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This chapter prepares the ground for everything that follows. With the advent of photography, ways of seeing static images from earlier eras (paintings, statues, etc.) radically changed. Cinematography further increased, even complicated, traditional understandings of the past in both text and image. New ways of interpreting and appreciating Greek and Roman culture, too, are thus called for. Terms like Sergei Eisenstein’s cinematism and Pierre Francastel’s pre-cinema point to such new ways of approaching arts and literature from the vantage point of our technological media, which show sequences of static images that appear to be moving. Since the era of silent film, numerous directors have expressed the close connections of their medium with antiquity, among them Abel Gance, Jean Renoir, Manoel de Oliveira, Theodoros Angelopoulos, and Eisenstein himself. The chapter also addresses the question of how faithful modern screen versions should or could be to their sources.
This book aims to enhance our appreciation of the modernity of the classical cultures and, conversely, of cinema's debt to ancient Greece and Rome. It explores filmic perspectives on the ancient verbal and visual arts and applies what is often referred to as pre-cinema and what Sergei Eisenstein called cinematism: that paintings, statues, and literature anticipate modern visual technologies. The motion of bodies depicted in static arts and the vividness of epic ecphrases point to modern features of storytelling, while Plato's Cave Allegory and Zeno's Arrow Paradox have been related to film exhibition and projection since the early days of cinema. The book additionally demonstrates the extensive influence of antiquity on an age dominated by moving-image media, as with stagings of Odysseus' arrow shot through twelve axes or depictions of the Golden Fleece. Chapters interpret numerous European and American silent and sound films and some television productions and digital videos.
The early modern world was as enigmatic as it was dynamic. New epistemologies and technologies, open controversies about the world and afterworld, encounters with various cultures, and numerous forms of entertainment wetted the appetite for ever-new sensational experiences, an emerging visual language, and different social constellations. Thaumaturgy, the art of making wonder, was the historical term under which many of these forms were subsumed: encompassing everything from magic lanterns to puppets to fireworks, and deliberately mingling the spheres of commercial entertainment, art, and religion. But thaumaturgy was not just an idle pastime but a vital field of cultural and intercultural negotiation. This Element introduces this field and suggests a new form of historiography-media ecology-which focuses on connections, formations, and transformations and takes a global perspective.
The next two chapters deal with key aspects of direct and indirect Ovidianism in film history. Chapter 3 details a particular moment, both Ovidian and cinematic, in the artistic development of Gabriele D’Annunzio, once Italy’s pre-eminent writer, and its far-ranging repercussions for D’Annunzio and all of film history. D’Annunzio saw himself as an artistic and spiritual descendent of Ovid. His poems, especially Alcyone, provide ample evidence. Daphne’s metamorphosis into a laurel tree in the Metamorphoses prompted D’Annunzio to abandon his earlier disdain for the new medium of cinema and to make film history himself: in his practical involvement with several productions and in regard to the origins of film stardom. D’Annunzio became one of the first formulators of film theory, perhaps the first ever. This chapter also addresses the Ovidian nature of a pre-cinematic apparatus such as the thaumatrope and the impulse that American educators received from early cinema and D’Annunzio. None of this would have occurred the way it did without Ovid in the background.
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