by Nico J. Brederoo (1942-2000)
With the United Europe of 1992 just around the corner, discussions about the individual states’ own identity are running high. Especially around film production, the last word has not yet been spoken precisely because from World War I onward, Europe had to fight to stay on its feet alongside Hollywood. The lead that Europe had quickly conquered until 1914 was then taken over by the Americans.
For although Edison came on the market in America a few years earlier with his Kinetoscope than the Europeans with their Cinema, the latter version has nevertheless become the prototype of our current film screenings. Edison made a viewing box for one person while in Europe the Skladanovski brothers – in Berlin – and the Lumière brothers – in Paris – assumed a hall projection (1895). (1)
The early years
Early film was little more than a photographed play; the heavy camera did not move from its place. The Frenchman Méliès made a virtue of this necessity and was already applying wonderful tricks within this picture. (2) The Englishmen of the “School of Brighton” discovered the possibilities of close-up and montage. (3) Around 1907, a new impulse came from France; they wanted to elevate film – until then a fairground entertainment – to a new art, to a film d’art.* To achieve this, they had big stars like Sarah Bernhard play along and invited composers to compose “live music” to these artistic products. The first was probably Saint Saens who wrote the music to L’Assasinat du duc de Guise. (5) However, it was the Italians who took the next step toward adult feature film. (6) They were the first to come out with long full-length films around 1908.
Indeed, up to that point, the film consisted of one reel lasting about 10 to 15 minutes. An entire melodrama that has to develop in this short time naturally tends quickly toward kitsch. By developing products of at least an hour and a half, the Italians had the chance to let the drama develop according to the usual dramatic rules. Visually, they also came a long way as they were inspired by their opera and fresco tradition (7). Finally, the Italians discovered the commercial appeal of the “star” the word “diva” comes from Italian for a reason.
Until 1914, Americans developed a large film industry in Hollywood (8) as many revue theaters had switched to the new entertainment: the cinema, following a strike by actors. The thousands of unknowns who wanted to try their luck in Hollywood did look to strike. Behind every fairly successful actor were dozens waiting to take over his or her place. To keep these movie actors in check, they were allowed to remain anonymous. Today’s Hamlet and Ophelia were supporting roles from the next day. Hollywood produced one-role short films on the go, all that mattered was that the money came out multiple times.
Artistically, they lagged far behind Europe. The Americans were quick to adopt all kinds of European discoveries, but because the American setup was purely commercial, they did not dare to take risks with experiments. The first to recognize the possibilities offered by the new medium was D.W. Griffith (9) and without consulting the studios he developed the simple European discoveries into his own cinematic language. He also understood that American audiences, in the absence of their own royalty, needed substitutes for this: the stars.
The legendary Mary Pickford and Lilian Gish were his discoveries. However, when Griffith shot a four-reel film in 1914, “Judith of Bethulia” (10) based on the apocryphal Old Testament heroine, it became too barren for his society; the film did not reach full circulation.
Anyone who tries to view the film now with the eyes of the time must also admit that it was very daring. When Judith hesitates to behead the drunken opponent of her people, she receives a flashback in which she sees her fallen compatriots. This inner image of the heroine, visualized on the canvas, makes her decide to kill the enemy after all. It is possible that most of the audience did not understand this intervention by the director. However, this was not the main reason that society was reluctant about this production. It was assumed that the average audience could not keep their heads with a film for more than fifteen minutes – one reel.
The outbreak of World War I drove the Europeans from the film market, as people here desperately needed chemicals for the war industry. Hollywood then gained an advantage that it has always maintained. Griffith now saw his opportunity and set up his own production company with which – inspired by the Italians – he filmed an epic in his own way. It became Birth of a nation (1915) (11) a dramatic film adaptation of the American Civil War. The success of this otherwise racist film was so great that Hollywood fell through; the long film AND the star had won out in the end.
Avant-gardes
Visual artists in the 20th century began to become increasingly interested in the factor of time in art. Cubists, Futurists, Dadaists, etc. attempted to depict time in their two-dimensional work. (12) It is understandable that their attention was soon drawn to the new medium of film, as this now offered real opportunities to experiment with time. With a very low budget, these artists often created the most surprising products in which the rhythm of the form was central. They spoke of “absolute film,” “visual poetry” and “music of images.” In all these film experiments, the real language of film was the starting point. It was about the language of editing and the rhythm of the film. The story became unimportant so that an abstract viewing game remained. The titles say a lot about the content: Film study, Opus and Ballet mécanique.
Especially in post-World War I European feature films, however, people saw the possibilities offered by these experiments. Sometimes an avant-gardist was hired to design a dream sequence for a film, such as Ruttmann who designed the “fall dream” for Kriemhilde in Fritz Lang’s Die Nibelungen (1924). In addition, German Expressionist film allowed a new experimental language of form and opted for stories with a more intricate structure. (13) Many of these films have an allegorical layer and thus deviate completely from the straightforward Hollywood narrative.
Russian cinema was also extremely influenced by the world of visual arts. (14) Here, however, editing was central, one shot was confronted with the next and the shots here entered into a dialogue with each other, as it were. Eisenstein in particular would develop the silent film to its peak with his montage theory. By the second half of the 1920s, the filmed stage of the early years had been left far behind and people were now “speaking” in a completely new cinematic language. The American feature film also adopted more and more of the European developments.
The silent film period was eminently international, speaking a visual language that everyone in the Western world understood. The films usually had only short intertitles, which one could number, and which one could fill in again in the right place in each language area. The intertitles had nothing that one could designate as typical of one’s own “vernacular.” Musicians and explicators had the possibility of adapting the film entirely to each people’s own nature. Thus, in Russia, Griffith’s capitalist films carried with them the Marxist message that a situation such as that shown herein – thank Lenin – would not be possible in the Soviet Union.
The sound film
From the very beginning, the film world had been experimenting with sound. (15) Background music had always been known, from a simple pianola to performances with choir, orchestra and soloists. In the second half of the 1920s, however, methods were developed to capture sound on celluloid. With this, the possibility for each country to give the film its own “color” disappeared. Even though major countries soon developed the ability to dub a film, many things – such as the background music and songs sung in the original language – were fixed.
The songs and dances would increasingly define the image of the film of the 1930s. During the time of economic crisis, people wanted to entertain the public, to make them forget their worries. (16)
The show films developed in America brought the spectator into a temporary dream world in which anything seemed possible. Especially the films involving the revue showed how the poor girl in the group rose to become the first star. It was maintained in the movies that America remained the land of unimagined possibilities. Many American songs brought entertainment to the audience. For the Europe of the crisis, this remained a foreign culture and people tried to come up with their own answers to the times.
This revealed the huge problem: with the exception of England, European countries had too small a language area. Even for the English it was difficult to compete with the monopoly of Hollywood. An attempt was made to solve this by co-producing.
Different countries made films in multiple versions: it was possible in one setting with the same lighting, to have different actors playing the same role in their own languages. It was also possible to record actors while the text was spoken and recorded by others in another language at the same time. The costs were thus significantly reduced and the various parties believed they had produced a national film after all. In addition, countries such as France and Germany applied dubbing to Hollywood products. For smaller countries such as the Netherlands, the latter option was too expensive, and people turned to subtitling with regret.
Emerging nationalism
The 1930s were characterized by rising nationalism, although fortunately it was not everywhere as extreme as in Germany and Italy. It played a major role in the film industry because at this very time the sound film had made its appearance. Audiences wanted to hear their own language and demanded national songs. The universal language of silent film had been abandoned and everything had to give way to the compulsion of the microphone. This directed the image, so to speak, and the films became much more static in the early period. There were no small portable transmitter microphones yet. Spoken language and song dominated almost every film.
In the Netherlands, the conversion of cinemas to sound equipment began on a large scale in 1929. (17) Yet people had to wait until 1934 for the first Dutch full-length sound film. This film about the life of William of Orange was such a disaster that the press proclaimed its maker, G.J. Teunissen, the second Balthasar Gerards. A second film released the same year, De Jantjes, met with more approval. The screenplay had been written in response to a folk play set in the Jordaan. This was the chance to hear Heintje Davids, Louis Davids, Fien de la Mar, etc. sing folk songs in their own language. The enthusiasm of the audience must have been motivated more by the Dutch language than by admiration for the artistic level of this film. Several dozen other feature films followed in the 1930s, unfortunately rarely with better results.
In addition to the Jordaan films, the Netherlands was now developing its own clog and mill films. But where was the national feature film industry? Because the Netherlands hardly had a tradition in feature film, producers did not dare to provide compatriots with a commission, especially after Teunissen’s debacle. They chose to recruit fugitive German professionals, often these were Jews. (18) The very highly qualified documentary and avant-garde filmmakers who came from the circles of the Filmliga watched this with dismay. (19) The best-known of these filmmakers, who had a leftist signature – Joris Ivens and John Fernhout – had gone abroad so it remains only conjecture whether they would have been given opportunities.
It was especially sour for Gerard Rutten as he was one of the few who had made a Dutch film of high quality: Dood Water (1934). This film gained international acclaim because it had received a high award at the Venice Biennale; the fascist color of this award eluded many at the time. It was a film that, because of its theme – the resistance of the fishing population to the closing of the Zuiderzee – clearly had “popular” elements in it. It is no wonder that Hitler was enthusiastic about this film and that Goebbels invited Rutten to come to Berlin to film.
December 10, 1953
The latter was now faced with a terrible dilemma, since the commission for a national film to mark the queen’s fortieth anniversary had again gone to a foreigner, now a Frenchman. Rutten wrote about this in his autobiography:
“What had eventually led to my coming to Berlin and signing the directing contract at UFA (20) was the anger over the refusal to let me make the anniversary film. And the subsequent failed attempts to be able to produce a film in my own country. While several foreign directors were filming in Holland, I sat unemployed. Against the presence and work of those foreigners I could not and would not protest because they were directors who had been expelled by the Nazis, because of being Jews. They were forcibly present here and it was understandable that they seized every opportunity to work and earn money offered to them. I had used every motivation to make myself believe that I could take that UFA contract. And besides, I had made it clear to the gentlemen of the UFA that I did not wish to be involved in Nazi-like films.” (21)
Rutten spent some time in Berlin and met Hitler and Goebbels personally, but the atmosphere there was such that he returned to the Netherlands without having shot a film.
However, the flame was lit when in 1937 the commission for a KLM film threatened to go to a foreigner, even though the documentary film was the national pride. The press got deeply involved in this affair and openly took sides against the foreigners. Even the moderate film critic Jordaan now raised his voice in The Hague Post of February 6, 1937:
“That one caught up with the foreigners with a “”Welcome stranger””, when one needed them, no one will disdain. That one did not also call out “‘Welcome compatriot,’ when the time came for it, appears to be a mistake, which had to be avenged inexorably.”
Opposition to foreign directors, cameramen, cutters, etc. grew in the 1930s. However, no one made it as bad as the disappointed Teunissen. Through actions within the “Vakvereniging van Film-kunstenaars” (22) he had managed, in cooperation with others, to ensure that, in addition to foreigners, at least one Dutchman had to be appointed.
Teunissen was thus still able to work, but the resentment over his misunderstanding was so great that he chose the wrong side. Prompted in part by his National Socialist second wife Catharina Teunissen-Van Wageninge, he developed a clear anti-Semitism. When Catharina died in 1942, one could read in her obituary, “Her life was stake in the Germanic struggle.” (23)
During World War II, Teunissen seized his opportunities; he became the leader of the Dutch Film Guild and in that capacity wrote a publication in which one can read, among other things:
“Much has changed since David van Staveren, the Jewish friend of the Jewish leadership of the former BioscoopBond practically controlled the film censorship of the entire country, and could almost supremely determine what our Germanic people were allowed to see in terms of films according to the council decisions of Jewish film magnates.” (24)
Teunissen’s most terrible contribution to the Nazi regime, however, was his re-editing of Hippler’s anti-Semitic film “Der ewige Jude” (1940).
For this film, which came out here as “The Eternal Jew,” he even versed his -made in better years- short film “Shabbos” (1932). This film he made with To Spier gave a very honest picture of the Jewish neighborhood in Amsterdam on the eve of the Sabbath. Fueled by his later hatred of Jews, these images acquired anti-Semitic overtones when reassembled. Several Dutch people followed Teunissen in this attitude but one later hid behind the “Nazi monster” Teunissen.
The conclusion must be that the silent period of film was very internationally oriented, while the early sound film was able to pull out the nationalist stops. Whether these films really emerged from their own culture can be questioned as far as Dutch film is concerned. It will be left open here what this “own culture” should entail. Closer examination of other European language areas raises the same questions. Even German “Aryan” film had to make use of “folk elements” such as the Swedish collaborator Zarah Leander. The co-productions, on which, for example, French and Germans worked together until the end of World War II, can hardly be considered part of the national “heritage” of either country.
After World War II
Even after World War II, many new trends appeared to come from Europe. The Italian Neo-Realists (25) developed a language for the sound film with which it first came of age. Now, however, American film also appeared willing to participate in occasional experiments; Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941) ushered in a new era.
The main character Kane dies at the beginning of the film and in a number of flash-backs one gets to see his life. The difference with earlier films, however, is that instead of developing a life, which forms one unit, one has to glue together totally different views of the character to form one’s own picture.
Such an experiment is more the exception than the rule in the United States. Still altiid people cling to the American Dream, the banks that hold a monopoly position within the film industry in this country want a safe investment. Especially the period of the Cold War enabled a witch hunt against those who thought differently from the majority. Again, European and American cinema drifted far apart, but in the Old World they managed to make grateful use of the innovations of the few experimenting American directors.
Increasingly, it appeared that people in Europe had abandoned the old narrative structure in which a history develops from beginning to end. (26) Reality was questioned in all sorts of countries. True, the reality of an Antonioni is a different one from that of Bergman, but neither can be imagined without the modernist developments in film. It seems as if each fills in his own realism. Yet in Europe one can still recognize movements by country such as the Nouvelle Vague (27) in France and the Neue Welle (28) in Germany, but Godard and Truffaut are as far apart as Fassbinder and Herzog.
Hollywood initially seemed to battle television by playing it safe. With exceptions, one often saw a great uniformity. In the 1970s, they discovered the success of some free productions and then often played recklessly with young talents in hopes of a blockbuster. Europeans such as Varda and Antonioni received fairly free commissions in Hollywood as the companies became uncertain about the future. Making money was still paramount. How this was to be done became unclear.
However, most of the Hollywood production remained in the hands of the television stations that tailored their series to cheap success. In addition, the “series-movie” seemed like a good formula; after a large audience turnout, films such as Rocky and Rambo got sequels.
Entertainment is popular and is therefore paramount for Americans; artistry attracts a smaller audience and is therefore in second place. Many fear that television will destroy cinema.
After 1992
The question of whether there is still room for national productions after 1992 can evoke nostalgic and negative reactions. For example, one might ask, where is the Dutch film? A historical retrospect, however, makes it clear that it hardly existed until about 1930. In contrast, the struggle for a national film in the 1930s shows a rather unfashionable picture of nationalist skirmishes. An upward trend develops after World War II, but the result is that recently Dutch film has actually begun to develop more internationally. Directors and actors disappear abroad and are given new opportunities there. Before anything else, film has a visual language and why should this not be allowed to dominate over the national language? The new medium of film can reach across borders, bringing understanding between peoples in a shrinking world.
The great danger for film lies not in the fact that certain languages are in danger of being less exposed, but in the misapplication of the medium. As long as integer filmmakers can capture their visual dreams and realities on film or video or however they can, as painters have done for centuries, film has a future. The artist then “articulates” his world of ideas and enters into discussion with his audience. An audience that is less and less attuned to the written word but more and more to the image.
Television exploits this too eagerly with all kinds of popular superficial series. The largest possible audience should be able to identify with a piece of melodrama. People have even figured out for the audience how long they can keep their attention on one story. The commercial channels now only show new programs of about fifty minutes, and feature films are frequently interrupted by advertisements. Viewers are taught that they should be given short stimuli and have breaks before going to the beer crate and the bag of refreshments. Television seems to program us for cheap entertainment and perhaps deprive us of our critical faculties.
This could be opposed by a United Europe. We have enough authentic talents, which may not always come into their own because of the small cultural areas. A European film could give an impetus to a more critical, a more stimulating film. We already cross our borders in many fields, why not in the field of this still young muse? It is precisely in visual language that the identity of each individual country and director can penetrate and enter into a dialogue with other cultures. Even in painting, centuries of interaction appear to have led to new fascinating results. Now the floor belongs to an art that – certainly because of television – reaches a larger audience than any other art in the past. When the public kriigt the odds it will convert to the good movie. It will then even go so far as to desire the original spoken language instead of dubbing.
Not surprisingly, the BBC abandoned this and voices in Germany are calling for subtitling as well. The year 1992 may mark a breakthrough for good film in every living room. It is more than a national film can offer.
Notes Nico ] Brederoo
- C.W.Ceram, Archeology of the Cinema, London 1968.
- Paul Hammond, Marvellous Méliès, London 1974.
- This material is well studied on two videotapes: Early Cinema, Primitives and Pioneers, Parts I and II. Published by the British Film Institute, London.
- U.Gregor and E.Patalas, Geschichte des Films, Munich 1973.
- Program Booklet, Cinema-Musica, French Silent Film with Live Original Music, by the Netherlands Theatre Orchestra, z.p.,z.).
- Pierte Leprohon, The Italian Cinema, London 1972.
- Nico J.Brederoo, “Of cruel Emperors and pious Christians,” in: Lampas, jrg. 21, no.3, p. 290ff.
- Much information about the beginnings of Hollywood can be found in the English series Holly-wood, broadcast by Super Channel, March 1990.
- Iris Barry, D.W.Griffith, American Film Master, New York 1940.
- Excerpts from this film can be found in the series: The Ämazing Years of Early Cine-ma, which is rented by The Hague Public Reading Room.
- An abridged version of this film was broadcast by Filmnet in 1990.
- Cat. Film and Visual Art, 1900-1930, Centraal Museum, Utrecht 1979.
- L.H.Eisner, The haunted Screen, London 1969 N.Brederoo, “Architecture in Expressionist Cinema,” in: Oasis, no.18.
- N.J.Brederoo and C.Thunnissen, “Constructivism,” in: Film and Visual Art.
- Herbert Birett, Stummfilm-Musik, Deutsche Kinemathek, Berlin 1970.Roy M. Prendergast, Film Music, a neglected Art, New York 1977.
- For this, see the American documentary Hooray for Hollywood, broadcast by VPRO.
- K.Dibbets and F.van der Maden, The History of the Dutch Fim and Cinema up to 1940, Weesp 1986.
- Kathinka Dittrich, Der Niederländische Spielfilm der Dreisziger Jahre und die Deut-sche Filmemigration, Amsterdam 1981.
- N.J.Brederoo, “The Influence of the Filmliga,” in: The History of Dutch Film and Cinema, p. 183ff.
- The UFA was the major German film production company.
- Gerard Rutten, My Paper Camera, Bussum, 1976, p. 108
- Article N.J.Brederoo to appear in February 1992 at Rome.
- Thomas Leeflang, The Cinema at War, Amsterdam 1990.
- Jan Teunissen, Film and Filmwezen in the Netherlands, The Hague 1942, p. 28.
- R.Eekhof and H.Kroon (ed.], Neorealism: Myth or Reality, Amsterdam 1980.
- R.Armes, The Ambiguous Image, London 1976.
- J.Monaco, The New Wave, New York 1976.
- J.Franklin, New German Cinema, London 1986.