Does it seem like a new phenomenon that people are watching films on individual, tiny screens rather than in movie houses? In fact, the very first publicly available "movies"—if defined as series of photographic images that can be played in sequence to show motion—were not projected, but only viewable through Thomas Edison's Kinetoscopes, personal peep shows designed for individual use. The machines were first retailed in April 1894, and in less than a year could be found in major cities throughout the U.S., as well as Paris and London.
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| This 1895 version of the Kinetoscope—called the Kinetophone— combined sound with visuals; note the almost contemporary-looking headphones. [Image source: Wikipedia] |
The Edison team, likely led by W.K.L. Dickson, created the Kinetoscope by building on many previous forms of "magic lantern" views and sequential image-making, such as Eadweard Muybridge's Zoopraxiscope and photographic studies of figures in motion, including the famous horse series shot in Palo Alto. Another important influence was the work of French scientist Étienne-Jules Marey. Edison's initial plan was to make visuals to accompany his phonographs—but true synchronized sound films were still far in the future. Creating a soundless machine to show moving images was a difficult enough task, one that several inventors around the world were struggling with. An important factor in the Edison team's success was the invention of celluloid film around 1889, which was flexible and durable enough to be run quickly and repeatedly through a machine. (As David Robinson points out, long strips of film would seem familiar and comfortable to Edison, who had invented improvements for the stock ticker and the telegraph.) Edison's team collaborated with the George Eastman photographic company to create film with regular sprocket holes that stabilized the image during recording and playback.
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| This technical illustration shows the inner workings of the Kinetoscope, with its 42 feet of looped film. (Image source: Wikipedia.) |
Kinetoscopes were too costly and cumbersome to be used in the home. Instead, they were sold to proprietors of amusement venues. San Francisco was the third city—after New York and Chicago—to host a Kinetoscope parlor, which opened in June 1894, and got five of the twenty-five machines then in existence.
Edison films—shot on Edison's patented Kinetograph camera—began with simple subjects, such as a man sneezing, and later moved to brief showcases of popular entertainers, plays, and historical events. Edison soon had a booming business creating these short pieces, made in his very own New Jersey film studio, the first movie studio in the world. In that first year, 1894, over 75 shorts were made. The first Kinetoscope films ran for only a few seconds, but later increased to just over a minute—compelling an otherwise unimpressed French critic to concede, "the Americans do it big" (as quoted by David Robinson).
Edison employee Fred Ott demonstrates a sneeze. This film, taken on January 7, 1894, was actually a second attempt, as W.K.L. Dickson revealed they had failed to get the proper sneeze a few days earlier, even after the application of snuff, ground tobacco, and "a generous portion of black pepper."
Billy Bitzer would like you to notice that this film is framed as a close-up.
Sharpshooter and Buffalo Bill's Wild West show performer Annie Oakley smashes all of her targets in the Edison studio. This film was on the high price level in the Edison catalogue.
Although many of these brief snippets of time seem perfectly innocent today, early movies were viewed with suspicion. Almost as soon as Kinetoscopes arrived in San Francisco, they encountered strenuous opposition. On August 15, 1894, just two and a half months after the opening of the first San Francisco Kinetoscope parlor, located in the old Chronicle building at 644 Market Street, the manager, Robert Klenck, was arrested, along with fellow amusement-industry worker J. Forbes, "the owner of the phonograph at the ferry depot at the foot of Market." They were charged with "indecent public exhibition" and fined $150 (over $4,000* today). Neither could pay, so both were locked up. (Forbes attempted the novel defense that his "wicked phonograph" had broken the law, not he, but was eventually forced to leave town. He tried relocating to Alameda, only to encounter the same problems. The paper did not continue coverage of Klenck's case, but it seems he was let go.)
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| The San Francisco Call covers Forbes' indecency case, August 30, 1894. [Image source.] |
Although the San Francisco Call appears to have taken a distinct pleasure in reporting the legal troubles of amusement parlor workers, the Kinetoscope was defended by the paper's own (anonymous) gossip columnist a few days after Klenck's arrest: "Through the courtesy of the gentleman who is managing the exhibitions at 644 Market street I am able to state that the report circulated by a contemporary to the effect that the views are indecent is incorrect. In fact nothing could be more interesting than the moving photographs, as shown by these instruments."
Thomas Edison, too, objected to the negative characterization of the motion pictures, sending a letter via his phonograph agent: "We don't understand how there can be any objection to any of the subjects introduced in the Kinetoscope, as they are all taken here at the Laboratory, and we have always been careful not to take anything that would be in any way objectionable to the Authorities, although certain religious people might object…" (as quoted by Gordon Hendricks).
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| Thomas Edison and a later machine called the "Home Kinetoscope," a small projector, circa 1912. He probably is not inspecting the film for indecency. [Image source: National Park Service.] |
Maddeningly, the reporters of the day rarely described the specific content that was ruled "indecent." In film historian Charles Musser's opinion, "Sex and violence figured prominently in American motion pictures from the outset." This, however, depends on one's point of view. The dancer Annabelle's performance does not seem particularly sexualized in today's America, but in 1897 she was was made to admit in court "that her tights-encased limbs were liberally revealed" when she danced. A boxing match between humans would not disturb us, but during the Kinetoscope years, moral disputes about filming prizefights attracted the outrage of politicians and reform groups nationwide (for example, in Illinois and Kentucky). On the other hand, The Boxing Cats was marketed by Edison's company as "an interesting film for children," but seems cruel now, and few contemporary Americans would admit to enjoying the spectacle of terriers killing rats. A number of early films depended on racist or ethnic jokes that would not amuse today, nor would modern audiences necessarily approve of Edison's lending his technology to heavily promote cigarettes.
Annabelle Whitford Moore borrowed Loïe Fuller's style for her popular dances. She felt compelled to mention the "110 yards of stuff" used to make her "Borealis" costume when questioned in a court trial.
The only thing modern audiences might find unsettling about this 1894 boxing exhibition is Jim Corbett's skimpy outfit, which is far more revealing than Annabelle's, and makes an unwitting comment on clothing and gender roles in both the 1890s and today.
Edison performers shower the stage with cigarettes in this advertisement.
In October 1894 the Pacific Coast Society for the Suppression of Vice, through Assistant Secretary Frank Gibson, proposed that San Francisco supervisors regulate Kinetoscopes and Phonographs (along with "fallen women," whom the Society was, surprisingly, in favor of licensing). Either through forgetfulness or faulty reporting, Gibson ignored the recent arrest of Robert Klenck that the Society itself had ordered, and commented that "The Kinetoscope had not as yet sinned, but why wait until it does?" As expected, sinning occurred: on Sept. 18, 1902, the San Francisco Call reported that the proprietor of a Kinetoscope parlor "on Market street, near Eighth, was arrested last night and locked up" because "objectionable pictures were being exhibited." (The police also hauled seven of the machines to the police station as evidence.) As late as 1913, a proposed Kinetoscope "moving-picture show" on Sacramento Street in San Francisco was initially denied a permit on the grounds that it was within 200 feet of a school or church.
As we see in the illustration below, Edison's marketing department must have anticipated controversy, because they took pains from the very beginning to show respectable, well-dressed patrons visiting Kinetoscope parlors.
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| An idealized illustration of a Kinetoscope parlor. The goal was to convince the public that viewing films was an activity suitable for the moneyed classes. Edison reportedly had an actual bust of himself removed from the New York parlor as undignified. [Image source: The Phonoscope magazine, November 1896 (original image probably 1894), via Archive.org] |
In spite of Societies for the Suppression of Vice, for a short period the Kinetoscope was immensely popular and profitable. The New York parlor sold tickets at 25¢ apiece at its opening, and the owners bragged (perhaps hyperbolically, in the opinion of Hendricks) that the first day's totals came to $120--about $3,300 in 2016 dollars*--or 480 tickets sold (each ticket allowed viewing of five machines—out of ten; the establishment was not large). Charles Musser writes, "During one thirteen-day period in late June and early July [1894], the San Francisco parlor brought in $961.20 against $249.60 in expenses (including the month's rent of $175—roughly $5,000 in 2016)." The owner of that first San Francisco arcade, Peter Bacigalupi (presumed employer of the luckless Klenck), advertised that his Kinetoscope parlor in Los Angeles pulled in $25 per day in 1894 (about $700 in 2016 figures). Bacigalupi remembered in a 1916 interview that patrons paid 10¢ to view a film in his arcade in San Francisco, but if true, that may have been only at first; an 1899 interview puts the price at a nickel.
To give some idea of the costs of running a parlor, an 1895 Edison catalogue, reprinted in Ray Phillips' history of the Kinetoscope, lists films at $10–15 each, about $300–400 in 2016 dollars. Films had to be changed to pull in new customers, and because popular ones wore out. The Kinetoscope itself cost $250, or $300 with batteries and two films: an outlay of nearly $9,000 in today's money. (Hendricks found indications that many machines actually sold for much less.) Edison's profit from sales of viewing machines, not including films, came out to $75,000 (over $2 million in 2016).
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| The Kinetoscope machines at Bacigalupi's San Francisco arcade in 1895, in the Baldwin building. Each machine would have featured a different film. The machine furthest to the left may be a Kinetophone (equipped with unsynchronized sound), according to Gordon Hendricks. Bacigalupi, always up-to-date, ordered what may have been the first one on April 11, 1895, though the machine never really took off, and only 45 were ever sold. |
End of part one...click to read part two.
*Dollar inflation calculated using this app.
Christine U'Ren is a graphic designer and longtime silent film enthusiast. Despite the ready availability of small screens, she strongly recommends that you see silent films on the big screen whenever you can.
*Dollar inflation calculated using this app.
Christine U'Ren is a graphic designer and longtime silent film enthusiast. Despite the ready availability of small screens, she strongly recommends that you see silent films on the big screen whenever you can.
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