1introduction
introduction affecting a knowledge of antiques
Images don't move on their own. They have to be made to move ­ or appear to
move ­ by technology, invented and developed by human beings with the purpose
of tricking the human brain into thinking that it sees a continuously moving two-di-
mensional (or in some cases, three-dimensional) picture. No technology = no move-
ment. The technology in question has two components: the images themselves
and the processes by which they are made to appear to move. With one or two
small-scale exceptions, such as stop-motion animation, the overwhelming majority
of human activity in this area has used photographic images as the raw material for
movies; probably because for most people photos are the most realistic-looking form
of graphical illustration. They are understood to represent `real life' in a way which no
other medium can, hence the phrase `the camera cannot lie'. Actually it can lie. It has
done so throughout its history and with a vengeance, from the days when Stalin's
spin doctors airbrushed out the latest functionary to be declared persona non grata topersona non grata topersona non grata
the digital era of the 1990s, when the verb `Photoshop' evolved into an euphemism
meaning to digitally manipulate a photographically-originated image to make it repre-
sent something it was never intended to.
But that's beside the point. The popular association of photography with realism
­ it is usually understood to be a medium rather than an art form ­ made photographs
the raw material of choice for the scientists and engineers who wanted images to
move, and on an industrial scale. And so we arrive at the close of the nineteenth
century, at which point George Eastman, W. K. L. Dickson, the Lumires and many
others besides arrive on the scene, bringing with them film, printers, projectors,
large-scale financial investment, technical standards and all the other factors that
would result in moving images becoming a multi-million dollar industry in today's
money, within the space of around 15 years. The story of those 15 years and of the
95 or so which followed is the purpose of this book, but before embarking on it one
key issue and its widespread implications need to be acknowledged.
Because moving images are primarily a medium rather than an art form in them-
selves, the overwhelming bulk of critical attention, by which I mean everything from a
group of friends casually discussing a film they have just seen in the pub to academic
monographs which apply obscure sociological theory to analyse the representation
2 moving image technology
of characters in TV soap operas, tends to focus on the `artistic' use of that medium
as distinct from the aesthetic characteristics of the medium itself. Here is an exam-
ple. When I was a film archiving Master's student in the mid-1990s, we shared one
film history seminar with a group of film studies (i.e. whose programme was purelystudies (i.e. whose programme was purelystudies
academic and contained no significant technical or vocational element) students. In
one of these sessions the lecturer showed us an excerpt from a low-budget British
crime melodrama from the 1930s. In it a male detective interrogates his female
suspect while leaning over the chair in which the latter is sitting, appearing to shout
at her. The sequence is lit in such a way that the protagonist appears to cast a long,
menacing shadow over the subject of the interrogation. After stopping the video the
lecturer invited comments from his class as to why the scene had been shot and
staged as it had. His request immediately elicited an impassioned analysis from one
of my film studies colleagues. She was (and as far as I know, still is) an enthusiastic
advocate of `feminist film theory', a body of research which holds that economic con-
trol of the Hollywood film industry can be interpreted through the psychoanalysis as
proposed by Freud to encourage representations of women which are dominated by
nasty male desires, and therefore undesirable.1
Needless to say she had a field day
describing the domination metaphor as applied to the images she had just seen.
It eventually emerged that the reason for our hero towering over his petite mur-
der suspect was somewhat more pragmatic. The microphone recording the dialogue,
we were told, had been concealed in a vase of flowers behind the chair in which she
was sitting. Furthermore, being a primitive 1930s microphone, its sensitivity was lim-
ited, thereby requiring the detective to position his mouth as close as he could to it
(hence leaning over the occupied chair) and speaking as loudly as possible (hence the
menacing voice). In this instance an understanding of the electromagnetic properties
of microphone technology would have been rather more useful than the Freudian
claptrap which was inflicted on us that afternoon. Sometimes a candlestick really is
just a candlestick. In fact, this is quite a mild example of the ways in which humani-
ties and social sciences academics habitually misrepresent the role of engineering
and technology in our everyday lives and culture. An extreme one would be the ex-
periment carried out by the American physicist Alan Sokal. In 1996 he submitted an
essay to the editorial board of Social Text, a `cultural studies' journal which enjoyedSocial Text, a `cultural studies' journal which enjoyedSocial Text
an eminent reputation among academics in that field, which consisted of a satirical
parody.2
He was particularly concerned that humanities academics seemed to be
trying to find ways of disputing scientific phenomena which had been proven and
were demonstrable through empirical research and experiments, mainly for political
and ideological reasons. As Sokal wrote, `fair enough ­ anyone who believes that
the laws of physics are mere social conventions is invited to try transgressing those
conventions from the window of my twenty-first-floor flat'. Astonishingly Social Text
published the essay, and in doing so revealed the `self-perpetuating academic sub-
culture that ignores (or disdains) reasoned criticism from outside'.3
If evidence that such a subculture exists within the academic fields of research
which involve attempting to understand the role of moving images in society were
needed, the mere fact that those who argue for an informed understanding of the role
3introduction
of technology (rather than one which is skewed to fit a dubious ideological agenda)
should be central to this activity are habitually considered `outsiders' provides it. In
the introduction to what is beyond any reasonable doubt the standard history of film
technology, Barry Salt refers to the continuing resistance of the academic humanities
community to objective knowledge and empirical historiography in understanding
film technology and other things.4
To borrow a line from The Big Sleep, his allegation
is that they `affect a knowledge of antiques, but haven't any'.
Just how crucial that knowledge is to avoiding fundamental misunderstandings
can be summed up in the unique nature of moving images relative to virtually any
other cultural artefact one cares to mention. A spoken narrative can be replayed and
duplicated using human memory and word of mouth, music can be sung and stage
performances can take place in nothing more than an open space. In order to view
(analogue) still photographic images only the physical medium on which they are
recorded is necessary. Recorded moving images and sound, however, require tech-
nology in order to be perceived as such to the viewer or listener.
This book is not intended and certainly will not succeed in fundamentally chan-
ging the ways in which students and academics working in the humanities think
about and understand moving images. Rather, I am trying to offer an accessible and
coherent way in to what the state of the various arts involved was at any given time,
their opportunities, characteristics and limitations. To this end the book is divided into
eight chapters, which cover what I would argue are the key forms of technological
research and development which comprise the origination, manipulation, distribu-
tion, reproduction and preservation of moving images. Each chapter consists essen-
tially of a linear narrative explaining what happened, when and why, and the wider
impact of each development on other related technologies and their usage.
The use of technologically specific terminology, or `jargon' to put it brutally, is a
bullet which cannot avoid being bitten. In an attempt to minimise the extent to which
it could potentially obstruct the reader, two principles have been followed throughout
the book: the use of such terms sequentially, and the provision of a glossary for ref-
erence purposes. Whenever such a term is used for the first time in the main text,
the process or phenomenon it describes is explained in as close as possible to plain
English as I can make it. As an aide memoir an etymological explanation is also givenaide memoir an etymological explanation is also givenaide memoir
in the case of terms (a surprising number, given that moving image technology is
essentially a twentieth-century phenomenon) with Greek or Latin origins. Thereafter
the glossary should serve as a point of reference if needed, especially for readers
who are going directly to individual sections of the book rather than reading it as a
whole (by chapter eight the acronyms are flowing thick and fast!).
I hope, therefore, that this book will be able to function both as a quick refer-
ence point for readers seeking answers or explanations relating to specific technical
issues, and also as a broader narrative for readers looking for a historical overview
of the role of technology within the economic, industrial, political and cultural roles
of moving images.