Authenticity and mixed programs for early nonfiction films

Why show these works together? The opening gives us several familiar answers: they might share an artist, a theme, or a historical period. An exhibition of Rembrandt's paintings makes sense because the works have a creator in common. We aren't just putting random paintings in a room.

A film retrospective follows the same general idea. Picture a program of Martin Scorsese movies or films starring the same actor. The selections belong together for an identifiable reason. Early nonfiction films have recently received this sort of attention, too. So far, the author has described a familiar way of organizing an exhibition, not objected to every instance of it.

The turn comes with “But I would argue.” Grouping similar early films can be the wrong way to show them because early audiences didn't watch them that way. A program that seems logical to a modern organizer may change the experience the films were made to provide.

Think of a series of short nonfiction films showing Civil War battlefields. One might be interesting in a varied program. After a long sequence of similar fields, a viewer might think, “Another one?” That's an illustration of the author's concern, not a claim about the actual subjects of these films. Collecting similar works can help someone studying them while making the viewing experience dull.

The historical program supplies the alternative. Most films in the early 1910s lasted less than fifteen minutes, and early audiences generally watched a mixture: drama, comedy, travel, news. Nonfiction films usually supported the program rather than serving as the main attraction. Don't picture today's familiar trip to watch one long feature. Picture several different short films sharing a sitting, with changes of subject and mood between them.

That context matters to how a film works. A nonfiction film appearing between other kinds of entertainment might stand out. A string of similar nonfiction films might instead make its qualities harder to appreciate. The objection is therefore more specific than “old methods are always better.” These films originally functioned within a mixed program, and removing that program can remove part of their effect.

The final paragraph separates two kinds of authenticity. Archives devote enormous effort to restoring a film to the version originally produced. The author doesn't say that work is impossible or pointless. The complaint is that the exhibition can still be inauthentic. Restoring the film itself doesn't restore the sequence of other films that once surrounded it.

That's why the author describes the old program as giving films “life and context.” The works could shine individually while balancing and reacting against one another. If we care enough to recover an original version, we should also care about how it is shown.

The ending asks film lovers not to abandon that programming insight. The possible connection to vaudeville helps locate the tradition; it isn't a separate argument about the artistic quality of vaudeville. Our main-point prediction should focus on the author's objection to all-similar screenings of early nonfiction films: they neglect the original mixed setting and can undermine the experience that setting made possible.