Robert A. Haller

On May 9, 1893 visitors to the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences saw the first public demonstration of Thomas Edison's Kinetoscope, the first motion picture viewing machine. In the hundred years that have followed, thousands of artists and technicians and businessmen from all parts of the world have created the new art form we call cinema, the movies, motion pictures.

In 1935 the Museum of Modern Art began to collect films and related artefacts in what was then called the Film Library. Iris Barry started this collection; last year (in 1993) Mary Corliss assembled hundreds of posters and still photographs, lobby cards, programs, scripts, letters, swizzle sticks(!), art director's sketches and production drawings for a fascinating exhibition called "A Century of Cinema" which was on view at the Museum of Modern Art through January 1994.

This was a very rich exhibition for anyone who cares about movies. There were haunting production sketches by Mario Larrinaga and Byron Crabbe from the otherwise forgettable 1933 Son of Kong. Striking posters from classics like F.W. Murnau's The Last Laugh (1924) and Federico Fellini's La Strada. There were such important historical documents as D.W. Griffith's first contract (August 1908) with the American Mutoscope and Biograph Company (arguably the birth certificate of American cinema art) and the original agreement for the 1919 incorporation of United Artists.

There were hundred of posters and pictures - which were what most visitors looked at, but perhaps most rewarding of all were the letters and production memos that define working conditions and attitudes and hopes that we can not see within the film frame - or which were never filmed.

These ranged from minor items like a letter from Colette about the first film made from her Gigi, to somewhat more substantial writings like this from Carl Dreyer to Mr. Charles L. Turner of Connecticut:
"... You are right. I am very cautious in what I see of films. In my opinion it is not wise for a film director to attend too many films - in particular while directing a film himself - in order not to be influenced".

Among the best was the D.W. Griffith correspondence. Reviled as a bigot after he made The Birth of a Nation in 1914, Griffith spent much of his life avoiding or seeking to deal with his reputation.

On May 16, 1921 he received a letter form the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan proposing that he make a photoplay
"which will portray the activities of the present day Klan and the things from which the organization stands ... we feel that you are the only logical director for such a large task."

This was a film Griffith did not make (nor did he later accept Benito Mussolini's invitation to make films in fascist Italy).

Twenty two years later, near the end of his life, Griffith wrote to a friend on July 12, 1943 that he would like to make a film on George Washington Carver, the Black botanist who had died that year:
"I have read most carefully the book on Dr Carver. What a man! What a wonderful character! There is no doubt at all in my mind that a most telling and beautiful picture could be made on his life history. Of course, as to the financial returns on such a picture that is a question. There is no doubt it would be a fine thing for the Negro race. ... I have spoken to a couple of the movie folk who happen to be here as to their opinion of such a production, and they both remarked, in different words, that the Negros [sic] didn't add much money to the box office. They seemed to have the idea so prevalent that the white people would cotton to a story of Negros full of jazz, song and dance, but that their response to a serious picture, as this would have to be, would, as the saying goes, be in the lap of the Gods. You wouldn't know the answer until after the picture was produced and released. However, if the proper financing, backing, etc., could be procured, I would certainly love to do the picture. It is a subject that I could put my whole being into, a subject you could get your teeth into - in other words, it is a pip! A subject to pray to God over, to smile over, and to weep with.
I can't think of [a] Negro actor I have seen who would be suitable for the part. To have the part correctly portrayed, and it would be a useless waste to make the picture without a fine actor for Dr. Carver, it might be best to search through the Negro sections of the South for a man, if one couldn't be found in Hollywood. By the way I hope you notice, in his profile picture, wearing glasses, how much he resembles Ghandi."

The Museum staff was ardent in seeking out and collecting films and other materials for its collections. The exhibit included their letters too, from Iris Barry, and Jey Leyda, and John Abbott. Responding to Abbott, Frits Lang wrote on May 10, 1937, that his personal film collection was in storage at Film-Kopier-Anstalt in Berlin, but that
"due to my political relationship to the German Government, I was unable to get my property out of Germany... Now, dear Mr. Abbott, in regard to our talk that you have certain possibilities to get these pictures out of Germany with the help of the German Government (even now where my whole work is banned), I authorize you to do anything you like to get these pictures for your museum of modern art."
Abbott was not successful, however, which led to another exchange of letters seven years later, between Lang and Iris Barry, in which Lang, tongue-in-cheek, signs his letter "Cordially your serpent"!

 Un siglo de cine: Exposición en el MoMA

El Kinetoscopio de Tomás Edison fué presentado por primera vez al público el 9 de mayo de 1893. Esta primera "máquina de ver películas" abrió el camino a miles de artistas, técnico(a)s y hombres-y-mujeres de negocios que crearon, a través del mundo, esta nueva forma de expressión que se llamó el "Séptimo arte".

Gracias a Iris Barry, el MoMA conserva, desde 1935, obras cinematográficas, documentos y todo tipo de objetos relacionados al cine.

El año pasado, Mary Corliss seleccionó centenares de afiches, fotos, programas, guiones, manuscritos, bocetos y dibujos para integrarlos en una exposición intitulada "Un siglo de cine". Esta tuvo lugar en el MoMA en enero de 1994.