The Electric Hotel is a love letter to an earlier time, not necessarily an easier time, but the early years of film, a time of adventure, excitement, exploration, wild success and horrible failure. Also a time of new techniques, new materials and much thinking on one’s feet. It is also a love letter to the friends, partners and lovers who were part of that glorious, difficult, wondrous time, the people who shared the victories and defeats of the early film era.
The novel centers on Claude Ballard who has been living in the same Los Angeles hotel for some 50 years, a man who never leaves his room without a camera, a man who has been filming life since he met the Lumiere Brothers in Paris in the late 19th century. One day, in 1962, he agrees to meet with a film student who would like to learn about his life. The result is what unspools here before us as a history of film, the world and Claude in both.
From having read Smith’s prior book, The Last Painting of Sara de Vos, I was very aware of his skill in dealing with artistic techniques, matters of lighting, etc. That skill and sensitivity comes to the fore again here. The descriptions of the early forms of film, both how they are created and how they are received by unsuspecting audiences completely new to the phenomenon, are very well done. I felt as if I was in the room, seeing the early images.
The personal side gets equal attention, the friendships, love affairs, hatred, business dealings that become personal. This novel fits the history of film into the world around it. It shows us the early film industry of New Jersey, the overbearing influence of Thomas Edison. There is a world here populated with living, breathing filmmakers, directors, actresses and actors, daring stuntmen, wild animals. And there is introspection, thoughtful consideration of film and life.
In short, this is a book for most readers I know and another success from Dominic Smith. 4.5 rounded to 5
A copy of this book was provided by the publisher through NetGalley in return for an honest review.