1907

Under the Shadow of a Great Monopoly

Cartoon by Theodore Brown from Kinematograph and Lantern Weekly (23 May 1907): 30.

This cartoon is a British response to the renowned legal judgement in the USA which recognised the Edison company’s patents and therefore gave that company and its associates a monopoly on the use of most available types of film cameras. In an accompanying note to this cartoon, it was reported that American filmmakers were already importing differing kinds of film cameras in the hope that these might circumvent the Edison patents. This cartoon appeared in the second issue of the new trade journal, the Kinematograph and Lantern Weekly, and one might think that portraying the great Edison as a menacing shadow was a somewhat provocative image to publish so early in the journal’s life. However, the Edison brand was not that significant at this time in the early British film industry, so there were probably few local Edison executives to antagonise. Nevertheless, the cartoon is not signed with a name, but only with the letters “Kin 1907”. We may conclude, though, from the characteristic lettering, that it was by Theodore Brown, the editor of this journal and of its predecessor publication (and who also drew the cartoon in our 1905 section).⁴⁰

Un Beau Film [A Great Film]

Short story by Guillaume Apollinaire from Messidor [Paris] (23 December 1907).

As mentioned earlier in this issue, many of the earliest fictions on the subject of cinema were about crimes or indiscretions revealed by the agency of film. This story by the celebrated essayist and poet Apollinaire (1880–1918) is also about crimes recorded on film, but he takes a different tack, dealing with a murder that has been specially arranged for the camera by a group of hypocritical, profit-hungry filmmakers including the Baron d’Ormesan. Here, rather than revealing or solving crimes, the cinema is helping to cause one, a murder; and – adding to the cynical mood – the story also mentions a filmed execution and suicide.⁴¹ In this mordant tale, Apollinaire gives us a bizarre preview of the much-discussed, though probably apocryphal, “snuff movies” of the 1970s, not to mention throwing in elements of voyeurism and sexual violence. The story was part of a larger narrative published serially in Messidor featuring d’Ormesan, and one of the other episodes, “Le Toucher à Distance” featured a television device. These stories mark the probable beginning of Apollinaire’s fascination with the moving image, and he would go on to publish commentaries on the cinema and to co-write a film script, La Bréhatine in 1917.⁴² This translation from the French is an adaptation of an earlier version.⁴³

“Who among us has not a crime on his conscience?” asked the Baron of Ormesan. “For my part, I don’t even count them any more. I have committed a few which have brought me quite a lot of money. And if I am not a millionaire today, my appetites rather than my scruples are to blame.

“In 1901, with a few friends, I founded the International Cinematographic Company, which we called for short the ICC. The idea was to obtain films of the greatest possible interest, and exhibit them in the principal cities of Europe and America. Our scheme was very well organized. For example, thanks to the indiscretions of a personal valet, we were able to obtain an interesting scene depicting the President of the Republic getting up in the morning. We similarly filmed the birth of an Albanian Prince. As the greatest prize of all, however, we had, by corrupting a few of the Sultan’s officials, recorded for all time and in full motion the impressive tragedy in which the Grand Vizier, Melak-Pacha, after a heart-rending farewell to his wife and children, drank the drugged coffee, as his master had ordered, on the terrace of his house at Pera.

“We lacked only the performance of a crime. But the moment of a crime is never known in advance, and it is rare that criminals act openly.

“Having abandoned hope of obtaining a...