up the steep bank down w hich they had plunged but a few m om ents befo re.32 A year later a R ussian review er recorded his im pressions o f a sim ilar event: In order to am use the audience they som etim es show som e lively pictures in the right order, and then run them backw ards, from the end to the beginning. First you see a man dining in a restaurant. He has som e roast chicken on his plate. He cuts o ff a piece, puts it in his m outh on a fork and eats it. Then he cuts o ff another piece and eats that, and so on, until it’s all gone. Then all o f a sudden ev erything goes topsy-turvy: he puts an em pty fork into his m outh and takes it out w ith a piece o f chicken on it. He low ers the fork and the chicken slides o ff and lands on the plate. The man again puts an em pty fork into his m outh and takes it out with ano th er piece of chicken on it, and so on and so on. And after a w hile th e re ’s a w hole chicken back on his plate ag ain .33 B esides being an unfailing jo k e , the reversed projection stunt fitted su r­ prisingly well into the m ainstream o f co gnitive experim ents at the turn o f the century. Projectors equipped with reversible controls provided, one m ight say, an optical refutation o f the second law o f therm odynam ics, according to which all natural processes flowed in one direction only and could not be reversed. As the physicist and philosopher E rnst M ach (w ho chose to doubt the reality o f such basic concepts o f classical physics as space, tim e and m ovem ent) put it, 'cinem ato g rap h y opens up the possibility o f changing the scale and direction o f tim e to suit ou rselv es.’34 And R u d o lf H arm s, in his book The P hilosophy o f F ilm , argued that this endow ed film ‘w ith great versatility and flexibility, w hich turn it into a free soaring frolic with an actuality otherw ise strictly bound by the laws o f space and tim e.’35 Pictures o f people jum ping into w ater were am ong favourite subjects for rev ersals.36

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We come across shots o f reversed jum ps from a tow er in the L um ières’ Les Bains de D iane à M ilan [The Baths o f D iana in M ilan, 1896],37 most probably the first film made with reverse-projection attraction in mind, and in selfreferential films o f the 1920s like Buster K eaton’s The C ameraman [USA, 1929] and D ziga V ertov’s The Man with the M ovie C amera [Chelovek s kinoapparatom , 1929]. At first, the reversal was done during the projection, so any film could be turned into a comedy. In the days o f trick com edies cam eram en began to shoot reverse motion in cam era, and reverse m otion alm ost becam e a genre o f its own, som etim es added to chase films (horses driven backw ards enjoyed great popularity), som etim es serving as the basis for the whole film. Boris L ikhachev’s notes m ention the film Back, Back [Nazad, nazad].38 This early (Pathé or G aum ont?) film is described twice in Russian periodicals: in the journal The Spectator in 1905, and in the above-m entioned article by Alexander Koiransky in Our M onday Paper. K oiransky’s response was o f a philosophical order - he was im pressed not so much by the sight o f a burning cigar filmed backw ards as by the reversal o f the cause and effect relationship in general: Effect begins to precede cause, and hum an logic flies out o f the window. A cigar butt leaps from the pavem ent into the m outh o f a man in a top hat. The man steps back and lets out a cloud o f smoke. M eanw hile the cigar gets bigger and becom es covered with ash. The man goes back step by step. The cigar gets bigger and bigger. Finally he blow s on a m atch; it flares up. He raises it to the cigar; it im m ediately goes out, and the man puts it away, safe and sound, in his cigar case. T hus, before the eyes of the audience, the w onder o f the cinem atograph com pels the irreversible river o f Tim e to flow backw ards.39 Reversed projection as a cognitive m etaphor was specially productive in the popularisation o f the theory o f relativity. In 1925 R. Tun called the cinem atograph ‘a device for dem onstrating negative tim e’, adding - with some regret - that there were as yet no devices for registering negative space: A careful exam ination of certain processes, show n in reverse order, will perhaps still have som e fruitful significance in the field o f the theory of know ledge. Later, with the help o f this kind of dem onstration, it may be possible to give a person o f average education some understanding o f some of the latest theories which today are still very difficult to understand, for exam ple, the theory o f relativity.40 Indeed, the theory o f relativity, in addition to being expressed m ath ­ em atically, called urgently for the creation o f a ‘graphic lan g u ag e’ capable o f conveying its m eaning in spatial or sensational term s. As early as 1911 the Russian theoretical physicist N. A. Umov, in an address to the Second M endeleyevan Congress, proposed the cinem atograph as a non-m athem atical

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m odel o f the E insteinian universe. In his p ap er Umov asserted that it w as im possible for the con tem p o rary scientific m ind to v isu alise new scientific m odels: N um ber rem ains, as before, the leg islato r o f nature but, since it cannot be visually represented, it has disappeared from the field o f a philosophy that assum es that the w orld can only be depicted by m echanical m odels. The new discovery supplies quite a num ber o f im ages for the way the w orld is structured, but they break up its form er fam iliar architecture and can only be reconciled in a new style w hose fam iliar lines go way beyond the boundaries not only o f the old extern al w orld but also o f the basic form s o f our thinking.41 The scientist further proposed that the new should not be explained by reference to the old but w ith the help o f the new itself: the cinem atograph with its ability to vary the way the film passes through the projector: Let us assum e that we have a film on w hich we have im ages o f people in d ifferent poses, clocks w ith hands show ing differen t tim es, various phases o f a m ovem ent about to be perform ed. But, as long as the film stands still, there is neither m ovem ent, nor tim e, nor action. T his is in keeping w ith a system w hich m oves with the speed o f light. W hen the film starts the pictures on the screen change at a p articu lar speed, and you, w ho are w atching it and not m oving, get an im pression o f life and o f action. People m ove about, suffer, the dram a is enacted, the clock m oves on. For you, the tem po o f the action, the w orking o f the clock, the speed o f p e o p le’s m ovem ents, and thus the speed of their d ecisions, depend on the speed at w hich the film m oves, but the people in the film notice no changes; they cannot tell w hether things are going faster or m ore slowly. Let us say, the cinem atograph show s you a dram a unfolding extrem ely slowly. You are surprised at the insipidness o f the ch ara c ters’ em otions; but they are insipid only to you; to the characters they are as strong as ours are to us. The phenom ena o f the world are ju st like the im ages o f the cinem atograph. D on’t you see that the idea o f tim e as som ething absolute disappears, as does the idea that natural phenom ena have an absolute tem po? On the earth, w hich m oves at a fixed speed, natural phenom ena are a film running at that sam e speed; for ano th er planet they w ould be ano th er film at a d ifferent speed . . . If we slow dow n the m ovem ent o f the film, beginning with the speed that m atches the tem po o f phenom ena on earth, we shall gradually be approaching the tem po o f phenom ena in bodies w hose m ovem ent is closer to the speed o f light. W hen the film stops, it has reached the speed of light. If we now begin to run the film in the opposite direction, the phenom ena we shall see will m atch the speed o f a body m oving faster than the speed o f light; the cinem atograph show s how phenom ena w ould behave in a w orld m oving faster than the speed o f light. You have seen pictures clearly show ing a horse running forw ards, yet going aw ay from you. In such a w orld everything goes backw ards: old men get younger; corpses

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com e back to life; effects precede causes; reco n ciliatio n s com e before q uarrels. The last act o f a m an ’s life is to return to the w om b o f his m other, i.e. death in reverse.42 We should note that the last exam ple led U m ov into the field o f biological processes. He was not alone in this flight o f fancy. A fter the film B ack, B a ck, periodicals - w ith varying degrees o f taste - w ere not slow to take up the them e o f reversed biographical time: solem n people carefully take the corpse ou t o f its coffin, undress it, w ash it, lay it on a bed and begin to cry bitterly o v er it. T hen, in ex cru ciatin g agony, life returns to the body. A nd it begins to live again rig h t before our eyes, getting younger and y ounger . . . All the thoughts and actions that he had and did during his life flood back into him ju st like the sm oke o f the m an w ith the cigar.43 A nd here is another reco n stru ctio n o f a ‘reversed text o f life ’, this tim e in verse, w ith a m inor them e derived from the L u m iè re s’ film The D em olition o f a W all, and w ith another them e anticip atin g a text-book sequence from V ertov’s The C ine-E ye |K in o g la z, 1924]: Run it backw ards if you like . . . D resses appear before cutting, B read is baked into dough. Stones from a fallen ruin Rise up again in their place. The corpse bids farew ell to his coffin. The baby creeps back, ungrateful, Into his m o th e r’s w om b.44 L ife ’s course is reversed: from the coffin to the w om b. In the 1910s it was not only at the level o f po p u lar jo u rn a lism that this them e crep t into R ussian literature. It also featured in V elim ir K h leb n ik o v ’s play The W orld R eversed [M irskontsa, 1912]. Its five episodes represent five stages in the rejuvenation o f the hero and his w ife. He runs aw ay from his ow n funeral and the play finishes w ith a silen t scene in his pram - a kind o f self-liq u id atio n o f a dram atic them e w hich w ent back to a pre-lin g u istic stage. ‘To float from death to in fan cy ’, w rote K hlebnikov in an o th er ex tract, linking this cu rren t o f life w ith S tenka R azin’s voyage up the Volga, that is - from its m outh to its source.45 In Ig n ato v ’s m anuscripts we com e across another typical them e in this cycle: In the early years o f cinem a a m otor car m ight run over som eone who w ould im m ediately ju m p up and chase after the offender. Such scenes delighted the audience and they w ould greet every accident o f this sort w ith ‘H o m eric’ or ‘u n co n tro llab le’ laughter.46

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In one such film, show n in R ussia under the title The D ru n ka rd ’s Cure [Istselenie p ’yanitsy. O riginal title and date unknow n), legs cut o ff by a car are instantly stuck back on again; in V ladim ir M ay ak o v sk y ’s 1916 Futurist poem ‘W ar and the W orld' [Voina i m ir|, w hich the poet him self used to call ‘cin em atic’,47 a sim ilar reverse m utilation scene appears as an a n ti­ w ar hyperbole: From the burial m ounds they rise. O nce buried bones grow flesh. Did severed legs ever seek their ow ners? Did cu t-o ff heads ever call their nam es? Now look! A scalp leaps back on its skull; two legs run up alive beneath him again!48 In any event, for an ob serv er at the tim e this relationship w as in disputable.49 As discussed in the Introduction, the ‘public im ag e’ o f the cinem atic text was influenced by the 'p u b lic im ag e’ o f the M oscow Futurists. B eing the two m ajor attractions o f the year in 1913, cinem a and Futurism w ere bound to be presented as a single phenom enon. W hatever absurdity the critics discovered in films was im m ediately labelled ‘F u tu ristic’; conversely, M ay ak o v sk y ’s poem s were criticised for being as illiterate as cinem a intertitles. Sim ilarly, in the 1910s the show ing o f a film in reverse, from the end to the beginning, was identified as ‘F u tu ristic ’. Thus the author o f the notes entitled ‘Lenten T h em es’ in C ine-P hono d escribed how in M oscow a com pany o f young people, who were clearly unable to survive for a week w ithout the cinem atograph, rented a separate room in a restaurant and invited in a pianist and a p rojectionist with all his e q u ip m e n t. . . Som eone there had the bright idea o f running one o f the com edy films backw ards. It turned out to be incredibly funny: dead people cam e to life, the hero first drow ned then hurled him self out o f the water, and so on . . . T hose people w ere ju st born Futurists, they were longing for the appearance o f w hat our old Futurists call ‘the w orld re v ersed ’ [M irskontsa].50 The week in question ‘w ithout the c in em ato g rap h ’ w as due to the ban on public entertainm ents during Lent. If we contrast the scene described with the scriptural content o f the festival o f Lent we can see clearly the sacrilegious nature o f the ‘young p e o p le ’s ’ behaviour, and also the kind o f m ental associations that the technological possibilities o f the cinem atograph held for people in the 1910s.

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Early cinem a in Russia

F antasies generated by the reverse m otion cinem a often reached the area o f h isto rical tim e. M ik h ail Y am polsky, in a p ro fo u n d a rtic le, ‘C in e m a ’s L anguage o f the S ta rs’,51 show ed how F lam m ario n ’s p h ilo so p h ical dialo g u e ‘L um en ’ served as the in sp iratio n fo r the idea o f the ‘co sm ic c in e m a to ­ g ra p h ’, w hich m ade its ap p earan ce in the tw en tieth century. By rev ersin g the direction control m echanism , one could tran sfo rm the end o f the w orld into the creation, and vice versa. T his is the m axim um tim e-sp an across w hich the m etap h o rical p o ten tial o f the rev ersed film scrip t c o u ld be sustained. Its opposite w ould be the in stan tan eo u s, but c ru cial h isto rical event, w hose very irre v e rsib ility w ould seem to call fo r the use o f the device o f reversed projection. Predictably, for anyone living in R ussia there w as one m om ent in tim e above all others th at b egged to be rew ound and replayed: that o f the R evolution o f 1917. R ussian h isto ry co n sists o f perio d s o f stag n atio n alternating w ith vertiginous leaps into the dark. T hose w ho have experienced one o f these leaps know the th rill o f being part o f accelerated history, and literary or cinem atic discourse on this them e frequently conveys a pow erful feeling o f irreversibility. In his film O ctober (O k ty ab r’, 1927] E isenstein used tem pus reversus as a kind o f apophasis, or p ro o f through oppositio n , in o rder to drive hom e this sense o f the irrev ersib ility o f a m om ent in history: the picture begin s w ith sem i-sy m b o lic shots o f the o v erth ro w in g of autocracy, represented by the toppling o f the statue o f A lexander III, w hich stood beside the C athedral o f C hrist the S av io u r . . . the collapse o f the statue w as also shot in reverse m otion: the throne w ith the arm less and legless torso flew back on to the pedestal. A rm s, legs, sceptre and orb flew up to jo in it. The in d estru ctib le figure o f A lexander III once again sat in state, staring vacantly into space. T his scene was shot for the episode of K o rn ilo v ’s attack on P etrograd in the autum n o f 1917, and rep resen ted the dream s o f all those reactionaries w ho hoped that the g e n e ra l’s success w ould lead to the restoration o f the m onarchy . . . V isually, the scene was a great success . . . R eversed m otion is alw ays highly en tertain in g , and I have recalled som ew here how frequently and how richly this device was used in the first old com ic film s.52 T he m usic accom panying the reversed photography in this film con sisted o f the score for the original scene played b ackw ards.53 By way o f com m entary on this episode from O ctober, perhaps I m ight m ention three other exam ples, each o f w hich illu strates, in its ow n way, this ‘a p o p h asic’ use o f tem pus reversus. T he first has been cited (in a d ifferen t context) by Jay L eyda, and com es from the m em oirs o f S ir B ernard Pares, w ho w as attached to G eneral B alu y ev ’s headquarters during the First W orld War. T here was a stock o f films at the g e n e ra l’s headquarters (w ar n ew sreels, apparently, and som e pictures on m ilitary and p atriotic them es), w hich had not aroused m uch interest am ong the low er ranks and had hardly ev er been

Projection technique

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show n. It was a difficult tim e for B aluyev; a com m ission had ju st visited his headquarters to investigate his m ilitary failures and allegations o f incom ­ petence. Sir B ernard Pares recalled; when they had gone his sta ff felt they ought to do som ething to cheer [B aluyev] up, so they proposed a cinem a show in the little garden. T here we sat in the dark am ong the fruit trees, and the show began. The corporal w ho was operating was nervous, and the picture cam e on w ith great jo lts upside dow n. A nervous voice cam e through the darkness: ‘Y our E xcel­ lency, I beg leave to stop this picture; it’s com ing on upside dow n,’ and from the front bench o f the spectators cam e B alu y e v ’s g ru ff reply: ‘I com m and you to continue upside dow n.’ He then suggested that the whole thing should be done b ackw ards.54 Two other texts that specifically explore the application o f the reversedtim e m etaphor to actual historical ev en ts are Sergei Y ab lo n sk y ’s ‘The C inem atograph’, and A rkadi A verchenko’s ‘The S ecret o f the G reat C in e m a ’ [Fokus velikogo kino]. It should be noted that both articles w ere w ritten after revolutions. The first appeared in The R ussian W ord on 6 D ecem ber 1906, and the second at the beginning o f the 1920s. Y ablonsky’s article begins with the description o f a film about a goose that com es back to life: a din er takes the m orsels from his m outh, they grow together on his plate, acquire feathers and, lo and behold, the goose is alive again! The cook carries it into the yard and begins to run aw ay from the trium phant bird. Then com es the parallel: I think that our w hole life is nothing but cin em atograph, and that the m aestro giving the p erform ance has run the w hole thing in reverse. First he show ed us a very vivid and interesting picture entitled The R evo lu ­ tionary M ovem ent, then he suddenly pressed a few knobs, pulled som e levers, m oved a few things around, said, ‘eins, zw ei, d re i’, and o ff went the picture at double speed - only in reverse order: exactly the opposite o f what happened a year ago, then w hat happened a m onth later, and so on and so on - all strictly in reversed order. The very first picture, which show ed the petty bourgeoisie creeping out o f their burrow s and becom ing citizens, now becom es the last, and show s exactly the opposite process: citizens turning into petty bourgeoisie and hiding aw ay in their bourgeois burrow s . . . Silence was; and silence is. P eace w as; and peace has descended again. E verything is back in its original order; th a t’s exactly what happens w hen you run a film starting at the end . . . Take a look at the papers - those that are left, naturally! T h e y ’ve all calm ed dow n now, and it m akes us feel m ore relaxed too. D on’t even bother to see w h at’s going on in the assem bly! W hat assem bly, anyw ay? A ssem blies belong to the past! All this would be well and good if this idyllic tranquillity were not already being disturbed by a new noise; i t ’s still a long way off, but it’s extrem ely alarm ing: i t ’s the sound o f a Japanese m ilitary band . . .

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‘R everse the film !’ I scream . But the Japanese m ilitary band gets louder and louder, and more and m ore threatening, and it tells me that this is the start o f the Japanese cinem atograph show, a show which is so badly m ade that there is absolutely no way it can be put into reverse m otion.55 Arkadi Averchenko, the author o f the second story on the same them e, was driven by opposite em otions. U nlike Yablonsky, Averchenko was no dem o­ crat, and his nostalgia was for tim es o f social peace rather than upheaval. His book o f short stories, A D ozen Knives in the B ack o f the R evolution , was w ritten in 1921 in Paris where Averchenko lived as an ém igré. It was the first m ajor anti-com m unist book o f prose, singled out by Lenin as extrem ely talented and extrem ely hostile. One o f his stories, ‘The Secret o f the G reat C inem a’, takes advantage o f the trope o f reverse projection. It opens with a description o f a picture already m entioned, Back, Back : The sea appears, and some cliffs . . . One o f the cliffs is absolutely sheer, about seventy feet high . . . Suddenly the sea beneath the cliff foam s up, a head shoots out o f the w ater and a man soars up seventy feet into the air, like a gigantic bouncing ball, and stands on the edge o f the c liff - quite dry. He crosses him self in reverse order: first his fingers touch his left shoulder, then his right shoulder, then his chest, and, finally, his forehead.56 There follow s a detailed description o f the w ell-known reversed episodes o f the cigar being sm oked and the chicken being devoured. Averchenko then w onders what would happen if one could do the sam e with recent historical events: Oh, if only life were as passive as a ribbon o f film! If only you could make it run backw ards ju st by pulling a lever . . . I ’ve got this sheet o f paper in front o f me, evenly covered with the lines I ’ve ju st written. Suddenly my pen goes into reverse, scrabbling it all up and leaving nothing but a blank sheet. I put on my hat, pick up my cane, and back out on to the s tr e e t. . . The film w hirrs away, spinning backw ards. Now i t ’s Septem ber, the year before last. I am sitting in a railw ay carriage; the train lurches o ff backw ards and rushes tow ards Petrograd. M arvellous things are going on there: traders are packing up their stalls and leaving the Nevsky Prospect; peasant women selling herrings, gher­ kins, and apples; non-com batant soldiers selling cigarettes - th ey ’re all disappearing . . . B olshevik decrees are flying o ff the walls o f the buildings like scales, and the walls are neat and tidy again. Look, th ere’s A lexander K erensky’s car charging up at full speed - backwards! Has he returned? Turn it, M ishka - faster! H e’s just driven into the W inter Palace. Look, the film is still flashing past; Lenin and Trotsky are com ing backw ards out o f K shesinskaya’s villa;

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th ey 're driving backw ards to the station; they sit in the unsealed carriage; it's sealed up straight aw ay and o ff they all go to G erm any - backw ards. Now h e re ’s a pretty sight! I t’s K erensky rushing backw ards out o f the W inter Palace (not before tim e); he ju m p s up on a table and pom pously harangues the w orkers: ‘Com rades! Kill me with your bare hands if I ever desert you! I ’m with you to the d e a th !’ H e’s lying, the scoundrel! It’s very handy som etim es to be able to reverse the film! The February R evolution flashes past too. It’s funny to see m achine-gun bullets flying out o f people lying in the street and zipping straight back into the m uzzles o f the guns; dead people are ju m p in g up and running backw ards, gesticulating wildly. Faster, M ishka - run it faster! Rasputin dashes out o f the T sa r’s palace and goes o ff hom e to Tyum en. The film is in reverse, you see! The cost o f living gets cheaper and ch eap er . . . T h ere’s piles o f bread, and m eat, and all kinds o f food in the m arkets. But now the terrible w ar is m elting aw ay like snow on a w hite-hot sheet o f iron. C orpses get up out o f the ground and are quietly carried back to their units. M obilisation turns sw iftly into d em obilisation. Now th ere ’s K aiser W ilhelm standing on a balcony in front o f his people, but his terrible w ords declaring w ar - the w ords o f a b lood-sucking spider - do not com e out of his m outh but d isappear into it and he sw allow s them up; his lips ju st pluck them out o f the air. Oh, if only they w ould choke you! . . . Come on M ishka, run it faster, lad! The Fourth, T hird, Second and First D um as flash past in succession, and now we see on the screen the vivid, h orrible, details o f the 1905 pogrom s. But it doesn ’t seem so frightening, som ehow. T hugs w rench their knives out of dead bodies; the bodies stir, stand up, and run away. F eathers fly tidily back into Jew ish quilts, and ev ery th in g is as it was before. . . Stop, M ishka! D on’t show us any m ore! We don’t w ant to see ourselves as we were fifteen years ago - we w ere little m ore than boys. Oh, what hopes we had! How we loved - and how we were loved!57

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The reception of narrative devices

215

O C E H b X E H U IlH b l

id ) M arried by Satan [Venchal ikh Satana, 1917] (e ) The Autumn o f a Woman [Osen’ zhenshchiny, 1917] (/) We Are Not Guilty o f Their Blood! [V ikh krovi my nepovinny! 1917]

Postscript

T his book is about a specific period in film h istory and about its specific spectator. In 1965 Jack T. M unsey rem arked on the first four years o f cinem a: ‘As I reflect on the initial reactions to the m otion picture, I cannot help but think o f M acL uhan’s assertion that “ M edium is m essag e.” It has a ring o f truth to it, at least during this earliest o f p h ases.’1 1 think that if we try to histo ricise the v iew er we can extend this phase well into the 1910s. T his thought cam e to me as 1 w as reading E ileen B o w ser’s The T ransform ation o f C inem a - the p art w here she is d iscu ssin g the reception o f the close-up and quotes a 1909 review referrin g to foreground action as being enacted ‘by a race o f g iants and g ia n te sse s’. B ow ser argues that, unlike people today, the h istorical sp ectato r was sensitive to the film m edium : ‘W hat is to us a very sm all change in cam era position m ay have seem ed striking to that audience. In fact, the co ntem porary com m ents on these changes, o r the m em ories o f those w ho experienced them at the tim e, w hen filtered through a m odern conception o f a close cam era positio n , have led to distortions or actual m istakes in the histo ry o f use o f the c lo se-u p .’2 In this book I have tried to revive a h istorical sp ectato r not yet deadened to the novelty o f cincm atic discourse - the m edium -sensitive film viewer. But, having historicised the view er, should we not think o f doing the sam e w ith the figure o f the film -m aker? L et me q uote a passage from V ik to r S h k lo v sk y ’s 1923 article ‘C haplin the C o p ’ that has been puzzling me ever since I read it. In it S hklovsky d escribes a gag from E asy S treet w hich, how ever, does not look like a gag to me: A terrib le strongm an appears on the scene [of action]. C haplin pretends not to be scared. C haplin w alks away, the strongm an follow s him . T hey are m oving aw ay from the audience, but the scene is shot so that they seem to be constantly draw ing nearer, backs ahead. T his funny trick had been used before in one o f C h ap lin ’s early films show ing him chasing a car on a m otorcycle. Probably, the scene w as shot from an o th er car o v ertak in g them . T he resulting im pression w as that the m o torcycle w ith C haplin on it w as pulling backw ards tow ards the audience. The evident contrad ictio n

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betw een the real d irection o f m ovem ent and the way we perceive it photographically causes laughter in the au d ien c e.1 I am sure no m odern v iew er w ould ev e r read this as a ‘c o n tra d ic tio n ’. H ow ever, w hat puzzles me is not m erely the fact that the aud ien ces Shklovsky referred to w ere am used by a track in g sh o t, but rather, did C haplin intentionally use tracking as a gag? A nd, if so, how m any gags and subtleties envisaged by early film -m akers are lost on the present-day generation o f film goers? The issue had been raised by the ‘cinem a o f attra ctio n s’ theory that I have repeatedly alluded to in this book. To pose the problem in a m ore general way, having agreed to discuss film h istory in term s o f m edium -sensitive spectators, can we also speak o f m edium -oriented m essages? O r o f a m edium specific period in film history? These questions exceed the lim its o f this book; how ever, 1 am convinced that by h istoricising the view er we are taking a step tow ards a truer history o f film.

Notes

FOREW ORD 1 J. Staiger, Interpreting Movies: Studies in the Historical Reception o f American Cinema (Princeton, NJ, 1992); R. E. Pearson and W. Uricchio, ‘“ How to Be a Stage Napoleon” : Vitagraph’s Vision of H istory’, Persistence o f Vision, 1991, no. 9, pp. 75-89; W. Uricchio and R. E. Pearson, ‘Films of Quality, High Art Films and Films de Luxe: Intertextuality and Reading Positions in the Vitagraph Film s’, Journal o f Films and Video, winter 1989, vol. 41, no. 4, pp. 15-31; B. Klinger, ‘Digressions at the Cinema: Reception and Mass C ulture’, Cinema Journal, summer 1989, no. 28, pp. 3-19, and idem, ‘Much Ado about Excess: Genre, Mise-en-scene and the Woman in Written on the Wind', Wide Angle, vol. 11, no. 4, pp. 4-22; S. Neal, ‘Melo Talk: On the Meaning and Use of the Term “ M elodram a” in the American Trade Press’ (Paper delivered to the BF1 Melodrama Conference, London, 1992); M. Hansen, Babel and Babylon: Spectutorship in American Silent Film (Cambridge, MA, 1991).

INTRODUCTION 1 Petrogradskii kino-zhurnal [The Petrograd Cinema Journal], 1916, no. 1, p. 11. 2 See: A. D. Digmelov, ‘50 let nazad’ [50 Years Ago], p. 3. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, GFF. 3 I. Yakovlev, ‘Son nayavu’ [A Daydream], Novoe vremya [New Times), no. 7155, 29 Jan. [10 Feb.] 1896, p. 2. 4 A. M. G or’kii, ‘Beglye zam etki’ [Fleeting Notes], Nizhegorodskii listok [The Nizhny Novgorod Newsletter], no. 182, 4 July 1896, p. 3. English translation from: R. Taylor and I. Christie (eds). The Film Factory: Russian and Soviet Cinema in Documents 1896-1939 (London and Cambridge, MA, 1988), p. 25. This review (translated by Leda Swan) is also to be found in J. Leyda, Kino: A History o f the Russian and Soviet Film (New York, 1973), pp. 407-9. 5 Ibid. 6 K. Irzykowski, X muza [The Tenth Muse] (Warsaw, 1957), p. 127. 7 Ibid., p. 128. 8 A. Blok, Sobranie sochinenii [Collected Works] (Moscow, Leningrad, 1962-3), vol. 8, p. 251. 9 ‘Stasov o kinem atografe’ [Stasov on the Cinematograph], Excerpted in Iskusstvo kino (The Art of Cinema], 1957, no. 3, p. 128. 10 Yu. Tsivian, ‘Portraits, Mirrors, Death: On Some Decadent Clichés in Early

N otes

11

12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24

25 26 27 28 29 30 31

32 33 34 35 36

219

Russian Films.’ Paper presented to the Painted Portraits in Cinema confcrcnee, The Louvre Museum, April 1991. IRIS, 1992, nos 14-15, pp. 67-84. O. V. Vysotskaya, ‘Moi vospom inaniya’ [My Memoirs]. Unpublished mSS, 1RLI (MSS division), no. 41, p. 42 verso. I am indebted to Roman Timenchik for this excerpt. L. Andreev, ‘O kino’ [On Cinema], Cine-Phono, 1909. no. 1, p. 10. D. G. Rossetti, The C ollected Works, éd. W. M. Rossetti (London, 1886), vol. 1. Cited after: T. Ziolkowski, D isenchanted Images (Princeton, NJ, 1977), p. 107. Le Portrait m ystérieux [The M ysterious Portrait, 1899]; L 'Auberge du bon repos [Comfort Inn, 1903]; Le Portrait spirite [The Ghostly Portrait, 1905]; Le Menuet liliputien [Liliputian Minuet, 1905]; Les Affiches en goguette [Posters on the Spree, 1906]; Ali Borbouyou et A li B o eu f-à -ih u ile (Ali Borbouyou and Ali FriedBeef, 1907]; Tricky P ainter’s Fate, 1908. Leyda, Kino, p. 408. A. S. Pushkin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii [Complete Worksl (Moscow, 1937-49), vol. 2, part 1, poem no. 253. M. Artsybashev, Teni utra [M orning Shadows] (Moscow, 1990), p. 95. Z. Gippius, Chertova kukla [The D evil’s Doll) (Moscow, 1911), p. 35. Taylor and Christie, The Film Factory, p. 25. Prince Scncgambii [Fedor Otsep), ‘K inematograf i obryad zhizni’ [The C inem ato­ graph and the Ritual of Life], Kine-zhurnal |The Cinema Journal), 1917, no. 1/2, p. 68. Z. G ippius, ‘N averno’ [Probably], Vershiny [Peaksl, 1914, no. 4, p. 10. H. Bergson, Creative Evolution (A. M itchell trans., New York. 1911), pp. 302-7. V. Gei, ‘Dva ritm a’ [Two Rhythms), T ea tra in a ya gazeta [The Theatre News­ paper], 1917, no. 4, p. 10. Robert Schmut/.ler calls this quality of art nouveau ‘biological rom anticism ' or ‘biological historicism ’. See: R. Schmutzler. A rt Nouveau (New York, 1962), p. 250. ‘Pisateli o kinem atografe’ [Writers on the Cinem atograph], Vestnik kinematografii [The Cinem atograph Herald], 1914, no. 88/8, p. 18. A. Krainii [Z. Gippius], ‘Sinem a’ [Cinema], Zveno [The Link] (Paris), 1926, no. 204, p. 3. M. Voloshin, Liki tvorchestva [Faces of Creativity] (Leningrad, 1988), p. 118. O. M andel’shtam, Razgovor o Dante [A Conversation about D ante| (Moscow, 1967), p. 6. J. Delandes, J. Richard, H istoire comparée du cinéma [A Comparative History of Cinema] (Tournai, 1968), vol. 2, p. 185. L. Senelick, ‘Boris Geyer and Cabaretic Play w riting’, in: R. Russell and A. Barrait (eds), Russian Theatre in the Age o f Modernism (New York, 1990), p. 45. TeatraTnaya gazeta, 1914, no. 19, p. 11. For notes on Silent Witnesses see: Yu. Tsivian (research), P. C. Usai, L. Codelli. C. Monlanaro and D. Robinson (eds), Silent Witnesses: Russian Films 1908-1919 (London. Pordenone, 1989), p. 230. Proektor |The Projector], 1916, no. 21, p. 12. O. M andel’shtam. 'Sokhrani moyu rech ’. . .’ [Preserve My Speech. . .], MandeTshtam ovskii sbornik [Essays on Mandelshtam] (Moscow, 1991), p. 11. Schmutzler, Art Nouveau, p. 11. Novoe vremya, no. 13580, 1 (14) Jan., 1914, p. 14. F M., ‘Tri kinem atografa' [Three Cinem atographs], Cine-Phono, 1914, no. II . p. 22.

220

Notes

CHAPTER 1 1 The first cinema performances in Riga were given at Salamon’s circus. (V. Puce, ‘Kinojauniba’ [A Childhood at the Cinema], Lileratura un Maksla [Literature and Art], 3 Sept. 1982, p. 16). 2 V. B. Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody russkogo kino [Infant Years of the Russian Cinema] (Moscow, 1928), p. 10. 3 I. N. Ignatov, ‘Kinematograf v Rossii: Proshloe i budushchee’ [The Cinemato­ graph in Russia: Its Past and Future], TsGALl, 221/1, p. 3. 4 A. L. Pasternak, Vospominaniya [Memoirs] (Munich, 1933), p. 132. 5 A. Verner [Werner], ‘Beglye zametki’ [Fleeting Notes], p. 1. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, OFF. 6 Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody, pp. 12-13. 7 M. Ya. Landesman, Tak pochinalosya kino: Rospovidi pro dozhovtnevii kinemato­ g ra f [That’s How Cinema Began: Stories about the Cinematograph before the October Revolution] (Kiev, 1972), p. 31. 8 Volshebnyi fo n a r ': katalog na 1901-1903 [The Magic Lantern: Catalogue for 1901-1903] (Yekaterinograd, n.d.). 9 Lolo [Munshtein], ‘Teatr elektricheskii i tcatr dram aticheskii’ IThe Electric Theatre and the Dramatic Theatre], Teatr [Theatre], no. 1752, 18-19 Oct. 1915, p. 11. 10 V. Svyatlovskii, ‘Vasil’evskii ostrov’ [Vasilevsky Island], in: Sedye goroda [Grey Cities] (St Petersburg, 1912), p. 45. 11 A. Akhropov, Tadzhikskoe kino [The Tadzhik Cinema] (Dushanbe, 1971), p. 6. 12 R. Musil, ‘Ansätze zu neuer Aesthctik: Bemerkungen über eine Dramaturgie des Film s’ [Towards a New Aesthetic. Notes on the Dramatic Theory of Film], Der Neue Merkur [The New Mercury], (Munich), 1924-25, no. 8, p. 489. 13 R. Sieburth, ‘The Music of the Future’, in: D. Hollier (ed.), A New History o f French Literature (London, 1989), p. 797. 14 M. A. Voloshin, ‘Mysli o teatre’ [Thoughts on Theatre], Apollon [Apollo], 1910, no. 5, pp. 39^10. 15 N. Shebuev, Negativy [Negatives] (Moscow, 1903). p. 112. 16 See pp. 109-13, 149-54. 17 A. Koiranskii, ‘Kintop’ [Ger. das Kintopp: 'The Flicks’], Nash p o n ed ein ik [Our Monday Paper], no. 2, 26 Nov. 1907, p. 5. 18 Quoted from: G. Struve, Russkaya literatura v izgnanii [Russian Literature in Exile] (New York, 1956), p. 312.' 19 Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody, p. 15. 20 F. K. Sologub, ‘V kinem atografe’ [At the Cinematograph], IRLI, 289/1/2, p. 279. 21 R. Garms [Harm s|, Filosofiya fi l’ma [The Philosophy of Film] (Leningrad, 1927), p. 70. The original title of H arm s’s book was Philosophie des Films: Seine aesthetischen und M etaphysischen Grundlagen [The Philosophy of Film: Its Aesthetic and Metaphysical Principles] (Leipzig. 1926). 22 ‘Kazn’ Cholgosha v kinem atografe’ [The Execution of Czotgosz in the Cinemato­ graph], Novoe vremya, 1902, no. 20, p. 637. 23 S. M. Volkonskii, Rodina: Moi vospominaniya [Motherland: My Memories] (No place of publication, n. d.), p. 224. 24 L. Andreyev, ‘Pis’mo o teatre’ IA Letter on Theatre], Polnoe sohranie sochinenii [Complete Works] (St Petersburg, 1913), vol. 8, pp. 305-16. For an English translation see: R. Taylor and I. Christie (eds). The Film Factory: Russian and Soviet Cinema in Documents 1896-1939 (London. 1988), pp. 27-31. 25 M. Brailovskii, ‘Velikii N cm oi’ [The Great Silent], Cine-Phono, 1914, no. 3, p. 25.

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26 Heine ich das Kino! Die Schriftsteller und der Stummfilm [If Only I Had Cinema! Writers and the Silent Film] (Munich, 1976), pp. 69-70. 27 P. Boborykin, 'Bescdy o teatre’ [Conversations on Theatre], Russkoe slovo [The Russian Word), no. 142, 21 July 1913, p. 2. 28 K oiranskii.‘Kintop’, p. 5. 29 L. O. [L. Ostroumov?], ‘Lenta zhizni’ [The Ribbon of Life], Pegas [Pegasus], 1916, no. 4, p. 52. 30 A. Benua | Benois), ‘O kinematografe' [On the Cinematograph], Aleksandr Benua razmyshlyaet [Alexander Benois Reflects] (Moscow, 1968), p. 108. That Benois’s term for cinema was also the name of a famous French nude model was coincidental. 31 S. Gorodetskii, ‘Zhiznopis’ [Biograph). K inem atograf [The Cinematograph), 1915, no. 2, p. 3. 32 M. Swartz. ‘An Overview of Cinema on the Fairgrounds', Journal o f Popular Film and Television, 1982, vol. 15, no. 3, p. 105. 33 A. Gaudreault, T. Gunning, ‘Le Cinéma des premiers temps: un défi à l'histoire du cinéma?' [Cinema in its Early Years: A Challenge to Cinema History?) in: J. Aumont. A. Gaudreault and M. Marie (eds), Histoire du cinema: Nouvelles approches [Cinema History: New Approaches) (Paris, 1989), pp. 49-63. 34 T. Gunning. ‘An Aesthetic of Astonishment: Early Film and the (In)credulous Spectator’, Art and Text, spring 1989. no. 34, pp. 3 1—45. 35 Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody, pp. 2 0 - 1. 36 B. V. Dushen, ‘Beglye vospominaniya' [Fleeting Memoirs), p. 2. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, GFF. 37 N. I. Orlov, ‘Pervye kino’smki v Rossii’ [The First Film Shootings in Russia), pp. 1-3. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, GFF. 38 Garms, Filosofiya fil'ma, p. 67. 39 Swartz. ‘An Overview', p. 108. 40 Dushen. ‘Beglye’, p. 2; Ignatov, ‘Kinematograf’, p. 50. 41 T. Vcchorka, Magnolii [Magnolias] (Tiflis, 1916), p. 9. 42 Ignatov.‘Kinematograf’. p. 50. 43 L. Ya. Gurevich [N. Repnin], ‘Teatral’nye ocherki’ [Theatre Essays], Slovo (The Word], no. 297, 6 Nov. 1907. 44 ‘F lan y o r'.‘Kinematografiya’ [Cinematography|, Zhizn' [Life], no. 1,5 Jan. 1909. The Moscow floods were the subject of a Pathé newsreel made by Georges Meyer. 45 Ibid. 46 N. M. Zorkaya. Na ruhezhe stoletii: u istokov massovogo iskusstva v Rossii 1900-1910 godov [At the Turn of the Century: The Sources of Mass Art in Russia] (Moscow, 1976), p. 134; M. A. Beketova, Aleksandr Blok : Biograficheskii ocherk [Alexander Blok: A Biographical Essayl (Petrograd, 1922), pp. 260-1. 47 Ignatov, ‘Kinematograf’, p. 3. 48 M. Blonskii, ‘Druzheskii sovet’ [Friendly Advice], Kinoteatr i zhizn’ [The Cinema Theatre and Life], 1914, no. 6, p. 2. 49 Volkonskii, Rodina, p. 244. 50 E. Maurin, Kinematograf v prakticheskoi zhizni [The Cinematograph in Practical Life] (Petrograd, 1916), p. 134. 51 Ibid., p. 137. 52 A. B., ‘Kinematograf' [The Cinematograph], Boqema [Bohemia], 1915, no. 5/6, p. 7. 53 P. Nilus, ‘Torzhestvo sovremennogo kinematografa’ [The Triumph of the Modern Cinematograph], Proektor [The Projector], 1917, no 1/2, p. 4. 54 Püce, ‘Kinojauniba’, 17 Sept. 1982, p. 16. 55 TsGALI, 989/1/153.

222

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

65

66 67 68 69

70 71 72 73

74

75 76 77

Notes

I. Sel’vinskii, Ulyalaevshchina [Ulyalaev’s Band! (Moscow. 1927). p. 83. Ignatov, ‘K inem atograf, p. 90. Sologub, ‘V kinem atografe’, p. 279. A. Blok, ‘Na zheleznoi doroge’ [On the Railway), Sobranie sochinenii v shesti tomakh [Collected Works in Six Volumes] (Leningrad, 1980), vol. 2, p. 154. I. Lukash, ‘Teatr ulitsy’ [The Theatre of the Street], Sovremennoe slovo [The Modern Word], no. 2539, 25 April 1918, p. 1. L. Kirby, ‘The Urban Spectator and the Crowd in Early American Train Films", Iris, summer 1990, no. 11, p. 52. Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody, p. 10. Maurin, Kinematograf, p. 127. ‘Vliyanie kinematografa na zrenie: Beseda s prof. L. G. Bellyarminovym’ [The Effect of the Cinematograph on the Eyes: An Interview with Prof. L. G. Bellyarminov], Peterburgskaya gazeta [The Petersburg Newspaper], no. 8, 9 Jan. 1908, p. 2. See also: N. V., ‘Kinematograf i zrenic’ [The Cinematograph and Sight], Cine-Phono, 1909/10, no. 22, p. 9; G. Tel’berg, ‘Vliyanie kinematografa na zrenie. (Mnenie prof. Kazanskogo universiteta G. Agababova)’ [The Effect of the Cinematograph on the Eyes. (The Opinion of Prof. G. Agababov of Kazan University)], Cine-Phono, 1909/10, no. 3, p. 12; Dr. Yu. S. Vainshtein, ‘Vreden li kinematograf dlya zreniya. (Iz doklada sdelannogo na zasedanii obshchestva vrachei)’ [Is the Cinematograph Bad for the Eyes. (From a paper presented at a conference of the Russian Medical Association)], Vestnik kinematografii [Cine­ matograph Herald], 1912, no. 31, pp. 18-20; ‘Kinematograf i zdorov’e ’ [The Cinematograph and Health], Zhurnal za sem' dnei [The Seven-Day Magazine], 1913, no. 38, pp. 817-18. T. Gunning, ‘ Heard Over the Phone: The Lonely Villa and the de Lorde Tradition of the Terrors of Technology’. Paper delivered to the SCS Conference, Washing­ ton, DC, 1990. Ya. A. Zhdanov, ‘Po Rossii s kinogovoryashchimi kartinam i’ [Around Russia with Talking Pictures], p. 9. Typescript in the Soviet Film Section of VGIK. Maurin, Kinematograf, p. 12. Quoted after: M. Ratgaus, ‘Kuzmin - kinozritel” [Kuzmin as Film Spectator], Kinovedcheskie zapiski [Film Studies Notes], 1992, no. 13, p. 61. E. Altenloh, Zur Soziologie des Kino: Die Kino-Unternehmung und die sozialen Schichten ihrer Besucher [Towards a Sociology of Cinema: The Cinema Business and the Social Strata of its Visitors] (Jena, 1914). Review of the above, Cine-Phono, 1914. no. 13, p. 35. Ignatov, ‘Kinematograf’, p. 2. Koiranskii, ‘Kintop’, p. 5. A. Serafimovich, ‘Mashinnoe nadvigaetsya’ IThe Machine Age Approaches], Russkie vedomosti [The Russian Gazette], 1 Jan. 1912. This translation is taken from R. Taylor, The Politics o f the Soviet Cinema, 1917-1929 (Cambridge, 1979), p. 7. K. and O. Koval’skie, ‘O kinem o-teatrakh’ [On Cinema Theatres], Studiya [The Studio], 1912, no. 25, p. 8. ‘Glupyshkin’ (or sometimes ‘Durashkin’) [‘D opey’] was the Russian name for the French-born film comedian of early Italian cinema, André Deed, known in Italian as ‘C retinetti’ and in English as ‘Foolshead’ or ‘D opey’. Max Linder (1883-1925) was an early French film comedian who was particularly popular in Russia. Gurevich, ‘Tcatral’nye ocherki’. A. Belyi, ‘Sinem atograf’, in: Arabeski [Arabesques] (Moscow, 1911). After Bely’s article it became customary for those attacking the idea of the essentially collective nature (sobornost) of the new theatre to buttress their

Notes

78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89

90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105

223

arguments with references to cinema. A distant echo of this approach can be seen in Boris Eikhenbaum's article, 'Problemy kinostilistiki’ [Problems of Cinema Stylistics], in: Poetika kino (Moscow, Leningrad, 1927). For English translations of Poetika kino see: R. Taylor (ed.). The Poetics o f Cinema: Russian Poetics in Translation, no. 9 (Oxford, 1982); and H. Eagle (ed.), Russian Formalist Film Theory (Ann Arbor, MI, 1981). Belyi, 'Sinem atograf, p. 349. G. I. Chulkov, ‘Zhivaya fotografiya’ [A Living Photograph), Zolotoe runo [The Golden Fleece], 1908, no. 6, p. 11. S. Lyubosh, Vestnik kinom atografi, 1913, no. 9, p. 3. A. R. Kugel’, Utverzhdenie teatra [Consolidating the Theatre] (Moscow, 1923), p. 181. M. G or'kii, ‘Beglye zametki’ [Fleeting Notes], Nizhegorodskii listok, no. 182, 4 July 1896, p. 3. ‘Iz provintsial’nykh gazet’ [From the Provincial Papers], Novoe slovo [New Wordl, 1896, no. 11, p. 189. M. Gorkii, ‘Otomstil . . . ’ [Revenge], Polnoe sobranie sochinenii [Complete Works[ (Moscow, 1969), vol. 2, p. 500. Prince Senegambii, ‘Kinematograf i obryad zhizni’ |The Cinematograph and the Ritual of Life], Kine-zhurnal, 1917, no. 1/2, p. 87. M. Hansen, Babel and Babylon: Spectatorship in American Silent Film (Cam­ bridge, MA, 1991), pp. 232' 353. Homo Novus [A. Kugel’], ‘Zametki' [Notes], Teatr i iskusstvo [Theatre and Art). 1913, no. 35, p. 682. Zorkaya, Na rubezhe, pp. 127-30. V. Mazurkevich, ‘Kinematograf’ [The Cinematograph), Vsya teatral’no-muzykal'nasa Rossiya [All Theatrical and Musical Russia], (Petrograd, 1914-15), p. 102'. K. Varlamov, ‘Kak ya smotryu na kinematograf' |How I Look at the Cinemato­ graph], Kino-teatr i zhizn’ [The Cinema Theatre and Life], 1913, no. 5. Programme of the Renaissance cinema, St Petersburg, 2-8 May 1909. The RKM collection. Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody. p. 11. Garins, Filosofiya, p. 71. Ignatov,‘Kinematograf’, p. 11. S. Cavcll, The World Viewed: Reflections on the Ontology o f Film (New York, 1971), p. 11. A. Belyi, ‘Gorod’ [The City], Nash ponedel'nik |O ur Monday Paper], 9 Nov. 1907, no. 1. Voloshin, ‘Mysli’. A. Blok, Pis'ma Aleksandra Bloka k E . P. Ivanovu [Letters of Alexander Blok to E. P. Ivanov) (Moscow, Leningrad, 1936), pp. 31, 32. R. Abel, ‘American Film and the French Literary Avant-Garde (1914-1924)’, Contemporary Literature, 1975, vol. 17, no. 1, p. 104. Ibid. G. Sadoul, Vseobshchaya istoriya kino [A General History of Cinema) (Moscow, 1958-82), vol. 2, p. 206. A. Kaes (ed.), Kino-Debatte [Cinema Debate] (Munich, 1978), p. 72. ‘Pis’mo v redaktsiyu’ [A Letter to the Editor], Vestnik kinematografti, 1913, no. 17, p. 19. Programme of the Saturn cinema, St Petersburg, 21 April, 1913. The RKM Collection. A. Bukhov, ‘Max Linder’, Sinii zhurnal [The Blue Journal), 1912, no. 42, p. 18.

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Notes

106 A. Bukhov, ‘0 kinematograficheskikh avtorakh’ [On Cinematograph Authors), Kinematograf [The Cinematograph], 1915, no. 1, p. 9. 107 Protei [Proteus], ‘Kinematografy’ [Cinematographs], Teatr i zhizn' [Theatre and Life], 1913, no. 4, p. 2. 108 Ignatov, ‘Kinematograf’, p. 11. 109 Ibid., p. 3. 110 E. Panofsky, ‘Style and Medium in the Motion Pictures’, in: G. Mast and M. Cohen (eds), Film Theory and Criticism (New York, 1985), p. 216. 111 N. Lopatin, ‘Kinematograf’ [The Cinematograph], Cine-Phono, 1915, no. 27, p. 19. 112 Prince Senegambii, ‘Kinematograf i tcatr’ [The Cinematograph and the Theatre], Kine-zhurnal, 1916, no. 1/2, pp. 69, 70. 113 Ibid., p. 70. 114 Lopatin,‘Kinematograf’, p. 19. 115 P. Tavrichanin, ‘Iskusstvo i kinematograf’ [Art and Cinema], Vestnik kinemato­ grafii, 1912, no. 52, p. 3. 116 Lopatin, ‘Kinematograf’, p. 19. 117 K. Chukovskii, Nat Pinkerton i sovremennaya literatura [Nat Pinkerton and Contemporary Literature] (Moscow, 1908). 118 TsGALI, 416/1/203, p. 13. 119 L. Dobychin, ‘Gorod En’ [The Town of N[, Rodnik [The Springl, 1988, no. 10 (22), p. 79. 120 L. May, Screening Out the Past: The Birth o f Mass Culture and the Motion Picture Industry (New York, Oxford, 1980), p. 158. 121 ‘Khronika’ [Chronicle of Events], Vestnik kinematografii, 1913, no. 18, p. 18. 122 ‘Eks-korol’ Manuel’ na pokoc’ [Ex-King Manuel in Retirement], Vestnik kinematografii, 1913, no. 85/86, p. 39. 123 Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody, pp. 13, 14. 124 ‘Sincmatograf, [The Cinematograph], Cine-Phono, 1912/13, no. 13, p. 25. 125 Koiranskii, ‘Kintop’, p. 5. 126 Kino, 1929, no. 39, p. 3. 127 M. Boitler, ‘Kakim dolzhen byt’ ideal’nyi kinoteatr?’, Kino, 1928, no. 40, p. 3. 128 V. Muromskii, ‘O kinematografe’ [On the Cinematograph], Den [The Day], 4 Nov. 1913. 129 A. Mackintosh, Symbolism and Art Nouveau (London, 1975), p. 54. 130 E. Beskin, ‘Listki’ [Jottings], TeatraTnaya gazeta [The Theatre Paper|, 1916, no. 1, p. 8. 131 Zhurnal zhurnalov [The Journal of Journals], 1915, no. 2, p. 10. 132 B. Salt, Film Style and Technology: History and Analysis (London, 1984), p. 120. 133 Arno [Arnaud?], ‘Kinematograf’ [The Cinematograph], Moskovskie vedomosti, 1917, no. 53, p. 2. 134 Ignatov, ‘Kinematograf’, p. 59. 135 Maurin, Kinematograf, p. 124. 136 W. Schivelbusch, Disenchanted Night: The Industrialization o f Light in the Nineteenth Century (Berkeley, 1988), p. 148. 137 M. A. Rashkovskaya, ‘Poet v mire, mir v poete’ [The Poet in the World, the World in the Poet], Vstrechi s proshlym [Meetings with the Past] (Moscow, 1982), no. 4, p. 144.

CHAPTER 2 1 M. Hansen, Babel and Babylon: Spectatorship in American Silent Film (Cam­ bridge, MA, 1991), p. 4. See p. 297 for a bibliography on ‘apparatus theory’.

Notes

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2 J.-L. Boudry, ‘Le Dispositif’ (The Apparatus], Communications (Paris). 1975, no. 23. pp. 56-72. The reference is to Plato's Republic, book VII. Socrates puts it to Glaucon that for men chained in a cave, and able to see only the shadows of objects cast on a wall, it is the shadows that represent reality, not the objects themselves. 3 K. Bal’mont, Stikhotvoreniya (Poems) (Moscow, 1969), p. 96. 4 V. Bryusov, Vesv (The Scales), 1904, no. 11, p. 50. 5 F. Sologub, ‘Netlennoe plem ya’ (The Imperishable Race], Teatr i iskusstvo [Theatre and Art], 1912, no. 51, p. 10 2 1. 6 A. Krantsfel’d, ‘Velikii nem oi’ (The Great Silent], Teatr i kino [Theatre and Cinema] (Odessa), 1916, no. 1, p. 17. 7 R. Timenchik, ‘K simvolike tramvaya v russkoi poezii’ [On the Symbolism of the Tram in Russian Poetry), Semiotika: Trudy po znakovym sistemam XXI [Semiotics: Transactions on Sign Systems XXI] (Tartu, 1987), p. 138. Also by the same author: 'K simvolike telefona v russkoi poezii’ (On the Symbolism of the Telephone in Russian Poetry], Semiotika XXII. (Tartu, 1988), p. 157. 8 K. Chukovskii, Nat Pinkerton i sovremennaya literatura [Nat Pinkerton and Contemporary Literature] (Moscow, 1908). p. 5. 9 V. B. Chaikovskii, Mladencheskie gody russkogo kino [Infant Years of the Russian Cinema] (Moscow, 1928), p. 10. 10 A. Norman [Vitte], ‘Fantomy’ [Phantoms], in: Poemy: Stat'i o teatre [Poems: Articles on Theatre] (Tashkent, 1920), p. 9. 11 N. U-el", 'Zhizn' - kinematograf’ [Life is a Cinematograph], Vestnik kinemato­ grafii [The Cinematograph Herald], 1912, no. 50, p. 16. 12 On 4 May 1897 140 people died when a marquee caught lire at the annual Charity Bazaar on the Rue Jean Goujon just off the Champs Elysees. The alleged cause was the ncgligence of the projectionist, who tried to relight the ether-gas projection lamp with a match. The tragedy caused a great stir throughout Europe and America (the victims were mainly from the upper classes; there were many children among them) and led lo safer projection techniques, stricter fire precautions in public places, and to a search for less flammable film. (P. Hugnes, M. Marnin, Le Cinéma français: Le Muet | French Cinema: The Silent Film] (Paris, 1986), pp. 44-5). 13 E. Maurin, Kinematograf vprakticheskoi zhizni [The Cinematograph in Practical Life) (Petrograd. 1916), p. 122. 14 Nasha nedelya [Our Week], 1911, no. 5, p. 23. 15 Yu. Krichevskii, ‘V kinematografe' [At the Cinematograph), N evod [The Dragnet) (Petrograd, 1918), p. 22. 16 K. Brownlow, ‘Silent Films: What was the Right Speed?’, Sight and Sound, summer 1980, pp. 164-7; B. Salt, Film Style and Technology (London, 1984), p. 203. 17 Yu. Tsiv’yan, ‘Dmitrii Kirsanov, ili poetika pauzy" [Dmitrii Kirsanov, or the Poetics of the Pause], Kino (Riga), 1981, no. 7, pp. 28-9. 18 D. Kirsanoff, ‘Les problèmes de la photogénie’, Cinéa-ciné pour tous [Cinema for Ali], 1926, no. 62, pp. 9-10. 19 G. K. Chesterton, 'On the M ovies’, in: Generally Speaking: A Book o f Essays (London. 1937). p. 234. 20 S. M. Eizenshtein, Izbrannye proizvedeniya v 6 tomakh [Selected Works in 6 volumes] (Moscow, 1964-71), vol. 1, p. 321. This translation taken from: Sergei Eisenstein, Immoral Memories. An Autobiography, (translated by Herbert Marshall) (London, 1985), p. 88. 21 V. Gci, 'Dva ritm a' [Two Rhythms). TeatraT naya gazeta [The Theatre Paper], 1917, no. 4, p. 10. 22 ‘M el’kanie’ ¡Flickering], Cine-Phono, 1912/13, no. 13, p. 23.

226

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23 I. Petrovskii, ‘Kinodrama ili kinopovest" [Cine-drama or Cine-story], Proektor [The Projector], 1916, nos 18, 19 & 20, pp. 2 -3 . Ivan Ilyich Mozzhukhin [Mosjoukine] (1889-1939) played romantic leads, emigrated in 1920 and then worked mainly in France. Olga Vladimirovna Gzovskaya (1884-1962) was an actress in the Moscow Art Theatre before becoming a popular film actress. Vladimir Vasilyevich Maximov (1880-1937), a very popular romantic actor, also appeared in many Soviet films. Vitold Alfonsovich Polonsky (1879-1919) was one of the most popular pre-Revolutionary romantic actors. 24 1. Mozzhukhin, ‘V chem defekt?’ [W hat’s wrong?], Teatrainaya Gazeta [The Theatre Paper], 1914, no. 30, p. 13. 25 N. Shpikovskii, ‘A vse-taki khorosh’ [But H e’s a Good Guy Nonetheless], Sovetskii ekran IThe Soviet Screen], 1925, no. 26 (30), p. 16. 26 Alcko, ‘V chem gore?’ [W hat’s the Problem?), Pegas, 1915, no. 2, p. 59. 27 On the question of cinematic tempo in the rendering of historical material by Tynyanov and FEKS see: Yu. M. Lotman, Yu. G. Tsivian, ‘SVD: zhanr melodramy i istoriya' [SVD: The Genre of Melodrama and History], in: Tyriyanovskii sbornik: Pervye Tyn'yanovskie chleniya [Essays in Honour of Yu. N. Tyn’yanov: First Tyn’yanov Readings] (Riga, 1984), pp. 69-72. 28 TsGIAL, 733/182/166, p. 31 verso. 29 N. A. Savvin, ‘Kinematograf na sluzhbe u istorii i istorii literatury’ [The Cinematograph at the Service of History and the History of Literature], Vestnik vospitaniya [The Education Herald], 1914, no. 8, pp. 195-6. For notes on Princess Tarakanova and The Year ¡812 see: Yu. Tsiv’yan (research), P. C. Usai, L. Codelli, C. Montanaro and D. Robinson (eds). Silent Witnesses: Russian Films 1908-1919 (London. Pordenone, 1989). pp. 96 and 158. 30 Zhizn' i sud [Life and the Lawcourts], 1915, no. 18, p. 15. 31 TsGIAL, 766/22/33. 32 G. C. Pratt, Spellbound in Darkness: A History o f the Silent Film (New York, 1973), p. 18. 33 V. Tyurin, Zhivaya fotografiya [A Living Photograph] (St Petersburg, 1898), p. 5. 34 R. Garms (Harms), Filosofiva fi l’ma [The Philosphy of Film] (Leningrad, 1927), p. 53. 35 Ibid., pp. 53^1. 36 For the description of magical effects produced by reverse diving see H. Miinsterberg, The Film. A Psychological Study: The Silent Photoplay in 1916 (New York, 1972), p. 15. This work was first published in 1916 with the title The Photoplay: A Psychological Study. 37 B. Salt, Film Style and Technology (London, 1984), p. 47. 38 LGITMIK Archives, lecture IV. 39 A. Koiranskii, ‘Kintop’, Nash ponedeTnik |O ur Monday Paper], no. 2, 26 Nov. 1907, p. 5. 40 R. Tun, ‘Problema vremeni v kino’ [The Problem of Time in Cinema], Kinozhurnal A. R. K. [A. R. K. Cinema Journal], 1925, no. 3, p. 24. 41 N. A. Umov, ‘Kharakternye cherty i zadachi sovremennoi estestvenno-nauchnoi mysli: Rech’ na obshchem sobranii chlenov II Mcndelcevskogo s"ezda (21 Dek. 1911)’ [Characteristic Features and Tasks of Contemporary Thought in the Natural Sciences: A Speech given at the Plenary Session of the Second Mendeleyev Congress (21 Dec. 1911)], Dnevnik vtorogo Mendeleevskogo s"ezda po obshchei i prikladnoi khimii i fizike v Sankt-Peterburge [Journal of the Second Mendeleyev Congress on General and Applied Chemistry and Physics in St Petersburgl, 1911, vol. 5, pp. 19-21. I am indebted to Georgi Levinton for bringing this source to my attention.

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42 Ibid. 43 Azr. ¡A. Z enger?]. K in e m a to g raf [The C inem atograph). Z rite l' (The Spectator), 1905, no. 6. p. 7. The passage refers to the film described above by A lexander Koiransky. 44 M. Tz pesen XX v e k a' (From the Songs o f the XX C entury], Vestnik kinem ato­ grafii. 1911, no. I , p. 2. 45 V. V. K hlebnikov, Stikhotvoreniya, poem y. dram y, proza (Verse. Poem s, Drama, Prose) (M oscow, 1986), p. 333. For an English translation by E. J. Brown see: Velimir K hlebnikov: Snake Train, ed. G ay K ern (Ann Arbor. M l, 1976), pp. 125-31. 46 I. N. Ignatov. ‘K inem atograf v Rossii: Proshloe i b udushchee' (The C inem ato­ graph in Russia: Its Past and Future). TsG A LI, 221/1/3, p. 16. 47 V. Gaidarov. V teatre i kino [In Theatre and Cinem a] (M oscow, 1966), p. 89. 48 V. V. M ayakovskii, Sobranie sochinenii r 8 tom akh [C ollected W orks in 8 vols) (M oscow. 1968), vol. l , p . 183. There is an English translation o f the whole poem in: V. M ayakovskii, S elected Works in Three Volumes (M oscow, 1986), vol. II, pp. 4 9 -5 0 . The poem is also som etim es translated as ‘W ar and the U niverse'. A lthough in m odern Russian the title ‘Voina i m ir’ is spelt the same way as T olstoy's epic W ar and P eace [Voina i m irj. in the old, pre-Soviet orthography the two possible m eanings ( ‘w orld’/'u n iv e rse ' and ‘p eace’) were distinguished by different form s o f the letter ‘i ’ in the word 'm ir'. 49 On M ayakovsky's use o f the 'rev ersed -tim e' stunt in connection with cinem a see: T. M iczka. ‘Film ow e eksperim enty W lodzim ierza M ajakow skiego’ [The Film E xperim ents o f V ladim ir M ayakovsky], Kino (W arsaw'), vol. 8, 1979. It has been noted that M ayakovsky's poem could probably not have been w ritten before the age o f cinem a: E. J. Brown. M ayakovsky: A P oet in the R evolution (Princeton, NJ. 1973. p. 319. 50 M avich (M. Vavich?], 'P ostnye tem y ’ (Lenten T hem es], C ine-P hono, 1914, no. 1, pp. 2 3 -4 . A reference to K h lebnikov’s poem m entioned in note 44. 51 M. B. Y am pol’skii. 'Z vezdnyi yazyk k in o ' [C inem a’s Language o f the S tars|, K ino (R iga), 1985, no. 10, pp. 28 -9 . 52 F.izenshtein. Izbrannve. vol. 1. p. 3 2 1. The translation is from Im m oral M em ories, pp. 88-9. 53 E izenshtein. Izbrannye, vol. 3, p. 605. 54 J. Leyda. K ino: A H istory o f the R ussian and Soviet Film (New York, 1973), p. 85. 55 S. Y ablonskii, 'K in e m a to g ra f' [The C in em ato g rap h |. R usskoe slovo |R ussian W ord], no. 269, 6 Dec. 1906, p. 3. 56 A. Averchenko. D yuzhina nozhei v sp in u revolyutsii (A Dozen Knives in the Back o f the Revolution! (P aris, 1921). p. 9. 57 Ibid.. pp. 10-12. The d ates o f the four p re-R cvolutionary R ussian Dum as (parliam ents) were: 1906, 1907, 1907-11, and 1912-17.

CHAPTER 3 1 A. Prokopenko, 'K u p rin i k in o ' [Kuprin and C inem a], Iskusstvo kino (The Art of C inem a), 1960, no. 8. pp. 119-20. 2 L. L. Sabaneev, 'E kran i m uzyka' [Screen and M usic], TeatraT naya gazeta [The T heatre Paper], 1914, no. 27, p. 12. 3 Cited in: E. Sim eon, ‘M usic in G erm an C inem a before 1918', in: P. C. Usai and L. C odelli (eds), B efore C aligari: G erm an C inem a. 18 9 5 -1 9 2 0 (Pordenone, 1990). p. 90.

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4 Sabaneev, ‘Ekran i m uzyka’, p. 12. 5 Martin Marks in a talk given at SCS Annual Conference held at the University of Southern California, 25 May 1991. 6 K. S. Stanislavskii, Sobranie sochinenii [Collected Works] (Moscow, 1960), vol. 7, p. 614. Yevgeni Bagrationovich Vakhtangov (1883-1922), director, actor and drama teacher, famous for his ‘psychological’ expressionist style, remained active in the theatre after the October Revolution. 7 D. Robinson, Music o f the Shadows (Pordenone, 1990), p. 8. 8 C. Musscr, Before the Nickelodeon. Edwin S. Porter and the Edison M anu­ facturing Company (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1991), pp. 54-5. 9 B. V. Dushen, ‘Beglye vospominaniya’ [Fleeting Memoirs], p. 1. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archives, GFF. 10 B. Likhachev, Kino v Rossii [Cinema in Russia] (Leningrad, 1927), p. 34. 11 A. Anoshchenko, ‘Iz poluzabytoi epokhi’ [From a Half-forgotten Age], pp. 1-2. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archives, GFF. Alexander Dmitrievich Anoshchenko-Anod was a piano accompanist, film journalist, director, script­ writer and lecturer at GIK. 12 Ibid. 13 E. Z. [Efim Zozulya?], ‘Mucheniki kinem atografa’ [Martyrs of the Cinemato­ graph), Vsemirnaya panorama [World Panorama), 1912, no. 257 (12), p. 13. 14 S. Sel’skii, ‘M uzykal’naya improvizatsiya v kinem atografe’ [Musical Im provisa­ tion in the Cinematograph], K inematograf (Rostov-on-Don), 1915, no. 4/5, p. 11. 15 A noshchenko,‘Iz poluzabytoi epokhi’, p. 13. 16 Cited in: Yu. Tsivian (research), P. C. Usai, L. Codelli, C. Montanaro and D. Robinson (eds), Silent Witnesses: Russian Films, 1908-1919 (London, Pordenone 1989), p. 96. 17 A. L., ‘Muzyka v kinem atografe’ [Music in the Cinematograph], Kine-Zhurnal [The Cinema Journal], 1911, no. 2, pp. 8-9. 18 Sabaneev, ‘Ekran i m uzyka’, p. 12. 19 K. Brownlow, The Parade’s Gone By . . . (London, 1968), p. 338. 20 ‘Koe-chto o m uzykal’noi illyustratsii’ [A Thing or Two About Musical Illustra­ tion], Vestnik kinematografii [Cinematograph Herald], 1913, no. 17, p. 19. 21 Yu. N. Tyn’yanov, Poetika. Istoriya literatury. Kino [Poetics. Literary History. Cinema] (Moscow, 1977), p. 322. 22 E. Panofsky, ‘Style and Medium in the Motion Pictures’, in: G. Mast and M. Cohen (eds). Film Theory and Criticism (New York, 1985), p. 156. 23 R. Garms [Harms], Filosofiva fil'm a [The Philosophy of Film] (Leningrad, 1927). p. 79. 24 T. W. Adorno, H. Eisler, Komposition fu r den Film [Composing for Film] (Munich, 1969), p. 333. 25 M. Hansen, Babel and Babylon: Spectatorship in American Silent Film (Cam­ bridge, MA, 1991), p. 43. 26 A. Belyi, Arabeski (Moscow, 1911), p. 350. 27 G. I. Chulkov, ‘Zhivaya fotografiya’ [Living Photograph), Zolotoe runo [The Golden Fleece], 1908, no. 6, p. 11. 28 V. B. Chaikovskii, M ladencheskie gody russkogo kino [Infant Years of the Russian CinemaJ (Moscow, 1928), p. 16. 29 Panofsky, ‘Style and Medium’, p. 156. 30 I. Khudyakov, ‘Novaya o trasl’ iskusstva’ [A New Brand of Art], Vestnik kinematografii, 1911, no. 9, p. 11. 31 O. Leonidov, Stikhi [ Verses| (Moscow, 1914), p. 41. 32 Dushen, ‘Beglye’, p. 2. 33 A. V. Goldobin, B. M. Azancheev, Pianist-illyustrator kinematograficheskikh

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34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

56

229

karlin | Accompanying Cinem atograph Pictures on the Piano| (Kostroma, 1912), p. 419. This conference was held at the Institute of Language and Literature o f the Latvian Academy of Sciences on 14 April 1986. The point was made by Anita Rozkalne. Sabancev, 'Ekran i m uzyka’, p. 12. L. G.. ‘O rganichnost- kinem atografa’ [The Organic Nature of the Cinem ato­ graph!, TeatraTnaya gazeta, 1914. no. 29, p. 5. D. S. M ere/.hkovskii, ‘0 kinem atografe’ [On the Cinem atograph], Vestnik kinematografii, 1914, no. 88/8, p. 18. See pp. 8-9. M. S-ev [L. Sabaneev?], 'M uzyka v elektro-teatrakh’ [Music in Electric Theatres), Vestnik kinematografii, 1914, no. 3/83, p. 11. Chaikovskii, M ladencheskie gody, p. 16. S-ev, 'M uzyka’. Ibid. L. G., 'O rganichnost’’, p. 5. Khudyakov, ‘Novaya o trasl”, no. 9, p. 11. Anoshchenko, ‘Iz poluzabytoi epokhi’, p. 7. A 1913 review gives an idea of K hudyakov’s skills as com poser and conductor: ‘Last week K hanzhonkov’s cinem a showed W tadistaw Starew icz’s The Terrible Vengeance [Strashnaya m est’, 1913], with musical illustration by I. N. Khudyakov. Mr Khudyakov is a talented and experienced improvisator, and this was his debut as an orchestral illustrator. It has to be said that his work was highly successful. The illustration, which followed Mikhail G linka’s compositional style, sounded superb under Mr K hudyakov’s baton, with regard to both rhythm and nuance. The melodic themes, adapted from Ukrainian folk songs, fitted the characters perfectly, and the chrom atic style beautifully captured the way the wizard slithered and twisted, and glided through objects. The scene showing the Poles in a tavern was strikingly illustrated with a mazurka. The audience were quite taken with Mr K hudyakov’s innovation and applauded him w arm ly’ (Kino-teatr i zhizn' [The Cinema Theatre and Life), 1913, no. 5, p. 11). I. Khudyakov, Opyt rukovodstva k illyustratsii sinematograficheskikh kartin [A Prelim inary Manual for Illustrating Cinem atographic Pictures) (Moscow, 1912). Khudyakov, 'N ovaya o trasl’. p. II. Sabaneev, 'K ino-m uzyka’, p. 4. L. L. Sabaneev, Vospominaniya o Skryabine [M emories of Scriabin] (Moscow, 1925). p. 80. Sabaneev, ‘K ino-m uzyka’, p. 4. Anoshchenko, ‘Iz poluzabytoi epokhi’, pp. 7 -8. Khudyakov, ‘Novaya o trasl’, p. 11. For notes on Stenka Razin see: Tsivian et al. (eds). Silent Witnesses, p. 56. B. S. Likhachev, Kino v Rossii [Cinema in Russia] (Leningrad, 1927), p. 51. J. Leyda. Kino: A H istory o f the Russian and Soviet Film (New York, 1973), p. 35. M. Oms, ‘Une esthétique d ’opera’ [An A esthetic of O pera], C ahiers de la Cinémathèque: Le cinéma muet italien [Cinémathèque Notes: The Italian Silent Cinema] (n. d.), no. 26/7, p. 133. By looking at such close-ups, one can reconstruct what music was played for Yakov Protazanov’s Satan Triumphant [Satana likuyushchii, 1917[; Sigismund V eselovsky’s The Bells Ring Out, Telling their Sim ple Tale [K olokol'chikibubenchiki zvenyat, prostodushnuyu rasskaz.yvayut byl’ . . ., 1918]; Alexander U ralsky’s Fantasy and Life [Mechta i zhizn’, 1918]. For notes on these films see: Tsivian et at. (eds). Silent Witnesses, pp. 328, 422, 474. Earlier score close-ups

2 30

57 58 59 60 61

62

63 64

65 66 67 68 69

70 71 72

73 74

N otes

for cueing the right song were used by D. W. Griffith in Pippa Passes (USA, 1909). I. N. Perestiani, Vospominaniya IRecoilections]. TsMK archives, pp. 12-13. I. N. Ignatov, ‘K inem atograf v Rossii: Proshloye i budushchee’ [The Cinem ato­ graph in Russia: Its Past and Future], TsGALI, 221/1/3, p. 110. Perestiani, Vospominaniya, p. 11. Sabaneev, 'K ino-m uzyka’, p. 4. In an article on the psychology of musical reception in general. Sabaneyev wrote: ‘Music is distinguished by a high degree o f “ associativeness”. When musical motifs or phrases are repeated, one clearly recalls the circum stances in which one first heard them. In its ability to recapture past experience music is rivalled only by the sense o f smell. Such recollections arc entirely involuntary, and in all my experience - which is confirmed by the experiences of others - they come quite out of the blue; som etim es it is only afterw ards that you realise what caused them: a fleeting musical phrase or a snatch o f tune that you did not really notice hearing. This is som ething that is perhaps more strongly developed in the less musically aware, since such instinctive psychological phenomena are generally m ore vivid for those who receive them in a less analytical manner. It is a precious source of experiences when listening to music. Everything comes back in great detail, and when it is unexpected one has only the music to thank for the pleasure. The nonanalytical mind of the layman is unable to determ ine where the purely musical impression ends and the experience created by the associations evoked by the music begins’(L. L. Sabanecv, ‘O publike’ [About the Audience], T ea tra in a ya gazeta, 1915, no. 38, p. 11). A. Stavritskii, ‘Sol’ v ro y ali’ [The Piano is the Point), Kino (M oscow), no. 49 (273), 4 Dec. 1928, p. 3. For notes on Still, Sadness, S t i l l . . . see: Tsivian et a!., Silent W itnesses, p. 478. Birzhevye vedomosti [Exchange G azette], no. 15224, 1 Nov. 1915. Vsevolod Yevgrafovich Cheshikhin (1865-1934), well-known music critic and m usic historian. The com poser Vyacheslav A leksandrovich Bulychev (1872-1959). A noshchenko, ‘Iz poluzabytoi epokhi’, p. 17. Ibid. Khudyakov, ‘Novaya o trasl”, no. 9, p. 11. A noshchenko, ‘b. poluzabytoi epokhi’, p. 2. Film histories mention sim ilar publications in the West: ‘ 1912: The Pictures (London) began publishing suggested musical selections for the w eek’s releases’ (D. Robinson, M usic o f the Shadows: The Use o f M usical Accom panim ent with Silent Films, 1896-1936, supplement to G riffithiana, O ctober 1990, no. 38/9, p. 26, sec also pp. 8-16); ‘By 1913 handbooks such as the Sam Fox M oving Picture M usic volum e printed m usic under topical headlines such as “ Indian” , “ O riental”, “ Spanish” or “ M exican” ’ (J. Staiger, ‘The Hollyw ood Mode of Production to 1930’, in: D. Bordwcll, K. Thom pson and J. Staiger, The Classical H ollyw ood Cinema: Film Style and Mode o f Production (London, 1988), pp. 107-8). A. Averchenko, ‘K inem atograf’, Satirikon, 1908, no. 30, p. 51. E. Z., ‘M ucheniki’, p. 13. K. Argamakov, ‘O fortep’yannykh im provizatsiyakh’ [On Piano Im provisations], C ine-Phono, 1913/14, no. 4, p. 24. For notes on Eugene Onegin see: Tsivian et al.. Silent W itnesses, p. 128. Stavritskii, ‘S ol’ v royali’, p. 3. L. E. Ostroumov, ‘Moya druzhba s Velikim N em ym ’ [My Friendship with the

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Great Silent]. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, GFF. p. 2. 75 For details and illustrations of film colouring see: P. C. Usai, Una Passione infiam mahile: Guida alio studio del cinema muto ]An inflammable Passion: A Guide to Studying the Silent Cinema] (Turin, 1991). pp. 9-11; table of colours. 76 Anoshchenko, 'Iz poluzabytoi epokhi’, p. 2. 77 Ibid., p. 14. 78 Ibid., p. 8. 79 P. P. Muratov, ‘K inem atograf’ [The C inem atograph], Sovrem ennye zapiski [Contem porary Notes], 1925, no. XXVI, p. 294. 80 E. Faure. ‘The Art of C ineplastics’, in: D. Talbot (ed.) Film: An Anthology (Berkeley, 1969), p. 6. 81 ‘Stasov o kinematografe. Publikatsiya A. Shifm ana’ [Stasov on the Cinem ato­ graph. Prepared for publication by A. Shifman], Iskusstvo kino [The Art of Cinema], 1957, no. 3, p. 128. 82 Muratov, 'K inem atograf'. p. 224. 83 Anoshchenko, ‘Iz poluzabytoi epokhi', p. 15. 84 Ibid., p. 14. 85 Muratov, ’K incm atograf', pp. 294-5. 86 Ibid., p. 295. 87 Chaikovskii, M ladencheskie gody, p. 17. 88 Maurin, K inematograf, p. 182. 89 V. Stepanov, ‘Kino v K ineshm e’ [The Cinem a in Kineshm a], p. 4. TsMK Archives. 90 For notes on Lumbering Russia . . . see: Tsivian et al. (eds), Silent Witnesses, p. 254. 91 ‘K ul’tura chelovecheskogo zverstva’ [The Culture of Human Savagery], Vestnik kinematografii, 1912, no. 54, p. 5. 92 ‘Pochtovyi yashchik' (Post Box], Proektor [The Projector], 1916, no. 11/12, p. 17. 93 Cine-Phono, 1908, no. 1, p. 11. 94 Musscr, Before the Nickelodeon, pp. 471-2. 95 ‘O kinetofone’ |O n the Kinetophonc], iiVfli’m a/og/a/iR ostov-on-D on), 1915, no. 2/3, p. 6. 96 ‘K inetofon’, p. 13. 97 Ibid., p. 14. 98 N. Driesen, ‘K inem atograf' [The Cinem atograph], Zhizn’ [Life] (Berlin), 1920, no. 10, p. 24. 99 P. Gnedich, ‘Sovrem ennoe’ [The M odern], Teatr i iskusstvo [Theatre and Art], 1913, no. 45, p. 911. 100 S. Gorodetskii, ‘Volk’ [The Wolf], in: Povesti i rasskazy [Tales and Storiesl (St Petersburg, 1910), p. 147. 101 F. Otsep [F. Mashkov] ‘Stikhi i kino’ [Verse and Cinema). Proektor, 1916, no. 7/8, pp. 16-17, supplement. 102 Tyn’yanov, Poetika, p. 321. 103 R. Timenchik. 'K simvolike telefona v russkoi poezii’ [On the Symbolism of the Telephone in Russian Poetry], Semiotika XXII, (Tartu, 1988), pp. 156, 161-2.

C H A P TER 4 1

OPOYAZ: The Society for the Study of Poetic Language [Obshchestvo izucheniya poeticheskogo yazyka]. A group founded by the leading Russian Form alists before the October Revolution and given official recognition between 1919 and 1923.

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2 Yu. M. Lotman, ‘Fenomen k u l’tury’ [The Phenomenon of C ulture], Trudy po znakovym sistem am [Works on Semiotic Systems), no. 10 (Tartu, 1978), p. 5. 3 Tom G unning tells me that in the early 1910s the Vitagraph company actually had a machine that could simulate rain by scratching slanting parallel lines on to prints. 4 E. M aurin, K inem atograf v prakticheskoi zhizni [The C inem atograph in Practical Life] (Petrograd, 1916), p. 154. 5 N. L-skii, ‘K abiriya v provintsii’ [Cabiria in the Provinces], C ine-P hono, 1917, no. 9/10, p. 53. 6 0 . M andel’shtam, ‘Kukla s m illionam i' [The Doll with M illions], Pamir, 1986, no. 10, p. 170. 7 V. Nabokov, Laughter in the D ark (London, 1961), p. 12. The novel was originally published in Russian with the title Kamera obskura (Paris, 1933). An English translation entitled Camera O bscura appeared in 1936 and Nabokov published his own translation, Laughter in the D ark, in 1938. 8 RLI, 289/1, no. 184, p. 43. 9 Ibid., p. 33. 10 On Sologub’s script see: N. N usinova and Yu. T siv’yan, ‘Sologub - stsenarist’ [Sologub the Scriptw riter], A l’manakh kinostsenariev [An Almanac of Filmscripts], 1989, no. 2, pp. 151-7. For the French translation of the script and the introductory article by the same authors see: La Licorne, 1989, no. 17, pp. 2 2 1- 6 1. 11 B. Salt, Film Style and Technology: H istory and Analysis (London, 1984), pp. 389, 393. 12 K. Brownlow, ‘Lillian G ish ’, Films and Filming, Nov. 1983, p. 21. 13 Salt, Film Style and Technology, p. 156. 14 G. C. Pratt, Spellbound in Darkness: A H istory o f the Silent Film (New York, 1973), p. 251. 15 Salt, Film Style and Technology, p. 40. 16 B. Tomashevskii [B. G.], ‘G lupye zheny’ |Foolish W ivesl, Zhizn iskusstva [The Life of Art], 1924, no. 10, p. 16. 17 M. N. Aleinikov, Puti sovetskogo kino i M KhAT [The Course of Soviet Cinema and the Moscow Art Theatre] (Moscow, 1947), p. 90. For notes on Polikushka and The Stationm aster see: Yu. Tsivian (research), P. C. Usai, L. Codelli, C. Montanaro and D. Robinson (eds), Silent W itnesses: Russian Films, 1908-1919 (London, Pordenone, 1989), pp. 500, 510. 18 Ch. Asendorf, Strome und Strahlen: Das langsame Verschwinden der M aterie um 1900 (C urrents and Rays: The Slow D isappearance o f M atter around 1900] (Giessen, 1989), p. 154. 19 Ibid., pp. 23, 79-83, 154-63. 20 Iosif N ikolaevich Yermoliev (1889-1962), one of six m ajor Russian film producers; em igrated in 1920 to France, where he founded a new studio. 21 R. Schmutsler, A rt Nouveau (New York, 1962), p. 9. 22 A. M ackintosh, Sym bolism and A rt Nouveau (London, 1975), p. 55. 23 Autour de Levy-D hurm er. Visionnaires et Intim istes en 1900 I A round LevyDhurmer: V isionaries and ‘Intim istes’ in 1900] (Paris, 1973), p. 61. 24 On ‘vibrating’ sets for C hekhov’s Uncle Vanya see: Yu. Nekhoroshev, Khudozhnik V. A. Sim ov [The A rtist V. A. Simov] (Moscow, 1984), p. 65. 25 The two lesser types of motion were rectilineal and circular. See the Russian translation of F. Ch. Barlet, L'O ccultism e. Definition. M éthode. Classification. Applications (Paris, 1909), viz. F. Kh. Barle, O kkul'tizm |O ccultism ] (St Petersburg, 1991, first edition 1911), p. 43. 26 Lidbiter (C. W. Leadbeater], M ental’nyi plan [The Mental PlaneJ (Riga, 1937; St Petersburg, 1991), p. 78.

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27 A. E. Parnis, R. D. Timenchik, 'Programmy "Brodyachei sobaki-” [The Programmes of the 'Stray Dog'], in: Pamyatniki kul’tury: Novye otkrytiya [Cultural Texts: New Discoveries] (Leningrad. 1985), p. 162. 28 R. de Gourmont. ‘Cinématographe’ [The Cinematograph], Mercure de Prance |The Mercury of France], 1 Sept. 1907, p. 142. 29 G. K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday [1908] (London, 1976), p. 126. 30 S. Gorodetskii, ‘Tragcdiya i sovrcmennost" [Tragedy and Modernity), Novaya Studiya [The New Studio), 1912, no. 5, p. 9. 31 A. Bely, 'Prorok beziichiya’ [The Prophet of Facelessness], in: Arabeski [Arabesques] (Moscow. 1911), p. 5. 32 A. Belyi, Nachalo veka [The Beginning of the Century] (Moscow, Leningrad. 1933), p. 49. 33 A. Kaes (ed.), Kino-Debatte [Cinema Debate) (Munich, 1978), p. 7. 34 A. A. Kletskin, Kino v zhizni yakutyan [Cinema in the Life of the Yakutians) (Yakutsk. 1973). p. 10. 35 D. L.. ‘Samoubiistvo mckhanika' [The Suicide of a Projectionist], Cine-Phono, 1910/11, no. 5, p. II. 36 N. U-el’, ‘Porvalas’ lenta’ [The Film Broke|, Vestnik kinematografii [Cinemato­ graph Herald], 1913, no. 2. p. 16. 37 V. Gci, ‘Paradoksy tenei’ [The Paradoxes of Shadows], TeatraT naya gazeta [The Theatre Paper], 1916, no. 8, p. 10. 38 M. Brailovskii, 'Kino-kul’tura' [Cinema Culture], Cine-Phono. 1913/14, no. 1. p. 16. 39 A. Fevral’skii. Puti k sintezu: MeierkhoTd i kino [Paths to Synthesis: Meyerhold and Cinema] (Moscow. 1978), pp. 11, 12. 40 A. Belyi, Masterstvo Gogolva [Gogol’s Mastery] (Moscow, Leningrad. 1934). p. 93. 41 A. Belyi, RudoTf Shteiner i Gete v mirovozzrenii sovremennosti [Rudolf Steiner and Goethe in Contemporary Thought] (Moscow, 1917), p. 328. 42 TsGALI, 989/1/5. p. 41. 43 In the prologue Bely intended just to suggest the settings of the action. As in the novel, he began with a deliberately confused topography of St Petersburg, including interiors (for example, of the office of a ‘certain Government Ministry', where later, in the first part of the script, two of the main protagonists would meet). 44 A. Belyi, ‘Peterburg: Kinostsenarii po romanu' [Petersburg: A Film Script from the Novel]. GBL, 516/3/37, p. 39. 45 A. Roslavlev, ‘V kinematografe’ [At the Cinematograph], in: V Rashne |In the Towcr| (St Petersburg. 1907), p. 61. 46 1. Khudyakov. Opyl rukovodstva k illyustratsii sinematograficheskikh kartin: S ukazaniem na 1000 tern [A Preliminary Manual for Illustrating Cinematographic Pictures: With an Index of 1000 Themes] (Moscow, 1912), p. 11. 47 R. Jakobson. 'Verfall des Films?' [The Decline of Film?), Sprache im technischen Zeitalter [Language in the Age of Technology |, 1968, no. 27, pp. 187-8. 48 R. Garms [Harms], FilosofiyafiTma [The Philosophy of Film) (Leningrad, 1927), p. 24. 49 A. Verner [Werner], 'Beglye zametki' [Fleeting Notes], p. 1. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, GFF. 50 V. Puce, 'Kinojauniba' [A Childhood at the Cinema). Literatura un Maksla [Literature and Art], 10 Sept. 1982, p. 16. 51 A. A. Blok, Sobranie sochinenii v 8 tomakh [Collected Works in 8 volumes) (Moscow, Leningrad. 1960-3), vol. 8, p. 103.

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52 Some years later Blok m entioned the incident again in a letter to Maxim G orky’s wife, the actress M aria Andreyeva: ‘A girl in a film once came out with a very coquettish remark: “ Men are always fighting”, she said ’ (ibid., p. 525). In the letter, as opposed to the note in the diary, this observation is placed in context. Blok was writing about one o f A lexander A m fiteatrov’s plays, which was ‘full of brawling and fighting’. Yuri Lotman, rem arking that ‘Pushkin also used to like watching fights’ categorised the wom an’s comm ent as belonging to the ‘folklore type’ of audience reaction (Yu. M. Lotman, ‘Blok i narodnaya k u l’tura goroda’ [Blok and the Popular Culture of the City), in: M ir A. Bloka: Blokovskii sbornik, IV [The World of A lexander Blok: Essays on Blok, IV ) (Tartu, 1981), pp. 10, 24). 53 G. 1. Chulkov, ‘Zhivaya fotografiya’ [A Living Photograph|, Zolotoe runo [The Golden Fleece], 1908, no. 6, p. 11. 54 K nyaz’ [Prince] Senegam bii, ‘K inem atograf i teatr’ [The Cinem atograph and the Theatre], K ine-zhurnal [The Cinem a Journal), 1916, nos 1/2, p. 70. 55 ‘Samoubiistvo v kinem atografe’ [Suicide in the Cinem atograph), Kine-zhurnal. 1911, no. l,p p . 11-12. The film Student Years [V studencheskie gody, 1910] was adapted from Leonid A ndreyev’s play The D ays o f Our Life [Dni nashei zhizni]. 56 See the chapter on Luigi Russolo and the ‘Art o f N oise’ in: M. Kirby, Futurist Perform ance (New York, 1971), pp. 33-40. In a 1913 m anifesto the Italian Futurist Carlo Carra insisted that Futurist art was the ‘plastic equivalent of the sounds, noises and sm ells that we come across in theatres, m usic halls and cinem atographs’ (U. A pollonio (ed.), F uturist M anifestos (New York, 1973), p. 114). 57 V. Shershenevich, A vtom obil'ya p o stu p ’ |T he Tread of the M otor Car] (Moscow, 1916), p. 20. 58 D. Burlyuk, ‘Futurist v kinem atografe’ [A Futurist in the Cinem atograph), Kinezhurnal, 1913, no. 22, p. 22. 59 A. A. Blok, Sobranie sochinenii v 6 tomakh [Collected Works in 6 volumes] (Leningrad, 1981), vol. 2, p. 12. 60 Cine-Phono, 1914, no. 18, p. 27. 61 GAP, group 2, no. 27. 62 Fon-Lik, ‘Plody k u l’tu ry ’ [The Fruits o f C ulture), Kinematografiya, no. 1 ,5 Jan. 1909, p. 11. 63 Teffi, ‘V stereo-foto-kine-m ato-skopo-bio-fono i proch.-grafe' (At the Stereofoto-etc. etc.-graph], Satirikon, 1908, no. 33, p. 5. 64 Birzhevye vedomosti (vechernyi vypusk) (Exchange G azette (Evening Edition)], no. 13501, 17 April 1913. 65 K. Paustovsky. Razlivy rek [Flooded Rivers] (Moscow, 1973), p. 54. 66 E. A. Ivanov-Barkov, ‘Vospom inaniya’ [Recollections], TsGALI, 2970/1/52, p. 102. 67 A. B., ‘K incm atograf’, Bogema [Bohemia!, 1915, no. 5/6, p. 54. 68 Yu. N. Tyn’yanov, Poetika. lstoriya literatury. Kino [Poetics. Literary History. Cinema] (Moscow, 1977), pp. 321-2. 69 V. Kaverin, ‘Razgovory o k in o ’ [Conversations on Cinem a], Zhizn iskusstva, 1924, no. 1, p. 27. There is a possible literary reference behind this description. In C hekhov’s Three Sisters Vershinin and Masha exchange ‘tra-ta-tas’ and ‘tra-raras’ in a comic duet, and this in turn derives from an actual event, as we see from A lexander K ugel’s recollections of his meetings with Chekhov: ‘As everybody knows, he had a large note book, in which he jotted down everything that struck him as im portant, or that suddenly came into his mind, with no system or order ju st as raw material. When he was listening, or sm iling, or dropping rem arks to which he expected an answer, I had the impression that all the time he was

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74

75 76 77 78

79 80 81

82 83 84 85 86

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collecting material for his note book. T h at’s where the famous “ Tra-ta-ta” in Three Sisters came from. There was a lively party going on. with plenty o f cognac . . . An actress was im provising, using this sound to imitate or express wild passion. It was the cognac talking; it was a “ cognac im provisation’” (A. R. K ugel’, L ist’ya s dereva [Leaves from a T ree| (Leningrad, 1926), pp. 67-8). See p. 201 ff. A. A. Khan/.honkov, Pervye gody russkoy kinematografii [The First Years of Russian Cinem atography] (Moscow, Leningrad, 1937), p. 16. F. Shipulinsky, ‘Dusha k ino’ [The Soul of Cinem a], in: Kinematograf: Shornik statei [The Cinematograph: A Collection o f Essays] (Moscow, 1919), p. 20. M. Engbcrg, ‘W hat did Kafka See W hen He Went to the Cinem a on the 26.8.1911 in Prague? On Franz Kafka and the Danish Film In the Hands o f Im postors II'. Program me N otes o f the Bologna Film F estival - ‘Cinema Regained' (Bologna. 1990). W. Jahn, 'K afka und die Anfänge des K inos’ [Kafka and the Beginnings of Cinem a], Jahrbücher der deutschen Schillergesellschaft [Annals o f the German Schiller Society] (Stuttgart. 1962), vol. 6, p. 355. L. Pirandello, Shoot! The Notebooks o f Serafino Gubbio, Cinematograph O per­ ator [Translated by C. K. Scott M oncrieff] (New York, 1926), p. 11. Cited in: R. Boussinot. L'Encyclopédie du cinéma (Paris, 1980), vol. 1, p. 237. L. O. [L. Ostroumov], "Lenta zhizni’ [The Ribbon of Life], Pegas [Pegasus], 1916, no. 4, p. 52. R. Timenchik. ‘K simvolike tramvaya v russkoi poe/.ii’ |O n the Symbolism of the Tram in Russian Poetry], Semiotika: Trudy po znakovym sistemam XXI [Semiotics: Transactions on Sign Systems XXI] (Tartu, 1987), p. 138. M. K ol’tsov, ‘U ekrana’ [By the Screen), Pravda, 1922, no. 269. TsGALI, 2091/1/28. M. Yampolskii, 'K u lesh o v ’s Experim ents and the New Anthropology of the A ctor’, in: R. Taylor and I. C hristie (eds). Inside the Film Factory: New Approaches to Russian and Soviet Cinema (London, New York, 1991), pp. 40-1. K. Brownlow, The P arade’s Gone By . . . (London, 1968), p. 341. 1. Perestiani, Vospominaniya [MemoirsJ, pp. 13, 28. TsMK. V. E. M eierkhol’d, ‘Portret Doriana G reya’ [The Picture of Dorian G rayl, Iz istorii kino (From the History of Cinema] (Moscow. 1965), no. 7, p. 23. Ibid, p. 24. On the sound of the ‘axle of the w orld’ in Sym bolist literature see: N. V. Skvortsova. ‘A leksandr Blok v stat’e Andreya Belogo “ K him ery” ’ [Alexander Blok in Andrei B ely’s Article ‘C him eras’l, M ir A. Bloka: Blokovskii sbornik [The World of A. Blok: Essays on Blok], no. 5 (Tartu, 1985), p. 88.

C H A PTER 5 1 This, as Miriam Hansen suggests, long remained the rule for American spectators: ‘Surveys throughout most of the 1920s suggest that only a small fraction (10 percent o f the survey) of moviegoers had come to see the feature, the over­ whelming majority (68 percent) had come for the “ event” ’ (M. Hansen, Babel and Babvlon: Spectatorship in American Silent Film (Cambridge, MA, 1991), p. 99). 2 V. Tyurin, Zhivaya folograftya [A Living Photograph] (St Petersburg, 1898), p. 4. 3 See: Yu. Tsivian. ‘Censure Bans on Religious Subjects in Russian Film s’, in: R.

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7

8 9 10 11

12

13 14 15

16

17

18 19

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Cosandey, A. G audreault and T. G unning (cds) An Invention o f The D evil’s: R eligion and Early Cinema (Lausanne, 1992), pp. 71-80. N. Karzhanskii, ‘V kinem atografe. (Iz knigi P a rizh )' [At the Cinem atograph. (From the book P a n s ) ], Rampa i zhizn [Footlights and Life], 1915, no. 32, p. 6. TsGIAL, 776/22/33. Cf. this 1908 description o f a typically varied perform ance (I cite here only the beginnings of paragraphs): ‘Look! English boxers . . . Look! The W itnessing Child . . . Look! “ Tortures of the Inquisition” shown in full detail . . . Look! The favourite topic of comic cinem a, the adventures of a crook . . . Look! Another trick film, som ething perfectly fit for children . . . ’ (Yu. Engel’ [Signed Yu. E.[, ‘0 kinem atografe’ [On the Cinem atograph], Russkie vedom osti [The Russian Gazette], no. 275, 27 Nov. 1908). Kinem acolor was an early colour reproduction technique invented by the English photographer George A lbert Smith as well as the name of the cinem as where these colour films were shown. M. Kuzmin, ‘O tlichitel’nyi pri/.nak’ [A D istinguishing Feature], Sinem a (Rostovon-Don), 1915, no. 8/9, p. 14. S. Ya. Marshak [Signed ‘Doktor Friken’], ‘V kinem atografe’ [At the C inem ato­ graph], Satirikon, 1908, no. 12, p. 7. K uleshov’s experim ent was based on joining together shots filmed on different locations. A. K rantsfel’d, ‘Velikii ncm oi’ [The G reat Silent], Teatr i kino [Theatre and CinemaJ (Odessa), 1916, no. 1, p. 17. Le Prince was the name of a French comic actor. In German sources, for exam ple, there is a difference of opinion on this point between H. Lehmann and R udolf Harms. The latter wrote: ‘Lehmann is scathing about the practice of showing a comic picture after a serious one, or o f mixing up docum entary and feature films. It seems, however, that this is precisely what the general public prefers: a continuous sequence of films that differ in mood and content’ (R. Garm s [Harms], Filosofiya fil'm a [The Philosophy of Film] (L enin­ grad, 1927), pp. 72-3). Harms was referring to Lehm ann’s Die Kinem alographie, ihre Grundlagen und ihre Anwendungen [The C inem atograph, its Basic Principles and A pplications] (Leipzig, 1919). ‘A rtisticheskoe spravochnoe by u ro ’ [Inform ation Bureau of the A rts], R ech ’ [Speech], no. 1, 5 Feb. 1910, p. 5. See: T. Gunning, D. W. Griffith and the O rigins o f Am erican N arrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph (U rbana, Chicago, 1991), p. 86. N. Lerner, ‘Pushkin v kinom atografe’ [Pushkin in the C inem atograph], Zhurnal zhurnalov [The Journal o f Journals], 1915, no. 26, p. 18. For notes on The Life and D eath o f A lexander Pushkin see: Yu. Tsivian (research), P. C. Usai, L. Codelli, C. M ontanaro, D. Robinson (cds), Silent W itnesses: Russian Films, 1908-1919 (London, Pordenonc, 1989), p. 90. N. Burch, ‘Porter, or A m bivalence’, Screen, 1978/9, vol. 19, no. 4, pp. 91-106. See also: C. Musser, Before the Nickelodeon: Edwin S. Porter and the Edison M anufacturing Company (Berkeley, Los A ngeles, London, 1991), pp. 212-34. See the discussion o f ‘pro s’ and ‘contras’ on this issue as applied to American films of around 1907 in: C. Musser, ‘The N ickelodeon Era Begins: Establishing the Fram ework for H ollyw ood’s Mode o f R epresentation’, Fram ework 22123 (autumn 1983), p. 10. E. Stark, ‘S nogami na sto le’ [Feet on the Table], Teatr i iskusstvo |T heatre and Art], 1913, no. 39, p. 770. ‘The tension between scenes perceived as self-contained wholes on the one hand

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and lheir potential as part o f a m ore com plex sequence on the other is a partial explanation for narrative structures [prior to m id-1907]’ (M usser, ‘The N ick el­ odeon Era B egins’, p. 4). 20 Yu. E ngel’ [Signed Yu. E.[, ‘O k in em atografe' [On the C inem atograph], Russkie vedom osti. no. 275, 27 Nov. 1908. 21 The com ic paper, an advanced pre-cinem atic form o f illustrated narrative, was virtually unknow n in R ussia. The extent to w hich the m agic lantern show had evolved its own cultural identity has yet to be researched. On cinem a and precincm atic culture sec: J. Fell, F ilm a n d the N a rra tive T radition (O klahom a City, 1974). 22 S. G orodetskii, ‘V olk’ [The W olf), in: P ovesti i R asskazy [Stories and Tales) (St P etersburg, 1910), pp. 146-7.

CHAPTER 6 1 K. Brownlow, The P arade’s G one By . . . (L ondon, 1968), p. 6. 2 T. G unning, ‘An A esthetic o f A stonishm ent: Early Film and the (In)credulous S pectator’, A rt and Text. no. 34, spring 1989, pp. 31 -6 . 3 The Sketch. 18 M arch 1896, p. 323. 4 W. Schivelbusch, The R ailw ay Journey: Trains and Travel in the 19th C entury (New York, 1979), pp. 135-57. 5 C ine-P hono, 1907, no. 1, p. 1. 6 Protei [Proteus], ‘K inem atografy’ [C inem atographs], Teatr i zhizn' [Theatre and Life], no. 4, 4 M ay 1913, p. 2. 7 E. A. Ivanov-Barkov, ‘V ospom inaniya’ [M em oirs], TsG ALI, 2970/1/52, pp. 108-9. 8 I. N. Ignatov, ‘K inem atograf v Rossii: Proshloc i b udushchee' [The C inem ato­ graph in Russia: Its Past and Future) TsG A LI, 221/1/3, p. 74. For notes on Anna K arenina see: Y. Tsivian (research), P. C. Usai, L. C odelli, C. M ontanaro and D. R obinson (eds), S ilen t W itnesses. R ussian F ilm s, 1 9 0 8 -1 9 1 9 (L ondon, Pordenone, 1989), p. 210. 9 M. P. Lilina, ‘O k in o ’ [On C inem a], Teatr, 1915, no. 1752, p. 8. 10 M uzei M KhaTa [M oscow Art T heatre M useum ], A rkhiv K n ip per-C hckhovoi [K nipper-C hekhov A rchive], file no. 2388. 11 Ibid. 12 D. V. Filosofov, ‘Anna K arenina T re t'y a ’ ¡A nna K arenina the T hird], Z hivoi ekran [The Living Screen], 1914, no. 21/2, p. 20. 13 de-N ei, ‘Sam oubiistvo Anny K aren in o i’ [A nna K aren in a’s Suicide], Ram pa i zhizn' [Footlights and L ife], 1914, no. 20, p. 13. 14 Q uoted in: I. Shcheglov, O narodnom teatre [On Popular T heatre] (M oscow, 1895), p. 107. A skom orokh was a traditional R ussian itinerant m instrel-cum clow n. 15 A poster for A ugustin D aly ’s m elodram a U nder the G aslight, reproduced on p. 23 of J. F e ll’s F ilm and the N arrative Tradition (O klahom a City, 1974), gives a fairly good idea o f how the 'skom orokh version’ o f Anna K arenina’s suicide must have looked. 16 Shcheglov, O narodnom teatre. p. 109. 17 Iskry [Sparks], 1914, no. 20, pp. 156-7. The snapshot w as taken from a position close to w here the cam era was sited, as you can see if you com pare the still with de-N ei's account in F ootlights and Life. 18 M. G o r'k ii, ‘Beglye z a m e tk i’ [Fleeting N otes], N izhegorodskii listok [The N izhn N ovgorod N ew sletter], no. 182, 4 July 1896, p. 3. T ranslated in: R. Taylor and 1.

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21

22

23 24

25 26 27 28

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C hristie (eds) The Film Factory: Russian and Soviet Cinem a in D ocum ents 1896-1939 (London, Cambridge, MA, 1988), pp. 25-6. ‘Stasov o kinem atografe.’ Publikatsiya A. Shifmana. [Stasov on the C inem ato­ graph. Prepared for publication by A. Shifm an], Excerpted in Iskusstvo kino [The Art of Cinema], 1957, no. 3, p. 128. The concluding frame o f The Battleship Potemkin is very well known. The battleship bears down upon the viewer, ‘splitting’ the screen (the original idea was that the screen really should burst). Vertov thought that Eisenstein stole the idea from him, and was not slow in letting everybody know it: ‘Leninskaya kinopravda [Leninist C ine-Pravda] begins with mom ents from the struggle o f the insurrectionary proletariat, the m iddle o f the picture is built around the death of the leader, and the picture ends on a note of victory and high spirits, with shots of the train of revolution bearing down on the auditorium and then rushing on over the heads of the audience. Potemkin also begins with the struggle of the insurgents, the middle is built around the death of Vakulinchuk, and the film likewise ends on a note of victory and high spirits, with shots o f the battleship bearing down upon the auditorium . But I only mention this in passing . . .’ (D. Vertov, ‘Za stoprotsentnyi kinoglaz’ [For a O ne-H undred-Percent Cine-Eyc[, in: Istoriya stanovleniya sovetskogo kino [A H istory o f How Soviet Cinem a Came into Being] (Moscow, 1986), p. 64). Vertov seemed to have forgotten that his ‘train of revolution’ effect was itself a reprise of The A rrival of the Lumière train. Incidentally. Eisenstein was nettled by Vertov’s insinuations and was fond of rem inding people that the Cine-Eye group’s methods had not advanced much beyond the newsreels of the Lum ières’ day. (See: S. M. Eizenshtein, ‘Vse my rabotaem na odnu i tu zhe auditoriyu . . . ’ Publikatsiya N. Klcimana. [‘We are All Working for the Same A udience . . .’ Prepared for publication by N. K leim an|, Iskusstvo kino, 1988, no. 1.) A. Voznesenskii, ‘Kinodetstvo. (Glava iz “ Knigi nochei” ) ’ IA Childhood at the M oving Pictures. (A Chapter from ‘A Book of N ights’)], Iskusstvo kino, 1985, no. 11, p. 78. C. Metz, The Im aginary Signifier: Psychoanalysis and the Cinem a (Bloom ington, 1982), pp. 72-3. For G unning’s polem ics with Metz see his ‘An Aesthetic of A stonishm ent,’ pp. 3 2 ,4 2 . O. Winter, ‘The C inem atograph’, Sight and Sound, autum n 1982, pp. 294-5. The most likely explanation is that this was due to the persistence o f habits of vision that were not accustomed to, and not activated by, the flickering im pulses of screen movement. At a sem inar on film reception conducted at the British Film Institute in 1990, Geoffrey N owell-Sm ith suggested that the o bserver’s ability to read perspective could also have been dependent on where he or she sat in the auditorium. A. D. Digmelov, ‘50 let nazad’ [Fifty Years ago], p. 2. Typescript in the V. Vishnevsky archive, GFF. The effect is convincingly analysed in: A. M ackintosh, Sym bolism and A rt Nouveau (London, 1975). G. Sadoul, Louis Lumière (Paris, 1964), p. 48. Winter, ‘The C inem atograph’, p. 295. Com pare with what Gunning has to say on crowd views as focuses of attraction: ‘New centers o f interest bob into the frame unexpectedly, while others depart beyond reclam ation. The receptive spectator approaches these images with the global curiosity about its “ many interesting phases”, a curiosity that is being endlessly incited and never com pletely satiated. The street is filled with endless attractions’ (T. G unning, ‘The Book that Refuses to Be Read: Images of the City in Early C inem a’, forthcoming).

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29 L. R. Kogan, Vospominaniya [M em oirs|, pt 2, no. 1. 1894-7. GPB, 1035/35, p. 39. 30 If it really was the Lumière film that Kogan was rem embering, and not another film in which the train actually does cut away at the last moment, one may assume that the early viewer constructed the space within the shot as curving within the diegetic area close to the screen. The gradient of depth that the growing size of the locomotive signalled while it was within the field of the image disappeared as soon as the locomotive was out of field - and the space immediately ‘flattened’. If this hypothesis is valid (which only a specialist in visual perception can tell), it can be confirmed by a sim ilar effect described in a contem porary account of the Lumière film La Place des Cordeliers (1895): ‘One of the carriages, drawn by galloping horses, was coming straight at us. A woman sitting next to me was so frightened that she jum ped to her f e e t. . . and wouldn’t sit down until the carriage had turned round and disappeared [my em phasis)’ (quoted in: Sadoul, Louis Lum ière, p. 32). 31 G or’kii, ‘Beglye zam etki’, p. 3. 32 N. Burch, ‘A Primitive Mode of R epresentation?’ in: T. Elsaesser and A. Barker (eds), Early Cinema: Space Frame N arrative (London, 1990), p. 222. 33 Sec M. Deutclbaum, ‘Structural Patterning in the Lumière Film s’, in: Film before Griffith (London, Los Angeles, 1983), p. 306. 34 G o r’kii, ‘Beglye zam etki’, p. 3. 35 G. C. Pratt, Spellbound in D arkness: A H istory o f the Silent Film (New York, 1973), p. 17. 36 T. Gunning, ‘Now You See It, Now You Don’t: The Temporality of the Cinema of A ttractions.' Paper presented at the SCS conference, May 1991, p. 9. 37 G. Derzhavin, ‘Fonar” [The Lantern], in: Sochineniya Derzhavina [Derzhavin’s Works] (St Petersburg, 1865), pp. 465-9. 38 V. Khodasevich. Poeticheskoe khoziaistvo Pushkina [Pushkin’s Poetic Apparatus] (Leningrad, 1924) p. 28. 39 V. Nabokov. Ada (London, 1969), p. 458. 40 G or'kii, ‘Beglye zam etki’, p. 3, 41 A. Belyi, ‘Teatr i sovremennaya dram a’ ITheatre and Contem porary Drama], in: Kniga o novom teatre [A Book on the New Theatre] (Moscow, 1908). p. 274. 42 Winter, ‘The Cinem atograph’, p. 294. 43 A. Blok, Zapisnye knizhki [Notebooks] (Moscow, 1965), p. 127. 44 There are no sequences of cars smashing through walls in The '?' M otorist, only a shot where a car comes through a ceiling. The ‘wall-smashing ’ trick was devised by Méliès for Voyage à travers I’impossible [Journey Towards the Impossible, 1904], 45 A. Belyi, ‘G orod’ [The City), Nash ponedeTnik [Our Monday Paperi, no. I, 9 Nov. 1907, p. 2. 46 Ibid. 47 Isaiah 24: 18-20. 48 Belyi, ‘G orod’, p. 2. 49 British Film Catalogue (1895-1970) (London, 1973). 50 A. Belyi, Peterburg (Moscow, 1978), pp. 259-60. For other English versions of this passage see: Andrey Biely, St Petersburg [Introduced by George Reavey and translated by John Cournos] (New York, 1959), pp. 250-1: and Andrei Bely, Petersburg [Translated, annotated and introduced by Robert A. M aguire amd John Malmstad] (Bloom ington, London, 1978), pp. 226-7. 51 Tom Gunning has kindly drawn my attention to the pre-cinem atic series of comic strips. Little Sammy Sneeze, as a possible source and an evident parallel to the

240

52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

62 63 64 65 66 67

68 69 70 71

72 73

Notes

film - as well as to other comic cartoons dealing with exploding characters. Sneezing (found in a num ber of sim ilar films) was ju st one variant o f the 'exploding m an’ m otif in early cinem a. There was also A Giant Hiccup [Riesenschlucker, Gaumont, 1909?], a grotesque ‘scare-it-aw ay’ film. In more serious realistic films the theme would most likely involve anarchists and bombs. For Bely the image of the 'exploding m an’ - in addition to its eschatological sym bolism mentioned above - echoed the fable of the frog who wanted to become larger than the bull, and D ostoyevsky’s idea (see his novel The P ossessed [Besy, 1873]) o f revolutionary thought as a mental disease that turns the fanatic’s brain into ever-expanding matter. Roman Tim enchik has suggested that a possible source for B ely’s novel Petersburg was G. K. C hesterton’s novel The Man Who Was Thursday (1908), which contains an image o f the terrorist as a person whose head is filled with dynamite. Belyi, Peterburg, p. 259. G orkii, ‘Bcglye zam etki’, p. 3. Burch, ‘A Primitive Mode of R epresentation?’, p. 222. A. Belyi, Na perevaie: Berlin [At the Turning Point: Berlin] (Petrograd, Moscow, 1923), p. 328. F. Mesguich, Tours de m anivelle: Souvenirs d ’un chasseur d ’images [Cranking the Handle: M emories of an Im age Hunter] (Paris, 1933), p. 84. F. Shipulinskii, Istoriya kino [The History of Cinema] (Moscow, 1934), p. 66. A. Belyi, ‘Peterburg; K inostsenarii po rom anu’ [Petersburg: A Film Script from the Novel], GBL, 516/3/37, p. 14. Ivanov-Barkov, ‘V ospom inaniya’, p. 105. Ya. A. Zhdanov, ‘Po Rossii s kinogovoryashchim i kartinam i’ [Around Russia with Talking Pictures], p. 1. Typescript in the Soviet Cinem a Section of VGIK. This fact is referred to in: D. Vaughan, ‘Let There Be L um ière’, in: T. Elsaesser and A. Barker (cds). Early Cinema: Space, Frame, N arrative (London, 1990), pp. 63-75. ‘Stasov o kinem atografe’, pp. 127-28. G unning, ‘An A esthetic of A stonishm ent’, pp. 31-45. A. Chumachenko, ‘V kinem atografe’ [At the C inem atograph], Vestnik kinem ato­ grafii [Cinem atograph H erald], 1911, no. 7, pp. 15-16. A. Roslavlev, ‘V kinem atografe’ [At the C inem atograph], in: V bashne [In the Tower] (St Petersburg, 1907), pp. 61-2. M. M oravskaya, ‘Devushka s fonarikom ’ [The G irl with the Torch], Russkie zapiski [Russian N otes], 1915, no. 10, p. 52. See the discussion of the ‘Plato cave’ model as a platform for the theory of cinem atic apparatus and as a trope of early film reception in Part I C hapter 2 above. E. Benveniste, O bshchaya lingvistika [G eneral Linguistics] (M oscow, 1974), pp. 270-2. Cine-Phono, 1914, no. 16, p. 23. See also P eterburgskii K ur’er [The Petersburg C ourier], no. 75, 5 April 1914. Metz, The Im aginary Signifier, p. 117. For a more detailed history of this genre and on parallel experim ents in Western cinem a see my article ‘Early Russian Cinema: Some O bservations’, in: R. Taylor and I. Christie (eds), Inside the Film Factory: New Approaches to Russian and Soviet Cinema (London, New York, 1991), pp. 24-30. Quoted from: C ine-Phono, 1914, no. 3, p. 23. E. Beskin, ‘Ne tovarishchi’ [No Bedfellows], TeatraT naya gazeta [The Theatre Paper], 1914, no. 47, p. 3.

Notes

74

75 76 77 78 79

80

81 82

83 84

241

P. Orlenev, Zhizn i tvorchestvo russkogo akteru Pavla Orleneva, opisannye im samim |T he Life and Work of the Russian Actor Pavel Orlenev as Described by Himself] (Leningrad, Moscow. 1961), pp. 251-2. Teatr, 1915, no. 1684, p. 3. Communicated by Roman Timenchik. T. Mann, The M agic M ountain [English translation by H. T. Lowe-Porter] (Harm ondsworth, 1965), p. 318. V. Woolf, ‘The M ovies’, New Republic, 4 Aug. 1926, p. 308. V. U. Nabokov, M ary (London, 1971), p. 82. This is a translation of Mashenka (Berlin, 1926). On cinem a in connection with the opposition of ‘existence’ and ‘non-existence’ in Mary see: Yu. I. Levin, ‘Zametki o ‘‘M ashen’ke” V. V. Nabokova' [Notes on N abokov's Wary], Russian Literature, 1985, V -X V IU , nos 21-30, pp. 21-7. ‘Neopublikovannoe pis'm o K uprina’ [An Unpublished letter by Kuprin), Russkie novosti [Russian News], no. 37, 25 Jan. 1946. p. 4. For Kuprin on cinem a see also: Yu. T siv’yan, ‘K genczisu russkogo stilya v kinem atografe’ [On the Origins of the Russian Style in Cinem a], Wiener Slaw istischer Almanach [Viennese Slavic Almanac], 1984, vol. 14, p. 266. L. Pirandello, Shoot! The Notes o f Seraftno Gubbio. Cinematograph Operator (English translation by C. K. Scott M oncrieff] (New York, 1926), p. 61. Nabokov, Mary, pp. 30-1. A possible intcrtextual link between these two scenes is analysed in: G. M oses, ‘"S peculation” on Pirandello, and Nabokov on “ Specularity” ’, in: Pirandello 1986: Atti del simposio internationale in Berkeley (Rome, 1987), pp. 135-47. Prince Senegambii, ‘Kinem atograf i obryad zhizni' (The Cinem atograph and the Ritual o f Life), Kine-zhurnal [Cine-Journal], 1917, no. 1/2, p. 69. V. I. Ivanov, Stikhotvoreniva i p o e m \ [Verses and Poems) (Leningrad, 1978), p. 312.

C HA PTER 7 1 T. Gunning, D. W. Griffith and the O rigins o f American Narrative Film: Early Years at Biograph (Urbana, Chicago, 1991), p. 67. 2 Azr [Aleksei Zinger], ‘K inem atograf’ [The Cinem atograph] ZriteT [The Spec­ tator], 1905, no. 6, p. 6. 3 A. Belyi. ‘G orod’ [The City], Nash ponedeTnik |O ur Monday Paper], no. 1 ,9 Nov. 1907. p. 2. 4 K. Chukovskii, N at Pinkerton i sovremennaya literatura (Nat Pinkerton and Modern Literature] (Moscow, 1908), p. 7. 5 Melics dropped this pattern for the more conventional cross-frame chases in l.es Incendiaires (The Fire-R aisers, 1906], For details on this and earlier chase sequences in Melies see: Analyse catalographique des film s de Georges Melies [Analytical Catalogue of the Films of G eorges Mclies] (Paris, 1981). p. 126 and before. 6 Gunning, D. W. Griffith, p. 77. 7 S. Gorodctskii, ‘Volk’ [The Wolf], in: Povesti i Rasskazy (Stories and Tales] (St Petersburg. 1910). pp. 146-7. 8 Gunning, D. W. Griffith, pp. 188-232. 9 ‘T eatral'nost’ i kinem atografichnost’ [Theatre and Cinema Specificity], Vestnik kinematografii [Cinematograph Herald], 1911, no. 7, p. 12. 10 ‘V ognc strastei i stradanii- [In the Fire of Passions and Sufferings], Proektor [The Projector], 1916. no. 6. p. 12.

242

N otes

11 D. Bordwell, ‘The C lassical Hollywood Style, 1917-60', in: D. Bordwell, J. Staiger and K. Thom pson, The Classical Hollyw ood Cinema: Film Style and Mode o f Production to I960 (London, 1985), pp. 19-21. 12 N. Burch, ‘Passion, poursuite: la linéarisation’ [Passion, Pursuit: Linearisation), Comm unications, 1983, no. 38, p. 31. 13 A. A. Khanzhonkov, Pervye gody Russkoi kinem atografii [The First Years of Russian Cinema] (Moscow, Leningrad, 1937), p. 37. 14 N. A. Savvin, ‘K inem atograf na sluzhbe u istorii i istorii literatury’ [Cinema at the Service o f History and Literary H istory], Vestnik vospitaniva [The Education Herald], 1914, no. 8, p. 200. 15 Teatral'naya gazeta [The Theatre Paper), 1913, no. 1, p. 11. 16 J. Mukarovskÿ, ‘Zâm ërnost a ne/.âm ërnost v um cni’ [Intentionality and Unintentionality in Art], in his: Studii z estetiky (Prague, 1966). translated in J. Burbank and P. Steiner (eds), Structure, Sign and Function: Selected Essays by Jan M ukarovsky (New Haven, CT, London, 1978), pp. 89-128. The lecture was originally given to the Prague Linguistic Circle on 26 May 1943. 17 ‘T at’yana R epina’, O bozrenie teatrov [The Review of TheatresJ, no. 2842, 11 Aug. 1915, p. 8. 18 O f course, I do not insist that in early cinem a outdoor scenes prevailed over indoor scenes in any statistical sense. No statem ent o f this kind can be made without specifying period, genre, and also which scenes one calls ‘outdoor’ - those shot in exteriors or set in exteriors? However, one can argue that from the point of view of the spectator used to pre-cincm atic conventions, the aggregate diegesis o f cinem a o f the 1900s—1910s was all about the outdoors. 19 Geinim [A. A noshchenko?], ‘Novoe iskusstvo’ [A New Art], K ino-teatr i zhizn' [The Cinema Theatre and Life], 1913, no. 1, p. 2. 20 W. Benjamin, Allegorien kultureller Erfahrung [A llegories of Cultural Experi­ ence) (Leipzig, 1984), pp. 445ff. 21 A. Flaker, ‘Puteshestvie v stranu zhivopisi (M andel’shtam o frantsuzskoi zhivopisi)’ [A Journey into the Land of Painting (M andelshtam on French Painting)], W iener Slaw istischer Alm anach [Viennese Slavic Almanac], 1984, no. 14, pp. 171-2. 22 Geinim , ibid. 23 D. Bordwell. Narration in the Fiction Film (M adison, 1985), p. 62. 24 G unning, D. W. Griffith, pp. 24-5. 25 A. G audreault, Du Littéraire au film ique: Systèm e du récit [From the Literary to the Filmic: The N arrative System] (Québec, 1988), pp. 133-46. 26 -skii, ‘K ino-epos’, Teatral'naya gazeta, 1914, no. 52, p. 8. 27 Yu. E ngel’ [Signed Yu. E.], ‘O kinem atografe’ [On the Cinem atograph), Russkie vedomosti [The Russian G azette], no. 275, 27 Nov. 1908. 28 P. Nilus, ‘Novyi vid iskusstva’ [A New Art Form ], C ine-Phono, 1911, no. 9, p. 9. 29 This English term was borrow ed by Dm itri M erezhkovsky from A lexander Hertsen, who, in his turn, had borrowed it from John Stuart Mill. 30 C. H. Bedford, The Seeker: D. S. M erezhkovskiy (Lawrence, M anhatten, W ichita, 1975), pp. 126, 189. In Russian the word ‘ham ’ \kham \ has come to mean ‘cad ’, or ‘b oor’. 31 B. G. Rosenthal, D. S. M erezhkovsky and the Silver Age: The D evelopm ent o f a Revolutionary M entality (The Hague, 1975), pp. 165-6. 32 Chukovskii, Nat Pinkerton. I. L. Shcheglov, 'T eatr illyuzii i Berta K ukel’van' (The Theatre of Illusions and Berta K ukelvan|, in: Narod i teatr [Theatre and the People] (St Petersburg, 1911).

N otes

243

33 Shcheglov, 'Teatr illyuzii’, p. 352. I am indebted to Tom Gunning for his letter of 25 November 1991, suggesting some titles by which these films might be identified. Here Gunning suggests the Pathé film Voyage autour d'une étoile (1906). 34 Ibid., p. 352. Tom Gunning suggests this is the Pathé film Le Pêcheur de perles (1907 or 1908). Karl Brown mentions a Méliès film with a similar story that was shown in the United States under the title The Birth o f a Pearl (American Film, Septem ber 1985, p. 55). 35 Ibid., p. 353. Tom Gunning suggests the Pathé films La Peine de Talion (c. 1906) or The Butterfly's M etamorphosis (1904). 36 Ibid., p. 353. The last film mentioned was probably the Pathé fairy tale Easter Eggs, announced in Cine-Phono in 1907, no. 1, p. 5. 37 Chukovskii, Nat Pinkerton, p. 2. 38 Ibid., pp. 21 —3. 39 Ibid., pp. 25-6.

C HA PTER 8 1 I would recommend Barry Salt, Film Style and Technology (London, 1984), and Kristin Thom pson, ‘The Foundations of C lassical Style, 1 9 0 9-28’, in: D. Bordwell, J. Staiger and K. Thompson, The Classical H ollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode o f Production to I960 (London, ¡985), pp. 155-240. 2 'G eorg German o k ino’ [Georg German on Cinema], TeatraT naya gazeta (The Theatre Paper], no. 23, 8 July 1914, p. 12. 3 ‘Leon D rey', TeatraT naya gazeta, 1915, no. 33, p. 15. For notes on this film see: Yu. Tsivian (research), P. C. Usai, L. Codelli, C. M ontanaro and D. Robinson (eds). Silent Witnesses: Russian Films. 1908-1919 (London, Pordenone, 1989), pp. 268-71. 4 Peterhurgskii listok [The Petersburg N ewsletter), 19 March 1917. 5 F. K. Sologub, ' Baryshnya L iz a : S tsenarii’ [Miss Liza\ A Script], IRLI. 289/1/ 184, p. 3. 6 A. Belyi, Peterburg (Moscow, 1978), pp. 161, 162. 7 A. Belyi, ' P eterburg: Kinostsenarii po rom anu’ [Petersburg: A Film-script from the Novel], M anuscript Department, GBL, 516/3/37, pp. 43 verso-44. 8 Pegas [Pegasus], 1916, no. 4, p. 89. Octave M irbeau (1850-1917), French novelist and dramatist. 9 Vestnik kinematografii ¡Cinematograph Herald], 1915, no. 106/3, p. 26. 10 Hitchcock - Truffaut (New York, 1969), p. 19. 11 N. Izvolov, Vzaimodeistvie esteticheskikh i vne-esteticheskikhfaktorov v evolyutsii kinematografa rannikh let (The Interrelationship of Aesthetic and Non-aesthetic Factors in the Early Days of Cinema] (Unpublished doctoral dissertation, VGIK, Moscow, 1991), p. 77. 12 Some negatives have tinting codes and positions for intertitles scratchcd on the celluloid, but not Chrysanthemums. For notes on this film see: Tsivian et al. (eds). Silent Witnesses, pp. 248-9. 13 Cf. Tom G unning on chase films: ‘The pattern is consistent: a character is chased by a group of characters from one location to the next. Each shot presents the chased character running at some distance from the pursuing mob. The shot is held until first the pursued, and then the pursuers, exit from the frame. The next shot begins with the entrance of the pursued, and the movement through the frame begins all over again’ (T. Gunning, D. W. Griffith and the Origins o f American N arrative Film: Early Years at Biograph (Urbana, Chicago, 1991), p. 67). 14 C. Sabinski, 'Vot m chitsya troika pochtovaya (O tryvok iz rezhisserskogo

244

15 16 17

18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44 45

Notes

stsenariya)' [See the Post Coach Rushing (Extract from the d irector’s script)J, Iz Istorii kino [From the H istory of Cinema) (Moscow, I960), no. 3, pp. 158-9. ‘G eorg Germ an o kino', p. 12. -skii, ‘K ino-epos’ [A Cinem a Epic], T eatral'naya gazeta, 1914, no. 52, p. 8. -y [M. Kallash?], 'Nem ye svideteli' [Silent W itnesses], TeatraVnaya gazeta, 1914, no. 19, p. 11. For notes on this film see: Tsivian et al. (eds), Silent W itnesses, pp. 230-1. ‘Georg German o k ino’, p. 12. E. Bowser, H istory o f the American Cinema, Volume 2 . The Transform ation o f Cinema, 1907-1915. (New York, 1990), p. 71. 1 have in mind V ladim ir N abokov’s Humbert Humbert: ‘W ith people in movies I seem to share the services of the m achina telephonica and its sudden god’ (V. Nabokov, Lolita (London, 1959), p. 201). Pegas [Pegasus], 1916, no. 3, p. 78. For notes on Tanya Skvortsova see: Tsivian et al. (eds), Silent Witnesses, pp. 334-6. 1. Surguchov [Signed I. S.], ‘L o zh ” [The Lie], K ulisy [The W ings), 1917, no. 23, p. 15. B. Balazs, K ul’tura kino [The Culture of Cinema) (Moscow, Leningrad, 1925), p. 25. B. M. Eikhenbaum , ‘Problemy kinostilistiki' [Problems o f Cinem a Stylistics], in: Poetika kino [Cinema Poetics) (Moscow, Leningrad, 1927), pp. 34, 35. Eikhenbaum , 'Problem y kinostilistiki’, p. 44. T. Polker, ‘Dram aticheskie sochineniya A. P. C hekhova' [The Dramatic Works of A. P. Chekhov], Russkie vedomosti [Russian Herald], 3 Oct. 1897. J. E. Jesionow ski, Thinking in Pictures: D ram atic Structure in D. W. G riffith's Biograph Film s (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1987), p. 14. Salt, Film Style and Technology, p. 109. Ibid., p. 109' T. G unning, ‘Now You See It, Now You Don’t: the Temporality of the Cinema of A ttractions’. Paper presented at the SCS C onference, May 1991, p. 16. Moskovskie vedomosti [The Moscow G azette], 16 March 1916. P. Nilus, ‘Novyi vid iskusstva’ [A New Art Form ], C ine-Phono, 1911, no. 9, p. 10. Sologub, ‘Baryshnya Liza: S tsenarii’, p. 1. K. Irzykowski, X Muza [The Tenth Muse] (Warsaw, 1957), p. 50. B. M. Eikhenbaum , ‘L iteratura i kinem atograf’ [Literature and Cinem a], Sovetskii ekran [The Soviet Screen], 1926, no. 42, p. 45. The term ‘sem antic gesture’ was introduced by Jan Mukarovsky in his study ‘ZamSrnost a nezdmSrnost v umSni' [Intentionality and U nintentionality in Art], see his: Studii z estetiky (Prague, 1966). Salt, Film Style, p. 63.' Thompson, ‘The F oundations’, pp. 189-92. G unning, D. W. Griffith. Ibid., pp. 78-81. The term was introduced by Salt (Film Style, p. 387) and is now widely used. On em blematic shots in P orter’s films and elsewhere see: C. Musser. Before the Nickelodeon: Edwin S. Porter and the Edison M anufacturing Company (Berkeley, 1991), pp. 264-5; see also Index. F. M esguich, Tours de m anivelle: Souvenirs d ’un chasseur d'im ages [Cranking the Handle: Memories of an Image Hunter] (Paris, 1933), pp. 168-9; 269. S. V erm el’, ‘Zhizn’ ckrana’ [Screen Life], Iskusstvo [Art], 1917, no. 1/2, p. 31. Cine-Phono, 1910, no. 9, p. 13. Im personal letter inserts lived on into the 1920s.

Notes

46 47 48

49 50 51 52

53 54 55 56 57 58 59

60 61 62 63 64 65

66

67 68

245

Sixteen years later R udolf H arm s repeated exactly the sam e request in his Philosophic' des Film s: Seine aesthetischen und m etaphvsischen G rundlagen [The Philosphy o f Film: Its A esthetic and M etaphysical Principles) (L eipzig, 1926). The reference is to the Russian translation: R. G arm s, Filosofiva F iim a (L enin­ grad, 1927), p. 102. A lexander Blok, Sobranie sochinenii r 6 tom akh [C ollected W orks in 6 Volumes) (Leningrad. 1981), vol. 5, p. 204. V. Sirin [V. V. N abokov], ‘K in em ato g raf' |T h e C inem atograph). R u i [The R udder], 1928. no. 2433. See my article about the use o f handw riting in this film: Yu. T siv ’yan, 'P aleogram i v fil’me S hine!" [Paleogram s in the film The Overcoat], in: Vtorye Tyn yanovskie chteniya (The Second Tynyanov R eadings] (R iga, 1986), pp. 14-27. Sologub. 'B aryshnya Liza: S tsen arii’, p. I. See T h o m p so n ,‘The F ou n d atio n s’, p. 188. P. B.. ‘N uzhny li nadpisi v kinem atografichcskikh k artin ak h ?’ [Do C inem a Pictures Need Intertitles?]. P roektor [Projector], 1916, no. 17, p. 2. I have not seen the film except for this fram e enlargem ent published in: FC 89. C inem a: L ost and F ound - From the C ollection o f K om ira Tom ijiro, 2 N ovem ber 1991, p. 31. Hiroshi K om atsu (w ho has seen the print) tells me I am right in assum ing that this was an em blem atic close-up. I am indebted to H iroshi Komatsu for sending me this frame enlargem ent. N. G ofm an. ‘Kak ya byla S on'koi Z olotoi-R uchkoi' [How I Played Sonka GoldenH and], TsMK archives, p. 16. For notes on The B ells R ing out. Telling their Sim ple Tale and C hild o f the Big City see: Tsivian et al. (eds), Silent W itnesses, pp. 3 2 8 -3 2 ; 216. Ch. Sabinskii. 'I z zapisok starogo k inom astera' [From the N otes o f an O ld M aster of C inem a], TsMK archives, p. 1 1. ‘K riticheskoe obozrenic' [C ritical R eview ], P roektor, 1915, no. 3, p. 16. Z. B arantsevich, ‘Fil'm y, lyudi, v stre c h i’ [Film s, People, Encounters], TsMK archives, p. 8. V. Pavlova, ‘Z abytoe iskusstvo’ | A Forgotten A rt], TsMK archives, p. 5. For notes on A B allerina’s Rom ance see: Tsivian et al. (eds). Silent W itnesses, pp. 358-60. T hom pson, 'T he F oundations', p. 190. In Russian film articles o f the 1910s what we now identify as the A m erican influence was often referred to as ju st ‘W estern’: the country o f origin was usually absent from credits. Proektor, 1916, no. 9, p. 14. I. Surguchov, ‘N esm yatye podushki (o k ino-rezhisserakh)' [U ncrum plcd Pillow s (O n Film D irectors)]. K ulisy [The W ings], 1917, no. 26/7, p. 12. For notes on Life fo r Life see: Tsivian et al. (cds), S ilent W itnesses, pp. 326-8. Vestnik kinem atografii, 1916, no. 122, p. 17. For notes on N elly R aintseva see: Tsivian et al. (eds). S ilent W itnesses, pp. 34 6 -9 . V. Turkin, review in K inogazeta [The C inem a Paper), 1918, no. 23. p. 14. For an exam ple see the 1914 article by Stark quoted in Part II C hapter 5 (sec p. 131). The response was probably universal. For A m erican parallels see Thom pson, ‘The Foundations', p. 191. The idea is discussed and illustrated with corresponding texts in: Yu. Lotm an, Yu. T sivian, D ialogi s ekranom [D ialogues with the Screen] (A lexandra Publishers, Tallinn, Estonia, forthcom ing). E. T. H all. ‘P roxem ics’, C urrent Anthropology, A pril-June 1968, vol. 9, no. 2/3. p. 92. Ibid. I have to stress that, in contrast to my sum m ary, the actual data given by Hall are com plex and specified according to differen t g radations o f visual perception (peripheral vision, scanning, etc.).

246

N otes

69 A. Arkatov, ‘Segodnyashnee kino (Opyt analiza)’ [Cinema Today (An Attem pt at an A nalysis)], in: Teatr i zhizn’ [Theatre and Life], Berlin, 1922. 70 Yu. E ngel’ [Signed: Yu. E.], ‘O kinem atografe’ [On The C inem atograph], Russkie vedom osti, no. 275, 27 Nov. 1908. 71 Thompson, ‘The Foundations’, p. 231. 72 'Tsari hirzhi' [Kings of the Stock Exchange], K ulisy [The W ings], 1917, no. 9/ 10, pp. 15, 16. For notes on this film see: Tsivian et al. (eds), Silent Witnesses, pp. 368-71. 73 A. Kosorotov, ‘M onum cntal’n o st” [M onum entally], Teatr i iskusstvo [Theatre and ArtJ, 1911, no. 38, p. 702. 74 T. Mann, The M agic M ountain [English translation by H. T. Lowe-Porter] (H arm ondsworth, 1965), pp. 317-18. 75 S. Ya. Marshak [Signed ‘D octor Friken’J, ‘V kinem atografe’ [At the Cinem ato­ graph], Satirikon, 1908, no. 12, p. 7. 76 M esguich, Tours de m anivelle, p. 213. 77 The fascination with ‘busy city streets’ and ‘crowd effects’ [effets de fo u le s] in early cinem a is analysed in: T. G unning, ‘The Book that Refuses to Be Read: Images of the City in Early C inem a’, forthcom ing, pp. 4 -5 . 78 K. Chukovskii, N at Pinkerton i soviem ennaya literatura [Nat Pinkerton and Con­ tem porary Literature] (Moscow, 1908), p. 12. 79 V. Nabokov, The D efence (London, 1964), p. 151. The translation is by Michael Scammell in collaboration with the author. 80 Salt, Film Style, pp. 78, 79. 81 T. Gunning, ‘An Unseen Energy Swallows Space’, in J. L. Fell (ed.). Film Before Griffith (Berkeley, London, 1983), p. 364. 82 O f the sources available in English one can recom mend M. Cole, S. Scribner, Culture & Thought: A Psychological Introduction (New York, London, Sydney, Toronto, 1974). In his paper “ ‘The W hole World W ithin R each” : Travel Images W ithout Borders’, delivered at the 2nd DOMITOR Colloquium in Lausanne (June 1992), G unning suggested the term ‘kinesthesia’ which is probably a better term because it places the travel attraction within the context of traditional landscape painting. 83 The RKM collection. 84 A. K oiranskii, ‘K intop’ [The F licks|, Nash ponedel’nik [Our M onday Paper], no. 2, 26 Nov. 1907, p. 4. 85 Ibid. 86 W. Schivelbusch, The Railway Journey: Trains and Travel in the 19th C entury (New York, 1979), pp. 57-72. 87 Quoted in: E. Eiken, ‘The Cinem a and Italian Futurist Painting’, Art Journal, winter 1981, no. 41, p. 353. 88 Geinim [A. Anoshchenko?), ‘Novoe iskusstvo’ [A New Art], K ino-teatr i zhizn’ [The Cinem a Theatre and Life], 1913, no. 1, p. 4. 89 Ibid., p. 2. 90 L. Voitolovskii, ‘Chudesnyi G ost” [The M iraculous V isitor], Vestnik K inem ato­ grafii, 1914, no. 85/5, p. 17. 91 Gunning. D. W. Griffith, p. 42. 92 L. Bunuel, Mon dernier soupir [My Last Sigh) (Paris, 1982), p. 42. 93 Thom pson, ‘The Foundations’, pp. 228-9. 94 Ibid. 95 For notes on these four films see: Tsivian et al. (eds), Silent W itnesses, pp. 216-18, 286-90, 3 7 2 ^ and 4 10-13 respectively. 96 This part of Paolo Cherchi U sai’s explanation was illustrated with a gracious.

Notes

97

98 99 100

101

102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111

112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120

247

delightfully inviting gesture that probably only someone born in Italy could ever hope to repeat! ‘Mopassan po-russki’ [Maupassant, Russian style], Obozrenie teatrov [The Theatre Review), no. 2856/2857, p. 17. The film was based on Tolstoy’s story Fransuaza [Françoise], which was itself an adaptation of Maupassant’s Le Port [The Port). See: L. N. Tolstoi, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii [Complete Works] (Moscow, 1936), vol. 27, pp. 251-8 and pp. 671-7. For notes on A Life fo r a Life see: Tsivian el al. (eds). Silent Witnesses, pp. 326-8. Thompson, ‘The Foundations’, p. 228. On the use of exterior ‘trailing pans’ in Biograph films by Griffith see: J. E. Jesionowski, Thinking in Pictures: Dramatic Structure in D. IV. Griffith's Biograph Films (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1987), pp. 89-90 and Gunning, D. W. Griffith, pp. 210-18. P. C. Usai, ‘On the concept of “ influence” in Early Cinem a’. Paper delivered at the 2nd DOM1TOR Colloquium in Lausanne, June 1992. The film was shown at the Colloquium. V. Ballyu/.ek, ‘Na s ’emkakh “ Pikovoi damy” ’ [Shooting The Queen o f Spades], in: Iz istorii kino, 7 [From The History of Cinema, 7] (Moscow, 1968), p. 102. Teatr [The Theatre], 1916, no. 1835, p. 10. For notes on The Queen o f Spades see: Tsivian et al. (eds). Silent Witnesses, pp. 352-6. It was invented in Germany in 1986 and was used in Russia in the Maly Theatre in 1900. A. R. Kugel’, Utverzhdenie teatra [Establishing the Theatre] (Moscow, 1923), p. 186. The passage cited comes from an article written in 1913. Quoted in G. C. Pratt, Spellbound in Darkness: A History o f the Silent Film (New York, 1973), p. 126. ‘Krivoe /.erkalo’ [The Distorting Mirror], Teatr i iskusstvo [Theatre and Art], 1911, no. 7, p. 148. N. V. Gogol’, Tales o f Good and Evil [Translated by David Magarshak] (New York, 1957), pp. 171-2. A. Belyi, Masterstvo Gogolya [Gogol’s Mastery] (Moscow, Leningrad, 1934), pp. 309-10. S. Trct’yakov, Zheleznaya pauza [The Iron Interval] (Vladivostok, 1919), p. 8. A. Maguire and J. E. Malmstad write: ‘Circular thinking embraces not “ eternity” but only a small part of the vast “ circle”. It can be expressed only con­ ventionally, as dogma, that is, as motionless circular thinking; and dogmas, Bely argues, arise in time, and arc grounded in particular ways of apprehending the world, that is, in experience. (A. Maguire, J. E. Malmstad, 'Petersburg’, in: J. E. Malmstad (ed.), Audrey Bely: Spirit o f Symbolism (Ithaca, London, 1987), p. 99). A. Belyi, 'Krugovoe dvizhenie’ [Circular Movement), Trudy i dni [Labours and Days), 1912, no. 4/5, p. 63. N. Berberova, ‘A Memoir and a Comment: The Circle of Petersburg', in: G. Janccek (ed.) Andrey Bely: A Critical Review (Lexington, 1978), p. 116. Belyi, ‘Peterburg: Kinostsenarii po romanu’, p. 99 verso. Ibid., p. 95. Ibid., p. 38. Ibid., p. 88. Ibid., p. 55. Ibid., p. 56. Ibid., pp. 57 verso, 58.

248

Notes

POSTSCRIPT 1 J. T. Munsey, ‘From a Toy to a Necessity: A Study of Some Early Reactions to the Motion Picture’, Society o f Cinematologists: Cinema Journal, 1965, vol. V, p. 99. 2 E. Bowser, History o f the American Cinema, Volume 2, The Transformation o f Cinema, 1907-1915 (New York, 1990), p. 94. 3 V. Shklovskii (ed.), Chaplin (Berlin, 1923), pp. 43-4.

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