INTRODUCTION

The cinematograph, which can be considered one of the main factors in the spiritual and intellectual evolution of humanity in the first quarter of the 20th century, was born as public spectacle, in Paris on December 28, 1895 and in New York on June 28, 1896, and developed quickly in all civilized countries throughout the world.

This visual language, the latest means of expression granted to humankind, very soon created a need for daily doses of sensations and dreams and transformed a growing number of spectators of all social classes, instilling in them a desire for things that had never been seen before, consoling and cheering them with visions of joy and wellbeing, or increasing their frustration over the material impossibility of immediately attaining the luxury and elegance shown onscreen. Cinema, being, together with sport, the most widespread form of recreation, should now be studied as one of the most important expressions of cultural and social life, for all that it has offered, both constructive and destructive. ***

In Italy, cinema began as a spectacle and a product, at a time when, in France and America, the period of expositions and bohemian adventure had already just about run its course. There were no figures such as Charles Pathé, Ferdinand Zecca or Adolph Zukor in our prehistory.

The first Italians to engage with cinema were modest, practical men who foresaw its commercial potential and established public screening rooms and then factories to produce film, overcoming numerous technical difficulties and achieving both excellent results and immediate success. For many years, critics and historians of cinema in Italy and abroad have under-valued or downplayed our silent cinema, but it is foolish to claim it was not “art” when it was only after 1920 – that is, after a period of “settlement” (1911-1920) following the “conquest” of a faithful public (1900-1910) – that cinema could be differentiated aesthetically into pure cinema (poetic works created by strictly visual means) and cinema as spectacle (drama narrated by means of images) and established itself theoretically as an art form thanks primarily to French culture and the Italian figure of Ricciotto Canudo, creating of films of great value. (1)

The List of Silent Films Produced in Italy from 1904 to 1931, which could, in an old-fashioned manner, be called a “Corpus filmorum italicorum”, is depressing to us, like a list of precious manuscripts or rare drawings that have been lost or destroyed, a sentiment that is corroborated by the indisputable and constant success of our films, which conquered international markets sight unseen, dominating throughout the world, and it proves to us that Italian production, for a long time, was important in terms of quality. (2) This period includes the years we have referred to as those of “settlement”, from about 1911 to 1920, commonly called “the golden age of Italian cinema”, not only for the foreign gold that reached Italy thanks to the export of our films, but for the golden supremacy of these films compared to the more numerous but less artistic films of other nations.

Only a few of the most important films remain to demonstrate the various expressive tendencies of Italian silent cinema, but what discoveries there would be and how emphatically those critics would be disproved if the films on the List could miraculously be projected! Wars, one after the other, hastened their destruction, and the public of today, unable to decipher a mimetic language that expressed the customs and emotional demands of a time gone by, may not have understood them and may have laughed. It is only human that each new generation disavows the psychology or tastes of the one that preceded it, but that is no reason to negate their contribution to the progress of art, science and industry. (3) ***

In Italy, as in other countries, from the beginning of the 20th century to about 1910, cinema was subjected to the dictates of a confused and approximate aesthetic, and from documentary it became animated photography, with plots derived from dramas, stories and novels used to produce films that modified theatrical resources in an unsophisticated way. There was a resurgence of a kind of romantic requirement that was satiated by rudimentary summaries of tragic or sentimental events in twelve to twenty scenes. It is possible to examine the hidden links between the spread of “the cinematograph” and the fashion for crepuscular poetry, a romantic revival at the turn of the century.

Unfortunately, the first Italian producers distanced themselves from the trajectory initiated by Méliès, by which cinema was the mysterious transformation of reality and the creation of fantastical dreams, and shot films with plots taken from whatever was amusing among the popular books and periodicals of the day. It is telling that there is not much difference, substantially, between the illustrations of these so-called serial publications and the scenes of the first films.

It was quite pleasant to see plots told primarily with images, rather than reading them, sometimes tiringly, in words, and thus “salons” for cinema proliferated in Italy over a short period of time. Once the excess of exhilarating, powerful, frenetic movement had calmed down, the “truca” (the optical printer used to make the tricks), allowed for astonishing scenes in which the natural laws of gravity were completely overturned, and actions until then impossible for humans were achieved with exceptional ease.

The expressive qualities of our early professional film actors came to the fore during this period, as did the clever abilities of our early directors, such as Filoteo Alberini, Lamberto Pineschi, Giovanni Pastrone, Mario Caserini, Luigi Maggi, Ernesto Maria Pasquali, Mario Morais (Mago Boum), Carlo Alberto Lolli, Giuseppe De Liguoro, Enrico Guazzoni and others, who, improvising as photographers, painters and choreographers, imagined, experimented with and codified the rules of this new means of expression, understood what was possible in the Italian lanscape and discovered the actors, often recruiting them from amateur theatre companies or having them improvise. They had to correct these actors, however, to suit the requirements of the motion picture camera, modifying their theatrical way of expressing themselves, and instructing them to use an international symbolic language. The cruel eye of the lens followed the poor actors, taking the place of the public, and they stared at it with suspicion, acting in a semicircle around it, and rarely dared to turn their back on it. But they soon perfected their acting and our films were universally acclaimed for the talent of the actors, quite some time before the advent of the star system.

The personal success of the actors, before it was common to publicize their names, was certainly linked to their talent for improvisation, and to the Italian pantomime tradition, which formed the basis of the great Commedia dell’Arte starting in the second half of the 16th century, as well as to the great success of the humoristic mimicry of our best puppeteers such as Ferravilla, Scarpetta or Benini, and the expressive potential of Grasso, Musco and Petrolini, the most well known actors in dialect. In fact, such performances abroad, before a public who understood only through the effectiveness of the actors’ mimicry but filled theatres and applauded enthusiastically, can be compared to our silent films, which were just as successful, with multiple copies ordered by foreigners for this reason.

From simple plots with few actors moving amongst soft walls of painted canvas, or within a “field” delineated by chalk lines or ropes attached to poles, we quickly arrived at grand historical films with hundreds of extras acting within spacious studios. In 1908, Ambrosio produced the first adaptation of Gli ultimi giorni di Pompeii in seven reels. (4) The following year the Pasquali e Tempo film Ettore Fieramosca ovverossia

La disifida di Barletta appeared, involving two hundred people and forty horses. In 1910, Itala filmed La caduta di Troia, the first continuous film of 600 metres to appear in Italy. (5) In 1911, we have, both from Cines, La Gerusalemme liberata and Guazzoni’s Quo vadis?, the film that shocked the global film industry, proving the artistic superiority of Italian cinema in the historical genre with a great number of extras and establishing the principles of an Italian “school” of great historical re-enactments.

In June 1913, after many months of preparatory work, filming began on the set of Itala Film at Ponte Trombetta for Cabiria, “a historical view of the third century B.C. by Gabriele D’Annunzio”. Cabiria was screened in the most important theatres in major Italian cities starting in April 1914; then it was exported and, despite the war, was screened again hundreds and thousands of times in Paris, London and New York.

The extremely clever industry move of paying to use the name of the greatest Italian poet of the day (which cost Itala Film fifty thousand gold lire, about one twentieth of the total budget), backed by a director-owner who was able to convey his poetic vision without excessively bowing to commercial demands and made use of technical innovations such as the dolly, combined with talented artists and technicians, gave rise, in Turin, to the first great art film. Giovanni Pastrone stayed out of the limelight at the time, content to have been the first to produce an original drama with essentially cinematic means, and it was only when he adopted the stage name of Piero Fosco two years later for the film Il fuoco that Cabiria came to be attributed to the mysterious and talented metteur-en-scène of Itala Film.

Set in an era of power and splendour, with a mise-en-scene of unprecedented grandeur punctuated by D’Annunzio’s titles that emphasized, with their musicality, the majestic rhythm of the 16 frames per second, the drama was accompanied by the music of Ildebrando Pizzetti, a young composer from Parma. The Sinfonia del fuoco (Symphony of Fire), played by a large orchestra, was the first example of music being used functionally in cinema – while terrifying, red-tinted scenes of sacrifice to the god Moloch in the monstrous temple played on screen, a baritone repeated the incantations to the god as a predominant, obsessive motif.

For the first time, the public felt that something great and new was happening on screen. To find a similar enchantment, we must look to the historical period from the end of the 16th century to the beginning of the 17th when poetry and music gave rise to opera. At that time, poetry was transformed into music, in Cabiria in 1914, the visual image was effectively integrated with the language of music.

In every city prolonged applause accompanied the film’s most spectacular scenes – a rare occurrence at the time. The major newspapers dedicated columns to enthusiastic reviews, as they would for the most important artistic events. (6) In fact, the two historical films that had preceded Cabiria, and that had been very successful, Quo vadis? and Gli ultimi giorni di Pompei, were spectacles whose plots were known by the majority of the public, and the effect of the visual telling was thus already compromised. The passionate story of the little enslaved Cabiria, the evocation of the victory of Rome over Carthage and the novelty of the magnificence of the pagan world were met with great interest at a time when the public was starting to tire of seeing gladiators, wild beasts and martyrs. Maciste, the smiling slave who uses his brute strength to save the fragile girl was a new type of on-screen figure that would later be imitated, transformed and utilized many times.

The influence of Cabiria on American cinema is now well known. David Wark Griffith, the great pioneering director, meticulously studied the frames of Cabiria to discover the secrets of the new technical means it used. Tracking shots with a dolly on Décauville rails had allowed Pastrone to focus with a moving camera, going from a long shot to a closeup without interrupting a scene. It was thus possible to single out and isolate characters, zooming in on their faces to bring them close to the audience. The logical and functional use of the close-up was a revelation for Griffith. He shot Intolerance two years later, which turned out very differently from Birth of a Nation, made before he had taken lessons from Turin. Intolerance is believed to be the first great American film of the silent age and was the result of vastly expanding the cinematic possibilities of Cabiria through an editing technique that used jump cuts and constantly changing scenes invented by the great American director which he had already used, with great cinematic efficiency, in Judith of Bethulia (1913).

From 1910 to 1920 and even before, all of the cinematic genres developed in Europe and America first appeared in Italy, from historical re-enactment to sentimental comedy, from fantasy to thrilling adventures, and from long format comedies to narrative documentaries and exotic films. (7) Italians were the first to apply cinema to education and to make scientific films. (8) Italian naturalism, which has an important place in European literature, inspired the 1914 film Sperduti nel buio, of great cinematic value; Lucio D’Ambra is credited with the genre of film between the comedic, the fantastical and the operatic with func - tional set designs based on stylization and chromaticism which Ernst Lubitsch would ably make use of a few years later with great success, so much so that we may wonder how D’Ambra’s influence could have spread more in foreign countries that within his own. In the “apache” genre, the duo of Za la Mort and Za la Vie (Emilio Ghione and Calliope Sambucini) showed originality; for that of adventure, the films with Saetta (Domenico Gambino), Bualò (Mario Guaita Ausonia), Galaor (Alfedo Boccolini) and Ajax (Luciano Albertini), with their audacious and sensational scenes, were used as models by American production companies. (9)

Perfido incanto, the first avant-garde film, shot in 1916 by Anton Giulio Bragaglia, with its boundless imagination and absolute modernity, both stylistically and technically, preceded German films like Caligari There are many other examples of the use of artistic elements and similar evocative language. In Griffard, shot in 1913 at Ambrosio (written by Arrigo Frusta and directed by Vitale De Stefano), we find a super close-up of a hand dripping with blood. In Histoire d’un Pierrot, also from 1913, Pierrot, longing to escape, frees a caged pigeon; in Fuoco from Itala Film, Pina Menichelli transforms her face and hairstyle into a eagle-owl who lives in an ancient castle in which they both fly about, ensnaring a young painter; in Tigre reale, from Giovanni Verga’s novel, also produced by Itala Film, we see the rapid and marvellous transformation of a face, which becomes young and beautiful again as long as a mysterious drug lasts; in Hedda Gabler (Itala Film), as a manuscript burns in a fireplace and Hedda murmurs “Now I’m burning your son, Tea the beauty with the curly hair...”, the flames project the form of a writhing boy onto the wall. In Giardino della voluttà by Giuseppe Maria Viti, a young girl, to console her sister who is suffering from a broken heart, projects the scene of a knight arriving on a white horse onto a white tent using a magic lantern. All at once the tent moves aside and we see the fiancé knight arrive in flesh and blood, to the delight of his beloved. The “star system”, which began with Lyda Borelli and was at its height with Francesca Bertini, was thus not the only basis for the success of Italian film – it was also due to the real presence of cinematic values, the mastery of the directors, the creative imagination of the set designers and the beauty and elegance of the actresses. The lens captured every nuance of the eloquent variability of these beautiful Italian faces and the pleasure of beauty, at the heart of men’s unconscious desire throughout the world, ensured the supremacy of Italian actresses above all others, since Italian films were filled with beautiful women.

When our cinematic industry was threatened by numerous disruptive elements, the “star system” managed to still sustain it for some time. The presence of the diva, so dear to Italian cinema, still attracted the public, but in contrast with the sober, incisive acting of American actresses, the affectation of our actresses was on the way out, and likewise, the technical aspects, the order and diligence and the organization of the ever more pervasive American films came up against the clumsiness of most of the films produced by production houses that had popped up here and there, taking advantage of the post-war euphoria. A few production houses continued to work seriously, but the advent of the “little company” prevailed and Italian brilliance was hindered by petty arguments between production companies, actress and actress.

In 1919 the U.C.I.-Unione Cinematografica Italiana (Italian Cinematographic Union) trust was formed, and we now know how harmful it was for our cinema. The idea of grouping all of the production houses together to withstand both foreign competition and the formidable organization of the American industry could have had great results, as in fact happened in Germany where the U.F.A (Universum Film Aktiengesellschaft), which combined the most prominent production firms in Germany in a single consortium, produced works of great importance. The U.C.I., linked to foreign interests which were thus in conflict with the resurgence of Italian cinema, instead sadly hastened its demise.

From 1922 until the advent of sound, Italian cinema had only a semblance of life. Directors, actors and technicians went to work abroad.

(10)

In 1924, Stefano Pittaluga went from distribution to production, but his films, though they attained success, lagged behind in terms of the progress that cinema had made and was making in other countries. Artistic problems were neither addressed nor resolved, and no effort was made to create productions that were uniquely inspired by cinema or uniquely possible with cinema. The old formula was no longer useful, and was out-dated. A young filmmaker, Alessandro Blasetti, tried to break free of it in 1928 with the production of Sole, which marked a beginning and an attempt at a new direction. But shortly afterwards, the history of Italian sound film began. (11)

Chapter I

The first Italian to take part in the frenetic competition for inventions and patents for cinema that took place in Europe and America in the final decades of the 19th century was Filoteo Alberini. A technician employed by the Istituto geografico militare [Geographical Institute of the Armed Forces] in Rome, he built a rudimentary machine for filming and projecting moving images in 1884. After ten years of experimentation and successive improvements, he patented it in the last quarter of 1895 under the name Kinetografo Alberini, a few months after the Lumière brothers’ cinématographe. (1) The brothers had waited to have a substantial stock of film reels before starting public presentations in Paris on December 28 of that year, in the Salon Indien of the Grand Café on the Boulevard des Capucines. After the famous spectacle, Louis Lumière (in addition to commissioning two hundred projectors from Carpentier, the first industrial producer of commercial cinematographic equipment) decided to entrust Promio, his best cinematograph operator, with instructing other operators who were invited to come to Lyon. For several months, Lumière had been notifying his representatives throughout the world about the company’s next initiative, advising them that as soon as they had received the equipment they would learn how to shoot animated scenes to be sent back to the parent company. (2) One of these representatives was Vittorio Calcina of Turin (1847-1916), general manager in Italy of the “Société anonyme des plaques et papiers photographiques A. Lumière et ses fils, Lyon, Monplaisir”; but it is not known if he attended Promio’s training. While the Company tasked Promio with travelling throughout Europe (see his Carnet de route in Lapierre, op. cit.), Calcina rushed to apply what he had learned and on November 20, 1896, in Monza, he filmed their Royal Highnesses Umberto and Margherita di Savoia. They may have been the first royalty to have various aspects of their private lives appear on screen. (3)

The new invention was received with much interest at the Italian court and Vittorio Calcina became the cinematographic operator of the Royal Household. The cinematographic evening that took place on October 18, 1899 at Monza Castle was a remarkable one. The program of “animated scenes” presented by Calcina, which met with the approval of King Umberto’s First Assistant of the Chamber, General Ponzio Vaglio, ended up being a sort of three-year summary of Calcina’s endeavours, with a few breaks for variety. (4)

The first public cinematic projections in Turin were held in the winter of 1896 in part of the former Ospedale di Carità in Via Po, in which Vittorio Calcina and a colleague projected the Lumière brothers’ films for one “soldo” per show. In 1898, the Cinematografo Lumière made its official appearance at the Italian General Exposition in Valentino Park in Turin. A certain Mr. Sala had erected an Egyptian Pavilio” next to the small lake in the Park, which consisted of a multi-coloured tent in the form of a common room with a few rows of school benches. Beyond the tent was the mysterious machine that transparently projected onto a sheet. Sala then moved his set up to a small courtyard in Via Roma gradually expanding the walls to enlarge his space, which he called Splendor and which would last until Via Roma was renovated. In 1899, Vittorio Calcina and a colleague were owners of a real cinema at number 25, Via Maria Vittoria. In 1901, they invited Princess Laetitia there for the inaugural projection of the animated scenes La Stella Polare del Duca degli Abruzzi, followed by Battaglia dei guanciali and Lumière brothers’ L’arrivée d’un train en gare de La Ciotat. At the Decorative Art Exposition held in Turin in 1902, it was possible to admire L’arroseur arrosé at the cinematograph in the Oriental Pavilion. The mysterious orient heightened the fascination of the jumping figures in straw hats and extra long skirts in the first of the Lumière short films.

In Milan, cinematic projections appeared in the Spring of 1896. A pioneer of photography, Rodolfo Namias, wrote the announcement in a scientific-literary journal of the day, “Il progresso fotografico”, printed in Milan:

Upon the kind invitation of Mr. Calcina, Italian representative of the Casa Lumière, we will be able to attend the premiere presentations of moving pictures using the cinematograph of the Lumière brothers at the Teatro Milanese at the beginning of April. Readers will recall that this machine was written about in the “Progresso” in June of last year (1895) in regards to my visit to the Lumière establishment in Lyon. There, I was able to admire the results of the new discovery by the Lumières when it was still in the experimental stage.

The machine, which has now been noticeably perfected, presents to the eye astoundingly life-like animated scenes projected onto a large, sometimes life-sized screen. We may see a disembarkation, a scene among two children, the work of blacksmiths, a seascape (in which the motion of the waves is extraordinarily true to life), several comical scenes, etc., etc.

The principle on which this apparatus is founded is simple and ingenious. It is notable that in the so-called Kinetoscope Edison had an enormous number of photographs of the same scene which, passing with uniform motion and in rapid succession in front of the eye, reproduced movement, but the fact that an extraordinary number of photographs were needed (up to 59 per second) made it quite difficult to capture natural scenes, substantially limiting the length of the scene since it was not possible to have containers big enough or whole rooms to hold all of the film (in which the subjects could only be quite short) and besides this, it was tiring to the eye which had to perceive a great number of images in a very brief moment. The Lumière brothers thought of removing the film’s uniformity of movement, keeping it for a relatively longer time before the lens, to bring the image in front of the eye so it could perceive it, and instead making the exchange very fast. In so doing, they facilitate the work of the person photographing the animated scenes, because the exposure is long enough to get a good image without any considerable special preparations and without special light conditions. Because the image stays for quite a long time before the eye, the retina perceives and registers the image without tiring too much, and moreover, again because the time the image stays still is relatively long, there is time to project the image on a screen and thus to see it at life-size or at least on a relatively large scale. These spectacles of moving photographs have been all the rage wherever they are presented and in Milan the public gathered in large numbers each day to admire them. And they will soon be able to be admired in all major cities.

It was perhaps following such presentations that the owner of a celebrated photography studio in Milan with branches in other cities in Lombardy, Italo Pacchioni (1872-1940), decided to commercially exploit the invention and rushed to France to buy the Lumière’s motion picture camera. But like Edison, he had to renounce his project, and on his return to Milan, with the help of his brother and a mechanic, fabricated one himself and that same year, in 1896, started to compete with the Lumières with an Arrivo del treno nella stazione di Milano.

He went on to also shoot dramatic films: La gabbia dei matti, La batta- glia di neve, shot at the Milan’s Park, Il finto storpio and other documentaries on life in Milan, projecting them in a tent in the fair at Porta Genova. (5)

Another Italian pioneer was Leopoldo Fregoli, the “master of transformation”. He met the Lumière brothers in Paris during their first presentations, was able to go to Lyon to learn how to use the motion picture cameras and made short films of about 20 metres in length: Fregoli al caffè, Fregoli al ristorante, Una burla di Fregoli, Il sogno di Fregoli, Fregoli dietro alle quinte, which he projected after his main presentations, on a screen that was 4 metres by 3 metres, framed in coloured lights, that came to be called a Fregoligraph. By joining four strips of film that played continuously, he even managed to make two long format films: Impressioni di Ermete Novelli and Fregoli illusionista. (6) Certainly in Italy, and in other countries, cinema became known through the magical transformations of Fregoli, who enjoyed screening his films backwards, thus improvising the first comedic cinema.

In 1898, the first Mutoscope produced by Kennedy Dickson, an electrical engineer in Edison’s workshops, made its appearance in Italy. Scientist Giuseppe Flecchia described it in the Turin-based journal, “Silvio Pellico”, on September 11, 1898:

None of our readers, who have undoubtedly attended the motion picture spectacles of the famous Lumière Cinematograph, will find it hard to imagine this new invention, when they learn that it is a cinematograph that has been noticeably improved. The inventor is the American Kennedy Dickson, a former electrical engineer in Edison’s factory and one of the pioneers of the invention of cinema itself, who had found a way to photograph the same object in motion successively using the same camera obscura. It is known in fact that until 1887 he used the empirical system to join as many machines in sequence as the successive movements.

Dickson’s Mutoscope is based on the same principle of using a single camera obscura, but with the enormous advantage of obtaining images nine times as large as those permitted by the cinematograph [...]

Mr. Andalò, who gives us these statistics, tells us how Dickson, who was in Rome recently to photograph the Pope, showed the English Royal Family having tea in the garden in which people were seen actual size, and without the serious inconvenience of the oscillating or shaking figures that occures with the cinematograph.

Upon the suggestion of several American bishops, Dickson photographed the Pope on his ceremonial throne, with his attendant carriers and court, so that we may witness a walk in the Vatican gardens. At one point, the Pope mystically raises his hand in ben- ediction. (7)

Dickson’s mutoscope had already been invented and had been sold in America since 1895. It weighed about half a ton and ran on electricity. Innumerable photographs on paper were passed in front of a lens, which enlarged them, projecting them onto the screen. In 1897, Pasquarelli, a photographer from Turin and friend of Vittorio Calcina, tried to create something similar to Dickson’s mutoscope and to the Demény chronophotograph system sold by the Comptoir général de photographie L. Gaumont & Cie., producing a chronophotograph based on the automated passage of photographs behind a lens, achieved by turning a crank. (8)

In a pamphlet printed that same year in Turin (printed by Camilla e Bertolero) he described his invention:

To eliminate a very costly supply of machines and accessories, such as the projection lamp, the machine for printing the positive transparent film, the machine to perforate the films, and to develop them, Pasquarelli’s apparatus does not project the images but shows them directly, as enlarged albumen prints. Pasquarelli’s cronophotograph is thus an eminently popular and practical apparatus, constructed with the aim of disseminating the use of similar photographs of great interest, especially when one wants to retain the memory of important events and the traits and movements of those who are dear to us.

Alongside the chronophotograph, which made negatives, there was the Kinetoscope, which showed the positive images in motion and was operated by turning a crank. For the dissemination of Lumière’s cinema, probably meant that this precursor of format “Baby” did not achieve the success it deserved. Unless Pasquarelli’s invention had been brought to Lyon by Calcina, and inspired the Kinor, which the Lumières released in 1900. (9)

Many cinemas were established in Italy, where Carpentier projectors sold with Lumière reels proliferated.

In Rome, in 1897, in Vicolo del Mortaro a theatre of “Fotografie Viventi” was opened, owned by Madame le Lieur. Ezio Cristofari, the son of an actor who was a typographer for a Roman newspaper, befriended the Frenchwoman’s projectionist and together with Luigi Topi founded a French-Italian company in early 1898, opening a salon in Piazza Lucina that they called “Novità fin di secolo.” Topi put together a mysterious projector in which a wine flask filled with water cooled the part of the machine closest to the electric arc and Lumière and Edison films were stapled together, with titles shouted in Roman dialect from the projection booth. A piano was later used, and business went so well that the two partners moved to Via Nazionale. In 1889, Silvio Cocanari, the owner of the shop that sold photographic equipment on the corner of Via Pietra, opened a cinema, the “Iride”, in a back room. The entrance was used to sell photographs, illustrated postcards, prints and tinted reproductions. The spectacle began when there were 15 or 20 people in the room. Another functioning cinema was the Lumière of Felicelli, an acclaimed Roman photographer, at 1 Corso Umberto. In 1902, Filoteo Alberini, who had continued to work with cinema, opened the Moderno at the Esedra di Termini, and, simultaneously, in Florence, the Edison’s room for the projection of still and moving pictures. (10)

In Naples, the first cinema, Recanati, was installed by Mario Recanati in 1897 in the Galleria Umberto I; the second, Menotti Cattaneo’s Iride, appeared on Via Alessandro Poerio. In 1907, the Iride still boasted of its illustrious origin as the first room that had been purpose-built for cinematic screenings “in Italy and in the world.” (11) Little is known about the first cinemas in other cities: it seems that the first one in Bologna was the Marconi; in Catania the first to be installed, the Moderno Lumière, appeared only in 1905. ***

Cinema expanded quickly despite the certainty of the respectable Reverend Don Ferdinando Ridolfi who, in an article entitled The Cinematograph published in the “Rivista di fisica, matematica e scienze naturali”, asserted: “There is no doubt that once curiosity has been exhausted the admirable instrument will return to science, for which it was created.” In fact, the inventors themselves, the Lumière brothers, did not envisage the enormous importance it would have in the world, and lost interest even before 1900.

The rapid spread of cinematographs made the local production of films necessary even in Italy. The first to try the new industry, in 1904, was Arturo Ambrosio, a shop owner who sold photographic materials in Turin, in Via Santa Teresa n. 2, on the corner of piazza San Carlo. (12)

Turin was a renowned centre for the art of photography at the time and photography enthusiasts gathered in Ambrosio’s shop. One of them, Edoardo Di Sambuy, upon returning from France with a small film camera, convinced Ambrosio to film a very important sporting event, the first Susa-Moncenisio car race, and he finally decided to do so in the second half of July. The event had seemed chaotic to local authorities the year before and only one test run was undertaken: numerous guards spread out along the route had to ensure that the cars did not, in their mad race, complete the 23 kilometres in less than 35 minutes!

The film, shot by the photographer and cinematograph operator Roberto Omegna (1879-1848) and Arturo Ambrosio, was developed in Ambrosio’s modests laboratory in Via Napione and printed by hand. It was projected for the first time in a small cinema in Via Finanze named after Edison and owned by Roberto Omegna’s brother. After Le manovre degli Alpini di Colle della Ranzola with the participation of Queen Margherita, Omegna went to Calabria in 1905 to shoot a film on the damage done by the earthquake that was more than 100 metres, or four reels in length.

(13) In Turin there were already around eleven cinematographs and the demand for local documentaries was very strong. Ambrosio, who in 1905 had again shot the Susa-Moncenisio race along with other documentaries that were projected in July-August at the cinema at 25 Via Roma, set up a platform in his villa beyond the Barriera di Nizza and surrounded it with tents. It was the first sound stage of Ambrosio Film. It employed actors from the Cuniberi troupe and from the local-dialect amateur theatre group of Luigi Maggi, a typographer for the Utet publishing house who became a director. The journalist Ernesto Maria Pasquali improvised as scriptwriter, and the painters Decoroso Bonifanti and Borgogno improvised as set designers. In the villa’s garden, in the Stupinigi forest, on the banks of the Sangone river, or in the medieval Valentino Castle, they shot dramatic, costumed scenes or the adventures of crazy men who ran after a young woman who was following a priest who was chasing a fat nanny who was chasing a fireman who was chasing a dog who was running away with an endless string of sausages. It was an orgy of movement, as has been already noted: the cinematic cinematograph. Alberto Collo played the female roles, because it would not have been possible to find an actress who would take part in such mad races, chases, falls and daily skirmishes. (14) Ambrosio continued to work and his films were immediately consumed by local demand. Cinema owners in other cities fought over the available prints. The figure of the “distribution agent” was emerging, one who would increasingly become a mediator in the Italian cinema industry, and who, by effectively selling Ambrosio’s first films, began to understand the potential profits the cinema business offered. In 1905, a competitor emerged in Rome, intent on establishing themselves there as a real and proper “manufacturer of films for cinematographs”. In October 1905, an announcement appeared in the “Bolletino della Società Fotografica di Firenze”:

Manufacturer of film for cinematographs. May it be noted that in Rome, at 96 via Torino, the firm of Alberini and Santoni was established, in a new industry for Italy, that is, that of manufacturing cinematographic subjects or films. We wish them the best of success.

By the end of the year, the manufacturer was already operational and a more extensive notice appeared in the same “Bolletino” in early 1906:

The First Italian Establishment for Cinematograph Manufacturing. We are sincerely proud of Mr. Albertini and Mr. Santoni, since their merchandise, and the cinematographic art as we shall also see, is henceforth proving the axiom that Italy is able to do things on its own, emancipating itself from foreign markets even in such an artistic industry.

The Cinematograph, entertainment for the eye and for the spirit, which gives to those who are unable to travel the advantage of still admiring foreign places, events that took place at immense distances, improbable situations, exhilarating anecdotes and enjoyable, fantastical scenes, was perfected so well by the firm of Alberini and Santoni as to be able to compete advantageously with the best foreign establishments.

This firm was founded in 1902 by Mr. Filoteo Alberini, inventor of the mass produced cinematograph and owner of the greatly acclaimed Moderno cinema at 67, Piazza Esedra, meeting place for the best of Roman society. He joined forces, in 1905, with Mr. Dante Santori and, in order to grow the business, built a special establishment in Via Appia Nuova, beyond Porta San Giovanni, endowed with fine and diverse equipment, of the latest, most up to date systems for cinematic reproduction, custom built in Germany and France.

The establishment has an area of 2000 square metres, and consists of various buildings and an immense pool for the reproduction of nautical scenes. The main building has three floors, of which one is underground for the darkrooms, where more than 50 workers proceed to prepare and colour the films and this number will be doubled with growing demand, and that is not counting the experienced artists who are hired in greater numbers according to the script they are working on.

The soundstage, all made of glass, is 21 metres by 12 ½; various sets that make up the cinematographic stories are designed and produced there; next are the spaces where colouring takes place, which measure 52 metres in length.

From the grandiosity of the establishment and the functional quality of the productions, we may certainly affirm that this is the first and only Italian establishment for cinematographic manufacturing. Its administrative offices are in Rome, located at 96, via Torino, with no branches in other cities.

Among the innumerable artistic works of the Ditta Alberini e Santoni we must recommend to admirers of the cinematograph the grandiose historical re-enactment of the Capture of Rome on September 20, 1870, with a length of 250 metres, in which we learn in a few minutes about historical details taken from newspapers and accounts of the time, through live-action scenes re-enacted, with government permission, by real soldiers from various armies in historical uniforms recalling the history of Italian unification.

For their realistic tone, it is worth mentioning again in particular: the portrayal of the sad events of the recent terrible earthquake in Calabria, a very interesting production, 200 metres long, shot on location, and a very new marvel La malìa dell’oro, with original music composed by the talented Maestro Bacchini, as well as a series of hilarious new comedies. Many other important works with original music are in production which we will report on as they become available; for now we can note that this cinematographic establishment is the only one to have given its cinematographic productions purpose-written original scores. Those who acquire the films must therefore also acquire the musical score for piano, and may request the full orchestral score as well.

This was followed by a substantial publicity piece on the brilliant future of the firm and the illustrious place it had attained “among the most renowned of its kind.”

In April 1906, Cines was launched when Ditta Alberini e Santoni became a public limited company, with an initial capital of 400 thousand lire. The net profit after one year of business would be half a million. (15)

In the summer of that same year, Cines published a catalogue of the films that had been shot and were ready for sale. Acting as director, with the assistance of Mario Caserini and Egidio Rossi, was Gaston Velle, of the house of Pathé, who had arrived some time before from Paris, accompanied by the screenwriters Dumesnil and Vasseur and the cinematograph operator André Wauzele, an effects specialist. Cines rushed to announce this to their foreign clients with a pamphlet:

Nous avons 1’honneur d’informer notre clientèle que nous avons confiée la direction artistique de notre théâtre de pose à M. Gaston Velle, un des directeurs artistiques de la

Compagnie des cinématographes Pathé Frères de Paris.

M. Gaston Velle est l’auteur des scènes cinématographiques les plus intéressantes et les plus universellement connues et dont la plupart marqueront une époque dans les annales du cinématographe. M. Velle continuera comme par le passé à créer et à mettre en scène de nouvelles œuvres plus intéressantes encore, ce qui nous assurera une des meilleures places sur le marché européen.

Ajoutons que M. Gaston Velle est venu à Rome avec une pléiade d’artistes décorateurs et d’autres auxiliaires techniques choisis parmi l’élite du personnel qu’il dirigeait à Paris, ce qui nous autorise à promettre à nos clients une production parfaite sous tous les rapports: scènes intéressantes, fixité absolue, photographie soignée, coloriage irréprochable, décors et costumes riches et choisis, artistes de premier ordre.

[We have the honour of informing our clientele that we have entrusted the artistic direction of our stage sets to Monsieur Gaston Velle, one of the artistic directors of the Paris-based cinematograph company Pathé Frères. Monsieur Velle is the creator of the most interesting and the most widely-known cinematographic sets, most of which will go down in the history of cinema as definitive for the time. Monsieur Velle will continue to create and stage new, ever more interesting works, as he has done in the past, which will assure us one of the best positions in the European market. We would add that Monsieur has come to Rome with a host of set artists and other technical personnel chosen from among the elite teams he led in Paris, which allows us to promise to our clients flawless production on all counts: interesting scenes, absolute stability, careful photography, impeccable colouring, rich and refined décor and costumes and first class artists].

It is evident that the pamphlet was the work of Mr. Velle himself, who was a native Italian speaker and former magician and had been hired by Pathé in early 1904, later becoming an effects specialist. (16). Among the films which may not have “defined an era” but do find their place among Pathé’s early productions, we may note Le tour du monde d’un policier, Les invisibles, and La poule aux oeufs d’or for which he wrote the scripts and directed with Gabriel Moreau, an actor in Italy at the time, and which starred Charles Lépine, a former technician at the Natural Science Museum in Bordeaux.

Lépine had imported Edison’s first kinetoscope to France, and had been appointed as Edison’s agent there, and, knowing Pathé, who was making the rounds of fairs and suburbs with phonographs, proposed working with him to put it to use. Lumière then became involved and Pathé began to produce films, naming as administrative director Charles Lépine, who became one of their film directors. (17)

In the meantime, Carlo Rossi had arrived in Turin, it is not known why. Born in Erzerum to a southern Italian doctor, he had a doctorate in chemistry but officially worked as an insurance agent. (18) Together with Guglielmo Remmert, of Prussian descent, and Lamberto Pineschi of Rome, he had succeeded in founding a business to capitalize on a kind of wireless telephone that had a great future. When he went to Paris in 1905, however, Rossi became convinced that the cinematographic industry had the potential for greater profit, and with the funds that he was meant to use to acquire materials for the wireless telephone, he infiltrated the Pathé stage sets and managed to bribe Charles Lépine, at the time a stage director, the technician Ernesto Zollinger and the cinematograph operators Raoul Comte, Eugène Planchat and George Caillaud. (19)

Pathé prosecuted the traitors and managed to send Lépine to prison for a few months. In Turin, at 91 Corso Casale, however, work began on the new plant for manufacturing film and Rossi and Remmert hired a young man from Asti, a musician by calling but accountant by trade, as an assistant bookkeeper to handle foreign language correspondence. (20) But the talented accountant, Giovanni Pastrone, instead of occupying himself with business correspondence, became interested in the technical aspects of the cinema, and upon Lépine’s arrival, managed to learn the “métier” from him within a short period of time, while Giovanni Tomatis, who had joined Itala as a qualified coachman, became Caillaud’s assistant cameraman and then a cameraman himself.

After a few months, Zollinger and Planchat went to work for Ambrosio, Lépine went to Holland and the others made other arrangements, Carlo Rossi & C. was dissolved, and Sciamengo and Pastrone was formed (the engineer Sciamengo was Remmert’s son-in-law), which became Itala Film in September 1908. Carlo Rossi went to Cines in Rome, where Lamberto Pineschi founded a production company with his brother Azeglio. (21)

Ambrosio had in the meantime moved into a grandiose new establishment in via Catania, at the corner of Via Verona, where work proceeded at a great pace; and the Ottolenghi firm also appeared, becoming Aquila Film in October 1907.

Luca Comerio, who had been a photographer specializing in allegorical group portraits, flash photography and portraits on porcelain and was “per- sonal photographer to his majesty the King of Italy”, began activity as a news camera operator in Milan around 1907. Emilio Ceretti, who interviewed Comerio in 1940, shortly before he died, tells of his difficult early days:

He went up and down the Peninsula with his equipment collecting images of events and then put together brief documentaries, of which, due to the scepticism of buyers and financial constraints, he printed only single copies, circulating them on a rotating basis among the cinemas in central Italy. It seemed that he himself, in principle, distributed the films, driving around on his motorcycle with the reels on a luggage rack on the back. He began with the most important cinemas, gave the reel to the projectionists and, as soon as the projection was finished, put it back on the luggage rack and delivered it to other cinemas, where they were waiting for it. (22)

In Venice, the owner of the Rialto cinema, also in 1907, shot a film on local history, Biaso el luganegher; and projected it, while, behind the screen, a few amateur actors recited the lines in Venetian dialect.

At the end of 1907 there were then 9 cinema producers in Italy, of which three were in Turin, Ambrosio, Carlo Rossi & C. and Aquila; two in Milan: Luca Comerio and S.A. Bonetti; two in Rome: Cines and S.A. Fratelli Pieschi; two in Naples: Fratelli Tronconi & C. and Manifattura cinematografi riuniti. There were 500 important cinemas in Italy grossing 18 million annually, with legions of distribution agents who rented out the films. American films from Vitagraph, Urban Trading, Eclipse and Warwick arrived in Italy; from France: Pathé, Gaumont, Galaud & C., Mendel, De Maria, Parnalaud; from Germany: Edison Gesellschaft, International Kinematograph; from Scandinavia: Nordisk and Svenska. A real influx of films was arriving, which was damaging for cinema owners and distribution agents who were in fierce competition with one another.

The relationship of interdependence between the distribution agents and the production houses was already clearly defined by 1907. The distribution agents, however, whom Stefano Pittaluga jokingly referred to as “the Donkeyskin potion”, having forgotten, or perhaps remembering all too well, that he had been one himself for many years, functioned as buyers, not film financers, and already wanted to distinguish themselves from those who made films. In one of the first issues of “Cinematografo” (an illustrated cultural journal about photography, electricity, projections, phonographs, music and café concert halls), founded in Naples on July 26, 1907 and run by Edoardo Correnti, the project of a “cinematoraphic union” among dis - tribution agents appeared, with the aim of reaching an agreement for the creation of programs, varying them according to the venues and thereby avoiding unfavourable repetition. The conclusion was interesting:

Another aim of the association will be that of making provisions against the mafia of the film production houses, which will be regulated by a special ruling, so that it does not happen that, as it often does, one week new releases appear that cost several thousands of lire, while in other weeks there are none at all.

The popular cinemas still had salesmen dressed in livery who barked at passersby the merits of the extraordinary spectacle, punctuating their pitch with drumrolls and trumpet blasts, using automated devices to lure audiences, spraying perfume or throwing confetti, they held tin pony races and had stuffed birds that warbled while moving their head and their tail; there were even prizes given for attendance to the most faithful viewers. The cinema was a fashionable spectacle and had already become a habit for many people.

Giovanni Papini was the first to try to explain this philosophically. In the Turin daily “La Stampa” of May 18, 1907 an article came out that it is worth quoting at length, as it is among the first original writing on cinema to appear in Italy. It was entitled The Philosophy of the Cinematograph.

In a very short time, in every large city in Italy, we are witnessing an almost miraculous multiplication of cinemas.

In the only city for which we have precise numbers, in Florence, there are already twelve, that is, one for every eighteen thousand inhabitants.

Cinemas, with their relentless lights, their large three-colour posters, updated each day, with the raucous romances of their phonographs, the tired sound of their little orchestras, the strident calls of their boys dressed in red, have invaded the main streets, chasing away the cafés, installing themselves where halls, restaurants or billiard halls once were, becoming associated with bars, suddenly illuminating the mysterious old piazzas with the insolence of their arc lamps, threatening little by little to take the place of theatres, like tram tracks took the place of carriages, like newspapers took the place of books, and bars took the place of cafés.

The philosophers, in as much as they are reserved and averse to making a fuss, could do worse than to ascribe these new entertainment establishments to the simple curiosity of the young, and of common women and men.

Such fortune, in such a short time, must have its reasons and the philosopher, when he has discovered them, could perhaps find in the cinematographic spectacles new food for thought, and who knows, even new moral emotions and hints towards a new metaphysics. For the true philosopher – not the one stuck among his books, who could rather be considered one who deals in philosophy – there is nothing in the world, however humble, small or ridiculous it may seem, that cannot become the subject of refection, and those who know how to philosophize only when it comes to the existence of the outside world or a priori synthetic judgements, are as anatomists who wouldn’t know how to speak of monstrous beings and fantastical cases.

Even the cinemas, then, are worthy subjects of reflection and I heartily advise serious and knowledgeable men to go more often.

They may begin by asking themselves why these luminous spectacles have so quickly gained people’s approval. He who thinks a bit about the nature of modern society will not find it difficult to relate the cinematograph with other factors that reveal the same tendencies. Compared to the theatre – which it in part intends to replace – cinema has the advantage of being a shorter spectacle, less tiring and less expensive; requiring, that is, less time, less effort, and less money. Now one of the characteristics that is increasingly emphasized in our life, is that of the economic tendancy, not only due to laziness or greed – and in fact modern men make more things and are more wealthy – to actually obtain a greater number of things with the same amount of time, effort and money. Cinema satisfies, all at once, all of these impulses to save. It is a brief fantasmagoria in twenty minutes, which everyone can take part in for thirty cents. It doesn’t require much culture, much attention or too much effort to follow it.

It has the advantage of occupying only one of the senses, sight – since no one pays attention to the mediocre and monotone music that accompanies the films – and this sense alone is artificially removed from distractions by means of the Wagnerian darkness of the room, which prevents the attention from straying, or those nods and looks that are so often observed in over-lit theatres.

But the present favour for the cinema cannot be explained by these rather meagre economical reasons alone. It is due, rather, in large part, to other ways in which cinema is superior to theatre, which is certainly inferior in many aspects. The most important of these superior qualities consists of the reproduction, in time, of vast and complicated events, which cannot be reproduced on stage, even by the most able machinists. A hunt, with all its meandering, a savage adventure, a ship being launched, a trip to the arctic regions are spectacles that would require continual scenic changes and enormous spaces to give the appearance of verisimilitude. Before the white screen of the cinema, on the other hand, we have the sensation that these events are real events seen as if they could appear in a mirror, vertiginously following on another in space. They are images – small luminous images in two dimensions – but ones that give the impression of reality more than the painted backdrops and sets of the best theatre. Cineam also has the advantage, over theatre, of offering the spectacle of great real events a few days after they have happened, and not only as described by words or still illustrations but as a succession of movements taken from real life and full of vitality. In this case, the cinema brings together the properties of the daily newspapers and illustrated magazines; the newspapers describe facts in time, but without giving us images; the magazines give us images, but they are immobile and fixed in space, while cinema gives us visible forms as they develop in time. It can offer our curiosity that which no other thing can: scenes of transformation.

Thanks to the secrets and tricks of photography, which had already given us unrealistic photographs (a man holding his own head in his hands, etc.) and false spirit photographs (of murky, transparent human beings), it is possible to obtain films in which the most unrealistic and extraordinary things happen: men disappearing all of a sudden into the floor; characters in a painting coming out of the frame and into a room to dance a minuet; the miraculous splitting of bodies; processions of heads without bodies or bodies without heads; statues that come to life and start to play an instrument; animals transforming into humans; men passing through walls; and everything that man can imagine in his wildest dreams or in the strangest of tall tales. Cinema, in this regard, helps in the development of the imagination; a kind of eye with no drawbacks; a visual realization of the most unrealistic fantasies. Thanks to its photographic strategies, it allows us to think of a world in two dimensions as rich as our own. But if these observations may explain, at least in part, the unexpected success of Lumière’s ingenious invention, they don’t yet justify my advice to philosophers. And yet even the philosophers, even the metaphysicists, can come to be inspired in these darkened rooms instead of wandering around in the markets and town squares, like Socrates, or among the graves like Hamlet or in the mountains like Nietzsche. The world cinema presents to us is full of great lessons in humility. It is made only of small images of light, small, two-dimensional images, that give us, nonetheless, the impression of life’s movement. It is the spirit world reduced to the minimum, like a dream, quick, fantastical, unreal. That’s how the life of men can be summarized without becoming implausible!

Contemplating those ephemeral, luminous images of ourselves, we almost feel like gods contemplating our own creations, made in our own image and likeness. Involuntarily, we come to think that there is someone watching us just like we are watching the little figures of cinema and before which we – who believe ourselves to be concrete, real, eternal – will be merely coloured images running quickly towards death in order to be pleasing to their eyes. Could not the universe be one grandiose cinematic spectacle, with few changes of program, created as entertainment for a crowd of powerful strangers? And just as we discover, thanks to photography, the imperfection of certain movements, the riduculousness of certain mechanical gestures, the grotesque vanity of human expressions, so these divine spectators will smile at us, as we move on this little earth, running furiously about in all directions, anxious, stupid, greedy, funny, until our part is finished and we descend one by one into the silent darkness of death.

Papini had not yet even touched upon the problem of cinema as art, which, however, was beginning to be a pressing question and would subse - quently be discussed on many occasions in the newspapers. In the December 1907 “Rivista fonocinematografica”, an unknown editor peremptorily asserted that when cinema had reached a high level of mechanical perfection, it would become an art! For now the exceptional profits associated with it would be enough. A refrain from the operetta Cine-mato-graf by Luigi Barbera, with music by Luigi Dall’Argine, that everyone sang in Turin, where the operetta met with great success, declared:

I cine-mato-graf. Diventan milionari

Si fanno gran danari, Ormai colle pellicole [The cinema owners become millionaires they make big money now with films]

There were by then about a dozen cinemas in Turin, not counting those on the outskirts of town. (23) In Naples, the popular song Cinematografi, cinematografà appeared at the same time, with lyrics by G. Capaldo and music by E. Galgano:

Cinematografi

Cinematografà

Teré Teré

Vieni con me.

Ti voglio fa vedè

Teré come se fa Cinematografi

Cinematografà. (24)

[Cinematografi

Cinematografà

Teresa Teresa

Come with me.

I want to make you see Teresa how to make

Cinematografi

Cinematografà]

In Milan in early 1907, Pietro Tonini, the owner of the Marconi cinema, launched a cinema-themed competition for a short story to be distrib- uted for free at his establishment. The prize was two hundred lire and the winner was a young writer and film lover, Gualtiero I. Fabbri, who, following the success of his little pamphlet, (to which he gave as an epigraph F. Vallery’s statement that “cinema has not yet been born: it is about to be born”) suggested that Tonini found a cinematic magazine.

Thus the first issue of the “Rivista fonocinematografica” came out in April 1907 in Milan. It was the first of its kind in Italy, with Fabbri as editor in chief and Tonini as director. After eight issues, Tonini sold it to the Neapolitan Luigi Razzi who merged it with his magazine “Café Chantant”, which had had a cinema column for some time. (25)

The year 1907 was decidedly the first year of cinema in Italy and the interest that the new spectacle aroused in everyone – to which Papini’s writing attests – transceded its still very primitive techniques, which were not able to compensate for the actors’ frenetic gesticulations.

“Useless posters, sensational flyers, arc lamps that sputtered or flickered in cramped little rooms, frenzied sounds of player pianos, the shouting of intertitles, the ringing and warbling of gramophones, electric bells that launched into insistent alarms always announcing an end or a beginning that never came” were necessary inconveniences, worth it for a half hour diversion from everyday life. (26)

It was not only because the cinema had three excellent prerequisites, which have now disappeared – entertainment, brevity, and low cost – that people flocked to it. They did so precisely for the unconscious joy of feeling something of themselves moving as they followed the images of the protagonists on screen, almost living their lives. It is difficult, however, to imagine how the addiction to a form of spectacle that seems so natural today came about.

Clear insight into how cinema could have already been at the time, if an artist were able to use it to make their dreams reality, can be found in a short description by Emondo De Amicis in Cinematografo cerebrale, first published on December 7, 1907 in “Illustrazione italiana”. The writer imagines that a Monsieur X, in an armchair before an open fire, is lost in thought. A mental cinema thus begins for him, which, if it had been rendered cinematically with the title Un uomo pensa (A Man Thinks), would have preceded avant-garde film by many years.

The face of one of his old school friends appears suddenly at one of the windows, which amazes him, because he hadn’t thought about him in a very long time, maybe twenty years. For that whole time he had remained submerged, as if he had been erased from his mind. And, strangely, he only sees the forehead, eyes and nose of the face that had come back to life; the lower part is missing, like a mask that has been torn. He begins to search for it; he becomes needlessly tired from the effort and lets out a loud yawn. That sound ends in his ear as a note, which, almost spontaneously, becomes, in his head, the theme of the Marseillaise and he sees around him wounded men, blood, weapons thrown on the ground, and in the distance shouting multitudes, generals in full dress, regiments passing among the trees on a dark horizon lashed with rain.

And then still more “motifs”:

He recalls the face of the worker he had seen in passing and in it, to his surprise, he finds the lower part of the face of his school friend. – Strange! – he thinks. – And yet they don’t resemble one another. – He thinks of his friend again: a good boy, who chewed his fingernails all day; and he sees once more, as if on a hand that passes in front of his eyes, one of those half-chewed fingernails. But behind that, someone else appears, with eyes askew, whose image he had always repressed because it reminded him of a sad impression it had made on him. He pushes it away again. But it comes back. To free himself from it, he thinks of his office: we see the face there, in a corner. He thinks of a piece of music he had heard months before: that ugly face was on stage. His mind races to the naval base in La Spezia, to St. Peter’s Basilica, to a glacier in the Alps he had crossed as a child: in each place he sees those crooked eyes. It troubles him and he almost despairs. He recalls an ant that he had seen one day running desperately back and forth, going in and out of its hole, hiding itself and reappearing with a smaller ant always stuck to its head that it seemed would never leave it in peace.

We could go on. The storyline quoted here is a real film script. De Amicis died when cinema was increasingly becoming a surrogate for theatre, not a frenzy of images that sprung from “a frenzy of the mind” such as Monsieur X experienced. In 1907, the first Italian cinema magazine was founded: in 1908, the first critical cinema column appeared in a daily paper.

A young editor of the “Gazzetta” in Turin, Mario Dall’Olio, was given this assignment on February 4th, after the newspaper’s director had long thought about the opportunity for such an initiative:

The ever-expanding development of the cinema industry, not to mention the special predeliction of the public for cinematic spectacles in general, has led us to begin the present column, which, in fact, aims to illustrate everything related to cinema.

We are meanwhile grateful to note how clearly well-liked our initiative has been – relying as it has on the support that the gentlemen who own and manage the cinemas have shown our young editor, specifically hired to edit it – which will enable us to concern ourselves with more worthy cinematic spectacles, recommending them to the public either for their esthetic and artistic properties or for their moral aspects and the generally educational aims that have motivated the film producers to make them.

In the same issue – of February 4th – it was advertised that the Cinematografo della Borsa had premiered the very clear, truly exciting projection of the Ambrosio film L’incendio del Restaurant du Parc al Valentino the night before. Dall’Olio then attempted actual criticism. Of the film La fidanzata della guida (producer unknown) he wrote:

This one, however, may be considered one of the good ones, evidently it relies on the very successful use of effects, which certainly in large part compensate for what I would call a psychological void, deriving from action that happens too quickly and is too brief.

The evening of February 17th, a cinematic event of great importance took place in Turin:

An unusual spectacle and unusual public last night at the Ambrosio Biograph! The room into which throngs of petty bourgeois, workers and children usually rush, peeling oranges, to witness the “exhilarating scenes” of the jealous wife or the truly dramatic and thrilling scenes of the “little heroine”, was packed with a bespectacled and bald scientific crowd which gave the hall – in which the freshest child-like laughter breaks out and which echoes with “oohs” and “aahs” from prolonged marvels – the strict aspect of the Academy. The members of the R. Accademia di medicina [R. Medical Academy] had, in fact, moved their location to the Ambrosio Biograph for the occasion and many other students of Aesculapius also came, eager to see a collection of the best “stories” of nervous disorders parading on the white of the cinema screen, which had been transformed into a vertical anatomical chart, thanks to their illustrious colleague the honourable Professor Camillo Negro. Professor Negro had had the brilliant idea of applying cinema to the teaching of nervous ailments, to give to the students of the small universities, where “living” clinical subjects were rare, a summary of “types” and of “cases” by means of cinema. Professor Negro’s very successful initiative will not fail to cause a stir in the scientific world since it clearly demonstrates and maintains the distinctive mark of the “motion” that could not be reproduced using only photography. As mentioned, a large audience of doctors were quick to validate this new victorious application of the cinematograph... The spectacle was certainly not for families, but rather fit for the Barnum Museum. Professor Negro, after acknowledging the collaboration of his assistant, Dr. Rovasenda, Mr. Ambrosio and the cinematograph operator Mr. Omegna, commented with learned and brilliant words on the parade of nervous disorders of every kind, patients afflicted with systematic paralysis, nervous paralysis, the onset of epilepsy, hysterical fits, different forms of chorea and tics, pathological movement, paralysis of the optical nerve, etc. And such was the precision of the projection that one seemed to be in a clinic: certainly, the impression was just as anguishing in front of the poor hysterical woman who lost her voice every three months and did not regain her speech without Professor Negri influencing her and ordering her to speak. (27)

Other cases followed, which have already been studied by Cesare Lombroso – who was among the spectators – most of them living at the Cottolengo hospital. The article finished with the news that thanks to Professor Negro’s undertaking, the cinematic spectacle would be repeated by an Italian doctor in Rome, Paris and New York. (28)

In that same month of February 1908, in Paris, during a dinner, Lavedan, Rostand, Lemaitre, Hervieu, France, Bernard, Vandérem, Bataille and Louys spoke about cinema and decided to establish a film production firm to attain new and unpredictable effects in film that would rise to the glory of a genuine theatrical work, for which they would be the scriptwriters and directors. (29) Their enterprise would be called S.C.A.G.L (Société Ciné-matographique des auteurs et des gens de lettres) and they would brand their films Films d’arts. The Merzbach bank financed the undertaking and after making a short adaptation of Daudet’s Arlesienne they filmed L’assasinat du duc de Guise (with a screenplay by Henri Lavedan, starring Le Bargy and Gabrielle Robinne from the Comédie Française) for which Pathé secured exclusivity, and which became one of the first major French films.

In Italy, we may speak instead of Gabriele D’Annunzio’s interest in the new medium of spectacle, and the “sincere and enthusiastic support” he gave to the magical little machine.

Crainquebille (Ugo Ricci) wrote in the daily “La Stampa” on July 20, 1908:

The divine Gabriele could not remain distant and indifferent to this supreme artistic innovation: he who “moves towards life”, whose motto is “innovate or die”, who has written of himself “Tutto fu ambito e tutto fu tentato” (all has been desired, all has been attempted) – he who, with his multifaced spirit, has envied the activity of those who yoke the bull or grind the flour, has envied the considerably more lucrative activity of those who operate the cinematograph. He who has opened new horizons for painting with the fabulous painting of Parks painted for the Paris Salon, who gave his tired readers, with Acqua Nunzia, the nectar to revive and sanctify their mornings, who, with the Albano theatre, finally provided a worthy home for the tragic muse, and who, with rubber tires for automobiles, saved chauffeurs from tiresome changes, now announces the rehabilitation of the popular spirit through the magical receptacle for myth that is celluloid.

This same D’Annunzio spoke about his first encounter with cinema six years later in an interview about Cabiria (in the November 28th, 1914 edition of the “Corriere della Sera”):

A few years ago, in Milan, I was attracted by a new invention, which seemed to me to be able to promote a new aesthetic movement. I spent several hours in a film factory to study the technique and especially to understand the conclusions I could draw from the contrivances that those in the business call effects. I thought that a pleasing art could arise from the cinematograph whose essential element was that of “wonder.” Ovid’s Metamorphoses, now there is a real cinematic subject! Technically there is no limit to the representation of marvels and dreams. I wanted to experiment with the fable of Daphne. I only made an arm: the arm which begins to grow leaves from its fingertips until in turns into a thick golden branch, as in the small panel by Antonio del Pollaiuolo which I was overjoyed to see again in London a few days ago. I remember the great commotion there was at the test. The effect was amazing. The wonderous stillness in the marble of the writer or in the artist’s painting was mysteriously achieved before our bewildered eyes, effectively surpassing Ovid’s talent. Supernatural life was there, depicted in vibrant reality...

The experiments did not have any practical results. According to the Poet, “abominable public taste” would have made such a film unsellable. Saffi Comerio (which later became Milano Films), in whose facility D’Annunzio had tried to create his myths, managed to contract the poet in 1909. Against an immediate advance of 12 thousand lire, he was to deliver no less that six original scripts, the first three by April. These never arrived and the production company, although they sued him and won, never got their advance back. (30)

Other Italian personalities began to reconsider the new means of expression. In the December 1908 edition of “Lux” (I nuovi orizzonti del cinematografo) an interview appeared with Roberto Bracco, who, though he acknowledged the artistic future of cinema, thought that to achieve it, there would have to be a change of course; Ermete Zacconi worked willingly to present well-made art to people and to make his art known in places he had never been able to go; Edoardo Scarpetta (whose son Vincenzino was already “in cinema”) recognized the need in cinema for good comic actors, who achieved comedy with natural gestures and expressions. Italian films, in 1908, proved to be among the best in Europe. Along- side Gli ultimi giorni di Pompei and Caccia al leopardo, already mentioned in the introduction, Ambrosio released a sports film I centauri, which reproduced the sensational horse training by the Pinerolo Cavalry Officers, whose style elicited enthusiasm and admiration in America.

Itala Film had been awarded one of ten silver medals given out at the Hamburg Cinematographic Exposition (31), making a name for itself for its technical merits. With Cines, Mario Caserini began a series of very complex historical films; at S.A.F.F.I. in Milan (Comerio had become the Società Anonima Fabbricazioni Films Italiane), Giuseppe De Liguoro tried to do so as well and produced the first adaptation of I promessi Sposi.

The first months of 1909 saw a setback in cinema worldwide. The public were not satisfied with everything that was being produced by film production companies in Europe and America, and until that time, producers had been certain that they would sell their films. Incredible profits came to an end, and the cinema industry entered a phase of adjustment and recalibration.

The greater aesthetic demands of the public meant that the shoddy overproduction of the large production houses was no longer viable, and people came to appreciate, instead, films that had reached considerable artistic superiority, like those made in Italy.

Pathé fought hard to maintain the dominant place they had held until then with the biggest market of film consumers. Eastman Kodak refused to align themselves with the large “syndicate” of Edison producer/suppliers, the federation of film distributers that supplied eleven of the fourteen thousand cinemas that existed in North America.

A meeting was held in Paris between cinema manufacturers at the French Cinematographic Society (at 51, Rue de Clichy). Participants included Arturo Ambrosio from Ambrosio Film, the engineer Sciamengo from Itala, Carlo Rossi from Cines, Camillo Ottolenghi from Aquila, Luca Comerio from S.A.F.F.I. – Comerio and Lamberto Pineschi from Fratelli Pineschi, but no agreement was made on how to eliminate the source of the crisis, which were growing pains for the young cinema industry, quite normal after such rapid development within very few years of existence.

Arturo Ambrosio and Sciamengo thus decided to go see how things were going in America. Upon reaching New York, they came up against the firm hostility of the syndicate of large production houses – Vitagraph, Biograph, Edison, Urban, Essanay, Gaumont Pathé, Kalem, Lubin M.F., Georges Méliès, Selig, Bioscope – and they only managed to come to an agreement with the Federation of Independents who supplied films to the remaining three thousand North American cinemas.

Given the poor artistic level of American productions and the expressions of enthusiasm and marvel for Italian films, which had already been projected with enormous success, the two men understood that it was futile to seek the commercial agreements that would normally have been requested, as in fact they later would be.

The industry crisis led to the first backlash against cinema. (32) Cinema was often accused of being synonymous with perversity and immorality in the papers, especially after the Vatican had prohibited priests from frequenting cinemas in their priest’s robes. The danger it represented was in inverse relation to the low cost of the ticket and the brevity of the presentation. Theatre advocates saw it as strong competition for theatres. A few voices were raised in its defense: cinema, besides not being a serious competitor for theatre – they were two very different spectacles in content, form and circumstance – would be able, little by little, to prepare people’s minds to understand a more complex and vibrant artistic expression. (33) Cinema, in 1909, had considerably improved. The “old way” and the “new way” were already spoken of. An anonymous critic risked writing about one of the best Milano films, Giuseppe De Liguoro’s Nella di Loredano: “the density of the darks intensifies and better delineates the detail and blackens the background” (“Lux”, Naples, November 7, 1909). It was the Cines film Beatrice Cenci however (filmed in Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome, where Beatrice Cenci was tried and sentenced), that was first proclaimed to be “artistic cinema” in reference to director Mario Caserini and the actors: Fernanda Negri in the lead role, with Ettore Pesci, Maria Gasperini, Alessandro Rinaldi and Renato De Grais (“Cine Fono”, Naples, September 25, 1909.)

The first big national cinematic event took place in Milan, with an international competition to produce artistic and moral scripts, and the

French production companies Eclipse, Lux and Eclair, Berlin’s Deutsche Bioscop Gesellschaft and the American company Vitagraph participated. (34)

In addition to Ambrosio, Cines, Aquila and Comerio, new Italian production companies appeared: U.N.I.T.A.S. in Turin, which was the first Catholic initiative of its kind, established to provide moral and educational films to young audiences; Latium in Rome, founded and then sold by Fratelli Pineschi – the Florentine writer Yambo (Enrico Novelli) became its director –; Adolfo Croce & C. in Milan, which was founded in 1908 and specialized in documentaries (35); and Vesuvio Film in Naples, descendant of the Fratelli Troncone company, for whom even Salvatore De Giacomo would write scripts.

Ernesto Maria Pasquali (1883-1919), one of the most brilliant collaborators at Ambrosio, who had already gone from journalism to theatre to cinema, even decided, in 1909, to found a new cinema production house with the aim of producing extraordinary films.

A small courtyard at 46, Via Giacinto Collegno was rented and a wooden platform surrounded by a tent was erected: they began to shoot adaptations of famous operas, Cyrano de Bergerac and Capitan Fracassa. The day after a big storm, with sewers blocked, the swollen platform floated away and collapsed, and Ernesto Maria Pasquali and his cameraman Pietro Marelli moved to another covered courtyard at 22, Via Brugnone, and very easily shot Ettore Fieramosca (with 200 people and 40 horses) among the rough terrain of the barriera San Paolo.

A French writer, Jules Claretie, visiting Italy in late Spring 1909, was surprised to note that the most common things on the streets of Italian cities were automobiles and cinemas, which in fact represented the industries in which Italy excelled at the time. To keep up with the Italian competition, Charles Pathé decided to set up an Italian branch in Rome, hiring Re Riccardi, the licensed importer of French theatre in Italy. He entrusted the organization of the new production company, Films d’arte italiana, to the dramatic writer Ugo Falena, who had just left the directorshop of the Teatro Stabile, Alfredo Campioni and Emanuale Lo Savio, and business began in the second half of 1909. Ugo Falena – after having been to Vincennes in Pathé’s studios – became the director, and managed to convince

Ferruccio Garavaglia, Ermete Novelli, Dina Galli, Teresa Mariani, Amerigo Guasti, Ruggero Ruggeri, Oreste Calabresi, Italia Vitaliani, Cesare Dondini and others to work in front of the camera. Cesare Dondini, who had given in to such infamy and played the part of Jago in the cinematic adaptation of Othello, was fired on the spot from Rome’s Teatro Stabile.

After the first film Il trovatore, which featured, for the first time, Francesca Bertini, who had already acted with Alfredo Campioni and Edoardo Scarpetta, Otello, Carmen, L’Ammiraglia, and Michele Perrin were also shot. The seventeen-year-old Maria Jacobini, an actress at the Teatro delle Quattro Fontane in Rome, was the lead in the 1910 film Lucrezia Borgia. The artistic concerns of the director still consisted only of turning the camera’s crank very quickly and demanding that the actors act with their mouths closed. (36)

By 1910, the crisis had passed. Cinema had overcome the mistrust of the banks, who were now advancing large sums of money to the production houses (since the foreign raw film stock not only had to be paid for in cash, but a deposit had to be made in advance, as security, from a bank.) At a national cinema conference held in May in Turin, it was established among distribution agents and producers that even the films would be paid for in cash or within fifteen days of receipt, to enable immediate access to capital and to continue making one film after another. At the time, the amounts varied from five to twenty thousand lire.

They were trying to agree on eliminating the well-known “bicycle” system among distribution agents, mostly used in southern Italy, whereby the same film would be quickly transported by bicycle from one cinema to the next, so it could be included in different film programs on the same afternoon or the same evening.

The programs for the screenings of that time were established as: travel, drama, comedy, live-action – and did not exceed 45 minutes in length.

In Italy, despite the intensive activity of the production houses, a strange phenomenon occurred: very few Italian films were included in the programs. This happened for two reasons: little interest on the part of the producers to sell to the Italian agents who tended to pay less than foreign clients, and the usual xenophilia from those who accepted even mediocre or outright shoddy films, as long as they came from abroad. While this was happening, some foreign production houses were also attaching their own brand to Italian films, as occurred in England with the Ambrosio films Nerone and Caccia al leopardo, and the stamp of “Italian film” attracted people in the most distant countries.

Ambrosio exported alot to North America, where it’s productions and those of Itala Film were overtaking those of the French.

They had very imaginative screenwriters. Among them we may note Arrigo Frusta (the lawyer Sebastiano Ferraris), an acclaimed poet in the vernacular and author of countless scripts, even for other Italian production houses. (37) Thirty permanent actors and technicians, that is, five crews, were working continuously. The stars were Lydia De Roberti (Lidia Bonelli), daughter of a painting professor from Turin, and the very close couple Alberto A. Capozzi-Mary Cleo Tarlarini, precursors of the acting couples that would make a name for themselves in America. Gigetta Morano began to be well known, creating a playful and vivacious female type that was unprecedented in cinema at the time.

One of the production company’s best cameramen, Giovanni Vitrotti, was sent to Russia in 1910 to collaborate with the set up of a production company in Moscow, Thiemen & Reinhardt, and shot a film with Protosanov, Olga Preobragenskaia, Uvarova, and Sciaternikov. (38)

Even at Itala Film, who were constructing their largest establishment at Ponte Trombetta, production was organized with modern industrial criteria. Their exports surpassed those of all of the other Italian production houses. The launch of La caduta di Troia, which, as already noted, was the first long format Italian film, and which many agents initially refused to project and then tried in vain to buy at any cost, secured huge profits for the house. Excellent actors were hired, among them several French actors: Madame Léonie Laporte, Émile Vardannes, Gabriel Moreau, Edouard

Davesnes and his wife, a very talented mime (Elena in La caduta di Troia), Denisot, Lucien Nonguet and André Deed (Cretinetti – Gribouille), one of the first comic actors to achieve worldwide fame. Alberto Collo, Lidia Quaranta, Umberto Mozzatto, Emilio Ghione, Nino Oxilia, Sandro Cam- asio and Letizia Quaranta all began their apprenticeship with Itala Film at that time.

A correspondent from Turin wrote in the November 19, 1910 edition of Cine Fono about Emilio Ghione:

A certain Ghione, who a few months ago, and perhaps even now, was employed by Itala Film, was the incomparable lead in an exhilarating short film that played Monday morning in section 5 of our Tribunale, eliciting immense, uncontrollable laughter. Ghione accompanied his words with pantomime, contortions and exaggerated movments.

A painter of minatures, he had become a bit player at Itala Film and was very soon noticed for his wide-ranging style and his bravura in taking on risky scenes. He created a character that was more avenger than troublemaker, more of an altruist than a theif, Za la Mort, who dressed as an apache and was almost as famous in Italian silent cinema as Maciste, from whom Ghione had taken inspiration. (39)

Of the 19 production houses active in Italy in 1910, 6 of them were in Turin, the cinema capital.

In Milan, where, thanks to a very organized system of rentals, internationally produced films arrived more quickly and more numerously, but where prices were higher than in other Italian cities, Milano Films underwent a reorganization by its new president Baron Pier Gaetano Venino and its general director Baron Paolo Airoldi di Rebbiate. An organization that owed its existence, according to a magazine in 1910, to “the cream of Lombardy’s aristocracy and plutocracy”, had to contend nonetheless with the houses in Turin, boasting the names of scriptwriters such as Gabriele D’Annunzio (the scripts never arrived, but the poet’s name brought a lot of prestige), Giannino Antona Traversi, E.A. Butti and Domenico Tumiati.

For the film Murat ovverossia Dalla locanda al trono, which was 400 metres in length, between artists and extras, four hundred people were employed. The most important scenes were filmed in the castle of Count Arnaboldi at Carimate and among the actors, under director Giuseppe De Liguoro, were, besides the castle’s owner and the general director of Milano Films, Counts Jean and Giuseppe Visconti di Modrone, Count San Nazaro, the Marquis Rosales d’Orgogno, Count Marco Greppi, Counts Gino and Giulio Durini and many other guests.

For a scene in the film Sardanapalo based on a story by E.A. Butti, the ballerinas of La Scala were hired. The previous year, they went to Ferrara to shoot the film Ugo e Parisina ovverossia Un amore alla corte di Ferrara.

Domenico Tumiati remembered it fondly a few years later:

I worked in cinema only once, in 1908 [the date is wrong: it was 1909], when Milano Films wanted to try an experiment with luxury, moving lock stock and barrel to Ferrara, to shoot my Parisina in its historical context. I rehearsed the lines myself, and with its faithful setting, they produced an exquisitly beautiful film, altohugh for that very reason it was less commercially viable than the others. (40)

The production house’s most important film of that period was the adaptation of Dante’s Inferno, a film in three parts and 54 episodes that faithfully reproduced 14th century scenery. It made use of very inventive effects. The scene with Bertram del Bornio, who moves among those who sow discord holding his own head, (Inf. XXVIII, v.119), was made in this way: a very tall man with his head covered in black velvet which could not be detected on a black background grabbed the hair of another much shorter man, wrapped in a black cloak. The two advanced slowly and the black of the velvet, hidden by the grey atmosphere of hell, made the scene very impressive. For Lucifer gnashing at Judas, a real, hairy head was photographed with its enormous mouth open, an enormous paper head was made that exactly reproduced the real one, with a live man placed inside it, and then the real, living mouth was shot chewing on a puppet. This effect was made possible by precisely superimposing the film. The effect used for the luminous halo that moved around Beatrice’s head was kept secret by Emilio Roncarlo, the cameraman, who never wanted to share it with anyone.

Two expert rockclimbers, Salvatore Papa and Arturo Pirovano, were chosen to play Dante and Virgilio, and most of the scenes were shot in the mountainous gorge of Grigna Meridionale. With few exceptions, such as the scenes of the lustful that made too obvious use of little dolls – who, in addition to the punishment established by Dante, also jerked about among the flames,– and giants that didn’t appear very large, the adaptation by Milano Films was called “a real masterpiece.” (41)

At Cines, at the time, the young painter Enrico Guazzoni began working alongside Mario Caserini, a pioneer and one of our master directors.

He had met Filoteo Alberini while painting the Salon of the Cinema Moderno with Ballester, and then began to work in film. He would specialize in producing decor evocative of Rome, working on the films Agrippina and Brutus as early as 1910. The direction of many earlier films on the List (under Cines), all with historical subjects, can be attributed to him.

Despite the faith many people had in the artistic future of cinema (Caserini himself held a conference on this topic in the Aula Magna of the Collegio Romano on February 2, 1910), the backlash against cinematic spectacles did not let up. The State intervened for the first time, declaring that films could not be projected without the authorization of local authorities. The Subcommittee for juvenile delinquency, established by the Hon. Orlando, proposed a law on cinematic presentations. The first article was:

Operators and owners of cinemas will pay a fixed tax for each film that does not present: a) decent, ecucational or instructive scenes; b) sports, monuments, cities, landscapes; c) large agricultural and industrial operations; d) events in the life of the nation.

The advent of the cinema, so important to public life, unfortunately came to be considered from a strictly fiscal point of view by the Italian State, who, we shall see, maintained a negative or outright oppositional attitude towards it for many years.

Chapter Ii

Although there is no clear separation between 1910 and 1911 allowing us to determine the end of one period and the beginning of another that was different in terms of cinema, it is convenient to situate the beginning of the “golden age” of Italian cinema in 1911, which was an important year. Among the many events that year that led Italy to stand out among other large European countries was the International Exposition in Turin, which gave an overview of the progress that had been made in Italy. The industrial, artistic and literary city of Turin demonstrated that it was also a city of cinema, extremely well regarded in the most important international markets.

If we consider the production of the various houses in Turin, adding that of Cines, Milano Films and other smaller houses, we can conclude that the Italian contribution to cinema that year was undeniably quite remarkable – even if there are similar reliable lists of films produced in other countries.

At the Exposition in Turin, there were theatres for cinema in the official cinema pavilion in the Borgo Pilonetto, in the US pavilion, the Argentinian pavilion, the Brazilian pavilion and in the pavilion of Electrical Siemens and Schukert. An international competition with global appeal was launched, with three categories of cinema: artistic, scientific and educational, with a first prize of twenty-five thousand lire. Louis Lumière and Paul Nadar figured among the members of the jury. (1)

First prize in the artistic category was awarded to Ambrosio for Nozze d’oro, which had a patriotic theme (and sold 60 copies in London alone), and in the scientific category, first prize went to Roberto Omegna and Guido Gozzano’s film La vita delle farfalle.

Second place went to Cines for the artistic film San Francesco o Il poverello d’Assisi and to the educational film Il tamburino sardo. In third place was Milano Films for the adaptation of the Odyssey. Itala Film, who were busy setting up their big new operation at Ponte Trombetta and were thus unable to shoot a major film, did not participate. No films were submitted for the competition for comedic films less than 500 metres in length launched by the Esposizione d’Arte Umoristica (Exposition of Comedic Arts) in Rivoli.

Looking over the newspapers, photo albums and guides to the International Exposition in Turin, we may note the abundance of “figurative paintings” disseminated among the pavilions, which were intended to make certain information more attractive to the public. In a series of eight large-format dioramas representing advances in the silk industry from ancient times until 1911 painted by G.B. Carpanetto, Romolo Bernardi, Alberto Rossi and Decoroso Bonifanti, there were two, L’imperatore Giustiniano che accoglie due persiani finti monaci apportatori del seme bachi (The Emperor Justinian welcoming two Persians dressed as monks bearing silkworms) and Jacquard visitato da Napoleone l’Imperatore (Jacquard visited by the Emperor Napoleon), which were closely linked to the cinematic scenography of the time. “Genre paintings”, so common in 19th century painting in Piedmont, in which models were lined up in front of the painter’s easel as if on a stage, became film sets in which the actors were positioned in front of the camera, with the same artistic criteria. The success of our early cinema was in fact in large part due to our art of scenography.

The Italian production houses worked feverishly, but their production was turbulent, adversarial and disorganized. Their lack of unity posed a threat, which became more and more serious, and they were thus unable, a few years later, to take on the colossal foreign companies who had solid industry standards and were united in their efforts to conquer foreign markets.

In America, artistically speaking, they were still in the Middle Ages in terms of cinema, but in Spring 1911, news reached Italy that the production houses of Vitagraph, Edison, Essanay, Biograph, Lubin and others wanted to boycott European films and preferably Italian ones (France was going through its own period of decline.) (2) Gualtiero I. Fabbri, through his magazine, thus encouraged Italian distributors to boycott American films such as Den hvide slavehandel, Ved fænglets port, and Les Misérables and “those stinking, awful, inane cowboys always pointing their big guns and the dirty sneers of bandits: enough of all this dead weight of abductions, chases, ambushes, assassinations, robberies, blackmail and other such American trash, let’s make art ourselves.” (3)

The Italian production houses, however, continued to sell in foreign markets, neglecting the local market. The danger of boycotting didn’t worry them. It was a real euphoric moment for selling “sight unseen.” The company brand served as a guarantee, and viewers flocked to Italian films in New York, Sydney and Barcelona.

A lack of scripts was more worrying. (4) In 1911, Pathé had already used more than three thousand of them. Longer format films, that is, those that took two, three or even four weeks to make, were an advantage in that regard, since finding 20-25 original scripts per month had become quite arduous. The demands of foreign audiences had to be kept in mind: happy endings for Anglo Saxon countries, tragic endings for Slavic countries. In fact, one of the main clients of Turin’s Aquila Film” was Russia, to whom the other production houses had also been selling films that were “grivois et d’un caractère piquant” for some time, a type that Pathé and Guamont had stopped including in their official programs, but that even they continued to produce for Russian and German clients. (5)

The films were divided into many genres: historical: historical-drama, historical-fantasy sentimental drama sentimental comedy comical: comical-satirical, comical-acrobatic, comical with effects non-fiction newsreel documentary (scripted true stories) pastoral fantastical scientific panoramic acrobatic “attraction”

“with effects” idyll caricature moving.

Guamont’s film Pater Noster of 1911 was called “aesthetic”. (6) Dramas, fantasies and comedies were often tinted, undergoing a final colour bath so that there were blue seas with blue actors and red sunsets with red actors, and this system was also later frequently used even for “actuality films”.

Programs were usually made up of a drama, a comedy, a news feature and a comical element.

Titles were an integral and necessary part of the film. It often occurred that on weekends and holidays the manually-operated projectors would be cranked at 40 metres per second and the actors would fly across the screen as if bitten by a tarantula, since for the projectionist, the time needed to read the titles was superfluous to understanding what was happening. In the early days of cinema there was a big separation between the two moments, that of the film’s making and that of its projection, entrusted to two hands that turned the crank with different aims. The necessary regulations to ensure the developed reel’s appropriate rate of projection, respecting artistic rules, were lacking.

From older cinematograph operators, I have heard mysterious hints at certain tricks on the part of projectionists, who would use a shirtsleeve to cover the projector’s lens with an oily layer, so that the photography of certain films, whose sharpness was disappointing to those unable to obtain it, appeared less sharp than they were. But they were isolated incidents, a kind of antagonism between the production houses to damage one another.

The musical score, which in those early days had the task of masking the hum of the projector and provided an auditory aid for the effort needed to adjust to the new means of expression, was played by an orchestra or, even, in the new, larger cinemas, by several orchestras. In the old, antiquated ones, for the last screenings of the evening, barely a trombone or a clarinet remained to accompany the requisite pianist. A kind of special category of music developed that was suited to accompany the films and exhaustingly passed from one piece to the next, from nostalgic melodies to spirited marches and from poignant serenades to furious gallops. The most frequently used were Argine’s Il passaggio del treno or Cerato’s Gli automobilisti for lively scenes or Ivanovici’s waltz Le onde del Danubio or Fiorito’s Hidalgo Tango for sentimental ones. Later, films such as Histoire d’un Pierrot were even sold with the scores for musical accompaniment, and for some films, such as Cabiria, Rapsodia satanica, Frate Sole, or Sinfonia Bianca, maestros like Ildebrando Pizzetti, Pietro Mascagni, Luigi Mancinelli and Vittorio Gui wrote original musical scores. (7)

The need for new scripts led the production house Ambrosio to commission them from the poet Guido Gozzano, who, with La via del rifugio (1907) and I colloqui (1911), established himself as one of the most recognized Italian poets of the period.

He wrote to Salvator Gotta on September 26, 1911, when he was already writing scripts and screenplays for Ambrosio:

I’ve been in Turin for a few days to stage La statua di carne, episodes for the Zévaco series and other similar delights... Those who – and they are many – enjoy seeing poetry and poets dishonoured can rejoice... But perhaps I will write an incredible book even about this indignity. (8)

A few months earlier, in December 1910, in a conversation with Carlo Casella, when asked if it was true that he had written cinematic scripts, Guido Gozzano replied:

You are surprised that I, by reputation a solitary and haughty worker, chose a form as popular as the cinema? Not at all. I only followed the line of art that I had set for myself, to which I have always been true.

I, who have resisted flattery... and financial gain from the best daily papers, because I felt that I would be wasting all of my literary energy; I, who have resisted and still resist attempts at theatre, because it’s not nearly as evolved or as subtle as I would like, accepted having my dreams revealed in a frenetic film with pleasure.

Cinema has reached a good point to be able to simplify and realize my dream: no more long-winded dialogue and drawn out scenes, no more difficulty in revising, but silent projection that is at the same time eloquent; a prodigious strip that reveals and interprets.

I summarized for cinema the most original themes from my volume of short stories; fables, again, for young and old, staged with very condensed plots and cunning use of effects. The storylines are completely invented by me; each episode will alternate with simple, concise verse, commenting on the events that follow. It’s something I did with great love and great pleasure, and each film, with its fantastic framing and its commentary in verse, is as dear to me as my literary work and I would not hesitate to attach my name to them and defend them just like my volumes of prose and poetry. (9)

Instead, his adaptations and scripts remained anonymous. In addition to his collaboration with Roberto Omegna on the documentary La vita delle farfalle, the scenario for Solo al mondo “the moving story of Piccolino, the tiny hero, a vagabond in the world” can be attributed to him with certainty because Ambrosio advertised it (in “La vita cinematografica” on July 1, 1911) using the same language as Gozzano:

The firm Ambrosio, faithful to its ideals of artistic advancement, in the presentation of all that is great and interesting in science, history and art, now releases a new series of delicately poetic films. Each episode will alternate with a few simple and concise verses that comment on the events that follow and the themes will be such to be of interest to young and old alike.

We may also be able to attribute to him Hans suonatore di flauto, which fits into his method of taking plots from the folk tales of diverse peoples, but the works Guido Gozzano made with Ambrosio Film must have been very few. Gozzano subsequently left for India with his friend Garrone, who was ill like him and died before he did; he came back to his desire to make nice, light fantasies in 1913, when he began work related to San Francesco d’Assisi. He managed to complete the “first schematic in photograms” of the film he had dreamed of only a few months before his death. There were agreements in place with a big production house in Turin, Ruggero Ruggeri might have played the lead, and the film would have been shot almost entirely in Assisi, as Guido told his brother on April 17; but on August 9, 1916, the poet died and his film was never made. (10)

The Italo-Turkish war was the first Italian war in which the cinematograph made its appearance. Ambrosio, Cines, Comerio and Pettine sent cameramen or personally went to the coast of Tripolitania. (11) The Gloriosa battaglia di Misurata by Tripoli Film, financed by the distribution agent Armando Vay, was in fact filmed with a telescopic lens that could photograph the enemy attacking or defending. Foreign speculation began for apocryphal films, which were plentiful a few years later, during the First World War. (12)

Belgian newspapers printed biased accounts on our war in Tripoli based on false American documentaries (one of them was I martiri della Croce Rossa, which may have been from Vitagraph) in which platoons of Italians were shot down by a few Arabs. Pathé’s Battaglia di Zanzur, shot who knows where, with awkward performances and improvised Arabs, was considered quite insulting, even to art, and caused an offensive in Italian papers against both cinema in general and the abundant but absolutely shoddy productions with which Pathé and Gaumont were inundating Italy.

In 1912, there were two lines of attack against cinema: one in defence of theatre and one that was against the rampant immorality of films. The first found support in the theatre journal “L’Argante”, in which Della Guardia and Remo Lotti even attacked Mario Caserini personally, calling him a “failed comic actor”. Caserini, who, after having spent two and a half years with Ermete Novelli, had voluntarily left the theatre to become involved with cinema at Alberini & Santoni for 200 lire per month!

To increase the number of theatre goers, legislation was put forward to obtain limitations from the State on the number of cinemas, but they only managed, rightly, to have films, which were so dangerous due to their very rapid flammability, kept outside of residential areas and to close all cinemas that were underground. The theatre, in order to defend itself, had only one means: to improve. The good companies were not afraid of cinema, which satisfied other demands.

The “moralists” had a staunch supporter in Commander Avellone who published a letter in the October 18, 1912 edition of the “Giornale d’Italia” in Rome. Avellone, who was a public prosecutor at the Rome Court of Appeals, a respectable judge, a psychologist and sociologist, managed to situate cinema outright somewhere between a bunch of extortionists and a gambling house. The State should absolutely intervene to prohibit “horrible spectacles depicting adultery, suicide, financial ruin at the hands of swindlers, cheats and frauds, illicit love, indecent affairs, criminal activity, ambushes and audacious robberies with hacksaws in which victims are killed.”

Besides the word “cinematograph” being used for every circumstance (whether referring to political campaigning or screenings on a beach), that is, whenever a journalist wanted to suggest a complicated and noisy event, cinema was constantly blamed, in news articles, as the inspiration for ev - ery break and entry robbery, every crime, every killing. It was cinema that was causing the substantial decline in the number of books requested at public libraries and a drop in bank deposits, that was removing, on a daily basis, a substantial amount of mental and material energy, leading to a harmful decline in productivity, and that made crowds of viewers breathe the unhealthy air of cramped spaces.

The defenders of the cinema, on the other had, accused the State of making cinema exist ex lege, ignoring or creating obstacles and harmful impediments. The Italian cinema industry employed twenty-five thousand people and the State would have obtained a substantial profit by encouraging it.

Instead, while theatres were allowed to put up posters for “adult content” for banal pochades of foreign production, for the cinema, it was not permitted. Public presentations of Nozze d’oro by Ambrosio, which had won awards at the International Exposition in Turin, and Tamburino sardo by Cines were prohibited for political reasons! The reproaches were directed more at foreign films rather than at Italian productions, which made up barely a third of the number of films in circulation.

The most important film of 1912 was the Cines production Quo vadis?, directed by Enrico Guazzoni with Amleto Novelli, Lea Giunchi and other good actors. Henryk Sienkiewicz’s novel had appeared in Italy for the first time in a translation by Federico Verdinois in 1899 and had circulated widely with enormous success. (13) The characters of naive, passive Lygia and proud, cruel Tigellinus were already quite well known, so Guazzoni’s grandiose six-part re-enactment, with short, concise but tumultuous scenes and enormous sets, natural acting and no artificial gestures, moved and excited thousands and thousands of viewers. The most admired scenes were the intrusion of the henchmen, who come to take Lygia in the house of Aulus, Lygia’s abduction, the assassination of Croton, the burning of Rome and the sentimental scenes in which Peter prays in the catacombs, Eunice suffers a broken heart, and Lygia and Vinicius meet.

People who totally lacked imagination noticed, during the film’s screening, that the throne that carried Lygia’s body into the arena was black, while when it came to Ursus it was white, but the public attributed this to fear, and enthusiasm for the film did not wane. The film, which had cost Cines sixty thousand lire, made several million, and was a huge hit in America.

It is also worth remembering the films of Caserini, who had come to Ambrosio in the meantime, I cavalieri di Rodi, Dante e Beatrice, Parsifal and Siegfried, among others; and Luigi Maggi’s Satana, played by Mario Bonnard based on a story by the poet Guido Volante (1878-1916), a precursor to the idea of depicting different manifestations of the same force across various time periods, a theme that appears again in Intolerance.

Also in 1912, Savoia Films, which had been founded the year before in Turin by manager and sometime director Dr. Pietro Antonio Gariazzo and had chosen as its trademark the reproduction of a seal of Amedeo V of Savoia, produced the first films with Maria Jacobini, who appeared for the first time under her own name in Il giglio della palude; Tullio Carminati also debuted with them in Bacio di Margherita di Cortona.

Padre, with Ermete Zacconi, was produced by Itala Film, for which the director Pastrone had to waste many metres of film, as he insisted on making the illustrious actor understand that the stage and the film set were two very different things. (14)

At Roma Films, they shot Nanon with Cesira Archetti, which was the first Italian film to show scenes of organized crime. Nanon’s dance in the Taverna del Grillo Nero was one of them.

Gennaro and Maria Righelli worked for Vesuvio Films making a satire from a novella from the Decameron, an excellent initiative that was never repeated.

Circuses, wild beasts, parades and gladiator battles, eruptions of Vesuvius, togas, peplums: from Quo vadis? to two versions of the Ultimi giorni di Pompei shot in 1913 (by Ambrosio and Pasquali), we arrive at the second colossal endeavour of Cines, Marcantonio e Cleopatra.

The adaptation of Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s popular novel The Last Days of Pompeii caused one of the first serious rifts between production houses in history. (15)

Ambrosio had been preparing such a film for months, which should have been, together with the second and third films in their patriotic se - ries, La lampada della nonna and Le campane della morte, an important achievement for them.

Even before shooting began, it had already been sold to Chicago’s Photodrama & C.; the cinematic adaptation by Arrigo Frusta had cost a thousand lire. At a certain point, Ambrosio learned that two other production houses in Turin were making the same film at the beginning of 1913: Gloria who abandoned the idea after having rented the Arena in Verona and having bought a whole menagerie of animals; and Pasquali, commissioned by the distributors Vay and Hubert from Milan who had given only one stipulation to them, to release before Ambrosio at all costs, to be able to reach America first and take advantage of the large public that already existed there.

Pasquali managed to shoot the film in twenty-eight days and their adaptation, if it didn’t attain the level of finish or magnificent set design of Ambrosio, had more lively performances.

Pasquali’s films had their own particular style. Far from being precise, with frequent false notes, they captivated audiences with their quick rhythm, their passionate storylines and for the synergy of the actors. Pasquali knew how to intrigue the public, and had already managed to create noteworthy films in terms of direction. La porta aperta with Alberto A. Capozzi and Maria Gandini was very successful. A cinema critic wrote in 1913:

She writes a few words, nervously, then waits with trepidation on the threshold. Two arms stretch out, and she falls hopelessly. The car tears up the road, then the train vanishes in a long wake of smoke. It happened like this, really like this, you could describe the first frames, quick, sober, extremely efficient. We see only the outstretched arms of the lover who captures the guilty woman; the car and the train pass by in a second. It’s a new cinematic development, I would say almost a new “style”, which has great impact. Neither the rapidity nor the fragmentation of these scenes inhibit the clarity of the action. These few brushstrokes are so animated, so clear that even the briefest of titles “the escape” seems superfluous, unnecessary.

But let’s look at the second masterpiece made by Cines, Marcantonio e Cleopatra, in which Guazzoni proves, even more than in Quo vadis?, his great mastery of moving great numbers of extras, using the film camera with the vigour of a great painter. In an interview that appeared in the “Giornale di Italia” (Rome, November 4, 1913) when the film was screened in Rome, after having already met with great success in Naples and Florence, Guazzoni himself justified his choice:

No other subject could have better attracted and impassioned an artist than the one that, in the characters of Mark Antony and Cleopatra, had weighed so heavily on the destiny of the ancient world. This above all gave us the opportunity to parade before the viewers’ eyes the most characteristic sites of ancient Rome and Egypt, which everyone has imagined since their school days, but has never seen, nor would ever have the chance to see even if they spent a king’s ransom. It gave us the possibility of recreating ships being launched and battles, which have remained among the most memorable of those times and are reproduced on the cinema screen not without anxious emotion. And in the end, the love of Mark Antony and Cleopatra, beyond being, in itself, one of the most passionate subjects in history, lends itself magnificently to the portrayal of life in the sumptuous Ptolemaic court, with intimate scenes that are fascinating in their splendour and ostentation... I studied every element of this adaptation assiduously, on location, in museums, in libraries. After this research a legion of artists and technicians at Cines prepared for the time-consuming work of reconstructing whole parts of cities, palaces, monuments, grand rooms, salons, fountains, pools, furniture, armour and clothing, so that everything corresponded to the most authentic historical reality... And this required, on the part of the extremely talented general director of Cines, Baron Fassini, an enterprising spirit and a tenacity that are uncommon in the industry. It was necessary to cast billboard actors whose physical qualities – the perfect beauty of Cleopatra, the masculine vigour of Mark Antony and the austere magnificence of Octavian – were joined with an artistic ability of the highest order to be able to personify the particular characters and represent them on screen with all of their virtues and defects. The part of Cleopatra was given to Jeanne Terribili Gonzales, who had specialized in the recreation of historical subjects with strong artistic instinct; the part of Mark Antony went to Amleto Novelli, who was a lead actor in a theatre group and had also now specialized in cinema in the most varied of roles; the part of Octavian went to Ignazio Lupi, who had also abandoned the dramatic art to specialize in cinema with very commendable talent; the part of the slave went to Matilde De Marzio, a singer who promises great success in cinema.

The choice of Terribili Gonzales was somewhat criticized because, according to Plutarch, Apollodorus had carried the slim young Cleopatra to Ceasar in a sack, which would have been impossible to do with the voluptous Cleopatra in the film, who was nonetheless much more attractive in the eyes of the viewers who now enthusiastically and unhesitatingly admired formidable women wrapped in peplums among numerous fan holders, intent on whiling away their time with lions and leopards in enor- mous rooms or colonnades.

The rights to project Guazzoni’s film for one year in England cost more than three hundred lire, which is what Cines had paid to produce it.

At the end of 1912, Mario Caserini, who had broken the contract binding him to Ambrosio until December 1915 (he stayed with them from October 15, 1911 to December 15, 1912), became scenic director at Gloria Films – who, in a greatly publicized manner, added themselves to the seven production houses that already existed in Turin – announcing that he would only mount his own films, entrusting the positive printing to Biak of Lyon, which was owned by the engineer Pouchain who had been the director of Cines setificio in 1907. (17)

Caserini, beyond his fame as an expert director of historical films, had recently proven himself at Ambrosio with Santarellina (Mademoiselle Nitouche) with which “one can say that cinematic comedies began, in the genre of the “pochade”, the kind of comedy in which Camillo De Riso would excel and which would later become one of the foundations of Italian cinematic production. The kind of comedy that would ultimately and definitively sow the seeds for the later productions of Lubitsch.” (18)

Gloria Films could count on a considerable pool of actors and technicians because Caserini, in addition to his wife Maria Caserini Gasperini, had gathered around him a large number of the people who had worked with him at Cines and at Ambrosio.

The first film, Il treno degli spettri, saw the actors work well with one another; the second, an adaptation of Hennequin and Weber’s wellknown operetta Florette e Patapon, built on the success of Santarellina. Then Ma l’amore mio non muore came along, with Lyda Borelli, the most important actress of the time, and the most theatrical, who had printed on her stationery the arrogant motto “La muete aboye: je passe”, and added a new element to Italian cinema that was very enticing to the public, the personification of the feminine ideal of the time, in love to the bitter end, combining intellect and refinement, providing a prototype for countless women who would go on to confidently act à la D’Annunzio and à la Borelli.

“Lydia Borelli, a very intelligent actress, combined extreme sensitivity with a very aestheticized refinement that happily suited her fine figure, a bit weak, ethereal and d’Annunzio-esque to the core. That pale blond hair, those sweet sweet eyes contrasting with such a sensual mouth, made her a creature fully capable of personifying the classical figure of the D’Annunzio woman...” and then that of Elsa Holbein, who poisons herself just as she is about to attain happiness, certain that her love, unfulfilled and unconsummated, will not die. (19)

The film Ma l’amor mio non muore was directed by Caserini with the express desire of placing importance on the actors’ personalities, analysing them and elevating them from objects to subjects that influenced actions and events, and was noted for its modern editing, its close-ups and its set, which, for the first time in cinema, had rooms that opened into one another with various backdrops, and it signalled a decisive break with other films from 1913, which were still very valuable in introducing new genres, or for establishing new actors and actresses, and a new “style” from our directors. (20)

Lyda Borelli, a newcomer to cinema, triumphed at once, becoming a leading lady, alongside Francesca Bertini who had gradually trained as a cinema artist, adapting her sensitivity to the demands of the film camera and attaining a high level of artistry as early as 1913. (21)

Francesca Bertini, after having been part of Gennaro Pantalena’s amateur theatrical company, came to Ugo Falena’s Films d’arte italiana at a very young age in 1910, and then went on to Celio Film, a company founded in Rome in the Spring of 1912 by the lawyer Gioacchino Mecheri and Count Baldassarre Negroni, the former artistic director of Cines.

The first films from Celio, L’arma dei vigliacchi, La bufera, and La gloria (with a script by Augusto Genina), directed by Baldassarre Negroni with Francesca Bertini, Alberto Collo and Emilio Ghione from Itala Film, were considered very beautiful and this may be why Italica Ars, a company founded to make a film adaptation of Fernand Beissier and Mario Costa’s musical Histoire d’un Pierrot, chose Celio Film, who had proven to be worthy of such a task.

Baldassarre Negroni, while remaining faithful to the libretto, was able to give the film a strictly cinematic treatment, with exceptional restraint, given the theatrical origins of the script. (22) Typical expressive means were used; we have already noted a narrative passage, which was not to be found in any other foreign films of the time: when Pierrot, tired of married life, sees a flock of doves escaping from the spire of a tower, he frees one of the pigeons who brightened Luisetta’s little house and watches with regret as it flies away up into the sky. Then there are two shots from above the tower, one to show that it is six o’clock and another to show the passage of time (framing devices and cinematic methods that would be used years later), giving a lively sense of the crowds, with little children running after soldiers or at the laundry, and showing a self-confidence in the movement of the masses. (23)

The performance of Francesca Bertini, who played Pierrot, was based on the changeability of her physical mimicry, and the intensity of her gestures. Her style, in this very difficult role, could be considered on the level of that of Lyda Borelli, although they were very different.

Italia Almirante Manzini also appeared alongside these two actresses in 1913, with her first success in the “Itala” film L’ombra del male (directed by Gino Zaccaria) and then Disperato abbandono in which “surprisingly beautiful effects” were used. This was also the case in the film Tigris, in which the actor Davesnes played three characters who found themselves face to face and spoke all together, an effect that confirmed the advanced technical skill at “Itala Film”. Segundo De Chomon had in fact been there for a few weeks. Sandro Camasio and Nino Oxilia mounted the first cinematographic adaptation of Addio giovinezza with Lidia Quaranta at “Itala Film” – which was very well done. Sandro Camasio wrote about it on June 8, 1913, contented:

The film Addio giovinezza was a great success. With it, I showed that one can make art with the cinematograph. Even the competition remained enthusiastic. It played for 5 days.

Lidia Quaranta then went to Savoia on a whim, where they also shot a very notable film in 1913, and Sandro Camasio followed her, as artistic director. (24)

Nino Oxilia went to Savoia as well, where Maria Jacobini, known for her big black eyes and pale face, was already working. (25) Two directors, two actresses, two romances cut short by death whose epigraph could be none other than the title of their fortuitous comedy, Addio giovinezza Sandro Camasio died unexpectedly in Turin on May 23 that same year; (26) and Nino Oxilia died on November 18, 1917 after proving himself to be an excellent director at Cines. (27)

In the second half of 1913, the major dailies and cinema periodicals published the extraordinary announcement of an international competition which Cines had decided to launch with the intention of elevating cinematic production, which had been left to the whims of industry and amateurism, looking to “the efficiently educational effect cinema had on the public”, with a first prize of twenty-five thousand lire. The Committee of judges was made up of Ferdinando Martini, Vittorio Emanuele Orlando, Domenico Oliva, Vincenzo Morello, Edoardo Boutet, and Monsieur Besnard, president of the French Academy in Rome; all worthy people but also notoriously incompetent when it came to cinema. The prize was extraordinarily tempting for many people who already thought that writing a script for cinema was an easy thing. On November 30, in “Il Tirso”, one of the major Italian theatre periodicals, a courageous letter appeared by Alberto Colantuoni, a distinguished librettist and anonymous scriptwriter, who denounced the Cines competition as a giant trap, because beyond the grand prizes of twenty-five thousand, fifteen thousand and twenty-five hundred lire, prizes of one hundred lire would also be awarded, and according to paragraph 5: “all prize-winning works, even those to which the Company awards 100 lire, will remain the Company’s exclusive property.” And one hundred lire at the time was the equivalent of three pairs of boots. It was obvious that the intention was to accumulate an excellent source of new scripts at a low price, because they anticipated, and in fact received, a high number of submissions. Indeed, the contest run by Sonzogno shortly beforehand, for a musical libretto, had 555 submissions and the best names in Italian literature participated; Cines received 962. (28)

Alberto Colantuoni thus managed to obtain the concession that scriptwriters who refused the very small prize would be able to retain the rights to their own work.

The question of the Cines contest came up in two questionnaires on cinema conducted by a daily, “Il Nuovo Giornale di Firenze”, and a magazine, Turin’s “La Vita Cinematografica”. The experiment was repeated in Paris in an illustrated daily, the Excelsior, which obtained answers from prominent playwrights, poets, and writers including Alfred Capus , Marcel Prévost, Georges Courteline, Miguel Zamacoïs and many others.

Even in Italy, there were very many answers to the following questions from the Florentine daily:

1. Is cinema dangerous competition for theatre? And if so, why?

2. Could theatre and cinema ever merge?

3. Do you believe that films benefit or could they benefit people’s intellectual and moral development (and supposing they did, according to what ideas and what systems?)

4. Have you ever worked in film? And if so, what scenarios do you prefer?

5. In terms of the industry and artistically, which social classes could draw the most benefit from or be most damaged by the successful progress of cinema?

6. What is the future of cinema? How will it evolve, with the eventual help of inventions and technical advances such as the phonograph?

It is clear how the questions, in themselves, are already an indication of the Italian “cinematic consciousness” which was quite a bit higher (in 1913) than that of other countries.

The answers of Roberto Bracco, Nino Martoglio, Domenico Tumiati, Yambo, Fausto Maria Martini, Giuseppe Prezzolini, Giosuè Borsi, Re Riccardi, Luciano Zuccoli, Nino Berrini, Nino Oxilia, Grazia Deledda, Luigi Capuana and many others to the two questionnaires are worth quoting. Ottone Schanzer’s answer to question number 4 was intriguing: “The question asked of me... offends me a little. My dear Editor, I am a gentleman.” The editor was Giuseppe Franquinet.

Everyone expressed the hope that cinema would come to be used as a tool for spreading science and art, to elevate culture and refine people’s tastes, but because the question was already spoiled from the beginning with the obligatory comparison with theatre and certain social duties, cinema could not be treated as a new language and new means of expression for creating works of art.

The question was debated in other newspapers. Luciano Zuccoli, who had already responded to the referendum in the “Nuovo Giornale”, took up the discussion on August 3, 1913 in “Marzocco”, in the article Cin- ematografo e teatro. Starting from the premise that by theatre we must mean art and by cinema we mean industry, he shows himself to be sceptical about the future possibility of cinematic art and even calls for a law prohibiting the adaptation of literary masterworks, declaring:

Cinema must make its own productions: and it seems that until now cinema manufacturers haven’t wanted to understand this. Because of the profits obtained, greater respect, if not by law then at least in practice, must be shown to art that has already found its expression in theatre or in a book. This will spare them the insult of being adapted for cinema, with disregard for the rights of the authors: Hamlet, for example, the tragedy of the soul par excellence, or I Promessi Sposi, a work which, to say the least, now being in the public domain, did not cost a penny to those... who merely make summaries, and led to enormous profits, yes, but when it comes to artistic consciousness was criminal and deplorable.

The sophisticated public want to know that at least universally recognized masterpieces are protected from the damage done by speculators, whoever they may be; just as they want to know that certain monuments of great historical and artistic value are protected from the damage done by time and by humankind, and in fact, to that end, the State declares them national monuments. It doesn’t seem absurd to me to hope for a law to likewise protect literary masterpieces, at least by keeping works of world literature away from the competitiveness of cinema when their authors and estates cannot watch over them... Thus we will be spared the indecency of seeing Hamlet, Othello or the Unnamed character from I Promessi Sposi, three immortal souls, reduced to mimicry and so many grimaces.

According to Zuccoli, for the art of cinema, everything still remained to be done, but even in terms of adequately taking advantage of the “freedom of location”, it would only have become “an inferior art” not to be compared with real literature, or with real dramatic art.

Zuccoli’s article led to another, Cinematografo e arte in the same paper on August 10, 1913, by Sebastiano Arturo Luciani, a connoisseur and musician, to whom Italian cinema is very indebted, as he was one of the most astute and worthy critics of cinema in the silent period. (29)

In a rebuttal to Zuccoli, he firmly asserted that cinema could very well become an original art form when the rudimentary technical aspects were perfected and the poet arrived:

Because if cinema is inferior to theatre because it is deprived of the verbal element, it is superior in other ways, not least because it can easily depict the substance of the most unrestrained and the boldest dramatic poetry. And the ease with which effects of light and extraordinary transformations can be obtained, means that it can especially portray fable-like and fantastical subject matter, impossible to achieve on any stage, however modern. Finally, the rapid succession of different frames means that it can achieve a sort of scenic impressionism... But I repeat, we are still waiting for the poet who will dedicate himself to this new genre.

It was necessary, however, for Luciani, that music, in the absence of the spoken word, become an integral part of the vision, thus giving rise to unexpected effects. Which is what happened several months later, with Cabiria.

It seems though that, even more than Luciani, it was the writer who published Cinematografo e scena di prosa in the “Giornale d’Italia” in Rome, under the pseudonym “Oberon”, who approached the real essence of cinema, discussing the possibility of bringing discipline and refinement to cinematic production, so that from a simple past-time offered to the masses with the exclusive goal of making a profit, a real and true artistic expression could emerge:

It seems superfluous to me to demonstrate how cinema, no less than singing, painting, the written word and dance, can be a language, that is, a means of aesthetic expression. Certainly cinematic production has not yet overcome its first, exclusively commercial phase: the crowd, seduced by sumptuous rooms and gaudy playbills, ask for films thousands of metres long, not an emotion of beauty, but a choreographed, stylized view of Roman Emperors and Empresses, semi-nude slaves, riotous circuses, wild animals ready to attack; and until now the most celebrated cinematic spectacles have only been botched adaptations of famous or infamous novels, not at all made for artistic reasons...

...We must then imagine how the spirit will take on a unique appearance, directly expressed in cinematic form: and have no doubt that, just as some artistic temperaments are irresistibly drawn to express themselves in paint and through sound, others will find in film the means most suited to represent or capture their own imagination. Cinema is destined to become a powerful means of artistic expression; a new language, that will resonate anew in the eternal activity of the soul. And defenders of the dramatic arts can rest assured: cinema will not be the death of writing for the stage.

This is in Italy, in 1913.

In northern Italy, as early as 1912, in the space of a few months, the Milan-based Associazione dei cinemmatografisti italiani made up of cinema owners and operators, lead by Antonio Bonetti, and the Turin-based

Unione italiana cinematografisti made up of producers and agents, lead by Ernesto Maria Pasquali, appeared, one after the other. Many wanted the two entities to join together, but it was never possible to make that happen.

On February 20, 1913, the honourable Giolitti sent a pamphlet to administrative officials, responding to the pressure put on government by socalled “avellonismo”, that is, by the cinematic movement initiated by the letter published by Avellone noted above. The pamphlet, recalling those of March 19, 1907, March 21, 1908 and August 21, 1919, established the criteria to follow for the granting of licenses for cinematic presentations, to prevent cinema from becoming a real and powerful negative influence “feeding viewers depictions of famous bloodshed, adultery, armed robbery and other crimes; making law enforcement officials odious and guilty parties sympathetic; despicably encouraging sensuality, through scenes in which the vividness of the portrayals immediately fed the basest and most vulgar of passions, and inciting hatred among the social classes, an offence to national decorum.” (30)

Multiple problems began to arise, which were greatly damaging to the manufacturers and cinema owners, because the opinion of the officials changed from city to city, and there was no guarantee that the films would receive the censors’ stamp of approval. The Union in Turin thus decided to present a project in which they suggested founding a Film Revision Office within the Ministry of the Interior in Rome, with a single set of criteria for judging films, with the payment of 10 cents per metre of film. The Government found it quite miraculous that the industry leaders themselves would offer to pay a tax that had not been asked of them, and the project was accepted, and the Unione was tasked with organizing such an Office in Rome.

The Associazione milanese, which included all of the representatives of foreign production houses, rose up violently against the Unione of Turin and appealed to the Government, but the tax had already been proposed and the two Associations came to an agreement to support the cause of the Italian film industry (which employed around two hundred thousand people and was the most popular, the most valued and the most democratic of the modern industries) within the government, voting in a Commis - sion made up of Filoteo Alberini, Antonio Bonetti, Giuseppe Barattolo, Ernesto M. Pasquali, Luigi Del Grosso and Baron Arturo Contestabile.

The law regarding “the business of monitoring cinematic productions and the levying of taxes”, approved on June 25, 1913 consisted of a single article: “The Government of the King is authorized to undertake the oversight of the production of cinematographic films, whether they be produced internally, or imported from abroad, and to establish a tax of ten cents for each metre of film”, and was preceded by a report by Minister Facta that outlined the proposed provisions:

To support the direction of public opinion, ever more in agreement in the request that cinematic production be prevented from touching on the field of pornography and the glorification of crime, the Ministry of the Interior, on the basis of the legal regulations in effect regarding public safety, has recently obliged the Authorities concerned to ensure, by means of a precautionary, full review of films, that no screenings shall be presented that are contrary to upstanding morals, public decency, public order, national decorum, or the reputation of public authorities, nor depict scenes of cruelty or horror, or acts or events that may instruct in the committing of crimes, and consequently, with the intent of imparting uniformity of criteria to such revisions to most expediently achieve the desired objectives in the public interest, and to likewise satisfy a special request from the industry whose demands are sometimes hindered, above all by the disparity that exists in the assessments given by the various Authorities, the Ministry itself, abiding by such request, has decided to centralize the revision services within the Directorate of Public Safety.

Such service has begun on the first of this month of May, from which date all cinematic films produced within the Kingdom or imported from abroad, that are intended for public presentation, will be pre-emptively examined by the above-mentioned Directorate and be given express approval, provided there are no reasons to the contrary that would prohibit it.

The functioning of the new service... involves cost, both for the set up of the necessary projection booths and the acquisition of the necessary equipment, and for the continuous activity of reviewing, given the major development that the new centralized function is destined to undergo within a short period of time to adequately provide, at the requested pace, the examination of a constantly expanding national and international cinematic production.

It is therefore necessary to access special funds to meet these demands, funds which must be drawn from the same industry that gave rise to the service. To this end, having accepted a special and unsolicited offer from the Unione dei Produttori Italiani (Union of Italian Producers), it has been agreed that a harmonized tax will be established of 10 cents per linear metre of film to be reviewed: a tax which will be levied upon the presentation of the request for review.

The date of birth of Madama Anastasia (as the censor was called in cinematic jargon) was thus June 25, 1913; cinema for the first time took on specific features under the law. (31)

A considerable number of films were sent to Rome to for approval. From May 1, 1913 to April 10, 1914, 3979 films were examined of which 46 were banned and 128 admitted but with mandatory cuts and modifications. (32)

The law of June 25, 1913 calmed the ire of the “avellonists”. In the “Domenica del Corriere”, their Bible and weekly sustenance, a poetic comment appeared:

Del ministero questa prudente e fine Trovata, a suffragar non è lirismo, Trattandosi di cine Gridar: «Viva il governo del cinismo!».

[Manca traduzione in inglese]

There was no lack of further attempts to capitalize on cinema. The honourable Luzzatti, the zealous and keen inventor of taxes that were “light and healty”, given the goodwill demonstrated by those in the cinema industry, proposed, in an article appearing in the May 16th edition of the “Corriere della Sera”, a small duty on films, a trifling amount on each ticket. Referring to the marvellous development of cinema in the previous few years, he wrote:

When, in 1904, beyond the Treasury, I also managed the Ministry of Finance, I suspected that something particularly useful was emerging for the tax office, and my Italian soul rejoiced, educated as I was in the school of Marco Minghetti and Quintino Sella, according to whom whomever was in charge of public finance was in charge of our heritage. I then gave the appropriate instructions to closely inspect the earnings of cinemas, which at that time were placed under the strict oversight of our tax agents. We now seem to have reached a point at which we must take further steps. In large and small cities alike, cinema has become an honest pastime for all social classes. And it is expanding, even reaching smaller centres, villages; wherever men gather, even temporarily, cinema follows.

Of the more than eight thousand communities in this kingdom, it is not presumptuous to assume, and moreover it seems quite easy to confirm, that no less than half of them have a cinema. It would neither be excessive to assume an average of three cinemas for two thousand communities, cautiously reducing the number of the communities we can use; which would amount to six thousand cinemas. It would not seem inappropriate to suppose that each one is frequented, on average, by two hundred people per day: which would amount to one million, two hundred thousand viewers per day, totalling, over 300 days of the year, around 360 million. Even if we say 300 million, and we require them to pay, as a tax on their ticket, on average, five cents (exempting the cinemas, who seek to cultivate audiences) – given that the moment has not yet arrived to discuss a single tax or multiple taxes on cinemas or the number of seats, nor to consider what portion of the ticket tax could be converted into a levy on national and foreign films, which would be easy to enforce following the recent and wise provision by the President of the Board – it would bring in an overall revenue of 15 million.

Antonio Bonetti, president of the Milanese Association, gave a rebuttal, in an open letter in the same newspaper, to Luzzati’s fiscal optimism, declaring that the data was “rather inconclusive”.

Reducing to 3 thousand the presumed 6 thousand Italian cinemas, of which 1000 were open only on weekends and 2000 were open only on holidays, market days, at seaside resorts, etc., with 100 operational days, the revenue was reduced to a little more than five and a half million. The “light and healty” tax of one “soldo” on every ticket, would really amount to 33%, because the average price of tickets at the time was 15 cents, and around half of popular cinemas would have had to close if they lost this revenue to the State. (33)

Chapter Iii

While in Italy and throughout the world people were coming to realize that cinema had become an important part of life and of national economies, Turin’s Itala Film was quietly preparing to far surpass what had been done in cinema so far, with Cabiria.

We have already noted the long period of preparation for the film. There was an employee who had been recording atmospheric data since June 1912, day after day, because a standard was needed to shoot the exterior scenes; there was the accurate and rigorous casting of the actors: Bartolomeo Pagano, a dock worker from the port of Genoa was on salary for a few months, just to familiarize himself with the camera; the actor Gemelli had the sole responsibility of growing an admirable beard, the first authentic beard in Italian cinema; an infinite number of designs and sketches were made so that every object, every reproduction corresponded exactly with the historical model that the director of Itala Film himself, Giovanni Pastrone, had studied at the Carthage Exhibition at the Louvre, at Saint Louis de Carthagène and in countless publications. (1) The structure of the film production was ready, they just had to find the person who would deliver a work that promised to be amazing, at a time when the role of the director was still misunderstood.

It was then that Itala Film thought of Gabriele D’Annunzio and wrote a letter to the poet on June 30, 1913, to permit the owners to travel to Paris to propose a project that would be “profitable and minimal trouble” for him. (2)

The answer was affirmative and Giovanni Pastrone met with the Poet in a hotel, offered him 50 thousand gold lire and got Gabriele D’Annunzio’s signature on the contract. The script that Pastrone had brought with him was entitled Il romanzo delle fiamme, the titles were written in a concise style of his own, the names of characters were random names. D’Annunzio called the film Cabiria, or “born from fire”, translated the titles into his own style, and found pretentious names for the other characters, Kartalo, Croessa, Maciste, Bodastoret, etc. That is how that Poet earned the 50 thousand gold lire.

The industry leaders of the time respectfully and constantly attributed the original idea for Cabiria to D’Annunzio, but the poet’s name did not suffice to explain the resounding success of the film, in which the enormous difference from all the historical films that had been projected until that time was apparent.

On August 11, 1913, D’Annunzio wrote to Giovanni Pastrone:

Has work on the film already begun? Does it promise to do well? When can it be finished? We’ll see each other again, I hope, as soon as possible. I cordially salute you, Yours, G. D’A.

Arachon, August 11, 1912 + 1. (3)

The poet is evidently thinking of the events of the little Cabiria and the desire he had already felt some years before, to use cinematic language to express the storylines conjured by his imagination, returns. It is also evident that if the director of Itala had gone to Paris after “having completed a grandiose film that could fill the screen for three hours”, as Tom Antongini falsely affirmed, D’Annunzio would never have asked in August if work on the film had already begun: the gratuitous inventions of Antongini have already been noted. (4)

In December 1913, the film was at a good point. D’Annunzio wrote to the directors of the Porte Saint Martin theatre in Paris: “Je viens de composer un drame gréco-romain-punique pour cinématographe dans le genre du Quo vadis? Il s’agit de plusieurs kilomètres de pellicule silencieuse et aventureuse extrêmement: vous verrez” [I’ve just composed a Greco-Roman-Punic drama for cinema in the vein of Quo vadis? There are several kilometres of silent film, and it is extremely adventurous: you shall see”]: and in the interview in the “Corriere della Sera” on February 28, 1914, the poet falsely claimed: “A production house from Turin, directed by an educated and energetic man who has an extraordinary sculptural instinct [a better portrait of Giovanni Pastrone in 1913 could not be given], presents an essay in popular art based on an original plot supplied by me. It’s the sketch of a historical novel, devised several years ago, found among my countless papers.” It is clear that the goal of the interview was for the poet to declare that he himself wrote the script, but it subsequently turned out that the film director, not the poet, was the author of the film: “It was thus a question of a very vast canvas, in fact I believe that a vaster one has never been presented nor elaborated with more care for the details, with more respect to the archaeology and historical character, with more harmony in the movements and large groups. The production house has without a doubt made the greatest and most courageous effort that has ever been made in this art form. These are grand historical compositions combined with adventurous fiction that speak to the simplest popular sentiment.”

And here was the “adventurous fiction”, that began in Catania, in the third century before Christ, during the second Punic war (218-202 B.C.).

As the rich Batto, from Catania, is returning to the city with his young daughter Cabiria, Etna erupts: the city is destroyed by an earthquake and covered in rock and ash. Some of Batto’s servants escape with the girl and her nurse Croessa, after having seized the master’s riches. But Phoenician pirates discover them and Cabiria and Croessa are sent away as slaves to Carthage to a market where Pontif Kàrtalo passes by, purchasing the little Cabiria to sacrifice her to the God Moloch.

While Hannibal crosses the Alps, trying to reach Rome, the Roman patrician Fulvio Axilla and his black servant Maciste, who live undercover in Carthage, are urged on by Croessa and manage to save Cabira before she is burned at the stake in the temple; their attempt to escape is discovered and Cabiria, recaptured, becomes the slave of Sofonisba with the name of Elissa.

A few years pass. The Romans seize Syracuse, allied with Carthage, and Archimede manages to set fire to the Roman ships using solar lenses. In Carthage, Cabiria, unaware, gives food and drink to the two prisoners Axilla and Maciste: a romance begins between the two youngsters. The Pontiff sentences Cabiria to be sacrificed once more in the temple, but Maciste, who must avenge himself for the servitude he suffered under the Pontiff while he was chained to the grindstone, grabs him by the beard, shakes him and throws him to the ground, then flees with Cabiria in his arms, carrying her to Fulvio Axilla. After other events, the two youngsters set sail for Rome.

The acting was pleasingly successful. The actress Italia Almirante Manzini had already demonstrated her talent in several films shot in the first quarter of 1913. Her theatrical manner was emphatic and stylized, like that of the biggest artists of her time, but was already more modern; that of the others showed lively and natural traits in contrast with the way contemporary actors performed.

The enormous reconstructions, in wood and papier mâché, were installed in sets and in the courtyard of the Itala site, with exterior shots filmed in Tunisia, Sicily, and Val di Lanzo, precisely in one of the places where, according to legend, Hannibal had crossed the Alps.

The lighting, provided by twelve lamps, each of 100 amps, was ingeniously magnified by means of big screens covered in the tinfoil that had served as wrapping for the raw film when it was shipped from America. When Griffiths studied the source of that luminosity, which embellished many of the scenes in Cabiria with its all-encompassing reflections, he would never have imagined that the means to achieve it had in fact come from America!

But revelations from willing informers from Italy and Itala Film were soon forthcoming. The activities of Pastrone were closely watched.

And then, the dolly.

This new technical means demonstrated most clearly how far Cabiria had surpassed the other films of the day. (6)

The critic of the “Tribuna” in Rome, after the premiere at the Costanzi tried to explain it:

Meanwhile, we are witnessing for the first time a new technical method invented by Itala Film, and that is the advance of presented planes, whereby once a plane is framed on the screen in the distance, the viewer has the impression that a strong lamp lights it up and brings it close to his gaze. (7)

This is not entirely clear, but the critic does make a good attempt at reporting a new fact. (8) Another critic, P.A. Berton, disapproved of this novelty:

The action is suffocated by a frame that is too small and takes place either too far away or too close and it is always crowded by obstructions, taking place in narrow spaces that barely contain it. In fact, to fully frame the set or the individuals they rely on the not always beautiful system of moving the camera to remove obstructions. And when the obstructions don’t matter, in the details of a close up, we have enormous figures of which two are enough to fill the frame, half protruding from the screen. (9)

The fact of the camera following the character, rather than the character presenting themselves to the camera, was an accomplishment that was beyond the comprehension of contemporary critics, who could certainly not appreciate it aesthetically, as they became aware technically of Pastrone’s sure and functional tracking shots and simple panoramas. (10) Among them we may cite the excellent one, from the scene in which the two protagonists are chased and barricade themselves underground:

A knock at the door, they go down the steps. Now we glimpse, on the right, the edge of a supporting wall; on the left, something lights up in the dark. Slowly, the camera moves to explore the unknown place (following the psychological “pace” of the characters with incredible timing). Large jars slowly come into view; provisions of every kind appear out of the shadows. A prime example of a mysterious “reveal” of a setting: anticipating similar successes by Pabst. (11)

And the famous “Griffith ending” is also anticipated, when the scene in which Maciste kidnaps Cabiria is intercut with visions of the imminent ceremony of the girl being sacrificed to the God Moloch. And since Pastrone shot scenes of Cabiria and sometimes inserted other, purposely shot film clips within the same reel so that the big secret would not be revealed, we indeed have the first example of crosscut editing, that is, the ordering of different frames of exposed film according to the director’s poetic inspiration. Cabiria’s 4500 metres of film were sourced from 20,000 metres shot over a period of more than six months. (13)

We can thus conclude that the whole artistic future of cinema was foreseen in this film, since we can find in it all of the essential objectives – from narrative content to technical aspects – of the future cinema. Cabiria must be considered globally as the first work of the art of cinema, an achievement that has for some strange error always been attributed to the later film Intolerance.

Roberto Bracco, who had disdainfully answered question no. 4 in the “Nuovo Giornale”’s Referendum: “I have never worked in film and I have no intention of doing so”, changed his mind the following year and decid- ed to sell the rights to adapt his play Sperduti nel buio, which had been staged for more than ten years to great acclaim, to an Italian production company, Rome’s Morgana Film, breaking off negotiations with a foreign company. (14) It was the first famous Italian play that went from the theatre to the cinema and it was the first time that a cinematic adaptation outdid a theatrical play artistically. In an interview, Roberto Bracco expressed his satisfaction:

I’m starting late, so even I have to compromise a bit. In Italy, the art world is just industry rivalry. It’s understood that cinematic vision will have a different outcome than theatrical vision. But my play won’t suffer. In fact the public, who so often complain that my dramatic works are exceedingly brief, will finally have the pleasure of learning everything in Sperduti nel buio that I had insisted on leaving to the imagination, requiring their participation.

[I won’t make] any modifications that could change the meaning of the play or the setting. I will only attempt to instil in the character of the blind man, who is a symbol of darkness, a kind of friction between an instinctive rebellious strength and the weakness to which fate had condemned him. This character will have a typical look, with the actor who I think has been given the role: Giovanni Grasso.... I preferred an Italian production company and I’m reassured. (15)

In fact, a perfect collaboration between the author of the storyline and the screenwriter-director was achieved for the first time for Sperduti nel buio, with Roberto Bracco and Nino Martoglio. Both were gifted with theatrical instinct, they agreed when it came to which images would effectively make the play “visible”, and in fact it was more convincing on screen.

Giovanni Grasso played Nunzio as strong and powerful, portraying his blindness with more anguish on screen than in the theatre, through felicitous improvisations, managing to even create a new type. Virginia Balistrieri, a minor Sicilian theatre actress, played Paolina admirably. The character of Livia Blanchard was portrayed by Maria Carmi, who had already played a difficult role in the film Accordo in minore for Turin’s Savoia Film. (16)

The presentation of the two contrasting settings, that of splendour and vice and that of misery, led the director to use, right from the start of the film, the effective crosscut editing that was simultaneously being used by Griffith and would be used much later by Pudovkin.

The shots were beautiful and even astonishing (wrote Umberto Barbaro) considering the time in which it was produced: some of them, which were required for the story, always seemed quite simple, as they needed to be; and the film was greatly rendered 3-dimensionally as the drama and the ethical and artistic premises of the film dictated. The background was always rendered in such a way as to make the most important detail stand out, and with a harsh light that suited the films’ overall realism quite well.

In the exterior shots, one felt the pleasant and relentless sun of Naples that lit the tuxedo of Dillo Lomardi and the rags of the remarkable actress Virginia Balistrieri with the same harshness; it highlighted the particularly shrewd choice of the visual material and a whole series of details that were so true to life that they alone revealed the profound human sympathy of the film’s makers. We can see rough dresses in checked cotton, wool covers that were heavy yet cold, and striped trousers, wide-brimmed hats, the straw hats of gangsters, the priceless flat cap of Giovanni Grasso, and the veils and earrings of Maria Carmi, with the abundant hair: and finally the ruined stairs of the blind man’s room and the hard and terrible stones of the infamous alley. (17)

The huge success of Sperduti nel buio demonstrated the versatility of the Italian public, who, a few months later, after Ma l’amor mio non muore (which had made not only naive young girls but also bearded, experienced men cry), they were moved by the events of Paolina and Nunzio, two poor souls lost in darkness. The literary currents of the time, those of D’Annunzio and of “verismo”, influenced Italian cinematic production, elevating it to a high artistic level.

Italian actors had reached an admirable “style”. A Berlin correspondent for an Italian magazine recognized it in early 1914:

Enfin on commence maintenant à imiter les italiens d’une autre façon. On a trouvé ici que le succès de la plus grande partie des films de Turin et de Milan n’était pas seulement dans l’effet des masses, mais surtout dans le jeu des personnes mimant, dans l’expression des visages, dans les mouvements naturels sans égard pour les spectateurs.

[Finally people are now starting to emulate the Italians in a different way. We have found here that the success of most of the films from Turin and Milan has stemmed not only from their effect on the masses, but above all from the act of miming, the facial expressions, the natural movements without any regard for the viewer] (18)

We are still though, in general, at the stage of directing linked to the demands of the fixed lens.

In 1914, actors still took assigned positions. “Vestiges of this defect can be seen in every film from every production company. We don’t see an actor who shifts or veers to the right, to the left; but one who moves towards a given point with a determined movement with that sole aim. We even see him shortening his final step, or lengthening it, to reach the exact point; moving backwards or to one side. We see the lack of nonchalant walking; we see intentional movement”, a critic of the day observed. (19) There was only one way to shoot outdoors: Alfredo Gentili described it in October 1914, when discussing the film La Gorgona based on the tragedy by Sem Benelli, that the Ambrosio crew were filming among the lush and fragrant pines of Castagnolo, in the piazza del Duomo in Pisa, in the main Cemetery, under the guelph tower of the Arnovecchio, and at Marina di Pisa.

The cameraman plants the camera on a tripod and marks the area in which the action must take place on the ground. The area has a very set width beyond which the characters would disappear from view; to this end, its breadth is blocked off by a string held up by a few iron poles stuck in the ground to avoid any possible overstepping of the boundary. The same is done with the crowds. He is sometimes the only one who knows the plot of the whole film or the way in which it will be divided up. And this is to prevent any leak (like the one a few days ago that lead to the arrest of an employee of Cines in Rome) from divulging the story that a production company was filming to a competing company, who could then produce it at the same time. A quick rehearsal always precedes the normal action: and the cameraman takes advantage of the rehearsal to start the camera and study the light so that the frame has a good photographic effect. The scenes are almost always repeated three times. (20)

In the meantime, Ambrosio had received a very important commission from George Kleine, a big American businessman, for four films for which he would pay 250 thousand gold lire. Leslie Carter, the lead actress of the famous American playwright David Belasco, and the actor Revelle Hamilton came to Turin from New York to act in the adaptation of Belasco’s play La Du Barry, which was made over seven months in the Ambrosio studios and other locations, including the royal gardens of Caserta (Edoardo Bencivenga directed, Pietro Boccardi was the cameraman, and Ettore Ridoni designed the sets.) Leslie Carter, who had astonished everyone with her countless trunks of dresses (she had stopped by Paquin in Paris, before coming to Turin, where she lived in the Hotel Europa in Piazza Castello), returned to New York, but her partner Revelli stayed on for a few months more with Ambrosio, working on many films. (21)

The outbreak of war in August 1914, right in the season most suitable for cinematic production, brought harsh and unexpected closures, with the dramatic firing of personnel and sharp cuts in salaries to which the actors unfortunately had become accustomed.

It seemed for a moment that a very serious industry and financial crisis threatened to irreparably disrupt the rise of Italian cinema. But Italy’s declaration of neutrality made actors and capital flow back to the companies who began to work again, reassured in the hopes of being able to export more to countries who would produce less than before because of the war.

In Rome, the company Barattolo, Giomini, Panella became Caesar Film and hired Francesca Bertini, Emilio Ghione and Alberto Collo who had been with Celio. The first film with Bertini was Nelly la gigolette in which she created a kind of brash and beautiful woman, which was subsequently copied extensively, and Emilio Ghione used the name Za La Mort for the first time, a name that would later become so well known.

At Cines in 1914 we have Retaggio d’odio with Maria Carmi, the first, audacious attempt at a “psychological film”, or the translation into film of the psychological novel (which brought Pina Menichelli to our attention), and Caius Julius Caesar based on the story by Raffaele Giovagnoli, a film in which, in a few scenes, the whiteness of the togas created impressive dark-light contrasts, such that it seemed like antique statues had been filmed in motion (22); they even produced a series of adaptations of great theatrical triumphs, with Dina Galli, Ruggero Ruggeri, etc.

A film on Garibaldi was also planned (screenwriter Enrico Ferri, musical score by Pietro Mascagni), but then Enrico Ferri was accused of using the figure of Garibaldi for his own desire for publicity, and the film, for other reasons as well, was never made.

Il giornalissimo, a Film d’arte italiana film directed by Ugo Falena, was very successful in Rome, and was the “first cinematic ‘turlupineide’ in six parts with an introduction”, by Falena and Falbo, based on the discovery of a pair of glasses with which the readers of a newspaper see what they are reading come to life before their eyes, from the first page (foreign politics, everyday news), to the second page: Quo vadis?, a political novel that was very timely, and so on until the theatrical section in which a beautiful actress, satirizing the typical behaviour of Lyda Borelli, appears on stage in the final act of Gabriele D’Annunzio’s Ferro with a sharp dagger. During the spasmodic gesticulation the dagger is transformed into... a bottle of Ferro China Bisleri. The show ends with a new shot of the “Excelsior”, that is, the apotheosis of journalism, in which Monsignor Perrella, Tito Livio Cianchettini and il Guerin Meschino are shown in triumph.

Baldassarre Negroni and Augusto Genina were working at that time for Milano Films and it is worth pointing out Negroni’s film L’ereditiera, in which spectacular close ups appeared, which were criticized by the editor of the newspaper “Film” from Naples, because “inkwells become wells and pens become crossbeams”. (23)

A few films were even shot in Milan with Edoardo Ferravilla, similar to the ones shot in Naples with Edoardo Scarpetta, for Sonzogno’s Musical Film, a production company founded in Milan on February 16, 1914.

Around the time of the great, unequalled Cabiria, there were a group of very good films in 1914 that justify the claim that Max Linder, dressed as a French soldier for a series of performances in support of the Italian and French Red Cross, made to Lucio D’Ambra in Rome that winter: “In this new art you are on the front line. France follows you closely. We have everything to learn here.”

In America, in that same year, it is worth noting the success of Griffith’s above-mentioned Judith of Betulia, the first film for the masses; the debut of an acrobatic comedian named Charlie, who, on Judgement Day, we hope will publicly admit to all of the ideas he liberally took from European comedians, especially Italian ones, from 1909 onwards; and the appearance of the prodigious young Mary Pickford, the first of the great American actresses, in Famous Players’ Hearts Adrift.

And finally we should recall the brief cinematic activity, out of necessity, unfortunately, of the author of the most interesting modern pastoral poems, Ercole Luigi Morselli. After his debut (“Today – he wrote to a friend in early 1914 – I died at Berezina, dressed as an Imperial Guard”), he went on to become a set director at Santoni Films in Rome for a film based on a drama by Lucio D’Ambra, Effetti di luce, and then, ill and in need of care, continued his sad pilgrimage. (24)

In 1915, Turin lost its place as the capital of cinema to Rome, which had 25 production houses (some of which, however, after having publicized film titles, folded without ever shooting them), 66 distribution agents, and 50 cinemas. In Italy at the time there were about 80 production houses, more than 70 of which were actually functioning, 460 distribution agents and 1500 cinemas.

Exports reached 40 million gold lire.

Already by 1914, to satisfy Anglo-Saxon markets, distribution agents insisted that production houses produce films that were full of adventure and crime, exciting and sensational. “Aquila Film” of Turin had specialized in this for years, led by the lawyer Pugliese who in fact came to be called the “Musolino of the silent art”.

But the criminals who had foreign names in the copies in circulation in Italy, became Italian abroad. This worked out well only for the production houses, who sold large numbers of copies in England, Russia and Brazil (the markets that absorbed the most films).

An article on this topic appeared in the April 12, 1914 edition of “Marzocco” in Florence, Il decoro nazionale e le cinematografie, which described a letter from Mr. Luigi Giovanola in London, who asked for Italian government authorities to intervene, or at least the Dante Alighieri society, to stop once and for all the indecency of such stupid and widespread defamation of a people, who have the God-given right to be respected, everywhere and always, but need this respect even more in countries where so many of their sons make a modest contribution of honest work, demonstrating, in fact, how Italians are quite different from the stupid model shaped by conventions that have seen their day, in both literature and in life, and actually in life more than in literature.

The writer however added that if one really wanted to protest against such defamation, one should suppress the stories and entire columns dedicated to trials and crimes of passion in Italian newspapers and dailies. The same morbid interest exploited by journalism could likewise be exploited by cinema.

The “genre” of the crime drama lasted for some time and then merged with the “acrobatico sensazionale” genre that had appeared quite a lot in

Italy.

The brisk business of the production houses that exported to England began to diminish when England placed duties on films entering the country. The American production houses took advantage of this and within a few months surpassed the imports of Italian, German and French films there.

In April 1915, there was talk of an industry crisis and a commercial crisis for cinema. In February, Charles Pathé had come to Italy and allocated six million to ensure exclusivity for a period of ten years for the productions from Ambrosio, Itala, Etna and other minor houses for about 45 thousand metres of film annually, creating a kind of consortium that was called Pathé-Exchange. But the houses that belonged to it realized quite quickly that if there were financial advantages there were also serious disadvantages, since they had to conform to the directorial criteria that came from Paris.

A certain Mr. Gassnier tried to impose his Instruction Manual for Italian set directors to be successful in the Anglo-Saxon markets, but the Americanization of film production by the extremely frequent use of close ups was not much liked by Italian directors who up until that time had surpassed, in their brilliance and intelligence, not only the French but also the Anglo Saxon directors.

Baldassare Negroni commented in the “Tribuna”:

Mr. Gassnier is effectively asking us to use in an extreme manner what we have made use of for some time with restraint: I’m referring to the use of close-up shots. I, for example, from the very first works I created with “Celio” three years ago, used close-ups for scenes that required a deeper scrutiny of the mask of the artists, to more clearly understand the expression of their feelings. Thus, in my opinion, the close-up should never be considered as adding to the development of the cinematic action, while for Mr. Gassnier, all action should predominantly happen in close-up; and everyone can understand how much is lost in the artistic interpretation of a film by adopting the American principle: the setting, the decor, the background, the framing, would no longer be of concern to the person staging the film, who, on the contrary, would have limited his artistic and intellectual abilities by making the characters move within a field that is too restricted for cinematic action... a bit obvious. No one can deny our superiority in every artistic endeavour and thus no one should set limits on us or dictate the ways in which we manifest our innate artistic aptitude. (25)

Even Arturo Ambrosio, who was interviewed by the same paper, declared that Mr. Gassnier’s “vademecum” contained no new concepts:

He advises on what we knew and what we did when necessary and that is to restrict the projection to just the main characters and on those subjects on which the viewers’ attention must be directed: a face that shows particular feelings, instead of the whole person, a hand, for example, that opens a drawer and not the complete... owner of that hand with the surrounding setting, we knew all of these things already, but we used them only when necessary; now North America wants, in my opinion, to overuse this analytical technique. I say overuse, for us Latin people who have a different artistic sensibility, one that is more refined, for whom such a minute analysis is not necessary to understand what is happening in a dramatic situation. (26)

Guazzoni would shoot in the mountains of Abruzzo. Carmine Gallone, in one of his first films, Avatar, included surrealist scenes with conjoining little flames emanating from bodies.

Tiber cast “the most beautiful woman in the world”, Lina Cavalieri, and her husband Luciano Muratore; but their first film, La sposa della morte, met with little success: which also happened at “Ambrosio” who shot two films with Tina di Lorenzo. At Celio, on the other hand, Leda Gys in Leda innamorata, directed by Ivo Illuminati, was a very amusing parody of Bertina, Borelli and Carmi; at Caesar beyond there hugely successful film Otto milioni di dollari (directed by Gustavo Serena), which contained the perfectly executed “doubling” of characters, Francesca Bertini acted in Assunta Spina, one of the most remarkable films of the year.

In Assunta Spina, Francesca Bertini showed herself to have achieved a “style” that may have been unique to her time. It was the most naive period of her acting.

Many years later, Roberto Bracco would say of her: “She was the complete personification of the best cinema, the most truly Italian of that time, with Italianate vitality, marked by unwitting brilliance, non-judgemental, changeable, adaptable, spontaneous, unpredictable, capricious, unsctructured. (27) If Lyda Borelli was the unreachable fantasy, the ephemeral product of a style and, by that time, an already decadent tradition, Francesca Bertini was a real woman, at home both in the life of the streets and in the luxurious salons and living rooms of the characters of Sardou. (28) She was extremely perceptive and would lend her southern expressivity to the mimetic portrayal of eternal human passions: love, hatred, desperation, happiness, piety and cruelty, and she would go from popular realism to the grand life of Sardou and Bataille, from having a kerchief around her shoulders to the flourish of luxurious dresses, trains, fringes, sequins, fine draped fabrics, enormous hats and long cigarette holders of powerful characters.

A crew from Musical Film from Milan arrived in Rome to produce La crociata degli innocenti, the only real screenplay written by Gabriele D’Annunzio. The directors were Gino Rossetti and Alessandro Boutet. (29) There was talk of a possible musical score by Giacomo Puccini, but the Maestro refused.

The two versions of La signora dalle camelie that Caesar was filming with Francesca Bertini and Tiber was filming with Hesperia in Rome were matched by the two versions of L’emigrante in Turin, from a novella by Febo Mari. The good habit Italian production houses had of playing tricks on one another continued, which was to the detriment of them all. The adaptation by Itala Film starred Ermete Zacconi, who proved his abilities as a great cinematic actor.

The humble lead actor (a cinema critic of the period wrote) shows that on screen he can appear as the humble lead of a dark social drama with emotional efficiency and aesthetic nobility: portraying the life, the suffering, the dignity, the pride of humble people. He demonstrates how much intimate beauty emanates from scenes that reproduce humanity as it really is, and not as it is imagined by the whims of an actor or director.

The closed world of salons, horseback riding and adulteries is thrown open, bringing a surge of life that is wider and more honest, and the skill of the portrayal can be successfully seen in the search for modest settings that can sometimes be more interesting than aristocratic affectations and pompous rhetoric. The modest worker’s house, the immigrant’s life on the edge, the bitterness and delusions of the promised land, the homecoming mixed with dishonour, misery, the melancholic, profound poetry of honest work, of the humble family dining table that suggests unhappy, everyday resignation to a desolate life, these are some of the accurate, precise, interesting, scenes, which don’t digress or make inane attempts at effects.

Ermete Zacconi is a great imitator, in the sobriety of his movements, in the psychological power of his facial expressions, in the truthfulness of his portrayal of pain, exhaustion, anger, a meek smile. Finally, here, we have a bit of art amongst so many hacks. (30)

The other important Itala Film was Il fuoco, “a trilogy by Piero Fosco”, which was not the adaptation of the homonymous novel by D’Annun- zio as we find written in some well-researched histories of cinema, but an original story by Piero Fosco, which was called as such for the first time.

An old, strange castle is the setting for the odd events between a great lady (Pina Menichelli) and a young painter (Febo Mari). The irregular lines of Pina Menichelli’s face are exploited for their strong resemblance to those of a real owl, who appears and disappears within the castle walls. The hairstyle of the actress, whose straight blond tresses create a bizarre and snugly fitting little feathered cap, is useful for its functionality. All this before the arrival in Italy of Griffith’s The Avenging Conscience: or “Thou Shalt Not Kill”, which will be discussed shortly.

The wise director Pastrone obtained very new effects by shooting the actress from below; Pina Menichelli is admitted, after this role, to the Olympus of divas. From now on, leveraging the name of an actress to launch a film becomes common practice, as if Italian cinema could not succeed without well-known artists: this would become another reason for the decadence of Italian cinema.

Censors tried to prohibit the projection of Il fuoco and demanded a second edit of the film following a protest that religious leaders had staged in Arezzo. And so, after the second approval, “Itala Film” added to the promotional posters the following effective warning: “The censors tried to ban the film, but after close review, gave permission again, because it was declared to be an artistic film.”

In the meantime, another good production house had emerged in Turin, Latina Ars, which began production in the second quarter of 1915 on Il mio diario di Guerra (from a story that Father Semeria had taken from a notebook discovered on the dead body of the heroic chaplain Don Lorenzo X), with an original musical score by Don Giocondo Fino.

Father Semeria publicly denied his cooperation, and denied having ever authorized anyone to use his name, and there was a debate in the newspapers in Turin to establish the truth.

Carlo Camerano, the lawyer of Latina Ars, published a letter from a reverend who confirmed that it was he himself who had asked Father Semeria for a cinematic plot and how Semeria had given the idea for the story, had accepted that it be turned into a screenplay and had reviewed and made changes to the script, and further how he had promised to obtain permission from the military authorities to shoot several live-action scenes and, finally, that he had accepted an initial payment from Tolentino, the director of the production house. (31) The film was quite successful and Father Semeria did not intervene again.

In Milan, Milano Films, taking advantage of a tour of the very wellknown ballerina Mistinguette and her company, made the film La doppia ferita, in which she starred, based on a script by Augusto Genina. One of her fellow dancers, Lina Millefleurs, was enlisted by Milano Films, and proved to be a good hire.

At the end of 1915 the “scandal” of colonel Barone went public. He had received authorization from the High Command to shoot the film Italia nel tuo nome e per la tua grandezza in a war zone (Isonzo and Carnia), which was to be screened only in conjunction with his patriotic lectures.

The left-wing newspapers immediately accused the Colonel of profiting from his monopoly on filming the war, and someone even managed to insinuate that he had gone into a war zone not to risk his life but to... film, and the attacks didn’t stop even when Colonel Barone publicly declared that the twenty thousand lire net profit from his activities had already been given to the Italian Red Cross.

The controversy over the Barone case and the presumed monopoly obtained through the Minister Salandra, led the High Command to the resolution that allowed into the war zone cameramen from cinematic production houses who were recognized as serious and who had made the request to the Press Office of the High Command itself.

And so Ambrosio filmed Alla fronte; and Comerio filmed Come il soldato italiano si prepara alla difesa della Patria, La guerra d’Italia and La presa di Gorizia. This last film, however, turned out to be unworthy of the event. Giuseppe Meoni observed in the Messaggero in September 1916 (Guerra e cinematografo):

In the so-called Presa di Gorizia... the gunfire is limited to a rather fleeting red cloud in the middle of which one can barely distinguish a man throwing something it’s not possible to make out. At a certain point, the titles on the screen announce the bombardment in action, that is, the prodigious deed of destroying the most formidable encampment of trenches in Europe that was truly a “merveille”: but as hard as you focus your gaze, you aren’t able to catch sight of anything at all. And the show of happiness of the liberated people, reduced to the presence of two – that’s right, two – not quite so young girls, becomes so frequent as to become tiresome, and though their gifts of beauty are not quite Apollonian, the titles assign them the function of representing the beautiful young women of Gorizia.

Luigi Roatto and Gino Rossetti shot Per i nostri combattenti per una più grande Italia, making use of a telephoto lens applied to a Fumagalli and Pion Italian film camera, and La nostra marina da Guerra opera per la vittoria e la gloria d’Italia, which had exquisitely crafted “titles” by Gabriele D’Annunzio; but both films, which were very well made, were inexplicably prohibited in France, even though allied films were widely distributed in Italy.

The film La flotta e gli eserciti alleati a Salonicco and other documentaries of the war at sea were produced by the Special Office of Cinematic Reportage of the Royal Navy, organized and directed by the Marquis Giuseppe Genoese Zerbe, who some time later, assisted by Captain Guardigli, Nino Oxilia and the cameraman Ferdinando Martini, shot Dalla ritirata d’Albania alle trincee di Macedonia on the operation undertaken by the Italian navy in the Serbian campaign.

Other documentaries were shot by Carlo Montuori and Gioacchino Gengarelli, who Nino Oxilia called “Gimiki”. They went with him and with Arnaldo Fraccaroli to Albania on a small yacht.

Baron Fassini had made the Cines facilities available for developing and printing war films. For their distribution, a special Office was created within the Ministry of the Interior, which should have collaborated with the foreign Propaganda Office, set up by Paolo Boselli to protect cinematic propaganda in the allied countries, but which ended up being very inadequate. In fact, the few films that were successfully screened portrayed scenes on the sidelines with local Italian soldiers and not active warfare, and were thus considered damaging for the Italian army and unworthy of the efforts undertaken by Italy to help the allies. (32)

Gino Calza Bedolo indignantly remarked in the “Il Giornale d’Italia”, that up until the end of September 1916, not one Italian war film had reached England. The High Command had only authorized the export of Comerio’s film La Guerra dell’Adamello (which more thoroughly and efficiently showed the enormous difficulties our army underwent in the war in the Alps), and a scandal broke out:

The film was acquired for 100 thousand lire by Comm. Ricordi, a music publisher, who became the sole owner, and he did not want to show it in Paris for less than half a million, threatening to “burn” it otherwise, but he didn’t burn it in the end and the film was screened; and he also wanted to speculate with it in London, while the High Command of the allies were siding with the Red Cross, so that their propaganda films would be distributed. And the Government had no legal means at its disposal to remind Comm. Ricordi that the interests of the Country were worth more than his own private interests.

It remained, anyway, impossible to explain to the country why the bloodshed of soldiers at the front, the testament of their efforts and their sacrifice, would serve, as Gino Calza Bedolo remarked, to: fill the coffers of Comm. Ricordi, who, worried that he would no longer sell his own works, sought to get out of the crisis of musical notes through an exhausting pursuit of banknotes.

In Paris, in the meantime, Scene dal vero della guerra italiana sulle Alpi screened at the Vaudeville cinema, which consisted of shameful and shoddy scenes of extras fighting in the mountains of Abruzzo. The Italian authorities reported this to the French authorities and heard back that the film had been “properly authorized by the censors”. (33)

Valuable testimony comes from Diego Angeli, who sent the following news on Italian cinematic propaganda and that of the other warring nations from Paris in June 1916, in an important article we reproduce here in its entirety:

The other evening I was passing in front of a cinema on the “boulevard” where they were advertising a series of scenes of the Italian army at war, I went in and sat down, expecting to see live-action images of the new Italy. But my expectation was in vain. The few films shown on screen were of no interest. They weren’t even scenes of the sidelines: there were merely a few auxiliary servicemen that any old cameraman had filmed without worrying too much about the aesthetic effect or moral impact. Two or three broken down carts pulled by pairs of mules pompously portrayed the provisions of the Italian troops and four patched tents in an alpine valley, in front of which a sentinel walked, glancing carelessly, with nothing military about him, were presumptively titled “Encampment of the Italian army on the peaks of Cadore”; and finally a group of rather plump and poorly-dressed local soldiers, no less military in their bearing, were meant to show an Italian regiment at rest. A sense of melancholy and misery emanated from all of this. It wasn’t a great people fighting in one of the most difficult regions of the current war; it wasn’t a well-organized country that had entered an encampment after nine months of fervent preparations and expertise of others; it was a poor little Balkan state, without serious organization and without provisions, a kind of miserable, inert Greece that exposed its ruins with the sort of nonchalance that is one of the worst myths created around our national activity. And I came out saddened by this very discouraging spectacle, while the little orchestra attached Maestro Toselli’s Serenata and the marquee announced the twenty-fourth episode of The Great Mysteries of New York

I have never understood why the Italian Government has shown itself to be so intransigent when it comes to war films. Of course, openly allowing cameramen into a war zone can be dangerous: but there are limits and there are limits. Here in France, for example, permission was given to a union of filmmakers, who were strictly controlled by the military authorities. This control prevents scenes that could be detrimental to national defence or the progress of military operations from being seen or divulged, but at the same time shows enough of the war for the public to be able to understand how it takes place, the difficulties involved and the flawless logistical organization. After a half hour of “scènes de la guerre” the public exits the cinema perfectly convinced that their soldiers are not lacking for anything, that they are perfectly organized and that their army is the best army in the world. Provisions, ambulances, airfields, trenches, covered trenches, field kitchens, artillery manoeuvres, bombed out villages, rockets exploding, enemy locations destroyed by fire; squadrons of airplanes taking off; rocket launchers of various shapes and sizes; convoys of prisoners, auxiliary services, drills for launching hand grenades; the review and bestowing of honours on the battlefield; visits to the front by the President of the Republic; the most decorated and admired figure heads, in a word, all that can be seen of war without bias, is portrayed in this weekly series on life on the front.

For its part, England has given us, with the consent of and as advised by its Government, three great films with the title: England is Ready showing the British army in training camps, the same army in the trenches in Flanders and the navy at port and in the dockyards. What an admirable vision of the effort undertaken by the British nation to create a military organization it did not have! Above all it was an artist to frame and select the context of the landscape. Then care was taken to present the best -looking regiments and the most perfected material. That population of practical idealists understood right away what use could be made of filmed propaganda and to those who asserted “England is doing nothing” they responded by putting five million men on the battle lines and showing the whole world how these men were equipped and the level of military perfection they had attained.

And the same thing must have happened in Germany. The neutral countries, I am told, are inundated with propaganda in the form of war films. There are films for all tastes: from the procession of regiments parading in the occupied cities of Belgium and France, to sentimental little scenes in which mounted soldiers and grenadiers feed the children of the occupied countries; from views of battlefields to views of hospital wards. There is every kind of scene and everything is adapted to the mentality and needs of the public for whom the film is intended. The other day, a civilian returning from Constantinople told me that he had seen there – in the days following the battle of Mama – scenes of the Prussian army entering Paris. He saw the Arc de Triomphe with the Kaiser’s infantry and cavalry passing under it, parading with flags flying. It was just that, the last lines of this victorious army were transparent and gave away the trick. Two films superimposed had given quite a good illusion of reality. And it was a Turkish public!

Now, as for us, we neither wanted or knew how to take advantage of this magnificent means of propaganda. And it should be noted that that doesn’t only mean scenes of war: it all too often means everything that references our military system, which has always been presented in the least favourable way. I have seen, who knows how many times, old artillery manoeuvres, conducted with obsolete cannons by soldiers in uniforms that were discontinued ten years ago; I’ve seen some modest drills at the school of Tor di Quinto in Rome, referred to as “great manoeuvres of the Italian cavalry”! I’ve seen two or three companies of little puppets – even them in old uniforms – passing by onscreen in a disorderly way, called “Grand inspection of the Italian infantry”. And the greater public, who don’t know, really believe that that is our army and continue to form an idea of us as not very serious and of very little military value.

Besides, we still have the detrimental misconception that we are truly an artistic people. I remember that in 1911, when they were deciding on the celebrations in Rome, someone within the organizing Committee suggested in all seriousness dressing ten pretty girls as southern maidens and having them ready at Orte station so that they could offer little baskets of fruit to the foreigners invited to Rome to attend the fiftieth anniversary of the liberation of Italy! He really believed that he had had an “artistic idea” and it took quite a lot to convince him that he had proposed something stupid. But unfortunately such was not always the case and in Brussels, for example, in the great Italian pavilion of the International Exposition, one could see a “Florentine florist” going about selling to the public little fans made of straw from the Florentine countryside and postcards! And, well, our cameramen are guided by more or less the same criteria in their choice of military subjects and the “little scenes of war” always try to portray a hypothetical Neapolitan hugging a wicker wine bottle and playing the accordion, while soldiers dance around happily. And no one can imagine how damaging this concept of our “artistic temperament” is to us.

Now I believe that someone should deal with this as well. Those that govern us, in general, have a profound disdain for public opinion. They really believe that concerning themselves with certain minutiae is not worthy of those in charge of serious national affairs. While according to some points of view, Italy is the most democratic and the most advanced of countries, according to others it has lagged behind for more than a century. For those in charge in Italy, for example, an art exhibition as a tool for political expansion or, to stay on our topic, a film used as propaganda, seem unworthy of consideration by a politician. They ignore the enormous power these displays of human intellectual activity have today. I once saw, in an exposition abroad, in the stand of our naval shipyards, a replica of an armoured plate for the navy, and this reproduction was in painted wood, while a few metres away the Krupp company had exhibited a whole shipyard of real battleships, torpedoes and cannons. The technicians, who know the potential of our workshops, looked and even admired them, but the public didn’t know, shook their heads, and after having touched the armoured plate said disdainfully: “It’s wood” and went on to admire the insurmountable strength of the German company. Disgracefully, at home, our ministers, our deputies, our “shepherds of men” travel very little and if they do travel, they are rarely in contact with the real public, those who make up the great currents of a nation and –whenever they please – impose the direction that they must take. For this, given that our politicians don’t concern themselves with it, we must concern ourselves a little, and make it be known that – at a time when it is such a part of public life – even film and especially film can become a fantastic instrument for national propaganda. Recently, the Journal de Genève complained that Italy, who had made such an admirable effort and had fought with such passionate valour and self-sacrifice, didn’t do anything to make this effort known or this valour appreciated abroad. Modesty is a valued quality, one might say: but I don’t believe it would be correct. Because, unfortunately for us, our enemies are not modest, and in writing, with drawings and even with falsified films they try to demonstrate their greatness and our misery. Now I would like someone to tell me what we should call the person who ingeniously and perhaps voluntarily went to them to offer the proof of this misery of ours. And, even more, that, without resorting to cinematic tricks and altered films, we could show the world what we truly are and how much they are lying who show us otherwise.

Other than war documentaries, films of national propaganda where also shot. We may recall Guazzoni’s L’anello di Guerra, for Associazione fra romani; Roma mater, created by the sculptor Pierino Soro to benefit the Roman group Pro mutilati; Per la patria, propaganda for national loans, produced by Film d’arte italiana and distributed for free by Pathé. It was directed by Ugo Falena and portrayed live-action scenes from the battlefield with the King as soldier and Prince Umberto, followed by various scenes with the best cinematic and theatrical actors present in Rome, Ermete Novelli, Laura Zanon Paladini, Gioacchino Grassi, Elisa Grassi, Lola Visconti Brignone, Italia Benini Sambo and Ferruccio Benini, who died a few months later. He was the only great actor to give in to the easy earnings that cinema offered, accepting the role of the nobleman Vidal who gives his pride to the Nation, motivated only by noble patriotic feeling.

(1) “Canudo’s contribution to cinema has two main characteristics: it was the first contribution, in chronological order; it was a very high level contribution and created a foundation for all further research, paving the way for every experiment and clarifying the ideas for every successive analysis of cinema as an aesthetic reality.” (J. Comin, review of L’usine aux images, Paris 1927, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, January 1937). On Ricciotto Canudo, who was born in Gioia del Colle (Bari) in 1879 and died in Paris in 1923, see also Lo Duca, Ricciotto Canudo ,“Cinema”, Rome, January 10, 1942.

(2) Thanks to all who kindly contributed to the compilation of the List, which, however, we cannot presume to be complete. The dates, obtained from examining cinematic periodicals, published memoires and oral and written accounts of silent filmmakers who were still alive in 1941, were confirmed as far as was possible. The tendency to self-servingly pre-date, boast of nonexistent collaborations or withhold events caused constant errors that were found for years in the retelling of our silent cinema and that would take too long to correct. We don’t find on the List the 1478 films that Ambrosio boasted of, the 1525 films attributed to Cines between 1909 and 1919, the 103 films of Emilio Ghione or the 790 films produced by Itala Film, because, as much as possible, I have confirmed whether the films that the production houses advertised were actually made. I kindly welcome all who are able to correct or add dates or information to do so, so that both the History and the List can, in future, be as accurate as possible.

(3) Even today, in 1950, film libraries and collections of historical artefacts of cinema have not been adequately organized; and yet plans have been published for national museums, cinema archives and the like for more than forty years.

In September 1909, the Neapolitan magazine “Lux” announced that a dedicated museum – in which films portraying the most notable and important events would be preserved – would be inaugurated “soon” in Rome, to be situated within the Ministry of the Interior; in 1910, Achille Calabi proposed in the Turin-based “Fotografia artistica” that the first national cinema museum should be founded there to open in time for the 1911 Exposition, concluding: “Such a documentary museum could fulfil the Government’s responsibility of studying the use of cinema in schools and within the military and provide examples of educational films”; in 1911, the Director of the State Archives in Rome, Dr. Ernesto Ovidi, proposed a “cinema section” of the State Archives; in July 1912, it was announced that film distributers in all of Italy had agreed to contribute to the creation of the National Film Archives, using their own resources; in 1913, in “Il Tirso”, Giacinto Celano proposed a “Musuem of gestures and words” with the dual goal of preserving the voices of illustrious figures and the most important national events for future generations; in 1914, during a visit by the Honourable Giovanni Rosadi, undersecretary of Public Education, to Morgana Film in Rome, the production house’s directors asked permission to give a copy of the films in the “Giovanni Grasso” series to the Minister of Public Education in order to found a Cinema Museum within the Direction of Fine Arts; in 1917, in a report on Eleonora Duse’s Cenere, it was noted that the film “has already been acquired by the State for the cinema collection – a new source of historical study for future generations – that is being organized within the State Archives in Rome”; in 1920, in the program of the “Council for cinematographic industries” the “creation of a museum of films and other cinematographic arts” was considered; and again in 1922, the year of the complete dissolution of the U.C.I, Giuseppe Galassi proposed, in the “Il Tempo” in Rome, the establishment of a Film Archive. While precious materials were destroyed and dispersed over a period of many years in Italy, the very well endowed Museum of Modern Art Film Library was founded in New York, and the Cinémathèque française in Paris collected the artefacts of French cinema, recently establishing the Musée du Cinéma. The initiative of a Museo del Cinema emerged in June 1941 in Turin, and, with the support of the City of Turin and the designation of the spaces of the Mole Antonelliana, equipment and documents were able to be saved that would have been dispersed during the war, as in fact happened in the case of the Ricciotto Canudo Cinema Museum, founded in Rome in 1942, following the donation of precious historical cinema artefacts by Dante Vannucchi. It is to be hoped that these will be found again in order to finally found a “National Cinema Museum” to collect and preserve this precious material – and there is much more in Italy – that references the glorious history of our cinema.

(4) In 1940, one of the first set designers at Ambrosio, Ettore Ridoni – who died a few months later and from whom I learned many precious facts about cinema in Turin – told me that the vines twisting around the columns of the triclinium came directly out of the stage floor and knives and forks were scattered on the tables... And yet it was one of the most sensational films in the world in 1908. In the “Bollettino ufficiale del Club d’Arte di Torino” (XII-1908), the following announcement appeared: “This may be the “key” to these last few days, a film that will attract attention not only in Italy, but also abroad, it will suffice to say that 14 filmmakers from Rome staged it at the same time and that it truly merited such unanimous success. The company producing it had to face uncommon expenses and difficulties, and to their credit knew how to overcome them. The plot of the drama is extremely interesting; the scene of the circus, when the great and historical scene of Vesuvius erupting begins, was portrayed in a marvellous way, with the fright of the fleeing spectators suffocating, inundated by the terrible action of the burning hot lava. Not only this, but the whole film was researched down to the finest detail; and all of the main scenes were real artistic pictures.” And in fact, three years later the French director Victorin Jasset, even while declaring that the “Italian School” had not contributed to the development of the art of cinema, admitted:

“Pourtant, presque à ses débuts, l’Italie produisit un chef-d’oeuvre qui à trois ans après, malgré la rapide évolution faite en ce laps de temps, apparait encore une des meilleures oeuvres de la mise en scène au ciné. Je veux parler des Derniers jours de Pompei, qui, dès sa représentation, révolutionna le marché par son sens artistique, sa mise en scène soignée, l’habilité de ses trucs, sa largeur de conception et d’exécution, en même temps que par son exceptionnelle qualité photographique. Le film était hors de pair et classa la maison Ambrosio parmi les meilleurs marques” (in Anthologie du cinema, texts collected and introduced by Marcel Lapierre, Paris, La Nouvelle Édition, 1946, p. 90).

(5) It was one of the first goals attained by Giovanni Pastrone, the brilliant director of Itala Film. The set design was minutely researched in texts on Greek history and the painters Borgogno and Luigi Romano Bornetto produced grandiose sets. The splendid costumes of the actors and numerous extras were supplied by the firm Zampironi, suppliers to La Scala.

Technically, then, the film was very important. The projectors were equipped to be able to show reels of 300 – 350 metres of film continuously, since the public did not accept interruptions in their aesthetic enjoyment. And this is why, when Pastrone communicated to his colleague, the engineer Sciamengo, who was temporarily in Spain, his bold plan to release a 600 metre long film, he received the telegraphic response: “Six hundred metres, unsellable”. But the film, which led to the transformation of projectors in the major cinemas, was a big success and this is how the race for long format films began in Italy. Pasquali shot Calvario, which was a thousand metres long, “Ambrosio also reached a thousand metres in length with L’ultimo dei Frontignac ovverossia il Romanzo di un giovane povero. Feature films by Pathé, Lux, Gaumont, Eclair and Bioscope arrived from abroad; and then, from Nordisk, came In dem großen Augenblick by Urban Gad with Asta Nielsen at 1200 metres and Jugend und tollheit at two thousand metres long. In 1912, feature films were very much in style. An advertisement like this appeared in the “Courrier cinématographique” in Paris: “Lundi prochain le grand film — L’HISTOIRE DU MONDE — ou — Depuis Adam jusqu’à Fallières (Armand) — Durée: huit jours! — Entrée comprenante la nourriture et la chambre pour les huit jours: 100 francs — Lavatory, bains chauds, pédicure etc. sont à disposition des spectateurs”.

Then things stayed at about 800 metres. Cabiria, in 1914, reached 4500 metres.

(6) We may better understand the poignant value of Cabiria through the energetic, very ”1914” prose of Neapolitan writer Antonio Scarfoglio which appeared in the “Mattino” after the premiere of Cabiria in Naples: “A fiery, passionate poem. The ruin of men, the fall of a civilization, passions destroyed in the blazing heat of an immense pyre; the divine glorification of an invincible red power breaking men, tearing cities apart, altering Fate. And against this all a sweet curly-haired girl, armed only with her own fragile beauty, her infinite weakness, who fights, who struggles, who wins. The flames burn high and rage around her little, insubstantial body, the humanity around the narrow circle of her sweet gaze is lashed at by swords, by teeth, by slingshot; the heavy hand of destiny passes over men, over things, over civilization within the brief range of her unconscious steps! and in the mournful wake of her small voice evil ruin hastens to avenge an unsated God on the shores of Africa and Italy. Two forces face one another: one of plundering hatred and violence, the other of weakness and innocence. Two cities die in the aftermath, two faiths are torn asunder and a divinity crumbles in smouldering ruin. And a massacre surrounds this trembling, defenceless little life, marked by fate.”

(7) With Caccia al leopardo, shot by Roberto Omegna in Central Africa in 1908, a series of exotic Italian films began, at the same time as the French ones initiated by Alfred Machin, who was sent to Africa by Charles Pathé (P. Leprohon, L’exotisme et le cinéma, Paris, Les Éditions J. Susse, 1945). In 1920, the Duke of the Abruzzi held a conference at the Teatro Vittorio Emanuele II in Turin on his expedition to Karakorum, Sul tetto del mondo, illustrating it with a film (shot by his cameraman Vittorio Sella) with profits destined for an organization that assisted Italian emigrants, Opera Bonomelli. Worldwide exclusivity was given to Raleigh & Robert of New York. The film of a trip by Duchess Elena of Aosta to the Congo, on the other hand, was screened privately. In 1910, as it had become the fashion to travel with a film cameraman at one’s side, Giuseppe Levi, Gino Gabotti and Mario Piacenza set out from Milan to the Caucasus and shot a few films there; Giovanni Vitrotti, cameraman for Ambrosio, went to Russia and to the same region, which is discussed in another section of this book. In the summer of 1910, while a few members of the Excursionists Society of Turin went to Naples, Palermo, Malta and Tunis accompanied by a film cameraman, the scriptwriter from Ambrosio, Arrigo Frusta, again with Giovanni Vitrotti, arrived at Mont Blanc (Colle del Gigante) with a film camera, preceding by three years Dr. Federico Burlingham, who went there in 1913 with four guides and a cameraman. The English climber was also preceded in the cinematic exploration of the volcano of Vesuvius by lawyer Roberto Troncone, professor Malladra and their guide Andrea Varvazzo who went there on June 5, 1912. That same year, Roberto Omegna went to India where he filmed several documentaries, distributed by Ambrosio. In 1914, the cameraman of Comerio, Chentrens, accompanied the Baron Raimondo Franchetti on his expedition to English East Africa. The exotic Italian films that followed may be seen on the List.

(8) Stefano Cremonesi from Brescia (who died in 1922 at the age of 51) was the first one in Italy to declare the educational usefulness of cinema and, starting in November 1906 in Catania, where he was a tax official, first experimented with scholastic films in the Lumière Moderno cinema he had established in Via Spadaro Grassi, projecting travel documentaries showing the customs and traditions of far away lands to local school children. We may recall, however, that already in 1905, in the “Rivista di artiglieria e genio”, the use of cinema screenings to instruct new recruits was proposed. In 1907, in Florence, Major Luigi Castellani, began to promote introducing cinema to schools, and one of the first cinema journalists, Gualtiero I. Fabbri, dedicated the following epigraph to him in 1916: May it never be disputed, now or in the future, who was the first to imagine cinema in schools in Italy, everyone knows that it was the (modest and not self-absorbed) Major Luigi Castellani, an active and praised counsellor in the noble assembly of the city of Florence, who, after almost five years of strenuous opposition and very productive work, only in 1907 had the triumphant, unanimous vote of his obsequious colleagues for his persistent didactic idea, and so primary schools in the immortal city of Dante were the forerunners of cinematic instruction, informing and spurring on others. (In “La cinematografia italiana ed estera”, Turin, October 15-16, 1916).

Stefano Cremonesi, having returned to Brescia where he became the owner of two cinemas, and after having founded the “Cinema Society of Brescia”, started the first experiments in educational cinema in July 1909, periodically bringing together about a thousand children and screening moral and educational films for them on subjects of natural history, history and geography.

In a letter dated January 30, 1910, addressed to the City of Brescia, he officially offered his own cinemas to schools in Brescia each Thursday. The program for March 11, 1910, at cinema in the Crociera di San Luca building, was the following: I microb (scientific); Napoleone (historical); Le grandi machine (industrial); Manovre di pompieri (fitness); La corona (moral); and Tartarin (entertaining).

In January 1911 the “Brixia docet” company was formed for the production and sale of moral and instructive films and projection equipment for schools; in October, the first issue of the magazine Cinema docet came out; in 1912, the Italian National Cinematographic Association “Cinema docet” was founded in Milan with the support of Stefano Cremonesi who, the following year, published the brochure La scuola dell’avvenire ossia l’istruzione e l’educazione a mezzo del cinematografo (The School of the Future, or Instruction and Education Through Cinema) which was sold to benefit elementary school orphans, and a magazine “Staffetta” to promote the organization Cinema docet.

That same year, the illustrious archaeologist Giacomo Boni, at the inaugural meeting of the “Third Italian Photographic Congress” held in Rome on April 24th, called cinema “a very new platform and biblia pauperum, a cultural facilitator, reproducing natural phenomena, forms, movements and worthy facts in the classroom”.

In 1912, the Emiliana Projection Society La bonne presse founded a cinema section thanks to Father Romano Costetti. In 1914, thanks to the legal decree of June 28, 1914, Minerva, the organization for the projection of scholastic films that had been founded towards the end of 1912 in Rome on the initiative of Giovanni Rosadi and was inaugurated by Corrado Ricci at the Teatro Argentina, was made a legal entity.

In the large hall of the Calidarium in the Baths of Diocletian, 14 cinematic screenings during the 1914-1915 school year brought together approximately 14 thousand children. In 1916, the first General Meeting of the Istituto Minerva was held in Rome, presided over by Corrado Ricci, and even the French representative Edouard Petit participated. He announced that he was organizing a similar institution in France, and in fact, by decree of the President of the Republic Painlevé, an organization was established for scholastic teaching by means of cinema and a commission, made up of forty-five competent individuals, tasked with establishing the general plan and fulfilling the organization.

All of this while in Italy it was a struggle to keep alive the various institutions which would require great resources and more robust government support. The Istituto Minerva lasted a few years. In 1923, the mayor of Milan promoted a national entity for instructive and educational cinema, for the production of educational films, but it did not last long. In 1924, in Rome, a Union for Educational Cinem” was founded, under the direction of Luciano De Feo and Eugenio Fontana, which became a legal entity in 1925, transforming itself into the Istituto nazionale Luce per la propaganda e la cultura a mezzo della cinematografia (under R.D.L, November 5, 1925, n.1985). On September 20, 1927, the Istituto Internazionale per la cinematografia educative, which Italy had proposed to the League of Nations, was inaugurated in Rome.

With the R.D.L. of January 25, 1925, the LUCE Institute was transformed into a semi-public entity and was declared the only cinematographic and photographic authority of the State.

(9) “I can calmly and without presumption confirm to have been, in this particular sector of film production, one of the masters. My adventure films, closely scrutinized by Hollywood producers, served as models to which, in time, the acrobatics of Eddie Polo and Douglas Fairbanks will be traced.” (Domenico Gambino, Salti e tuffi nel mio passato, “Film”, Rome, August 6, 1939.)

(10) Cf. M.A. Prolo, Italiani nella cinematografia straniera, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, I, 1949, pp. 70-75.

(11) Cf. Il cinema italiano dal 1930 ad oggi, in Almanacco del cinema, Rome 1939, pp. 21-23 and pp. 81-95; L. Freddi, Cinema, Rome, L’Arnia, 1949, vol. I, pp. 49-60.

Chapter 1

(1) The patent was registered on November 11 1895 (n. 40128 Reg. Gen). Beyond a “cinesigrafo perfezionato” presented at a meeting of the Società Fotografica Italiana (Italian Photographic Society) in Florence in early 1900, he is also remembered for registering a patent for a portable cinematograph (in June 1910); for a “new machine for taking cinematographic photograms” (November 1911; and in France, September 1912); for a new cinematographic camera combined with a panoramic camera that gave an image width greater than 110° (Germany 1912 – sold to America) and for a new camera with a lens that moved at a 90° angle. An exhaustive study of our brilliant inventor would be a fitting endeavour.

(2) Cf. G. Sadoul, Histoire du Cinema, I: L’invention du cinéma (1832- 1897), Paris, Denoël, 1946, p. 263 ff.

(3) Promio, one of the first cinematic reporters sent abroad by Lumière to develop its stock of films, filmed King Oscar of Sweden in October 1896 during the opening of the Exposition in Stockholm. The documentary was filmed at 11 a.m. and by 7 p.m. had already been screened for the sovereign. (Cf. A. Promio, Carnet de route, in M. Lapierre, op. cit.)

(4) Vittorio Calcina, employed by Lumière, had requested to be able to offer a cinematic spectacle to King Umberto and Queen Margherita in Monza. The offer was accepted and the head of the section in the office of the First Aide-de camp of His Majesty the King, Pietro Olivieri, wrote to him from Monza on October 2, 1899: “Dearest Mr. Calcina. – I am responding to your letter dated from Genova. I am aware, of course, that Your Excellency had written to Mr. Lumière about the cinematographic session at Monza. Now I advise you that His Majesty will be absent for about ten days and thus you will have time to comfortably make the necessary preparations. I may add for your information that the Royal Villa has electric light. Sincerely, etc.”

The program of the show was as follows:

Venezia - Partenza delle LL. MM. dal R. Palazzo, anno 1898

(Venice – Departure of Their Majesties from R. Palazzo, 1898)

Venezia - Arrivo delle LL. MM. cogli Imperatori di Germania Passaggio nel giardino delle LL. MM. recantisi all’imbarco l’Hohenzollern salpa per l’Oriente

(Venice – Arrival of Their Majesties with the Emperors of Germany, Their Majesties crossing the garden on their way to the Hohenzollern, setting sail for the Orient)

Le LL. MM. al Reale Castello di Monza, 20 novembre 1896

(Their Majesties at the Royal Castle at Monza, November 20, 1896)

Le LL. AA. RR. i Principi di Napoli a Firenze, 1897

(The Princes of Naples in Florence, 1897)

Una rivista di fanteria russa a Peterhof

(A review of the Russian infantry at Peterhof)

Salto di ostacoli (siepi) di dragoni francesi

(French mounted soldiers jumping over hurdles (hedges))

Passaggio difficile di artiglieria

(A difficult crossing with artillery)

Una battaglia di bambini a colpi di guanciale

(A children’s pillow fight)

In riva al mare

(A shore at the seaside)

Balletto sulla scena (Carnevale di Venezia)

(Ballet on stage (Carnevale in Venice))

Ciclisti romani in arrivo a Torino, 1898

(Roman cyclists arriving in Turin, 1898)

Acrobati rusticani all’Esposizione di Torino

(Acrobats at the Exposition in Turin)

Entrata all’Esposizione di Torino

(Entrance to the Exposition in Turin)

Chiosco Talmone all’Esposizione di Torino

(The Talmone Kiosk at the Exposition in Turin)

Passeggio all’Esposizione di Torino (Passing through the Exposition in Turin)

Uscita dei visitatori dall’Esposizione Porta San Sepolcro a Gerusalemme

(Visitors exiting the Porta San Sepolcro Exposition in Jerusalem)

Saluto a Gerusalemme dal treno

(Goodbye to Jerusalem from the train)

Feste giubilari di Londra a S. M. la Regina d’Inghilterra

(Jubilee celebrations in London for Her Majesty the Queen of England)

Feste giubilari e corteo di principi

(Jubilee celebrations and the procession of princes)

Siviglia - Corrida - Entrata delle quadriglie

(Seville – Bullfight – entrance of the quadrilles)

Siviglia - Corrida - L’estocado

(Seville – Bullfight – the estocado)

Siviglia - Danza di boleros

(Seville – Dance of the boleros)

Belfast - All’erta dei pompieri

(Belfast – Firemen at the ready)

Una processione a Lourdes

(A procession in Lourdes)

Varo dell’Emanuele Filiberto a Castellamare

(Launch of the Emanuele Filiberto at Castellamare)

Sbarco di un battello-mosca a Lione

(A riverboat landing in Lyon)

Corteo nuziale (Wedding procession).

Vittorio Calcina was also authorized to film King Umberto I’s funeral in Rome. General Ugo Brusati, the First Aide-de-Camp of the new King, personally communicated the permission to an authority in Rome: “Monza, August 4, 1900. – His Majesty the King has no objection to Mr. Vittorio Calcina, cinematographic operator and representative of Casa Lumière in Italy, to make use of his own equipment to capture in the best possible way, in Rome, the funeral procession accompanying the body of the dearly departed King Umberto I. Authorized by His Majesty the King, I kindly ask you to facilitate the above-mentioned Mr. Calcina in the completion of his task as required.”

(5) Cf. N. Giannitrapani-R. Pereschini, La vera origine del cinema italiano, “Cinema”, Rome, 1942, May 25, n. 142. The first technical manual to appear in Italy for the cinematograph (Guglielmo Re, Il cinematografo e i suoi accessori, Milan, Hoepli, 1907, n. 614) was dedicated to “the brilliant and kind photographer Italo Pacchioni who was the first to make the beauty of motion pictures known in Italy.”

(6) Cf. Mario Corsi, Fregoli pioniere del muto e precursore del sonoro, “Cinema”,

Rome, December 10, 1936, n.11 ; and Fregoli raccontato da Fregoli, Milan, 1936.

(7) The first Pope to appear on screen was Leo XIII (1810-1903). Among the artefacts of Vittorio Calcina donated by his daughter Stella Calcina to the Museo del Cinema in Turin, there is a photograph obtained from a photogram – in which the blessing Pope, supported by two prelates, approaches a throne – obtained, it would seem, from an 1896 Lumière film.

(8) The Demény Chronophotograph system or moving picture... With this equipment, a strip of film is inserted and pulled along by the continuous movement of a receiving reel, on which it is unwound after it is developed. However, as a view passes before the small window that allows the rays of the light source in, this movement is momentarily suspended by means of a rotating shaft that collects the film and causes it to always remain taught... It is calibrated so that for the proper appearance of a moving picture, a strip of film that measures over 20 metres in length must be entirely unwound over a period of about 40 to 45 seconds. It is understood then, that according to the subject, it is suitable to accelerate or slow down the movement (the detailed explanation of the equipment is accompanied by a photograph and two illustrations in which the machine has the following manufacturer’s mark: Comptoir général de photographie Gaumont & C.ie, Paris – “Il Progresso”, Turin, November 1896).

(9) Vittorio Alinari discussed it in an article on the photography at the Paris Exposition in the “Bullettino della Società Fotografica” in Florence (June 1900). After mentioning the Chrono portable cinematograph by Gaumont, a much smaller piece of equipment that was apparently well made, he added in reference to Lumière: “they are exhibiting another machine, the Kinora, that is used to present moving images printed on paper with sufficient illusion. I even acquired one of these machines although it was more or less a child’s toy and as such I’m not sure I will risk presenting it at a meeting of our Society.” In the small machine, by means of a button, a moving rod rapidly unwinds a strip of paper on which the main photograms of a film are printed, so that it can be viewed as in a hand-held stereoscope. Vittorio Calcina sent it as a gift to the Royal Family with the following reels of “moving pictures”:

His Royal Highness King Umberto and Her Royal Highness the Queen in Monza on Novemer 20, 1896

His Royal Highness the King and the Prince of Naples in Turin on May 25, 1897

His Royal Highiness the King and Her Royal Highness the Queen in Venice in September 1898

His Royal Highness the King and Her Royal Highness the Queen with the Royals of Germany in Venice, 1897

His Royal Highness the King inspecting the troops on September 8, 1899

Their Royal Highnesses the King and Queen at the mines of Monteponi, 1899

(10) Cf. Giovanni Livoni, I primordi del cinema a Roma, “La Cinematografia italiana ed estera”, Turin, March 15, 1918; Mario Corsi, Giubileo di un decano del cinema (Ezio

Cristofari), “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, November 1937.

(11) S. Pappalardi, I primi cinema napoletani, “Cinema”, Rome, March 25, 1939, n. 66; R. Paolella, Contributo alla storia del cinema italiano, “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, September 1940.

(12) C.B., Ambrosio, l’uomo dei 1478 film, “Film”, Rome, February 19, 1939, n. 4.

(13) E. Ceretti, Il pioniere, “Cinema”, Rome, April 25, 1940, n.92.

(14) Cf. Vita patetica di Alberto Collo, “Film”, Rome, July 2-9-16-23, 1917.

(15) In the April 1906 “Bullettino della Società Fotografica” the following advertisement appeared: “The first Italian establishment for cinematic manufacturing Alberini and Santoni – Administration: Rome, via Torino 96 – Studio: Via Appia Nuova, beyond Porta San Giovanni. Dear Sirs. The great development of our Business which has met with much success in Italy and Abroad and the necessity of increasing cinematic production has led us to transform our cinematic manufacturing establishment into the Società Italiana Cines. The new Firm will continue activities and will notably increase the production of films, the fabrication of equipment and sales related to cinema and related arts. We gratefully thank you for the support you have given us until now and we trust that you will want to continue to honour the new organization with your precious orders, etc. – Filoteo Alberini, Dante Santoni”. Between 1909 and 1939, Cines produced approximately 1525 films; support came from Baron Alberto Fassini who led the company from 1911 to 1918 (Cf. A.R. Cades, Storia della Cines, “Cinema”, Rome, April 25, 1937, n. 20).

(16) Cines had already shot about twenty films, of which 10 were documentaries, before the arrival of Gaston Velle. G. Sadoul confirms this, adding: “Velle ne s’était pas contenté de se faire accompagner par les décorateurs Dumesnil et Vasseur ainsi que par son opérateur André Wauzele, spécialiste du trucage ; il avait aussi emporté le scénario des films qu’il avait tournés ou vu tourner chez Pathé, avec les croquis des décors et les principales indications de scène” [Velle was not content to bring with him the set designers Dumesnil and Vasseur as well as the cinematograph operator André Wauzele, an effects specialist; he also brought scripts for the films he had shot or seen made at Pathé, with sketches for sets and main scenic directions] (G. Sadoul, Histoire générale du cinéma, II: Les pionniers du cinéma - De Méliès à Pathé 1897-1909, p. 410). This must have been the habit of the French director, since when he left “Cines” in September 1907 to shoot for Pathé he brought with him the script for the film Nel paese dei sogni (a boy has fantastical dreams after having read a novel by Jules Verne) which was then releasted by Cines in October 1907. In fact, in early November an identical film, Il piccolo Giulio Verne, was released by Pathé Frères; this fact was criticized in the weekly La lantern (Piccolo corriere politico artistico letterario, Rivista dei cinematografi, Naples, November 16, 1907, n.9). The Pathé films released by Cines were: Le triple rendez vous, La pile électrique, L’accordéon mystérieux (comedy) and a 220 metre long fantasy Voyage dans une étoile, “grande scène fantastique en dix tableaux”.

In the fine second volume of Georges Sadoul’s Histoire a few images of the Cines films Pierrot innamorato and Il pompiere di servizio appear, which come from the Cinémathèque française (pp. 409, 411). Among the French who came to Italy in that period, we may add the engineer Pouchain and M. Planchon, who had already managed the Lumière film production facility in Lyon, and who went to the head of the Cines “artificial silk” (or nitrocellulose) establishment in Padova, which would produce the celluloid necessary for a film stock factory to be set up in Pontevigodarzere. It was certainly functional in 1911, because the Catalogo generale ufficiale dell’Esposizione internazionale dell’industria e del lavoro in Turin, under “Seta artificiale” (artificial silk) (Gruppo XIX, classe 129), listed “Società italiana Cines Anonima Roma, capit. c. 3,000,000 – Established: Rome, cinema manufacturing; Padova, production of artificial silk and related products; Vigodarzere, production of sensitized film, colloid application and related products. Affiliates: Paris, London, Barcelona, Moscow, Berlin; Agents: New York, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, Caracas, Sydney, Yokohama, Hong Kong, Cairo, Egypt”. One of the reasons for the great development of Cines was perhaps their self-sufficiency in obtaining raw film stock.

(17) I met Charles Lépine (Bordeaux March 3, 1859 – Turin January 15, 1941) in the last period of his life. In addition to the donations he made to the Museo del Cinema in Turin, I received much information from him. For example, I learned that the first French version of L’assassinat du Duc de Guise was shot on a series of postcards, a fact that was confirmed in the memoires of Gabriel Moreau. “La technique de Lépine est beaucoup plus évoluée que celle des féeries contemporaines de Méliès et son style est très different de celui de Montreuil” [Lépine’s technique is much more evolved than that of the contemporary fantasies of Méliès and his style is very different from that of Montreuil] (G. Sadoul, op. cit., vol. II, p. 338). It is not improbable that the choice of a logo for Pathé, the famous rooster, was due to Lépine, who had worked in a Natural History Museum; in fact, among his papers was a reproduction, with his signature, of a taxidermied rooster, evidently his own handiwork.

(18) Carlo Rossi succeeded Gaston Velle at Cines in 1907. Among the patents taken out in France in October 1908 there is one from Carlo Rossi, “Mécanisme pour l’entrainement de la pellicule ou film dans les appareils cinématographiques”. In January, there was a patent in Italy for a “Piattaforma panoramica orizzontale e verticale per la presa di vedute cinematografiche e per apparecchi cinematografici in genere”. In the same year, he founded the “Iberia” company in Pianpalais in Switzerland, and subsequently “Duplex-Rossi” in Geneva, to capitalize on his patents related to the Duplex reversal system, the Duplex reel and those already in production and forthcoming related to multiple frame film stock, which was a film in which frames were placed side by side, so that on a normal strip of film, withought changing the perforations or sprocket holes, it was possible to have a series of two frames, one on the left and one on the right, from two different films, thus cutting costs in half. The system could be used to boost educational cinema.

In 1912, the news in fact came that Carlo Rossi was dealing with the French Ministry of Public Education to introduce the Duplex Rossi system in French schools; in August 1912, a 1200 metres long film that could be reduced to 300 metres by using rows of 4 frames was patented in France by Pierre Ulysse. Rossi’s invention was little used due to the difficulty of adapting the lenses and the deterioration of the film that passed through the projecter twice as many times.

(19) From verbal testimony given by Giovanni Pastrone, Charles Lépine and the engineer Ernesto Zollinger in 1941.

(20) Cf. Vita laboriosa e geniale di Giovanni Pastrone in “Film”, Rome, November 4, 1939. Itala Film had a great crew of cinematograph operators right away. Besides Tomasi, Natale Chiusano, Augusto Battagliotti, Carlo Franzeri and Carlo Riffaldi also worked there, followed by many others. Segundo De Chomón was the master, a pioneer of Spanish cinema who had founded the Hiberia production house in Barcelona in 1910, after having been with Pathé, succeeding Lépine in the creation of astonishing effects. Coming to Itala at the end of 1911, he got along well with the brilliant Giovanni Pastrone who also tended to be satisfied with effects: in fact, one invented effects and the other made them happen technically. Roberto De Chomón Ruiz, Chomón’s son, was his assistant for many years and later applied himself to making colour films.

(21) G. Sadoul, op. cit, vol. II, p. 416, cites a Frères Anselio production house in Rome: “À Rome enfin, Lamberto Pineschi fonda sous son nom une société qui fut dénommée Latium après son départ et celui des frères Anselio” [In Rome, finally, Lamberto Pineschi founded a company in his name that was baptised Latium after he and his brothers left] and in the index of names we find Anselio Frères producteurs italiens. Evidently it refers to the brother and associate of Lamberto Pineschi, Azeglio. From their native Tuscany, the two brothers moved to Rome at the beginning of 1900; Lamberto went to Paris, then to Turin where he joined Carlo Rossi and Guglielmo Remmert in a radiotelphone firm, which was changed to a film production company in 1905. Lamberto Pineschi, having left his Turin associates, returned to Rome, establishing the Manifattura cinematografia Fratelli Pineschi in Via Appia 77 on June 21, 1907 with 85 million lire in capital, which produced many small films, and at the same time began experimenting with applying the phonograph to cinema. In 1908, the Pineschi brothers created a sound film with song, Il trovatore, using a system they called “Fonoteatro Pineschi”. The film was screened with great success in Rome at the Lumière cinema situated in palazzo Altieri in piazza del Gesù, but it was prohibited by the Ricordi house for violation of copyright.

Then, in 1908, Dr. Pierini invented an electrical synchronization system with which he shot Duetto del pipelet and Duetto della mascotte, advertising the establishment of a Fabbrica pisana di pellicole parlate, a Pisa-based factory for talking films, lead by Prof. A. Rattelli, who taught physics at the University of Pisa.

In January 1909, Lamberto Pineschi, who in the meantime had given the name Latium Films to the factory, patented a system for the automatic activation of gramophones during film screenings and a machine for the synchronous production of voice and stereoscopic cinema. At the same time, Antonio Mannelli from Livorno advertised a “voxmotografo”, combining a projector with dialogue played by phonograph. (Cf. “Il Tirso”, October 26, 1909)

Latium Films was sold in 1910 and the Pineschi brothers continued their cinematic experiments, patenting in 1913 a machine that allowed an unlimited length of film to stay in synch.

In 1916, joining Dante Santoni, Filoteo Alberini’s first associate, they founded a new establishment in Via Calatafimi, the Tecnoteatro, for the production of colour films and the construction of talking machines, that already at the time ensured perfect synchronization between the film camera, the projector and the machine that recorded voice and sound.

While as early as 1919 the Sicilian Giovanni Rappazzo had succeeded in recording sound on the edge of the film using a selenium photoelectric developer (an “elettro-cinefono”), and, at the Quattro Fontane theatre, the engineer Elvino Pagliej had presented the film Finalmente parlo made and synchronized with Eureka equipment (directed by Ugo Gracci, starring Cesare Dondini), and the Trieste-based Edoardo Vecchiato and Cipriano Vische had tried to make a sound film, the Pineshci brothers, in 1921, arrived at a new, automatic connection between the projector and phonographs, attaining perfect synchronization between sound and image.

It was in Via Catalafimi that the master Mascagni witnessed the first tests of the sound film Il barbiere di Siviglia, produced no longer with the phonograph system but by printing sound on the film itsef, which was projected in 1923 in its entirely at the Adriano Theatre in Rome. The soprano Di Veroli and the tenor Manurita participated in its production. Three years later, Warner Brothers shot their first sound film with an almost identical system.

We may conclude these brief notes by recalling the activities of the Abruzzo-based Luigi Robimarga, the inventor, before 1926, of Fonofilm italico based on a system of synchronization between the camera, the projector and the macchina fonica portadischi a governo elettromagnetico [electromagnetically controlled sound disk holder], enabled by a synchronizer that was easy to install and to use. The Italian government of 1929, who had already shown a complete lack of understanding of the brilliant attempts made by the Pineschi brothers, instead of supporting Robimarga’s invention and favouring the commercialization of Italian inventions, were disinterested and for many years Italian cinemas used foreign projection equipment.

(22) Cfr. E. Ceretti, Il fotografo di S. M. il Re, in “Cinema”, Rome, April 25, 1940, n. 92; A. L., Luca Comerio, in “Tempo”, Milan, July 4, 1940, n. 58, V. D’Incerti, Ricordo di Luca Comerio, in “Ferrania”, June 1950.

(23) Della Borsa (Via Roma 26), Excelgrafica (Via Finanze 11), Splendor (Via Roma 31, “no more worries, the projection is absolutely steady”), Nuovo Sistema (Corso Regina

Margherita 134), Madrid (Via Berthollet ang. Via Nizza), Ireos (Via Cernaia 2), Principe Amedeo (Via Principe Amedeo 20 bis; entry: two soldi), Radium (Via Madama Cristina 15, entry: four soldi, children and military two), Galleria Subalpina (Galleria of the same name), Cosmorama mouvant (Via Lagrange 8), Vetrina collettiva (Via Garibaldi 14). On March 14, 1907, the Borsa screened Edwin S. Porter’s The Great Train Robbery, filmed by Edison in 1903 with Bronco Billy.

(24) In 1907, in Naples, where Mario Recanati, Menotto Cattaneo and Eugenio Pinzuti had established the first cinemas, there were: 9 permanent cinemas, 7 itinerate cinemas and 2 “cinemas chantants”. The first were: the Elgé in palazzo Casilli in Via Alessandro Poerio at the train station, in which the owners, the Troncone brothers, projected films they made themselves; the Recanati in the Galleria Umberto I n. 90 and the Iride in Via Alessandro Poerio whch were the oldest ones; the Salon de la Gaité in Via De Pretis, and then the Parisien, the Olimpia, the San Giuseppe, the Internazionale, the Umberto I, the Mercadante a Foria, the Sala italiana, the Marconi, the Garibaldi, the Monte Majella, the Scotto Yonno and the Vomero (“Il cinematografo”, Naples, September 22, 1907).

(25) “Rivista fonocinematografica e degli automatici, istrumenti pneumatici ed affini”, Milan, April 8, 1907, Director’s offices and administration Via Pattari 7. This was the description: “The already substantially evolved state of the phonograph, the cinematograph and the like necessitate a periodical made up not only of the most in-depth knowledge of the various applications of such useful inventions, but one that serves as a means of communication and commercial dialogue among those who operate in this specialized industry”. In March 1908, it merged with the Neapolitan periodical “Café chantant”, which added “Rivista fonocinematografica” to its name.

The magazine “Cine-foto” was meanwhile founded in Naples on October 1, 1908, and, with the July 7, 1909 edition, merged with “Café chantant – Rivista fonocinematografica”, keeping this name. See also E. Ceretti, La storia della critica cinematografica in Italia, in “Cinema”, Rome, January 10-25, February 10, 1939; A. Frescura, Dove e come è nata la cronaca cinematografica, in “Film”, Rome, March 12, 1938.

(26) Gaio (Angelo Orvieto), Spettacoli estivi: Il cinematografo, in “Il Corriere della Sera”, Milan, August 21, 1907.

(27) The pioneer Roberto Omegna, who died recently in Turin, did not remember this collaboration, writing: “Italy was the first to make scientific and educational films. In fact, the first technical agricultural film dates to 1906, and the first systematic production of scientific films to 1907. Then in 1911, I won first prize in the first international competition for scientific film in Turin with my film La vita delle farfalle, which was awarded the highest prize to be won.” (R. O., Cinematografia scientifica, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, November 1931, p. 61). The documentary on the life of Parnassius Apollo, which Omegna filmed with Guido Gozzano in Val d’Ayàs (Valle d’Aosta), is part of the film collection of the Museo del Cinema in Turin.

(28) It may have been the same film projected in Naples in 1911 by Prof. Gaetano Rummo during a series of conferences on nervous disorders. Surgical operations by Prof. Doyen had previously been projected in Naples.

(29) Ernesto Ragazzoni, Dal teatro al cinematografo, in “La Stampa”, Turin, March 21, 1908. Cf. G. Sadoul, op. cit, vol. II, pp. 253 and 314.

(30) On G. D’Annunizio’s relationship with cinema, see especially L. Bianconi, D’Annunzio ed il cinema, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, February 1942; and by the same author, Arte muta e letteratura: verismo e dannunzianesimo, in “Bianco e Nero”, Februaray 1942. The poet’s attitude, after his early enthusiasm, was always disdainful, and he felt that cinematic productions were unworthy of cinema’s potential. In fact, in February 1920, he declared, “Cinema today is nothing if not a silent scenic representation, that not only perpetuates but exasperates the misery of the theatrical trade. And it even renounces the only advantage, silence, adding the most annoying racket of piano keys and chords to the incoherent images. – I think that, after such a long mistake, the time has come to extract from these mimetic images the elements of a new art, honoring once more divine Fantasy. – If cinema is an art of light, its muse can only be one which, from antiquity, was the socalled muse of light, whose power is similar to light in the illumination and demonstration of things. Since Energy was and is our tenth muse invoked by the poet and chosen by the people, let us hope for the arrival of the eleventh in this base, Bolshevik, Wilsonian world; and may it be able to say, in lunar Latin: Redibo plenior (“L’Arte del silenzio”, Rome, February 15, 1920). In 1920, in Fiume, he had written a screenplay, L’uomo che rubò la Gioconda, which was published in the French magazine “Ambassade” in September 1932, edited by Mario Duliano who had been hired by Emile Richard. (Cf. “Scenario”, Notizie, September 1932). Another account from 1921 claims that D’Annunzio sent a script to the great American director David Wark Griffith.

(31) Two Itala films were on the inaugural program of the biggest cinema in the world, the Hippodrome, which opened in Paris, Place Clichy, at the end of 1908: La faute d’un père, La culture du riz en Italie (Cf. G. Sadoul, op. cit., vol. II, p. 401).

The first big problem that cinema had to resolve after it began, was that of fixing the image on screen, which depended on the delicate and difficult action of perforating. Until about 1908, every film manufacturer had their own imprint for perforation and had to equip the projectors with adaptors. Giovanni Pastrone, revolutionizing the systems in place up until that time, found a new method which was then universally adopted, to obtain the maximum precision in the perforations when the film went from negative to positive. The first logo of Itala Film, designed by the Turin painter Borgogno, consisted of a title block with the word “Fixité” waved by a voluptuous young woman. We may also note two rulers used to calculate perforations on negative and positive film, designed by Francesco Margiunti, during his time as a technician at Etna Film in Catania that are now preserved at the Museo del Cinema in Turin.

A history of cinema technology does not yet exist in Italy, although we should remem- ber more substantially those who set up workshops to repair the first film cameras and projectors, which arrived from abroad, and the first equipment for perforating and developing film, improving their functioning by brilliantly adapting them, and then making Italian versions (even for colour film and stereoscopic film). Among these technicians we may note Filoteo Alberini, the Lamberto and Azeglio Pineschi brothers, Dante Santoni in Rome; Giuseppe Bianco, maker of fine perforators and film measuring devices, the mechanic Brero, inventor of a motion picture camera, the cinematograph operator Pietro Marelli who did so as well, the engineer Gaetano De Giglio, the firm Pozzo and Manina in Turin; Fumagalli and Pion, Prévost, Zanotta in Milan, and many others who patented Italian inventions, procedures, processes, apparatuses, systems, and ways to perfect the industry of cinema.

We are endebted to Vittorio Calcina for Cine Parvus, the first series of equipment for narrow guage film constructed in 1911 (and now preserved in the Museo del Cinema in Turin), which could not be commercially exploited after it was perfected because of the outbreak of war.

(32) In Naples, Prof. Arturo Labriola, a teacher of political economics in the school of Commercial Studies in Naples, went as far as to investigate the crisis in cinema. He declared, “The industry will flourish all the better when it has proven its usefulness. I have a good opinion of cinema and I’d like to see it dignified without so many comical endings. Let’s portray our great art galleries. Let’s have the Uffizi, Brera, the Vatican Museum, the Louvre, the British Museum before our eyes... The schools will need you.”

(33) U. Pierantoni, Cinema e teatro, in “Il Tirso”, Rome, August 15, 1909.

(34) Launched at the beginning of 1909, it closed in December, and prizes were awarded in 1910. The Executive Committee was comprised of Edouardo Banfi, president, G. Bistolfi, G. Brioschi, L. Grabinski Broglio, Dino Coen, Ulisse Cermenati, Ferruccio Foà, Gualtiero I. Fabbri, Achille Lanzi, Luigi Marone, Ercole Pettine, Antonio Rovescalli, Antonio Rubino, Pietro Tonini, Bernardino Viviani, Aldo Lucchini, Armando Vay and Giuseppe Franquinet. Gold medals were awared to Saffi Comerio for Saggio del poema dantesco (a work in progress), Ugo e Parisina and Dall’alba al tramonto; Ambrosio for Nerone, La caccia al leopardo, L’industria del legno nel Cadore; Cines for Macbeth; Eclipse of Paris for Leggenda del violino, and L’isola (live-action); Lux of Paris for Un dramma sotto il Comitato di salute pubblica e Infortunio di un invalido; Eclair of Paris for La collana della vergine e Arcangelo (live-action); the American company Vitagraph for Il cammino della croce, La principessa misteriosa, and Il Niagara d’inverno; Aquila for Onore e vita; and Itala who had sent synchronized films out of competition. Other awards were given to Latium for Il crocifisso d’ottone, to Adolfo Croce and C. for Trento pittoresca, to Unitas of Turin, and to Pasquali e Tempo.

(35) Through a printed flyer, with a form attached for ordering copies of the films (deposit 50 Lire), the Manuifatture cinematografiche Adolfo Croce & C. company, established at Via Carlo Ravizza 19 and Via Vittoria Colonna 40, informed its esteemed clients that they had been given exclusivity to the excellent film of the First international Brescia Air Show, a “new sensation”:

“By special permission of the the organizing committee no other producer of films will be able to accomplish this interesting feat, since entering the closed premises and Hangars with film cameras is strictly prohibited... The Brescia Air Show does not need to be explained, everyone knows the extraordinary importance of this event in which the most famous airmen will take part with the most famous machines. To prove the exceptional interest, it is enough to menition the names of a few of them: Blériot, the champion della Manica, Latham, Farman, Delagrante, the Lieutentants Calderare and Savoia, and Mr. Carlo Moucher among many others....

(36) F. Liberati, Venti anni di palcoscenico, Rome, 1937, p. 128 ff.

(37) See D. Meccoli, La fiera della vanità, “Cinema”, Rome, December 25, 1939, n. 84. Arrigo Frusta, the Turin-based lawyer Sebastiano Ferraris, who will soon publish his cinematic memoire, wrote 319 film scripts in 14 years. In 1912, for the cinematic adaptation of Gli ultimi giorni di Pompei (2nd edition) and Promessi sposi, he was paid a thousand lire each.

(38) See M. A. Prolo, Un operatore italiano in Russia, “Cinema”, Rome, September 10 settembre 1941, n. 125.

In the volume published in Moscow in 1945 by Goskinoisdat, edited by the State Cinema Institute: I film artistici della Russia prerivoluzionaria by Ven. Viscnevski, the following films appear which were shot by Vitrotti. In square brackets, I add the dates that were given to me in 1941. The Russian list is missing the length of Tradimento (350 metres) and the films La fidanzata dello Zar (1910, 441 metres) and Ivan il Terribile from 1911.

1909 (December 19), La fontana di Bakcisarai, 180 metres, released by Gloria, Moscow, adaptation of the poem of the same name by Pushkin, director la. Protosanov, camera G. Vitrotti, starring V. Sciaternikov, M. Korolieva, E. Uvarova [1910].

Il demone, 425 metres [348], released by Thieman and Reinhardt, adapted by Lermontov or from the opera by Rubinstein, with whose score the film was screened, arranged by I. Kudiakov, director and camera G. Vitrotti, starring M. Tamarov.

Tradimento, adaptation of a drama by Sumbatov-Jugoin, released by Thieman and Reinhardt, Moscow, director and camera G. Vitrotti.

1911 (February 15) [1910], Il prigioniero del Caucaso, 385 metres [306], adaptation of the poem of the same name by Pushkin, released by Thieman and Reinhardt, director and camera G. Vitrotti, starring M. Tamarov, music by Z. Kiui, arranged by I. Kudiakov.

1912 (January 7) [1911], Il canto del savio Oleg [Il principe Oleg, 285 metres, released by Thieman and Reinhardt, second adaptation of the ballad of the same name by Pushkin on the occasion of the millennial of Prince Oleg. Set design and direction Ia. Protosanov, camera G. Vitrotti, starring S. Tarassov and Ia. Protosanov.

1911 (October 8), La canzone del forzato, 380 metres [325], released by Thieman and Reinhard”, Moscow, ’visualization’ of the song C’erano giorni allegri, una volta, the first notable film by Ia. Protosanov (set design and direction); camera G. Vitrotti, starring N. Saltikov, V. Sciaternikov, M. Korolieva. Musical arrangement by I. Kudiakov from notes taken in Siberia by Hartenwald.

1911 (November 10), Roghneda (Saccheggio dei Polovetz), 430 metres [359], released by Thieman and Reinhardt, Moscow, adaptation of the Amphiteatrof drama of the same name, set design by A. Amphiteatrof, director V. Krivzov, camera G. Vitrotti, starring E. Uvarova, Voinov, V. Kvanin, la. Protosanov.

1912 (January 24) [1911], Anfissa, 860 metres [981], first cinematic adaptation of a work Andreiev, released by Thieman and Reinhardt, Moscow, set design by L. Andreiev, director la. Protosanov, camera G. Vitrotti, starring E. Roschina-Insarova, V. Maximov, E. Uvarova, V. Sciaternikov, Glazunova, V. Kvanin, A. Grill, E. Devlet, A. Sapieghin.

1912 (September 4), Il cadavere n. 1346, 700 metres, released by Thieman e Reinhardt, Moscow, director V. Krivzov, camera G. Vitrotti, starring V. Maximov, M. Goriceva, M. Tamarov.

1913 (October 7-28), Le chiavi della felicità, 4700 metres, adaptation of a novel of the same name by A. Verbitzkaia, released by Thieman and Reinhardt, Moscow, set designers V. Verbitzkaia and V. Toddi, directors V. Gardin and la. Protosanov, camera Meyer, Levitzky and G. Vitrotti, starring V. Maximov, O. Preobragenskaja, M. Troianov, A. Volkov, Koiranski, V. Sciaternikov, Jasmin, E. Uvarova, V. Gardin, Tovarski. This film was shot in Italy.

(39) See U. Gentili, Ghione e il suo 103° film, «Film», Rome, May 21, 1938; Lo Duca, Ghione l’avventuroso, “Cinema”, Rome, January 10, 1941, n. 109; F. Soro, Splendori e decadenza di Za la Mort, “Cinema”, Rome, January 10, 1938, n. 37. To Ghione, who died in Turin on January 8, 1930, we owe one of the first attempts at a history of Italian cinema: Le cinema italien par E. G., translated by Carlo Zappia, in «L’art cinématographique», Vol. VII, Paris, Alcan, 1930.

(40) Response to a cinema referendum in the “Nuovo Giornale” of Florence, October 21, 1913.

(41) In Naples, it was projected at the Mercadante and the premiere was a serious one. Among the illustrious guests were Benedetto Croce and Roberto Bracco. Matilde Serao published an enthusiastic review in the “Il Giorno”. Another, minor Italian production house had wanted to produce an adaptation of Dante’s Purgatory and managed, according to news at the time, to make something extraordinary. The sinners were in bathing suits; beyond the flames, the greedy and wasteful rolled sacks filled with paper and at a certain point let it fall out, and Paola and Francesca, gesticulating like two jugglers, bowed to an imaginary public.

Chapter Ii

(1) The jury, which was led by Senatro Pio Foà and included, besides the inventor of the cinematograph and one of the most illustrious French photographers, Cesare Schiapparelli, Alberto Grosso, Andrea Marchisio, Angiolo Pochintesta, Count Emanuele Costa di

Polonghera, and Annibale Cominetti, gave out the awards on October 13, 1911.

(2) Real film production began in America only in 1912, when Adolph Zukor, a New York cinema impresario, after having acquired Elizabeth Queen of England with Sarah Bernhardt from Marcanton in Paris, came to an agreement with theatre impresario Daniele Frohmann and the technician and cinematograph operator Edwin S. Porter, and convinced theatre actors to act for cinema, founding the “Famous Players Films Company.” The production company’s first important film was The Prisoner of Zenda with James K. Hackett.

(3) G. I. Fabbri, Un grido di dolore, in “La Cinematografia italiana ed estera”, Turin, May 15, 1911, p. 1250.

(4) It was always an essential problem, and various attempts were made to resolve it through competitions. As early as 1907, “Il cinematografo” in Naples launched an ongoing competition for the best ideas for stories or settings for historical re-enactments, comedic stories, etc.: first prize 100 Lire, second prize 50 Lire and third prize 25 Lire.

(5) Cf. G. Sadoul, op. cit., vol. II, pp. 393-395.

(6) In 1922 the most commonly used genres were: romance, drama, adventure, comedy, photodrama, musical, news, fable, fiction, sensational, action, current events, with a comedic hero, point of view, live-action, poetic, gypsy-esque, narrative, tragedy and fantasy.

(7) The Italian Giuseppe Becce, using the pseudonym Kinotek, was the first to publish an extensive repertoire of all of the classical music that could be used to accompany silent films. Cf. P. Schaeffer, L’élément non visuel au cinema, in “La Revue du Cinema”, Paris, September 1946, and G. Morelli, La musica e il cinematografo, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, July 1931.

(8) Cf. F. Fertile, Ancora su Guido Gozzano cineasta, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, January 1939, p. 78. I am not aware of an adaptation of Teobaldo Ciconi’s comedy filmed by Ambrosio, other than the ones by Latium, Milano and Itala (with the title: Amore d’oltre tomba) See especially M. Gromo, Guido Gozzano cineasta, in “La Stampa”, Turin, May 24, 1932 ; M. A. Prolo, Torino cinematografica prima e durante la guerra, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, October 1938; E. Zanzi, Guido Gozzano poeta del film, in “Gazzetta del Popolo”, Turin, April 26 1927.

(9) C. Casella, Poesia e cinematografo. Conversando con il poeta Guido Gozzano, in “La vita cinematografica”, Turin, December 20, 1910.

(10) Cf. R. Gozzano, Guido Gozzano e il cinematografo, in “Film”, Rome, March 11, 1939. The draft of the film San Francescso is in vol. V of the poet’s Works published by Treves in 1938.

(11) Cines should be remembered for the moving simplicity of their initiative in 1911, when they sent one of their camera operators, Silvio Cocanari, to major cities in It- aly to film the families of those who were fighting in Tripolitania and Cyrenaica. In Rome, there were 4 thousand people, and 16 thousand in Milan. In Florence, there were more than a thousand, divided according to the corps their loved ones belonged to: cavalry, riflemen of the Bersaglieri, grenadiers, etc. People in the group waved handkerchiefs, the last letter they had received, or signs saying “Come Home Soon” and some had written on the bands of their hat “I’m Waiting for You”.

(12) One was even shot in Italy. Ruggero Baldus confirmed on it in the September 15, 1916 issue of “La cinematografia italiana ed estera”:

“I remember having attended, some time ago now, the screening of a film portraying the battle of Tripoli. It was distributed by a company I will not name, because this Distributor seemed intent on doing good and proceeded seriously. The ridiculous rough hooligans, enlisted according to who knows what criteria and very poorly equipped with random, poorly chosen military uniforms, gesticulated rudely and childishly on the screen; a bunch of fools who were meant to represent the savage fighting and attack of the riflemen. Each... idiot tried to attract the attention of the spectators with his very worthy acting... As usual, to achieve the effect of an imposing crowd with a few dozen men hired for the “scene”, the groups left the frame and returned right afterwards, so that the extras that came back seemed like the continuation of the group that had just passed across the screen. In the film in question, such movement was organized and conducted so poorly that the public understood the trick and smiled, but certainly not to show their appreciation... The best part – and for this we must thank the director, who must now be in the midst of a brilliant career – came from a pathetic sentimental effect, emanating effusively from our great Vesuvius, black and smoking, that loomed majestically and imposingly over the whole scene... fantastic!”

(13) A quarto edition was published in 1914 by Fratelli Treves, illustrated with 78 stills from Guazzoni’s film, reprinted in 1926 on the occasion of the new Quo vadis?

(14) We have found new virtue in this artist who is new to cinema: spontaneity, the total lack of artifice, complete indifference to the camera, absolutely natural. Zacconi in Padre was real! And this quality is not easy to normally find in all film actors. In addition (and credit is given to those who directed the film), the actors, as if taken by the spirit of emulation and a desire to collaborate with Greatness, were out of the ordinary, very effective, proper and expressive without exaggerating. Testa, Casaleggio, Ravel, Madame Lidia Quaranta and all of the others, gave us another, marvellous example of their art. The sets, it goes without saying, were grandiose: we may only mention the richness, the newness and the immensity of the salon in which the scenes of the fire take place...” In “La vita cinematografica”, Turin, November 15, 1912, p. 58

(15) Ambrosio filed a lawsuit against Pasquali and a trial took place at the municipal court in Rome on October 9, 1913, with artistic expert Aristide Sartorio (who declared that he preferred the Pasquali adaptation), and with the honourable Salvatore Barzilai among the defence lawyers. After eight hours of deliberation an acquittal was declared. The judgement on the Appeal followed on November 2, given by Santoro, for the trial between Eugenio Checchi and Ambrosio Film, since Ambrosio had released a film Il pianoforte silenzioso plagiarized from a one-act play published by E.C. in the October 1909 “Secolo XX”, which the student Mario Bori had sold to Ambrosio as an original script.

The prosecutor was Ferdinando Martini, who in his assessment declared that: “cinema, independently from the special means or mechanical procedure with which it is executed, is essentially a portrayal or figurative re-creation of a work of the imagination, literary or artistic, brought to life before the eyes in a public spectacle through the rapid succession of pictures, people and events that speak wordlessly; it is figurative, scenic art... that can portray or reproduce an original work of the imagination, literary or artistic, suitable for public spectacle. In this way, varying the extrinsic and perceptible part of the form, and leaving the extrinsic part of the thought expressed in the original work, which is its essence, it creates a work that can sometimes have a form of its own, its own merits and its own defects but, in essence and in the effect it has in moving souls, which can happen in a public spectacle, it is a reproduction of the original work, and can constitute plagiarism.”

An amicable agreement between the two parties ensued, so that Eugenio Checchi recognized the goodwill of Arrigo Frusta, the director of the script office at Ambrosio, and had to admit for his part to have taken the subject of his play from a novel by De Renzis.

The law of October 4, 1914 (n.114), ratifying the Berne convention revised in Berlin on November 13, 1908, established then that the authors of literary, scientific and artistic works had the exclusive right to authorize the reproduction and public presentation of their works by means of cinema and the like.

In 1915, Pasquali was accused of having plagiarized the play I giganti ed i pigmei by E. A. Butti mounted in 1903 in their film Tempesta d’anime; in 1915, Caesar sued Tiber for copying Signora dalle camelie; in 1916 the case was heard between Italo Mario Palmarini and Film d’arte italiana who had shot the film Le scarpine rotte with a script by Antonio Rasi, taken from the novella La scolta that Palmarini has published in the Nuova Antologia of May 16, 1906; in 1917, Caesar filed a cease and desist against Megale for I misteri di Parigi which “Megale” had then called Parigi misteriosa, and a slew of lawsuits for the reproduction of Cavalleria rusticana produced at the same time by Tespi and Flegrea.

Tespi had acquired the rights from Giovanni Verga, Flegrea from the house of Sonzogno. Flegrea warned Tespi, Tespi brought Verga to court, Verga sued Tespi, Mascagni intervened, suing Sonzogno, Verga and Flegrea. The verdict, which recognized Verga exclusively as the rights holder for his script, declared him to be in breach of contract with Tespi, Sonzogno’s judicial action against Flegrea was judged unlawful and Mascagni was charged for his motion, which had increased the legal costs. In 1921, Annie Vivanti sued the Unione cinematografica italiana because the film Piovra with Francesca Bertini, on the tragedy of Maria Tarnowska, was the adaptation of her novel Circe, but they arrived at a settlement.

(16) Ferruccio Sacerdoti, in “Cinefono”, Napoli, January 1914.

(17) In April 1913 Leonardo Film was founded in Turin with a studio in the Villa of Contessa Cappello at Via Sagra San Michele 47 and it had a double aim: to produce educational and scientific dramatic scripts that would disseminate great historical events to the public and “the clear and precise presentation of the experiments and findings of physics and chemistry and their industrial applications.” They also proposed to make films celebrating Italy, developing a wide program to artistically represent our beautiful nature and our most illustrious monuments. The program was designed by personalities from the world of art and science such as Oreste Calabresi, Giacomo Grosso, Domenico Oliva, Annibale Rigotti, Romolo Ubertalli, Piero Giacosa, Modesto Panetti and others. The artistic directors were Giuseppe Pinto e Luigi Maggi, with cameramen Guido Ciotti and Giovanni Vitrotti.

(18) J. Comin, Ma L’amor mio non muore, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome April 1937, p. 98.

(19) Ibid, p. 99

(20) “The year 1913 could be said to be the crucial year in the development of cinema worldwide, the year of the most important achievements in Italian cinema, the one in which German cinema found its stride while French cinema lost ground, the year, then, in which the shape of world cinema became very well defined, which would alone be enough to determine the direction its development would take in the years that followed. The world now had 100,000 cinemas: in the US alone there were 10,000, and American cinema employed 250,000 people with a global capital of around 425,000,000 lire and an annual intake from cinemas of 275 million lire on average: and if Cines and Ambrosio in Italy limited payments to their shareholders to 20%, other production houses such as Nordisk repaid capital at 50% annually...” (J. Comin, op.cit., p.99)

(21) “Keen, beautiful, elegant actresses like Lyda Borelli, who had indisputably and deservedly triumphed in theatre, have not yet responded to the demands of cinema, regardless of what has been said in all the polls in the world and all the praise of fans. Lyda Borelli has an artist’s soul, cultured and intelligent, but doesn’t know the techniques to use to achieve a real effect on screen. The exaggeration of her angular postures, the noticeable contraction of certain muscles, the hesitant walk, the smile that seeks to display her beautiful little row of teeth at all costs, add up to enough flaws to make the talented theatre actress a mediocre actress for cinema. In fact, those who have followed the various cinematic works of Borelli will have noticed how cinemas, which, for the first screenings, attracted a crowd who were fascinated by the name and the allure of the “réclame”, became less crowded as the nights wore on: and they will even have observed that while the public’s turnout, interest and curiosity for Amor mio non muore were enormous, for the subsequent films, the latest being La donna nuda, only a few tenacious admirers have tolerated the weight of those productions in which the actress, though much loved, has lost her appeal showing herself to still be ill-prepared for the cinematographic art.” L.

Romano

Scotti wrote this in “La tecnica cinematografica” (Turin, August 1914). He makes reference to the poll in the newspaper “Film” in Naples, in which Francesca Bertini had 759 votes, Lyda Borelli had 757 and Maria Carmi 365.

(22) The publicity flyer for Histoire d’un Pierrot was edited by Tommaso Sillani with illustrations by Aleardo Terzi and Tito Corbella, and was distributed at the film’s “premiere” for which the Apollo Theatre in Rome was transformed into a permanent cinema. The Alfieri theatre in Turin inaugurated its first screen on March 21, 1914.

(23) Cf. U. Barbaro, L’Histoire d’un Pierrot, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, January 1937

(24) “He filmed with an officer’s whistle in his pocket and every now and then he let out a whistle so piercing it hurt the ears. The whistle though was still the only silver that lined his pockets. More respectable and flowing sources obstinately eluded him. And so he came up with the most astute ways of making money. He was a persuasive talker, with a certain shy but rough Gascon manner that would have squeezed an advance out of the toughest of managers”. Renato Simoni, Gil assenti, Milan, n.d., p. 143.

(25) In 1913, Savoia produced important films such as Giovanna d’Arca, In hoc signo vinces, Il pane altrui by Turgeniev, Tolstoy’s Il cadavere vivente and La grande audacia, in which there was a very dramatic car chase shot from a plane (the pilot Bobba was accompanied by the cameraman Augusto Navone) and a dizzying fight between spies on the roof of a speeding train. In June 1913 “Savoia” had rented the Stadium to shoot In hoc signo vinces, hiring a large group of striking workers as extras, at three lire each. The director, Oxilia, who gave orders with a little white flag, had to navigate the political opinions of the day, controlling the extras’ tendency to greet the arrival of the Preatorians on the field with jeers.

(26) A few weeks before he died, Sandro Camasio had written a drama, L’amante del cuore, which he left unfinished and which his friend Nino Berrini completed. It was performed by Alfonsina Piere and Amedeo Chiantoni at a commemorative evening held for Sandro Camasio on April 27, 1914 at the Carignano in Turin, and was an episode in the life of a filmmaker. A director falls in love with an actress and wants to marry her, but she prefers to be the kept woman of a rich man: her need for money is stronger than love. Perhaps not an unfamiliar experience? And would the end of the drama have been the one that tragically ended Camasio’s life?

(27) “I met him at Cines, four years ago. I was beginning then and he was already a personality in theatre, literature, journalism and cinema. A very distinguished poet, one of the most celebrated authors, a greatly valued metteur en scène, a man of the world who was in demand and appreciated. Nino Oxilia entered cinema, preceded by his renowned name and the immense success of Addio giovinezza. I remember when they showed him to me, I was surprised by how young he looked, maybe too young, which sometimes made him seem like a big boy disguised as a man, and you couldn’t say which one was better or more intelligent. Oxilia was honest. He had his soul in his eyes, his heart in his voice, everyone could read him as they liked...

He laughed often and heartily and when he did his smile lit up everything with the light of his big sweet eyes, which, laughing, expressed great kindness... Nino Oxilia gave of himself unhesitatingly and unreservedly with the intensity of great faith, and had dedicated his best energy to his tireless hard work and his lively and profound talent” (Augusto Genina, Ricordo, in “Cine-Gazzetta”, Rome, December 6, 1917).

“Nino Oxilia, due to his temperament, belonged neither to the category of directors who shot scenes for historical films, nor to those who made crime stories or adventure films; he usually directed the production of technical scripts that were light and sentimental, with a hint of comedy, scripts among which Addio giovinezza! was the prime example and which reflected his feelings, his character, his temperament. Because Nino Oxilia, deep down, was neither a playwright nor a director of artistic cinema; he was a poet who had applied his poetry to plays and films” (Giovanni Livoni, Il tragico fato, ibid).

“This too poor and not at all romantic thing that is a filmmaking was honoured by the brilliance and the work of this poet, who never treated it with disdain, but rather with love and very open faith. Yet he succeeded in not lowering himself in any way, dealing with material that was often common, but he knew instead how to dignify this material, largely infusing it with his noble art. Cinema owes him eternal gratitude, for the daily effort he made for years to raise it from the low state of its purely mechanical and commercial beginnings. And if Italian silent theatre will one day be true art and true poetry, the name of Nino Oxilia should be remembered as that of a pioneer, since in truth very few, even today, and perhaps for some time to come, will be worthy to even call themselves his students” (Ottavio Di Nissim, In memoria di N. O., “In penombra”, July 1918, pp. 58-59).

See especially the article Attori che non parlano by N.O., in “La Lettura”, Milan, August 1914; and the responses to the poll in “Il Tirso”, Rome (February 14, 1916) and in “La donna”, Turin (May 1916).

In January 1919, at Palazzo Margherita in Rome, the location of a hospital of the Red Cross, an intimate gathering to commemorate Nino Oxilia was held with Addio giovinezza! performed exclusively for the wounded in the palazzo’s theatre by Maria, Diomira and Bianca Jacobini, Alberto Collo and Franco Pontieri, while Fausto Maria Martini commemorated Oxilia in Argentina, before the performance of the same play.

(28) It was won by Americo Scarlatti, from Piacenza, an expert librarian and brilliant promoter who was living at the time in Turin, with his Il Tesoro di Rampsinite, but the outbreak of war prevented its production. It was subsequently published as a novel with the title Il tesoro inviolabile first with Minerva, where Scarlatti was compiling the collection “Et ab hic ab hoc”, and then in a compilation in 1927 as an Egyptian historical novel from the period of the Pharaohs.

(29) Sebastiano A. Luciani, musician and musical historian, scholar and filmmaker, beyond the numerous articles in various literary magazines over a period of the past thirty years, wrote Verso una nuova arte, Rome 1921, L’antiteatro, ed. La Voce 1928, and II cinema e le arti, Ticci, Siena, 1943.

(30) It was followed by another equally important one on April 21.

(31) See G. Giliberti, Legislazione italiana per la cinematografìa, Siena, 1942.

(32) The censor’s number on the old films therefore does not establish their date. In the anthology Vent’anni d’arte muta by Franco Mazzotti Biancinelli, with an introduction by Emilio Scarpa, Milan, 1940, the two Pasquali films from 1913 I due sergenti and Carabiniere (which in G. Sadoul, op. cit., vol. II, p.594, become Les deux sergents des carabiniers) are attributed to the number 1908 according to the censor’s seal. It doesn’t add up. In fact, Cabiria, which is from 1914, has the number 3035, while Il terremoto calabro-siculo by Croce, from 1908, has the number 7863.

(33) In Italy in 1939-40, there were 4128 cinemas. Cf. the statistics in Almanacco del Cinema, Rome 1939.

Chapter Iii

(1) See M. Gromo, Ascesa del cinema subalpino (1904-1914), in “Scenario”, Rome, June 1933; An., Vita laboriosa e geniale di Giovanni Pastrone, in “Film”, Rome, February 4 1938; C. Caudana, Cabiria, in “Lo Schermo”, Rome, 1936; C. Pavolini, Revisione di Cabiria, in “Cinema”, Rome, May 25 1948, N. 46.

(2) “Maestro,

At the risk of being boxed on the ears and thrown in the trash bin we cannot hesitate any longer to confess that we are filmmakers, and we apologize if in presenting ourselves we disguised our true identity in an unmarked envelope.

Cowardice does not motivate us to deceive, but rather the knowledge of the recent wrongdoing of our kind who have mistreated your work and great name.

In brief, we have in mind a very profitable project with MINIMAL trouble on your part, which will not be damaging to your name.

Would you, at your convenience, allow us to come so we may propose it to you? With profound respect (etc. etc.).

Turin, June 30, 1913”

Cfr T. Antongini, Vita segreta di Gabriele D’Annunzio, Milan, 1938, p. 174. See in the List the previous adaptation of D’Annunzio’s work.

(3) Cf. An., Vita laboriosa e geniale di G. P., in “Film”, Rome, February 25 1939.

(4) The details of Giovanni Pastrone’s stay in Paris waiting for the intertitles are invented.

(5) On lighting in the time of silent films see: C. Montuori, Dal teatro a vetri all’illuminazione artificiale, in “Cinema”, Rome, May 10 1937, n.23.

(6) The dolly was patented on August 5, 1912, as found in the copy of the patent in the archives of the Museo del Cinema in Turin. See Francesco Berti, Il carrello, in “Cinema”, Rome, July 10 1936, n. 1.

(7) The Rome premiere of Cabiria was held on the evening of April 22. During the day Giovanni Vidner, a pilot from Trieste who had made a name for himself in the Trieste-Rome campaign, flew over Rome four times throwing leaflets promoting Cabiria Vidner thus sent a telegraph to D’Annunzio saying “glad that your efforts and your plane, marked with the flag of Trieste, were able to help prepare for the greatest success of the work by an Italian”. It was the first time an airplane was used to publicize a film. The publicity launch for Cabiria was impressive. Among other things, three printed versions of D’Annunzio’s intertitles, in three different formats, were distributed. The 45-page folio version had wide margins, etchings and black and red initial letters and the edition was very small.

(8) Cf. Tullio Nelli, La cinematografia elevata ai fastigi dell’arte: Cabiria, in “La Tribuna”, Rome, June 21 1914.

(9) In the column Libero corde fabulari in “Il maggese cinematografico” (Turin, April 25 1914)). The Turin premiere of Cabiria was held on April 18 in the Teatro Vittorio Emanuele which had debuted cinema screenings on July 4, 1912 with Nave, an adaptation by Ambrosio Film.

In “La Stampa” the following announcement appeared: “Teatro Vittorio Emanuele. This evening at 20.45 Cabiria, a historial view of the 3rd century B.C., by Gabriele D’Annunzio, released by Itala Film of Turin. The performance begins with the Invocation to Moloch: Symphony of Fire by Maestro Ildebrando Pizzetti. The rest of the music was specifically arranged by Maestro Manlio Mazza who directs the orchestra of 80 musicians and a choir of 70 from the Regio theatre. Baritone Mr. Giovanni Comune, projectionist Giovanni Vigo”.

(10) A small motor was even attached to the camera so that the hand-crank would move at a constant rate. This fact was criticized by Anchise Brizzi in “Albo di cinematografia”, a periodical from Catania, in June-July 1915.

(11) Cf. C. Pavolini, Revisione di ‘Cabiria’, in “Cinema”, Rome, May 25 1931, n. 46.

(12) Cf. U. Barbaro, La VII Esposizione di Venezia - I film italiani, in “Bianco e Nero”, Rome, September 1939 and the introduction and notes in V. Pudovkin, Film e fonofilm, Rome, Le Edizioni d’Italia, 1935.

(13) Filming took place using two different cameras at the same time, to produce two negatives, so 9,000 metres of film. The first negative, with the most successful pieces of film, stayed in Italy; the second negative travelled the world, because to avoid high customs costs, it was sent to generate hundreds of positive prints in the most important centres.

(14) Morgana Film was founded in Catania in May 1914. The first film, Capitan

Blanco, whose exteriors were shot in Tripolitania, was conceptualized by Nino Martoglio, from Catania, and starred Giovanni Grasso, also from Catania. Nino Martoglio, already known as a playwright of “Verismo”, and then artistic director at Cines, declared in the aforementioned poll in the Florence’s “Nuovo Giornale” (November 20, 1913): “...historical storylines, especially from Roman times or the Middle Ages, irresistibly attract me; but I also really like heartfelt stories, with few characters, shown in close up, with suitable artists, who have expressive faces, almost, I would say, eloquent, and happily I notice that the public also likes them. And I also like stories, both simple and not, that take place outdoors, in our beautiful landscapes, our fabulous towns, among animals in the fields, among forests and rivers, meadows and lakes. The landscape gives a sense of wellbeing that expands the lungs. And for a director and for the actors it’s like a holiday to be able to set scenes and to act outdoors in the countryside, and it’s a rest for the body and mind, just as it’s a rest for the viewer and a joy to the eye.”

(15) “Gazzettino di Venezia”, February 2, 1914.

(16) She was a Florentine by the name of Norina Gillia. She married the writer Karl Wollmoeller, the author of the pantomime Il miracolo (The Miracle) which was staged by Max Reinhardt, and in which Maria Carmi played the part of the Nun, after starring in the Richard Strauss ballet La moglie di Putifarre in London. She worked for Savoia, for Cines, for Morgana and for Monopol, and when Italy entered the war, she went to Berlin, to Bioscope, where she acted in a few films by the Rumanian scriptwriter Vittorio Eftmion.

Karl Wollmoeller was a translator who translated the works of Carducci, Pascoli and D’Annunzio into German. The intertitles for Cabiria in the German version of the brochure were translated by him. Cf. R. Giani, Carminati, il capitano della Duse, in “Cinema”, January 25, 1943 n. 159; M. A. Prolo, Maria Carmi, Wollmoeller, in “Cinema”, April 25, 1942 n. 140. In 1941, Anton Giulio Bragaglia, following my article, kindly sent me the following note: “Maria Carmi has an acting school now in New York; she is now Princess Machabelli. Maria Carmi was the star of Max Reinhardt at the Grosse Schaulspielhaus and the famous lead of Das Mirakel, the great “féerie” of a play or profane mystery that played for several years in Berlin, Monaco etc. After these successes she came to Rome in 1922 and for all of 1923 she was at the Teatro degli Indipendenti. Her most important production in my theatre was Pirandello’s All’uscita, an absolute original. We sold tickets for 100 lire each. Then Reinhardt went to America to make films and was invited to stage The Miracle in America. That was when he brought Maria Carmi from Rome to play the role, and she stayed there.”

(17) U. Barbaro, Un film d’un quarto di secolo fa, in “Scenario”, Milan, 1936, n. 68; ibid, Vecchi film in museo: “Sperduti nel buio”, in “Cinema”, Rome, April 25, 1939.

(18) F. Felix, L’ennoblissement des films, in “La fotografia artistica”, Florence, October 4, 1914.

(19) Pier di Castello, L’arte di porgere nella cinematografia, in “La vita cinematografica”, Turin, May 30, 1914.

(20) Cfr. A. Gentili, Il retroscena del cinematografo, in “La Nazione”, Florence, October 1914.

(21) George Kleine was only able to screen the film Madame Du Barry on January 13, 1915 at the Candler Theatre in New York.

(22) In August 1916, after having seen the film at the Vaudeville in Paris, Léon Daudet wrote in the “Action française”:

Jules César est un film italien. J’ai déjà fait cette remarque pour Cabiria et pour Maciste, que les films italiens sont à l’heure actuelle les mieux ordonnés, les plus intéressants et aussi les plus somptueux. Ils sont certainement agencés par un très grand artiste, par un homme qui sait faire manœuvrer les foules, leur ôter toute raideur, les débarrasser de toute convention. Les foules qui évoluent dans Jules César et qui comportent plusieurs centaines de figurants, donnent une extraordinaire impression de réalité, qu’il s’agisse de guerriers en marche et en bataille, ou bien de Romains se bousculant autour du triomphe du dictateur, ou bien, de furieux vengeant la mort du divin Jules... Dans l’ensemble comme dans le détail, la mise au point de ces tableaux historiques est parfaite.

Le clou, c’est la scène de l’assassinat. Elle est plus complètement réussie que toutes celles que j’ai vues, aux représentations du Jules César de Shakespeare soit à Londres soit par les Meiningen, soit à Paris. Ce grand moment des races latines, monté par des Latins, étreint l’âme. Le détail en est scrupuleusement conforme à la tradition historique, tragiquement réglé et d’un effet irrésistible. J’aime beaucoup aussi le discours véhément de Marc Antoine, discours sans paroles, cela va sans dire, mais dont nous pouvons suivre le phases et les effets sur les visages anxieux, puis douloureux, puis furieux des auditeurs. On croit entendre de période en période le ‘ce sont des Hommes honorables’ de Shakespeare.

[Julius Caesar is an Italian film. I have already noted, for Cabiria and for Maciste, that Italian films are at the moment the most well organized, the most interesting and also the most sumptuous. They are certainly put together by a great artist, a man who knows how to move crowds, ridding them of all rigidity, removing all conventions. The crowds that form in Julius Caesar and which are made up of hundreds of extras, give an extraordinary impression of reality, whether it is soldiers marching or in battle, Romans bustling around the triumph of the dictator, or the furious crowd avenging the death of the divine Julius... Both in the ensembles and in the details, the focus in these historical tableaux is perfect.

The key is the assassination scene. It is more completely successful than all the ones I have seen, from performances of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar whether in London by the Meiningen Ensemble or in Paris. This great moment for the Latin people, produced by Latins, grips the soul. The details meticulously conform to historical tradition, and are resolved tragically to irresistible effect. I also really like Mark Antony’s passionate speech, a silent speech, of course, but one in which we can follow his commentary and the effects on the faces of his audience, at once anxious, then sad, then filled with rage. We seem to be able to hear note for note Shakespeare’s “but these are honourable men.]

(23) U. Barbaro, Film e fonofilm di V. Pudovkin, Rome, Le Edizioni d’Italia, 1935.

(24) G. Papini, Ercole Luigi Morselli, in “La Lettura”, Milan, May 1 1921.

(25) Published in “La vita cinematografica”, Turin, May 7, 1915, p. 53.

(26) Published in “La cinematografia italiana ed estera”, Turin, April 15, 1915.

(27) Cf. R. Bracco, La cinematografia, Francesca Bertini, Giovanni Grasso ed io, in “Comoedia”, Milan, June 15-July 15, 1929.

(28) In an interview in April 1915 Borelli declared: “I let myself be filmed and I even manage to put a bit of enthusiasm into it.” It is perhaps for this reason that Bertini, who instead imposed herself on the camera, was rather more important than her as a film actress.

(29) It was published in a brochure: La crociata degli innocenti, edited by Musical Films, Milan, Stabilimento Grafico Industriale G. Mediana & C. (1915) in ottavo, 36 pages, with illustrations and a plot summary in French.

(30) A. Dondeno, L’emigrante, in “Il Tirso al cinematografo”, Rome, April 7, 1916.

(31) Cf. “Il Tirso al cinematografo”, Rome, December 20, 1915.

(32) Another alarming thing also happened. A few cinema periodicals, with unspeakable lightness, published a commercial ad: “damaged films, etc., cash paid. Any part of old films, damaged, unusable film, clippings, pieces of old celluloid, etc. Offers to... Zurich, Switzerland”. In Tirso and other magazines, the Government was called upon to distinguish in Italy between new film and film that could be destined for the enemy to produce damaging material, as had already occurred in England, where severe restrictions were placed on the export of films to neutral states.

(33) On November 1, 1915, new regulations for the export of films were issued, to prohibit all exports that could compromise defence or discredit the name of Italy abroad or undermine national interest, or that contained, even in very few scenes (interspersed with dramatic action or not) views of beaches, buildings, cities or any other location in Italy that could be of interest in the defence of the State.

This came with a declaration which, probably interpreted by incompetent people, lead to countless errors: “It is useful here to declare that such extraordinary inspection, not to be confused with the ordinary public portrayal of the Kingdom, is not only exempt from all taxes, even duties, but, having different aims, can also preclude any conditions required by internal censors. In other words, the export of a film in which the portrayal cannot be permitted may be allowed”. In fact, Fabrizio Romano, in an article La guerra d’Italia e la cinematografia (in “La cinematografia italiana ed estera”, Turin, July ,15 1916) remarked that it seemed that Salandra’s cabinet has proposed killing our film industry: an absurd, idiotic, unbearable censorship put us at a disadvantage compared with foreign productions, while bans, taxes, injustices of every kind, obstructed exports aggravating the sad condition of our international market. He added that the import of foreign films happened with extraordinary ease. And America made ample use of this.

(34) D. Angeli, Cinematografia di guerra, in “Il Marzocco”, Florence, June 25, 1916.