Illusions in Motion: Media Archaeology of the Moving Panorama and Related Spectacles by Erkki Huhtamo (review)

I would like to start with two indirect words of praise. First for the publisher, who has accepted to follow the author’s passionate journey to the treasure island of the moving panorama, allowing him to enrich our lives with a splendid book of nearly 450 large, tightly printed and wonderfully illustrated pages. It is reassuring to know that there are still publishers willing to fight the scholarly habits of reading only articles, preferably online, and who believe in the future of research in print. Illusions in Motion is without any doubt a book that will prove them right. Second for the author, not because he knows his subject so well and is able to communicate his knowledge in such a pleasant and convincing way (after all, this is what can be expected from any serious scholar), but for the love and passion that he has put into his research, which are visible in every page of this book. There is no great scholarship without deep personal commitment, and Huhtamo’s book is a great example of this statement as well. True, love and passion do not necessarily make great books, but great books become even greater if they have their origin in the author’s fascination and awe (for it is not only the sublime and art with capital A, or death and horror, that may fill us with awe).

But why is Illusions in Motion such an impressive achievement? On an initial level, the book offers a precise and detailed historical overview of a kind of panorama whose existence, although often acknowledged by many historians and contemporary witnesses, has never really been taken into account as a specific apparatus and independent cultural practice, different from the larger category of the 19th-century panorama. Huhtamo defines his “missing medium” as follows:

Instead of being surrounded by a stationary wrap-around painting, the spectators sat in an auditorium. A long roll painting was moved across a “window” (often with drawable curtains) by means of a mechanical cranking system. The presentation was accompanied by a lecturer, music, and occasionally sound and light effects. Other attractions, such as musical acts of feats or legerdemain, could be added. The duration varied, but by the mid-century a length of ninety minutes or more had become common

(pp. 6–7).

The author, then, completes this first definition by distinguishing three major dimensions: (1) painted: a moving panorama was an object, a roll of pictures; (2) performed: it was also an event, for the painting was unrolled in front of spectators, who listened to a lecturer; (3) discursive: the moving panorama was also something that was evoked by words and illustrations, and which was thus part of a culture’s imaginary. Given the relative absence of direct evidence, since only a handful of moving panoramas actually survived, the role of this discursive dimension was key, and the story told by Huhtamo knits objects, events and discourses seamlessly together.

From the very beginning, Illusions in Motion emphasizes the great diversity of the moving panorama. Not only are there several models of format that determine the form and function of all variations (rather than one basic model), but the very distinction between the moving panorama and other forms of theatrical and optical devices and representations is far from always being clear. Thanks to the impressive evidence gathered by Huhtamo, we do know however how important this “missing medium” was during the 19th century (with a peak in popularity around 1850). Huhtamo’s work is not only descriptive, however. Although historical accuracy is generously featured throughout the whole book, Illusions in Motion also represents an important contribution to the field that the author has helped build over the last two decades: media archeology. Within this domain, Huhtamo defends a modest but dramatically inspiring stance. Contrary to theoreticians such as Friedrich Kittler, who approach...