A Passion for Films

I recently finished reading Richard Roud's A Passion for Films: Henry Langlois and the Cinematheque Francaise and Jacques Richards' Henri Langlois: Phantom of the Cinematheque
is also on the my Netlfix queue. Although I'm not prepared to join the cult of Langlois, just yet, I am astonished by the sheer voluminousness of the Cinematheque's screening schedule. In the 1950s, the Cinematheque showed three films a night (at 6:30, 8:30 and 10:30) almost every night of the year. When the Cinematheque added a new auditorium at the Palais de Chaillot in 1963, Langlois found himself with two theaters to fill and rather than split the programming between them, he played three films a night in the Palais as well meaning Parisians had a choice of six revival films a day, over 1,000 films a year (give or take repeat screenings). It's a staggering figure, especially looking back from the age of the flat panel TV and high definition DVD when a traditional cinematheque is doing heroic work if it shows 1 film a night! As I become more intimately familiar myself with the logistics and economics of programming at a cinematheque, even in a center of movie culture like Los Angeles, Langlois' achievement becomes all the more remarkable. Those were, of course, different times.

The Cinematheque Francaise was the theatrical equivalent of a one man Netflix queue that could be viewed by an entire city. The sheer number of films that Langlois threw up on screen is made all the more impressive by the fact that more often than not, the schedule of films was announced each week and more often than not, the announced film was not the film that ended up being shown. These days, revival houses have to be careful to lock programs months in advance and start advertising them well before the first screening. It's the only way to ensure that at least a minimum number of people will remember to make the time to actually leave their homes to see this or that film -- whether it's old or new.

There are obviously a lot of reasons why this is so. Langlois ran the Cinematheque on a shoe string but as near as I can, he didn't have to worry much about paying rentals or licensing fees to copyright holders on the films in its collection. Roud doesn't get into the specifics of the arrangements that Langlois had with studios and collectors. So even if, as was mostly likely the case, a lot of the Cinematheque's films screened to small audiences, low turnout didn't have a huge impact on the Cinematheque's bottom line. These days, that would simply be impossible. Studios and archives simply won't release prints without paid licenses and/or rentals. Given the costs and challenges of distributing a lot of contemporary cinema in traditional theaters (so much for the megaplex boon to indie and foreign films!), some smaller distributors are starting to charge cash-strapped cinematheques much higher rentals to screen new works. As much as most cinematheques have struggled to set themselves apart from the marketplace, the marketplace has come calling nevertheless looking for its cut.

Of course, the main reason why Langlois could screen as many movies as he screened was because there was simply no other way for people to see them at the time. He had a guaranteed, even if small, audience for every film. This was true even after the advent of television, which remained a poor substitute for the theatrical experience for decades. I believe it still is, despite all the latest advances in home theater technology and the almost paralyzing accessibility of so much classic and international cinema available on DVD. The real problem is that the accessibility of films on DVD actually reduces the chances you are ever going to see it on the big screen, the way it was originally intended to be seen.

While we hardcore cinephiles might like to distance ourselves from the "vulgarities" of contemporary, mainstream culture, in taking an elitist stance, for instance, towards those who still prefer "full screen" DVD versions to "widescreen" presentations, the bottom line is that we have still opted for convenience over experience. I don't want to open an endless debate about what actually constitutes an "authentic experience" of a film, but it should go without saying that even the best home theater experience of Murnau's Sunrise is still only a shadow of the experience of seeing it on the big screen on, oh joy of joys, a nitrate print! I think programmers and cinematheques need to remind their audiences that whether they are coming to see an old or a new film, they are also coming to share an experience that is rapidly fading. And by that, I don't only mean seeing a film on the big screen, I mean seeing a film on the big screen with an audience that really gives a shit about movies, with an audience that less likely to pull out their iphone and start scrolling through their calendar items in the middle of a film, which recently happened near me at screenings of both Let There Be Blood There Will Be Blood [I don't know why I keep screwing this title up] and The Savages, arguably two of the best films of the year. It was encouraging to see that the latest Los Angeles programming institution, Cinefamily, made the act of actually going to a movie, central to its philosophy:

The Cinefamily’s goal is to foster a spirit of community and a sense of discovery, while reinvigorating the movie-going experience.

I hope anyone who attends an Archive screening at the Billy Wilder Theater comes away with the same feeling. Certainly, that's what we aim to do as well.

Before ending this rant, I should be clear that I'm still all for making masterpieces old and new available on deserved DVD editions. I would only add that we should also start calling again for these films to return to the big screen as well -- and then actually show up when they do!