1. The original experiment, from about 1920. It demonstrated that the apparent meaning of a filmed scene derives not from its component images but from what filmmakers call montage: the relation of the images to one another. There’s only one repeated clip of an actor emoting, but montage leads you to interpret the emotion variously as hunger, grief, or lust.
2. From 1922, a new set of shots.
3. Montage: an image appearing to show response. It did help me understand my own response.
Jackson [Mississippi] Evening News, March 7, 1906, page 2
Nicola Perscheid, “Prof. Dr. phil. Theodor Lessing — Schriftsteller,” about 1925. Staatliche Landesbildstelle Hamburg, http://sammlungonline.mkg-hamburg.de/de/object/Prof.-Dr.-phil.-Theodor-Lessing—Schriftsteller-/P1976.857.936/mkg-e00137302. Photoshopped to restore contrast.
Theodor Lessing’s contribution to language is the title of his 1930 book about Otto Weininger: Jüdischer Selbsthaß, “Jewish self-hate.”
In the far distance, seen from the American side of the Atlantic Ocean, the squabble seems almost comical. Little, of course, did the New York Times know what was about to start happening in the neighborhood of the zeppelin hangars, and so the Times’s editors saw no need to drive home their point any further by illustrating it.
But the image of what was to come was already in place and already signifying as hard as it could. See, in the image, the forms hovering impatiently on the ceiling of their barn, already fledged in streamline and about to slip free and feral.
In the image, all but a few of the men who do see have their backs to the camera. They are looking up toward those ridged cylinders as if they’re waiting for them to emerge, cast off, and mount. They understand the cylinders’ purport. They may even have been taught that they’ll love what is about to happen to them.
But the man they have sent away from the bed of ascension is understanding in a different way: actively. His traveling cap is ready to don, he is holding a writing tool in each hand, and his eyes are in the act of piercing.
Without the beard that grows beneath, they would be only eyes in a face — say, a face fronting one of the derbied Germans who have so deeply failed to interest the camera in themselves. With the beard, M. Clément’s face becomes an emblem of the time before the dirigible and the Freudian reinterpretation of will. During that long but abruptly vanished prehistory, men didn’t just face the camera when they posed; they faced the camera down. With their sensitive mouths covered deep under layers of masculine muff, some men of the last moments before the Great War seem actually to have believed that the momentarily living self they showed to the finder could be a visage, hard and glittering as a face self-sculpted in stone.
Source: Université de Caen Basse-Normandie, https://www.flickr.com/photos/universite_caen/15232404609 and https://www.flickr.com/photos/universite_caen/15232404839. Photoshopped.