Of movies and marvels

Remaking the precursor to modern cinema could also rekindle a sense of wonder in contemporary audiences.

Time to confess: When was the last time you thought that the latest Hollywood blockbuster was little more than a special effects bonanza interrupted by occasional bouts of plot development? Even the most ardent science fiction fans complain that the recent Star Wars prequels were empty spectacle, while other cinema goers wonder whether Peter Jackson’s King Kong remake required quite so many battles between prehistoric monsters and the hulking ape. Special effects in our digital age are so ubiquitous that there remains little ‘special’ about them at all, in the sense of the word that means extraordinary. But (hijacking another of Hollywood’s clichés, the preview voiceover): ‘In a time when audiences have grown weary of spectacle, one man holds the key to a forgotten treasure trove of wonders, and the power to remind people that marvels can be marvellous.’

That man is Professor Iain McCalman: historian, author, and passionate advocate for the contemporary relevance of the humanities. McCalman is using an Australian Research Council Federation Fellowship at the ANU Humanities Research Centre to research the life and works of a man that could inspire new enthusiasm for that place where history, science and art intersect.

If Philippe de Loutherbourg is remembered at all today, it is as an accomplished tableau painter from the latter 18th Century. But as McCalman will argue in a forthcoming book, de Loutherbourg created the precursor to cinema and virtual reality, and, in the process, formed the modern appetite for dazzlement in a dark theatre.

“De Loutherbourg is a strange conjunction of talents and careers,” McCalman says. “It’s almost impossible these days to reconnect these talents. He was trained in Strasbourg as an engineer and theologian. Then he became an artist, quickly acquiring fame, and was the youngest artist ever admitted into the French academy. He became very interested in illusion, and in getting people to feel that they were virtually part of a painting.

De Loutherbourg went further than adding a few bells and whistles to conventional theatre sets. In 1781, after years of labour, he opened his ‘Eidophusikon’: a purpose-built miniature theatre that combined elaborate sets, clever engineering, and environmental sounds to recreate dynamic scenes from history and nature, moving parts and all. That night, the first 130 people were transported to five different worlds, including the experiences of a mist slivering down the Thames at Greenwich, Gibraltar shimmering under a hot noon sun, and a ship imperilled on a stormy sea.

“They were completely dumbstruck. People raved about it,” McCalman says. “Although, once you start moving into the show world, you start to see there is a tremendous hunger for novelty. The difficult thing for him, though, was that the mechanical production of his movie scenes proved enormously time consuming. He didn’t have photography. They had to be built mechanically, using clockwork and magic lanterns, a labour that took many months. After the audience have seen all these scenes, they wanted to see new ones. That exhausted him, and that’s why he sold out eventually.”

But the Eidophuiskon was no flash in the pan. The original remained a hit for nine years until a special effects volcano burnt it down. Other versions were established around the world, even in Australia.

De Loutherbourg’s creation was superseded by a range of mechanical panoramas, which eventually became redundant once moving pictures flickered to life in the late 19th Century. Despite this, McCalman says that de Loutherbourg’s legacy was to pave the way for a new kind of theatre, and a new kind of audience.

“Part of the reason that it was difficult to create illusions before was that the audience was very rowdy and rambunctious. It was a participant’s sport.

De Loutherbourg created something like the modern theatre. It was a small space, beautifully decorated. The lights were turned out. There was music and sound effects. You went into a kind of illusion space, and I suppose watched much more passively in a way. It marks a major break in audience behaviour.”

But would modern audiences still find the Eidophusikon enchanting? McCalman set out to test this late last year, instigating a project to recreate the effects theatre on a small scale. Under the technical direction of Dr Darran Edmundson from the ANU Vizlab, a team of computer programmers and artisans worked at frenetic pace to create a scale model in just three months. The model mixed traditional mechanics with computer graphics to replicate one of the more impressive of De Loutherbourg’s scenes: the wreck of the Halsewell East Indiaman ship in 1786. But unlike the traditional effects theatre, the model also incorporated virtual reality goggles to give viewers a behind-the-scenes tour of its construction and history.

“It was a double whammy,” McCalman says. “On the one hand we’re showing them the illusion and the complex mechanics, but at the same time, we want to demonstrate as teachers and researchers how to make research fascinating.

“This is also important as a way of bridging the gap between science, technology and art. In the 18th Century there wasn’t that clear gap between the fields, where they’ve now become institutional and disciplinary distinctions. Things like movies
have a literary and cultural element, but are also
highly technical.”

McCalman is now in talks with major galleries and museums to create a full-scale Eidophusikon, which would also incorporate the virtual tour aspect. He says this will be a crucial part of the campaign to foster new interest in the arts, a case he often argued in his role as the President of the Australian Academy of the Humanities.

“I think the humanities in particular need to campaign to capture fresh audiences. The young live in a digital world now. If the humanities and arts remain locked in books, we’re heading for trouble.”

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ANU Reporter
Autumn 2006