The following essay is from the recently published exhibition catalogue Snapshot: Painters and Photography, Bonnard to Vuillard. The book is published by Yale University Press, in association with the Phillips Collection, the Van Gogh Museum, and the Indianapolis Museum of Art. The catalogue is edited by curator Elizabeth Easton with contributions from leading scholars, including George Eastman House Curator of Technology Todd Gustavson. His entry, Innovative Devices: George Eastman and the Handheld Camera is excerpted below. Reproduced by permission. 

In the digital age, making photographic images is so very simple—requiring about the same effort as throwing a light switch—that we do so almost without thinking about it. It’s easy to take for granted a process that seems to involve nothing more than pressing the button and instantaneously viewing the picture. But photography has not always been a simple practice. For nearly a half century after its invention, the medium was almost exclusively the domain of professionals. Not until the 1880s, when George Eastman’s Kodak camera and other instruments intended for the consumer-photography market set the cornerstones of amateur snapshot photography, did the camera begin to become a ubiquitous device.

The photographic process, announced in 1839 by the Frenchman Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre, captured and fixed the images that were viewed through a camera obscura. This was accomplished through a combination of mechanics (the camera), optics (to improve the image), and chemistry (to sensitize and process the image). Over the next forty years, improvements made to all aspects of the process—cameras, shutters, lenses, and chemistry—led to cheaper and simpler image-making, generating a growing interest for the nonprofessional photographer.

The technicalities of early photography required the photographer, first, to sensitize the media and then to process the image immediately after exposure. Although this system was fine for the professional, it was generally too cumbersome and time-consuming for most amateurs. On April 13, 1880, George Eastman, of Rochester, New York, was issued U.S. Patent No. 226,503 for his machine to coat gelatin dry plates. The following January, with the financial backing of Rochester businessman Henry Strong, he formed the Eastman Dry Plate Company, becoming one of the first commercial producers of light-sensitive photographic emulsions. With reliable plates now available, companies worldwide began manufacturing cameras designed specifically to use them.

Although they were convenient, dry plates had several drawbacks: they were both fragile and heavy to transport. Lightweight, flexible support for photographic emulsion had been investigated starting in the mid-1860s, but without much success. George Eastman aimed his emulsion-making skills at this target and, late in 1884, introduced Eastman’s American Film, which used Rives paper—both flexible and lightweight—as support for its emulsion. Yet because this material was not transparent, during processing the images had to be stripped from the paper support, adhered temporarily to glass for printing, and finally, stored on a “skin” made of a semitransparent plastic. To complement his American Film, Eastman and a partner, William H. Walker (a pioneer builder of cameras with standardized parts), designed and patented the Eastman-Walker Roll Holder, which attached to most existing cameras to allow the use of roll film. To reflect its new product line, the firm changed its name to the Eastman Dry Plate and Film Company. Around this time, Eastman built an emulsions-manufacturing plant in London to avoid spoilage problems he had experienced a few years earlier with film that had been shipped across the Atlantic. From early on, he planned to produce and sell his products worldwide; the London plant was the first of many to be located in major European cities.

All things considered, Eastman clearly needed a new product.  Introduced to the public in the September 15, 1888, issue of Scientific American, the Kodak was Eastman’s first successful amateur camera.

These earliest Kodaks and the models developed over the next decade or so represent the beginning of snapshot photography. The snapshot, a term borrowed from hunting, is one taken quickly and without careful aim. Amateur photographers of the time met with derision for this type of shooting; nevertheless, the snapshot meant lots of exposed film and big business for photographic suppliers. Soon, the many new products made for the amateur market eclipsed those made for the professional, revolutionizing the industry. In 1892, to better connect the success of its cameras to their manufacturer, the Rochester firm changed its name to the Eastman Kodak Company.

The handheld camera loaded with roll film was a collector of moments, facilitating the preservation of visual impressions. Many artists frequently used the camera as a sketchbook, a tool for quickly transcribing a likeness that could later be “developed” into a more finished work. They were drawn to its potential for capturing the fast-paced, ever-changing nature of modern life and culture. An early “mobile device,” the handheld camera advanced a fresh way of seeing based on a new way of measuring time. Although the snapshot was not exactly an instantaneously produced image, it represented shorter pieces of time than previous photographic technology had allowed. And the camera’s waist-level perspective—differing greatly from that of the human eye—is readily apparent in many works of art. Frequently, the results were unconventional images that reflected the poet Charles Baudelaire’s influential characterization of modernity as “the transitory, the fugitive, the contingent.”

Snapshot: Painters and Photography, Bonnard to Vuillard exhibition opens tomorrow at The Philips Collection in Washington D.C.

For many in attendance, the highlight of last year’s Cannes Film Festival wasn’t Terrence Malick’s grand and ambitious The Tree of Life, but Aki Kaurismäki’s low-key, unassuming Le Havre. Inarguably Finland’s best-known filmmaker — his only close competition is his brother, Mika — Kaurismäki belongs to an elite group of directors able to combine a distinct cinematic vision with a deep, humanist generosity toward their characters. Think Renoir, Ozu, or Keaton, three of the director’s influences: like Renoir, Kaurismäki’s concern for the people who populate his films is rooted in a keen awareness of class; like Ozu, he delights in static compositions splashed with primary colors; and like Keaton, his heroes are stoic and his humor deadpan. As Roger Ebert has noted, Kaurismäki “has created a world all his own, and you can recognize it from almost every shot.”

Scene from LE HAVRE, 2011.

That’s particularly true of his latest effort, a wry comedy that finds a Tatiesque community in the port city of Le Havre, France, sheltering a young Gabonese immigrant from the authorities as they try to reunite him with his mother. Even though it deals with a serious issue, the film is relentlessly funny and optimistic, a fable for our times that delights in the power of working-class solidarity and basic human kindness. It’s also gorgeous: a sworn devotee of 35mm, Kaurismäki uses the run-down, seaside beauty of the location to its full advantage, creating frames full of aquatic blues and greens and reminding us that, in his words, “film is light, digital is electricity.” We’re very excited to be hosting an exclusive three-day run of this wonderful film, and to celebrate, we’ll also be screening three other Kaurismäki classics: the Oscar®-nominated The Man Without a Past (Jan. 17), the blackly comic The Match Factory Girl (Jan. 24), and the unique literary “adaptation” La Vie de Bohème (Jan. 31) — one of whose characters returns as the protagonist of Le Havre!

Our thanks to George Eastman House member Richard C. Reid for sharing his memories from our magical evening with Peter Ostrum:

 As part of its Visiting Artist series on Saturday, November 26, 2011, George Eastman House International Museum of Photography and Film presented the enchanting 1971 fantasy film, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  A capacity crowd of appreciative adults and children crowded the Dryden Theatre for the showing that marked the 40^th anniversary year of its release. As a special treat, even better than a Willy Wonka Candy Bar, they also got to meet and hear Peter Ostrum who played Charlie Bucket, one of the five children who had found the golden ticket inside a Wonka Bar that won them a tour of the magical candy factory by its mystical owner, Willy Wonka (so memorably portrayed by Gene Wilder).

At 7 p.m. Ms. Dresden Engle, Public Relations Manager for the Eastman House, introduced Peter— now Dr. Peter Ostrum, a large animal veterinarian practicing in upstate New York. The genial, thickly-mustached, unassuming 52-year old appeared greatly touched by the waves of loud applause and cheers that immediately filled the hall.

In his introductory remarks prefacing the film, Peter observed that on its initial release, the movie was not a hit at the box office and received lukewarm reviews from the critics. An adaptation of the Roald Dahl children’s book, the picture essentially existed, Ostrum stated, to sell candy for the Quaker Oats Company which was the primary backer of the production.  Over time, however, audiences found the film through its video releases and took it to heart.

He then joined his wife and family in the audience for the viewing, his first one in many years, he  noted.  As the opening credits rolled and the words, “Introducing Peter Ostrum as Charlie,” flashed across the screen, the audience again broke into wild applause.  It was thrilling to hear them as they joined the characters in song as the film progressed. Clearly, for many viewers present, this was a film for which they held not only high respect but much love.

In the hour-long Question and Answer session that followed as the guest of honor and Ms. Engle occupied chairs on the stage, a pole of candy bars between them, Dr. Ostrum shared his memories of the film’s production.  It was largely a matter of being “at the right place at the right time,” he said of securing the leading child’s role. He was then a twelve-year old member of the Children’s Theater at the Cleveland Playhouse when his name was recommended to the film’s casting director. Since no script was available at that point, Peter read aloud from Dahl’s book as a few Polaroids were snapped. Weeks went by before he was one of a handful called in for a screen test.  Despite never being told he had actually won the part, he shared,  he was advised to have a passport and be ready in case he was called since he might have at best ten days’ notice (which was the case).

He flew to Munich in August 1970 where filming was done over the next five months. He was initially accompanied by his father whom, he noted, had been “a guest” of the Germans in the last war. His mother later replaced his father for the bulk of the time there. The first scenes he filmed were those seen in the beginning of the picture as he runs about town delivering newspapers, planned as a way to gently ease Peter into the whole process.  Of Mel Stuart, the movie’s director, Peter said he was “not the easiest person to work with,” adding that Mel would be the first to acknowledge this. He remembers Stuart generally knew what he didn’t want in the movie but had trouble communicating what he did want.  Roald Dahl, who had been contracted to do the screenplay, had sufficient difficulties with the director in translating from page to screen, to drop out of the project early, Ostrum added.

“Each day was a different surprise,” he said of the filming. His favorite scene? It was the dance sequence with Jack Albertson who played Grandfather Joe who accompanies Charlie to Wonka’s factory. The veteran actor of vaudeville, burlesque, Broadway, television and films, proved to be “a mentor” to Peter and they kept up a friendly relationship in the years that followed until his passing at age 74 in 1981. Peter’s least favorite scene involved the Wonkamobile when it was sprayed with flame-retardant foam again and again in the usual multiple takes made of any scene.

He found it easy to work with Gene Wilder  who, Peter observed, essentially had been given free rein by director Stuart to develop the Wonka character that we see in the film. Peter was especially grateful for the advance warning that Gene gave him prior to shooting the sequence towards the end of the film when Wonka screams at him at length for violating the terms of the contract he had signed.  Yet even with that heads up, it was tough scene on both of them because Gene hated having to be so mean to him.

At the director’s insistence, Peter and the other children were kept away from the sets as much as possible so that when scenes were filmed, their reactions to the strange rooms in the Wonka factory would be more wondrously genuine. In his case, however, Peter admitted to some peeking on occasions since he was there much longer than the other children.  What did take him and the other child actors by surprise was the sight of the Oompa Loopas, the factory’s workers, portrayed by  a team of little people actors aged from their 20s to 60s.

As for the impact on his life that making this one movie has had, it seems to have been reasonably good. He related a charming anecdote about nervously first telling his future wife about it while they were rowing on a lake (and prior to her meeting his parents whom he thought might tell her about the film before he could).  Concerned for her reaction, he instead was taken aback when she admitted she had never seen the movie. Once she had, she again surprised him by saying she never realized how big a part he actually had in the film.

Nowadays, Peter occasionally visits some schools doing live productions of the story to talk about the film and his role in it. He credits an Internet fan of the film as being most responsible for getting the surviving cast back together for a reunion in the 1990s, and they still keep in touch as a result.  As for the Johnny Depp remake in 2005, Peter said he liked it, adding that he was particularly grateful that it reinvigorated interest in the original film.  Interestingly, he admitted that, “I didn’t truly appreciate the film until I had children of my own.”

When filming was over, Ostrum stated he was offered a three-picture contract, but as no particular projects were discussed, and as he wanted to get back to “seventh grade and soccer”, he declined. Although a few years later he did take some tentative steps to get back into the business, ultimately, Wonka proved to be his only movie.  But Peter was clear about it: he had no regrets. “If I could only make one film, then I made a good one,” he said proudly.  By their quick and sustained applause, he knew the audience agreed that he had, too.

There are 15 films being presented by Turner Classic Movies on Wednesday, December 14. All of them come from the archives of the George Eastman House— a result of decades of acquisition, conservation and preservation. For this blog entry,  I am highlighting the ‘30s films being shown that day.

PAYMENT DEFERRED (1932)

PAYMENT DEFERRED (1932) is one of my personal favorites in the TCM lineup. I consider it a proto-noir, in that the protagonist (the fabulous Charles Laughton) experiences the same type of dilemma, decision and destruction that characters such as Walter Neff of DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944) and Christopher Cross of SCARLET STREET (1945) endured in the golden age of noir. The plot follows Laughton, a bank clerk, as he struggles to keep his family financially afloat. He has news about an impending shift in the money markets but has no capital to take advantage of it. A long-lost nephew (an early appearance by Ray Milland) shows up on his doorstep but has no interest in Laughton’s proposal. Before Milland leaves, Laughton plans and executes a cold-blooded murder, stealing Milland’s money and burying him in the back yard. Laughton makes a killing on his investment, but is haunted by the body in the garden. It has little of the stylistic effects that are the hallmarks of the noir look, but the themes are the same and Laughton’s performance is grand. Like many of the MGM films we have here, the originals came to us early in our professional life. A nitrate picture negative and a nitrate track negative were received in 1967 and our print was taken directly from these in the 1970s, as was a new Fine Grain Master. Airs at 6:15 pm.

In 2007 Fox produced the mammoth and impressive “Ford at Fox” DVD Box Set, boasting 24 of the director’s films in one beautiful package. One of the films in the set, THE WORLD MOVES ON (1934), came directly from our material. We received a nitrate positive from Fox in 1972 and performed our own preservation in 1989, creating new pic and track negs and a new print. For the new preservation, Fox decided to use the old track neg, but went back to the nitrate to create a new pic neg and, with those elements, a new print. The story starts in 1825 New Orleans and follows the lives and loves of the Girard family over several generations, through the first World War and the stock market collapse to the present day. The cast is led by Madeleine Carroll, Franchot Tone and Reginald Denny. Airs at 2:45 am.

The shortest film featured is a 1937 documentary entitled THE SPANISH EARTH and directed by Joris Ivens, a well-known Dutch director that was deeply influenced by Russian greats Eisenstein and Pudovkin. The company that sponsored this film, Contemporary Historians, was formed by group of American writers and intellectuals, including Ernest Hemingway, Lillian Hellman, John Dos Passos, Dorothy Parker and Archibald MacLeish. The film follows loyalist forces and the land-working people of Spain as they struggle to survive the onslaught of Franco’s army, and as released was narrated by Ernest Hemingway. Our print was a pre-release positive that still retained the narration by a 21-year-old Orson Welles. We got our original material, a nitrate positive print, back in 1958, and performed a standard preservation, creating new pic and track negs and a new print in 1985. Airs at 9:00 am

We’ve covered nearly 20 years of film history, from an early feature released in 1918 to a documentary released solidly within the sound era. The last four films will take us all the way into the mid-‘60s, rounding out a fascinating slate of preserved wonders.

I’ve been taking a little time to write about all the films being broadcast on Turner Classic Movies ‘Tribute to George Eastman House  on December 14, and wanted to continue with the films that come from the very interesting period of transition from silent to sound, 1929-1931.

THE VALIANT (1929) was an Oscar-nominee for both its writing and the lead performance by Paul Muni. He would be nominated 5 more times, including I AM A FUGITIVE FROM A CHAIN GANG (1932) and THE LIFE OF EMILE ZOLA (1937), and won for THE STORY OF LOUIS PASTEUR (1936), but is likely still best-known as the original SCARFACE (1931). In this film he is an accidental murderer who gives himself up to authorities but refuses to reveal his name to keep from shaming his family. Our preservation of this title comes from a nitrate positive that came into the collection in 1972. The preservation was done in 1983, when we produced new picture and soundtrack negatives and a new print. Airs at 7:30 am.

THE TRESPASSER (1929)

One of our favorite silent stars is Gloria Swanson, and we are proud to have the film of her first speaking role in THE TRESPASSER (1929). In it, Gloria plays a lawyer’s stenographer who gives birth to a son after a short, annulled elopement. Her employer helps her out, which causes a scandal, suggesting that she is a “kept woman.” Swanson would work only rarely in the next 20 years, leading up to her magnificent star turn in 1950’s SUNSET BOULEVARD. The film was produced by Joseph Kennedy, with whom Swanson was having an affair. Kennedy had a short run in Hollywood, producing 10 films from 1926 to 1930. We had several elements of THE TRESPASSER to work with, including some elements that came from Swanson herself in 1967. We took the best of these elements in 2002 and created new sound and picture negatives and new prints. Airs at 10:00 am.

The next two films are early examples of the musical on film. THE LOTTERY BRIDE (1930) features operetta star Jeanette MacDonald in a bizarre musical melodrama which sees her enter a Norwegian marathon dance contest, help an Italian aviator escape from jail, be jailed herself, become a lottery bride, bought by her sweetheart but given to his brother, and finally lead a rescue party to save her sweetheart from a dirigible crash in the Arctic Circle in glorious two-color Technicolor. Two under-rated comedic actors give healthy support in the form of the romantic couple Joe E Brown and ZaSu Pitts. The George Eastman House cut of the film is longer than the version currently out on DVD and features the Technicolor ending, which is missing on the DVD. This preservation was completed thirty years ago, beginning with a nitrate positive, which created new negatives and a new print. Airs at 1:30 pm.

DELICIOUS (1931) is the first film that George and Ira Gershwin wrote music for. And they wrote it for the beautiful Janet Gaynor and her frequent co-star Charles Farrell (7^th HEAVEN, SUNNYSIDE UP, LUCKY STAR and 8 other films). They star as immigrants coming to America on the same ship from Europe. They find love, but are from different classes, which keeps them apart, but in America anything is possible and after several misunderstandings and two botched deportations, they are married. DELICIOUS was a 1999 preservation project that started with a Fine Grain Master, which produced the new negatives and a new print. Airs at 4:30 pm.

Are you excited yet? I know I am. But I still have 7 more films to tell you about! Next, I’ll tackle the decade of the 1930s and leave the rest for last.