Spectacle and the movies fit like a hand in glove. Ever since Georges Melies innovated a few camera tricks in his charming turn-of-the-century fantasies, the cinema has used spectacle to attract viewers to the theater with the promise of seeing something larger than life—something out of the realm of the ordinary. Today, spectacle in films is equated with elaborate, large-scale action sequences generally enhanced by computer-generated imagery (CGI). I recently caught Mad Max: Fury Road, and though director George Miller claimed to have kept the CGI to a minimal 20%, the non-stop barrage of chases, crashes, and explosions was just as NOISY as any CGI-laden comic-book film.
I had been looking forward to Mad Max, because The Road Warrior is one of my favorite movies, and I was pleased that director George Miller had returned to reboot and rework his concept and characters. While the film was better directed than most action blockbusters, there were so many racing vehicles, bizarre, nightmarish characters, and fiery crashes that I was numb from the spectacle, not thrilled. The heavy-metal guitarist chained to the front of a truck and pounding away at his futuristic instrument was the last straw—it was the proverbial “kitchen sink” that Miller tossed in after including every distorted vehicle and twisted human in his imagination.
Thoughts of spectacle in the movies were still on my mind when I noticed that The Picture of Dorian Gray is scheduled to air on TCM this Saturday, June 27, at 8:00pm. The Picture of Dorian Gray is an example of movie spectacle from another era—a time when glorious Technicolor was considered special, or sensational.
EVERY BOY’S FANTASY FROM MAD MAX: A FAST TRUCK, AN ELECTRIC GUITAR THAT EJACULATES “FIRE,” AND DEAFENING NOISE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE FREUD TO FIGURE THIS ONE OUT.
During the Golden Age, only 12% of films were shot in color, according to one of my film-history books. Color meant Technicolor with its rich, crayon-like hues; and it was reserved for major epics, musical comedies, and other genres that were not considered “realistic.” Viewers were accustomed to seeing news stories and other events in black and white photos in newspapers or magazine, so black and white was associated with the everyday world, or realism. Technicolor was used for spectacle, for pageantry, or for a sense of wonder.
IVAN ALBRIGHT PAINTS THE CORRUPT DORIAN.
MALVIN ALBRIGHT PAINTS THE GOOD DORIAN GRAY.
Technicolor could also be effectively used in black and white films for special sequences that represented something extraordinary or fantastical. In The Picture of Dorian Gray, the title character is a morally corrupt young man who retains his youthful beauty as his friends grow older. However, an unusual portrait that hangs in an out-of-the-way place ages for him, chronicling his inner ugliness as time goes by. The 110-minute black and white film includes four brief color shots of the portrait of the corrupt Dorian. The very specific use of color not only suggests the other-worldly nature of the portrait but also enhances the shock value of seeing the painting. Chicago painter Ivan Albright was commissioned to paint the corrupted portrait, while his twin brother Malvin was asked to do the young Dorian. However, MGM chose not to use Malvin Albright’s work and hired Henrique Medina to paint another version. Ivan’s “Portrait of Dorian Gray” is owned by the Art Institute of Chicago; I have seen it on exhibit there, though I am not sure if it is still on display.
THE MAGICAL PORTRAIT IN “PORTRAIT OF JENNIE”
Producer Albert Lewin may have been influenced to show the portrait in color by the success of The Moon and Sixpence, a fictionalized version of the life of post-Impressionist Paul Gauguin. George Sanders plays Charles Strickland—the Gauguin figure—as a complete cad who cares only about fulfilling his destiny as an artist. He casts aside his wife and family to “discover himself” in Tahiti. Lewin had produced The Moon and Sixpence three years earlier, and the original version of the film included tinted scenes of Tahiti and a concluding sequence in Technicolor. The viewer does not see Strickland’s work until the color sequence, which shows his masterpiece being engulfed in flames—a shocking punishment for a life spent hurting others. Unfortunately, finding a version of this film with its color scenes intact is difficult. Though I have seen it in a class and on television, I have never seen a version that included the color scenes. One last film that uses Technicolor to depict a magical painting is Portrait of Jennie, released in 1948. One of my favorite romantic films, Portrait of Jennie stars Joseph Cotten as a failed artist whose fortunes change when he meets the mysterious Jennie, played by Jennifer Jones. At the end of the film, his beautiful portrait of her is revealed in color, suggesting that the painting is as mystical and other-worldly as she is.
IN ‘A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH,’ THE SCENES ON EARTH ARE IN TECHNICOLOR, BECAUSE THAT REPRESENTS PARADISE TO DAVID NIVEN.
Of course, The Wizard of Oz is the most recognized example of color in a black and white film, with Oz depicted in glorious Technicolor to contrast with the reality of black and white Kansas. The same idea was used the following year for The Blue Bird, another fantasy in which a black and white prologue gives way to a dream sequence in color. In a deliberate reversal of this convention, Stairway to Heaven (also called A Matter of Life and Death) depicts heaven in black and white and the everyday scenes on earth in color. David Niven stars as a wounded WWII pilot who was destined to die when his plane is shot down, but a young woman nurses him from the brink of death. To remain on earth, he must argue his case in a celestial court attended by historical figures long dead. The stunning color (by the great cinematographer Jack Cardiff) has importance beyond mere spectacle; it denotes just how enchanting and wonderful a real love and an ordinary life can be. This would resonate with wartime audiences who were longing for their worlds to go back to normal.
‘THE BLACK PIRATE’ IN TWO-STRIP TECHNICOLOR
The use of special color sequences in a black and white film goes back to the silent era, when Technicolor was two-strip. You can find multiple explanations on the Internet about the technology behind two-strip Technicolor, but few concise descriptions of how the color looks. To contemporary viewers, two-strip color appears washed out, or desaturated compared to three-strip Technicolor from the Golden Age. It lacks the warmth of the full color spectrum, and the rich, lush hues of three-strip. However, two-strip was also used as spectacle, or to denote something wondrous or an event that was out of the ordinary, as in color sequences in The Ten Commandments and The Phantom of the Opera. One of my favorite examples is Stage Struck, a 1925 romantic comedy starring Gloria Swanson. Swanson plays a simple, small-town waitress in love with the short-order cook. The character did not fit her glamorous, exotic persona. However, in the color sequence that begins the film, Swanson dreams she is a kind of Queen of Sheba dressed in a lavish costume. Thus, fans got to see the Swanson they knew in “Gloria-esque” color, while she was able to play a different type of character. In 1926, Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., spent considerable money on color tests in preparation for shooting all of The Black Pirate in two-strip Technicolor. The color was intended to denote a cinematic fantasy world where viewers could escape the cares and rigors of the everyday world for a few hours.
TWO-STRIP COLOR IN BEN-HUR (1925)
In order to compete with television during the 1950s, Hollywood introduced new types of spectacle, including producing a higher percentage of films in color. In the mid-1950s, about 50% of Hollywood’s A-budget films were shot in Technicolor or some other process; by the end of the decade, the percentage had increased to about 88%. In a way, this considerable increase actually made color less spectacular because it became commonplace. Other forms of spectacle used to combat television were stereo sound, widescreen, and the notoriously unsuccessful 3-D. Little more than a gimmicky technology, 3-D rarely enhanced the narratives. Instead filmmakers were reduced to thinking of items to hurl, thrust, or aim at the viewers in order to exploit the 3-D effect. At the end of its 18-month wave of popularity, producers had exhausted all ideas. According to legend, a producer of westerns went a bit too far when he asked his actors spit toward the camera; onscreen, it would look as though cowhands were spitting at the viewers in 3-D. I couldn’t help but think about that when I saw the heavy-metal guitarist strapped to the front of the racing truck in Mad Max: Like the producer who ordered the actors to spit, Miller went too far, and the sense of spectacle disintegrated into the ludicrous. On the other hand, The Picture of Dorian Gray reminds me of what is arguably the most effective rule of thumb for spectacle—less is more.