LAS PRÁCTICAS AGROPECUARIAS COMO PARTE DE LA FORMACIÓN LABORAL

Movie Magic

“Magic is dead,” one frustrated theater manager complained to the New York Dramatic Mirror in 1898 (qtd. in Solomon 2010:28). Once upon a time, he’d worked alongside Alexander Herrmann, a magician so popular during vaudeville’s heyday that his steely, goateed countenance still springs to mind whenever contemporary audiences are asked to picture a stereotypical magician (see

Steinmeyer 2005). But Herrmann the Great had died two years before, and this manager was now stuck shepherding a former burlesque star who’d only recently decided to try his hand at

professional magic. “There have been no new inventions,” the manager fumed, after the burlesque star’s new magic show turned out to be a flop, “no new illusions for fifteen years. There has been nothing of late to startle the public or stimulate interest in this special form of entertainment…

[Modern audiences] don’t want to be mystified. It doesn’t amuse them.”

Of course, his eulogy proved to be rather premature. Though legendary magicians like Alexander Herrmann and Jean-Eugéne Robert-Houdin had long since left the stage, magical performance was still very much in the midst of its Golden Age (Toulmin 2007, Gill 1976). In the United States alone, the turn of the twentieth century saw the rise of several popular magic acts, including T. Nelson Downs, a talented prestidigitator who was one of the first magicians to bring coin manipulation out of the parlor and onto the stage (Christopher 1996: 275; Gill 1976: 51);

Adelaide Herrmann, Alexander’s widow, who went from assistant to headliner in the years following her husband’s death (see Steele 2012); and a young, up-and-coming escape artist named Erlich Weiss, who—somewhat aspirationally—renamed himself Harry Houdini in honor of the great

Robert-Houdin (see Silverman 1996). So while some forms of popular entertainment struggled with falling ticket sales and waning audience interest (e.g. Springhall 2008; Glenn 1995), Edwardian-era magicians still managed to find loyal fans across a broad variety of vaudevillian venues: carnival midways and circus sideshows, opera houses and music halls (see Solomon 2006, During 2002). In an era characterized by more disposable income, more leisure time, and an increased emphasis on the mass consumption of popular entertainment (Turcot 2016, Ashby 2010, Marrus 1974), successful magicians wielded a great deal of cultural power, their social prestige affording them a significant degree of influence over the entertainment-obsessed public.

It’s also untrue that turn-of-the-century magic lacked innovation, seeing as many of the era’s most successful magicians were early adopters of the latest technologies (Solomon 2006, Steinmeyer 2005). Consider, for example, the motion picture: magicians were amongst the earliest filmmakers, taking to cameras and movie projectors just as easily as they’d adopted trap doors, trick mirrors, and other “traditional” tools of the trade (Solomon 2006, North 2001, Low and Hopkins 2009). Perhaps most well-known amongst contemporary film historians is the French illusionist Georges Méliès, who invented a variety of innovative camera techniques that enabled him to “render physical impossibilities on the screen” (North 2001:74; see also Fischer 1979). David Devant—easily one of the greatest illusionists in British history (Steinmeyer 2005:125, Evans 1902:85)—started

incorporating film exhibitions into his performances at London’s Egyptian Hall just a few short weeks after he first encountered a projector (Solomon 2010:30). And the influence of magicians extended far beyond cosmopolitan urban centers like London and Paris: as part of their acts, popular traveling magicians like Harry Houdini, Horace Goldin, and Howard Thurston showcased both films and film-based illusions to audiences worldwide, aiding in the rapid diffusion of motion picture technology (Solomon 2010, Barnouw 1981, Steinmeyer 2005). As such, the early history of

film was driven by the symbiosis of movies and magic, with magicians emerging as some of film’s earliest producers, directors, hypemen, and stars.

Welcome to Hollywood

If Thomas Edison had had his way, New Jersey would’ve been the motion picture capital of America. In the early 1890s, William K. Dickson—one of Edison’s many employees— developed the Kinetoscope, an early motion picture device that created the illusion of movement by passing light through sequential images. Much to Edison’s surprise, the Kinetoscope was a whopping success: in the first few months that the Kinetoscope was on the market, the sale of viewing machines, short films, and other related items generated over $85,000 of pure profit (Musser 1994:84)—about 2.5 million dollars in today’s currency. Eager to capitalize on the Kinetoscope’s success, Edison expedited the development of projection systems and movie cameras, many of which were branded with the Kinetoscope name. By the turn of the century, Edison owned most of the major US patents related to filmmaking, and aggressively leveraged his control of the market in order to monopolize the production, distribution, and exhibition of American motion pictures (see Bach 1999, Thomas 1971).

In order to escape Edison’s aggressive patent litigation, independent filmmakers fled for the West Coast⁶. Southern California was a popular choice: thanks to the region’s mild winters and sunny weather—a necessity in the days before indoor soundstages—as well as a natural landscape that provided varied backgrounds for film shoots, Southern California was uniquely suited to early film production (Beaton 1983). On top of this, relentless boosterism from the Los Angeles Chamber

6 Fun fact: the first film production studio to make the move west was the Selig Polyscope Company, which was founded in 1896 by William N. Selig, a well-known illusionist from Chicago (Solomon 2010:32). Another early émigré was Vitagraph Studios, founded by New York magicians Albert E. Smith and J. Stuart Blackton (see Musser 1983).

of Commerce helped to convince aspiring filmmakers to choose Los Angeles over other sunny SoCal cities like San Diego (see Frank 2012, Nielsen 1988:126). It didn’t hurt that Los Angeles’s craft-focused manufacturing sector was powered by cheap, “open shop” labor: without the benefit of unions, rank-and-file workers in the early Hollywood film industry were expected to work long hours without breaks, and received no overtime pay, no sick leave, no pension plan, and no

unemployment compensation. Any troublemakers who tried to fight for better working conditions were routinely blacklisted, preventing organized labor from gaining much traction in the industry (Eyman 2010:69; see also Nielsen 1988, Sklar 1975, Lovell and Carter 1955). By moving film production to Los Angeles, filmmakers were able to hire skilled carpenters, electricians, and other specialists for half as much as they’d be worth in union-friendly markets like New York or Chicago.

And so the nascent film industry made its home in Hollywood, where land was cheap, the skies were clear, and local nightspots like the Hollywood Hotel were happy to ignore a local

ordinance prohibiting the sale of alcohol (Frank 2012, Beaton 1983). As more and more film studios moved into the neighborhood, the industry experienced the benefits of economies of scale. In forming a village-like community wherein all of the necessary tools of film production and processing were close at hand, Hollywood quickly became the most cost-efficient (and, therefore, most desirable) place in the country to make movies: “The more popular [Hollywood] became as a studio site, location for ancillary activities, and place of residence and entertainment for the motion picture people, the more other production companies coveted Hollywood movie lots” (Beaton 1983:106). This had a dramatic effect on the nascent film industry, as historian Hillary A. Hallet (2017) writes: “In 1911, not a single foot of celluloid had been shot in Hollywood. By 1921, Los Angeles produced 85% of the movies shown in the United States and nearly two-thirds of those watched around the world.” Less than two decades after motion pictures first came to California, Hollywood film was both a cultural institution and a multimillion-dollar empire.

In this way, the movie business came to have a dramatic impact on the material and political realities of Los Angeles. Studio expansion reshaped the city’s geography, repurposing whole

neighborhoods—Culver City, Universal City, Century City—for the purpose of film production, as well as erecting vast studio complexes that were large enough to be cities in and of themselves (Frank 2012). Real estate developers throughout Los Angeles constructed buildings in an eclectic hodgepodge of historical styles, taking their cue from the varied “façade landscapes” of Hollywood set design (see Banham 2009): Tudor mansions next to Mission Revivalist compounds, Medieval-style behemoths across the street from Frank Lloyd Wright originals. Perhaps most significant, however, was Hollywood’s effect on the city’s socio-political landscape: the growing economic centrality of motion picture studios disrupted the long-standing power of the Downtown elite (see Davis 2006), opening up new positions of authority to the nouveaux riches of the entertainment industry. Hollywood’s ascent didn’t just create a new locus of symbolic power in the city; it also enacted an entirely new social hierarchy.

Brave New World

With the rise of motion pictures came a tectonic shift in the overarching structure of the American entertainment industry. One aspect of the change was purely geographic: as Hollywood film became increasingly central to the production of popular entertainment, Los Angeles—once merely a small-time stop on the vaudevillian circuit, too provincial to truly rival the glamor of more popular stops like New York, Chicago, and San Francisco (Singer 1992, Saloutos 1966, Agnew 2014)—was now the entertainment capital of the United States, if not the world (Williams and Wheatcroft 2013, Bakker 2012). The unprecedented emergence of motion pictures also indirectly led to the decline of live entertainment in America. During the 1920s, for example, many vaudeville theaters utilized a “vaudeville and pictures” format, wherein vaudevillian performers would serve as

mere opening acts for feature films, effectively upstaged by Hollywood (Solomon 2008:64).

Additionally, the promise of higher salaries lured away established vaudeville heavyweights like the Marx Brothers, Mae West, and Fanny Brice, and later acts—Cary Grant, Judy Garland, Abbott and Costello, the Three Stooges—only used the vaudevillian stage as a launching pad for their film careers (see Springhall 2008, Woods 2016). By the time the Keith-Albee-Orpheum Company—

owner and operator of the largest vaudevillian circuit in the country—was bought out by a new-money film magnate (see Kibler 1992, MacGowan 1956), live entertainment was already no longer America’s favorite past time.

As magician and historian Jim Steinmeyer (2005) writes: “The combination of the

Depression, the popularity of motion pictures, and the decline of vaudeville and the music hall had conspired against live entertainment.” But while the techno-social upheavals of the 1920s and 30s certainly ousted professional magic from its “central place in the realm of mass entertainment”

(Solomon 2008:63), magic still survived, albeit in an altered, diminished state. Some professional performers—believing that it was only through spectacle that magicians could distinguish themselves from Hollywood film and thereby “succeed in maintaining [magic] as an honorable profession” (Shirk 1929: 395)—mounted dramatic, large-scale touring shows, emphasizing magic’s

“bigness” in order to resist its marginalization (Solomon 2008:64). Others fully embraced the movie business: superstar magicians like Howard Thurston and Harry Houdini aggressively pursued film careers (Solomon 2008:68-70; see also Bakker 2003), and professional magicians’ organizations throughout the country publicized the amateur magic of Hollywood stars in an attempt to boost membership (Solomon 2008:70). In this way, magicians strategically rearticulated themselves within a professional environment wherein the cultural power of the stage had been supplanted by that of the screen.