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In Glorious Technicolor: A Century of Film and How it has Shaped Us
Film is a communal dream in which our fears and fantasies are revealed. It has influenced our behaviour, intertwined with our politics, helped to forge national identity, galvanise communities against a wartime enemy or warn of social upheaval. It has burrowed deep into our psyche, changing perceptions of history and memory, and even raised our romantic expectations.Despite decades of rapid change, we are still hypnotised and seduced by the power of cinema; it remains our most persuasive mass entertainment. In this fascinating, entertaining and illuminating book Francine Stock takes us on a personal journey through a glorious century of cinema, from the Lumiere brothers' flickering train to the 3D excesses of Avatar, showing in vivid detail how film both reflects and remakes our world.
- GenresNonfiction
352 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 6, 2011
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April 17, 2016
The title comes from the time the author went as a child to see My Fair Lady: the opening title sequence, with the flourish of technicolor flowers, seemed to her as being more real and astonishing than reality itself. This feeling of a kind of hyper-reality which film seems to embody as if by definition has stayed with her: and the concept of its imposition of something more to our everyday lives then mere reality could provide is a core concern of this work. It is just over a century since cinema “arrived”. Should we not take the opportunity to examine its history so far, at least from the above perspective (rather than through technological advancements or from individual artistic achievements that usually pervade such histories) and see what might emerge? That is what this book attempts to do.
Stock’s approach is rather simple, really. The century is divided into ten decades. For each decade, there is an introduction, and then three personal films of that decade are chosen and discussed in more detail. And so we progress throughout the century. This historical approach might suggest that a purely linear method has been taken here, but this is far from the truth. Stock’s lucid and liquid style slips and slides effortlessly backwards and forwards in time right throughout the book. It might be a little dazzling and mind-boggling at first, but one quickly get used to it. This, together with the fact that Stock has lots to say that is interesting and informative about each decade, makes this book a pleasure to read…
One effect the whole book left on me is something I had not earlier thought about. There is no decade when there does not seem to be rich pickings of wonderful and outstanding cinema! Neither two world wars, a Great Depression, political upheaval, whatever, seemed to result in a decline — there were always movies of one type or another… At first I thought this was something besides the point; then I realised that in fact, this emphasises Stock’s approach: film, cinema, the movies — always have, and perhaps always will mean something more than our ordinary lives to us. It is something, perhaps, which helps us live and even survive in our ever more complex and confusing life, which we “know” is not “real”, but which is more real than that!
Another realisation came to me only after I had finished reading this book: there are absolutely no stills, photographs, or any pictorial aspects to be found at all! It did not seem that important to me: the writing was sufficient and provocative enough! As I thought about this, I also realised that, in a sense, stills and other associated drawings are quite irrelevant, except, perhaps, as a memento, or referencing other aspects of the film-making process — but this is only if one has already seen the film, and remembers it. Stills, for example, are in the majority of cases, are such a miniscule aspect of the visual part of a film: for example, in a 100 minute film there are 24 frames per second — i.e. 24 x 60 x 100 = 144,000 stills. To think that any one of these, or even a series of them, can in any way represent the whole of the film is putting a lot of weight on them! There is no indication of camera movement, choreography, changes in focus and lighting variations, editing (montages, sequences) which only work together in time — and when one adds the lack of any soundtrack…
Sure, we are addicted to seeing lots of stills, but how relevant are they? Ironically, however, stills (essentially a photograph) can have a different power of its own: I can remember seeing a still from a film I had not seen, which looked quite impressive to me as a photograph; yet when I actually saw the film it was, in my opinion, of course, pretty much run-of-the-mill, with none of the expectations the still photograph, out of context, had created in me… This, too, was an interesting confirmation of Stock’s central premise: the experience of seeing movies as they are revealed to us within their time-frame can be much, much more than any of the individual parts that go into the make-up of that experience. This is especially the case when we have allowed ourselves to submit, as it were, to the “unreal” world on the screen, and thus make it more real than real for us individually. This two-way process seems to initiate from the screen in the first place, and then, provided that the communication is made, a further process from the individual to the screen occurs: each person co-creates his or her individual reality (and each such reality is as different as each individual!) to form something special. The screen panders to us; we pander to the screen… It is, perhaps, only when this happens that a movie becomes “special”; and if this does not occur, then it quickly is dismissed as “irrelevant”, at least to you…
Stock introduces her book with a statement, written by Arthur James, and distributed by Metro Pictures to theatres throughout the US in the spring of 1916. I reproduce it here. Despite being written during and about the Silent Era, its overarching argument represents something special about cinema which in many ways is still relevant today, and which is worth thinking about:
I stir the blood. I quicken the pulses. I encourage the imagination, I stimulate the young. I comfort and I solace the old and sorrowing…
I show more of travel than all the books penned by all the writers of the world. I preach sermons to congregations, greater than the combined flocks of the pulpits of all lands…
I am history, written for generations to come in a tongue that every race and sect and creed can understand. I preserve heroes for posterity. I give centuries more of life to the arts and sciences. I am man’s greatest and noblest invention.
I am the Motion Picture.
Stock’s approach is rather simple, really. The century is divided into ten decades. For each decade, there is an introduction, and then three personal films of that decade are chosen and discussed in more detail. And so we progress throughout the century. This historical approach might suggest that a purely linear method has been taken here, but this is far from the truth. Stock’s lucid and liquid style slips and slides effortlessly backwards and forwards in time right throughout the book. It might be a little dazzling and mind-boggling at first, but one quickly get used to it. This, together with the fact that Stock has lots to say that is interesting and informative about each decade, makes this book a pleasure to read…
One effect the whole book left on me is something I had not earlier thought about. There is no decade when there does not seem to be rich pickings of wonderful and outstanding cinema! Neither two world wars, a Great Depression, political upheaval, whatever, seemed to result in a decline — there were always movies of one type or another… At first I thought this was something besides the point; then I realised that in fact, this emphasises Stock’s approach: film, cinema, the movies — always have, and perhaps always will mean something more than our ordinary lives to us. It is something, perhaps, which helps us live and even survive in our ever more complex and confusing life, which we “know” is not “real”, but which is more real than that!
Another realisation came to me only after I had finished reading this book: there are absolutely no stills, photographs, or any pictorial aspects to be found at all! It did not seem that important to me: the writing was sufficient and provocative enough! As I thought about this, I also realised that, in a sense, stills and other associated drawings are quite irrelevant, except, perhaps, as a memento, or referencing other aspects of the film-making process — but this is only if one has already seen the film, and remembers it. Stills, for example, are in the majority of cases, are such a miniscule aspect of the visual part of a film: for example, in a 100 minute film there are 24 frames per second — i.e. 24 x 60 x 100 = 144,000 stills. To think that any one of these, or even a series of them, can in any way represent the whole of the film is putting a lot of weight on them! There is no indication of camera movement, choreography, changes in focus and lighting variations, editing (montages, sequences) which only work together in time — and when one adds the lack of any soundtrack…
Sure, we are addicted to seeing lots of stills, but how relevant are they? Ironically, however, stills (essentially a photograph) can have a different power of its own: I can remember seeing a still from a film I had not seen, which looked quite impressive to me as a photograph; yet when I actually saw the film it was, in my opinion, of course, pretty much run-of-the-mill, with none of the expectations the still photograph, out of context, had created in me… This, too, was an interesting confirmation of Stock’s central premise: the experience of seeing movies as they are revealed to us within their time-frame can be much, much more than any of the individual parts that go into the make-up of that experience. This is especially the case when we have allowed ourselves to submit, as it were, to the “unreal” world on the screen, and thus make it more real than real for us individually. This two-way process seems to initiate from the screen in the first place, and then, provided that the communication is made, a further process from the individual to the screen occurs: each person co-creates his or her individual reality (and each such reality is as different as each individual!) to form something special. The screen panders to us; we pander to the screen… It is, perhaps, only when this happens that a movie becomes “special”; and if this does not occur, then it quickly is dismissed as “irrelevant”, at least to you…
Stock introduces her book with a statement, written by Arthur James, and distributed by Metro Pictures to theatres throughout the US in the spring of 1916. I reproduce it here. Despite being written during and about the Silent Era, its overarching argument represents something special about cinema which in many ways is still relevant today, and which is worth thinking about:
I stir the blood. I quicken the pulses. I encourage the imagination, I stimulate the young. I comfort and I solace the old and sorrowing…
I show more of travel than all the books penned by all the writers of the world. I preach sermons to congregations, greater than the combined flocks of the pulpits of all lands…
I am history, written for generations to come in a tongue that every race and sect and creed can understand. I preserve heroes for posterity. I give centuries more of life to the arts and sciences. I am man’s greatest and noblest invention.
I am the Motion Picture.
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