From the advent of synchronous sound dialogue in 1927 to the first use of tri-color film stock in 1935 and on to 1939’s statement that movies would be the great art of the 20th century, one could argue that the earliest talkies paved the way more than any other generation in cinema history.
It took all of three years for a near complete metamorphosis of the film industry following the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927. The first flick to utilize scenes of synchronous dialogue (overblown to some extent, as there were barely two minutes of spoken word), it cast its flag into the earth and became one of the most important movies of all time.
The Jazz Singer certainly delineates little difference in the cultural impact of a marketing ploy versus a revolution. It was perhaps meant more as a cute attraction than a reconstruction. Its success in comparison to its own era has been both overblown and undercut depending on the source; the truth lies in between, as The Jazz Singer was the third most popular film of its year at the box office – hardly an overwhelming demand for change, though hardly a marginal success either.
But one thing is for sure. Jolson’s first line from the film, “Wait, wait. You ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” was resoundingly prophetic.
Willis O’Brien is recognized for advancing stop-motion animation and special effects with King Kong and is accepted widely on a pioneering level in this field. Although his weren’t the first demonstrations of these effects in cinema, his were some of the most detailed and amazing examples to date.
The real genius of his work – and perhaps the source for that regard – is the application of his effects. Take the infusion of the nine inch Kong, who needed to appear some twenty-five feet tall, and the sixty inch Fay Wray, who needed to appear proportionate. Using an arsenal of techniques, O’Brien fashions the best effect to the shot at hand which later will edit together seamlessly with other shots wherein the same illusion may be achieved altogether differently.
In addition, Max Steiner’s ominous brassy score, spilling out of Richard Wagner’s pocket and forward into Bernard Hermann’s trusty palm, is regarded as the first fully integrated film score to be custom fit to a movie.
Firstly, let’s consider the ramifications that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs has had on the animated film. It is the first American animated feature and the first full-color animated feature. It also contributed to animation byway of the multiplane camera, which allowed animators to create many different “layers” of the environment separately, then scroll them past at varying rates appropriate to distance. It also transcended that step by allowing the elements of the background to move independently. Simply stated, it is the most influential movie on all ensuing animated movies.
Surprisingly, its influence reaches farther than that. Consider the following examples.
Snow White falls into a cove abruptly. The camera takes a leap off the side along with her, pausing midair to evaluate her sudden grabbing of a vine.
She looks deeply into a well, and it looks back at her – as we see the image of her fantasizing from inside the water, looking upward.
Prior to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, these types of perspectives – common now – were never imagined, because the technology couldn’t support them. But because of the animated medium, Disney was the only production house that had the means to find them. Much of the film language that this childish animated musical composes for its action-packed pursuits could be identified as a genesis for action film-editing today.
Gone With the Wind didn’t invent the epic, but it took America’s pulse as acutely and specifically as any film in history. Those old enough to recall the way in which Titanic swept away our culture can vaguely gauge the massiveness of the movement; those who endured the throngs lined up for and debating over The Passion of the Christ can possibly evoke the purposefulness. But no film exacted such precision on a shattered world and rejuvenated the spirit of American storytelling more than Gone With the Wind on a post-depression, World War II-addled U.S.
It was long and involving escapism, sure. But it also depicted a set of characters liberated from Civil War prudence, wearing society’s most imagined and admired emancipations on behalf of a modern late thirties culture that had been shocked out of the sinful indiscretions of the 1920’s as if The Great Depression and The Holocaust were makeshift Sodom and Gomorrah type castigations.
The culture longed to get lost in such brilliant narrative and see the dipped toe of feminism emerge as faintly as could be permitted; and culture longed as much to see the shallow selfishness of a character such as Scarlett O’Hara shattered by a man who couldn’t be harnessed. The movie still holds the all-time box office record when adjusted for inflation, and it was one of the most copied movies of its era.
While films like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and All Quiet on the Western Front may have uncovered important and untouched themes, and others still may represent and even predate the innovations of The Wizard of Oz in certain criteria, perhaps no film from the early sound era is as categorically influential as The Wizard of Oz.
It is regarded as highly innovative in the areas of special effects, story type, plot structure, character building, and use of color. In fact, its technical innovations go on, but its real influence is upon us, its audience.
Ironically, it took years for its influence to manifest culturally, as it wasn’t until the late 1950’s when it became an annual network television treat, a tradition that lasted until 1991 as a major event. It has been estimated by many that this very well may be the most watched film in American history. It is a keystone in “the greatest year in movies" and certainly one of the most important films from the early sound era in cinema.
The Jazz Singer (1927), Alan Crosland
It took all of three years for a near complete metamorphosis of the film industry following the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927. The first flick to utilize scenes of synchronous dialogue (overblown to some extent, as there were barely two minutes of spoken word), it cast its flag into the earth and became one of the most important movies of all time.
The Jazz Singer certainly delineates little difference in the cultural impact of a marketing ploy versus a revolution. It was perhaps meant more as a cute attraction than a reconstruction. Its success in comparison to its own era has been both overblown and undercut depending on the source; the truth lies in between, as The Jazz Singer was the third most popular film of its year at the box office – hardly an overwhelming demand for change, though hardly a marginal success either.
But one thing is for sure. Jolson’s first line from the film, “Wait, wait. You ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” was resoundingly prophetic.
King Kong (1933), Merrian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Shoedsack
Willis O’Brien is recognized for advancing stop-motion animation and special effects with King Kong and is accepted widely on a pioneering level in this field. Although his weren’t the first demonstrations of these effects in cinema, his were some of the most detailed and amazing examples to date.
The real genius of his work – and perhaps the source for that regard – is the application of his effects. Take the infusion of the nine inch Kong, who needed to appear some twenty-five feet tall, and the sixty inch Fay Wray, who needed to appear proportionate. Using an arsenal of techniques, O’Brien fashions the best effect to the shot at hand which later will edit together seamlessly with other shots wherein the same illusion may be achieved altogether differently.
In addition, Max Steiner’s ominous brassy score, spilling out of Richard Wagner’s pocket and forward into Bernard Hermann’s trusty palm, is regarded as the first fully integrated film score to be custom fit to a movie.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), David Hand
Firstly, let’s consider the ramifications that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs has had on the animated film. It is the first American animated feature and the first full-color animated feature. It also contributed to animation byway of the multiplane camera, which allowed animators to create many different “layers” of the environment separately, then scroll them past at varying rates appropriate to distance. It also transcended that step by allowing the elements of the background to move independently. Simply stated, it is the most influential movie on all ensuing animated movies.
Surprisingly, its influence reaches farther than that. Consider the following examples.
Snow White falls into a cove abruptly. The camera takes a leap off the side along with her, pausing midair to evaluate her sudden grabbing of a vine.
She looks deeply into a well, and it looks back at her – as we see the image of her fantasizing from inside the water, looking upward.
Prior to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, these types of perspectives – common now – were never imagined, because the technology couldn’t support them. But because of the animated medium, Disney was the only production house that had the means to find them. Much of the film language that this childish animated musical composes for its action-packed pursuits could be identified as a genesis for action film-editing today.
Gone With the Wind (1939), Victor Fleming
Gone With the Wind didn’t invent the epic, but it took America’s pulse as acutely and specifically as any film in history. Those old enough to recall the way in which Titanic swept away our culture can vaguely gauge the massiveness of the movement; those who endured the throngs lined up for and debating over The Passion of the Christ can possibly evoke the purposefulness. But no film exacted such precision on a shattered world and rejuvenated the spirit of American storytelling more than Gone With the Wind on a post-depression, World War II-addled U.S.
It was long and involving escapism, sure. But it also depicted a set of characters liberated from Civil War prudence, wearing society’s most imagined and admired emancipations on behalf of a modern late thirties culture that had been shocked out of the sinful indiscretions of the 1920’s as if The Great Depression and The Holocaust were makeshift Sodom and Gomorrah type castigations.
The culture longed to get lost in such brilliant narrative and see the dipped toe of feminism emerge as faintly as could be permitted; and culture longed as much to see the shallow selfishness of a character such as Scarlett O’Hara shattered by a man who couldn’t be harnessed. The movie still holds the all-time box office record when adjusted for inflation, and it was one of the most copied movies of its era.
The Wizard of Oz (1939), Victor Fleming
While films like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and All Quiet on the Western Front may have uncovered important and untouched themes, and others still may represent and even predate the innovations of The Wizard of Oz in certain criteria, perhaps no film from the early sound era is as categorically influential as The Wizard of Oz.
It is regarded as highly innovative in the areas of special effects, story type, plot structure, character building, and use of color. In fact, its technical innovations go on, but its real influence is upon us, its audience.
Ironically, it took years for its influence to manifest culturally, as it wasn’t until the late 1950’s when it became an annual network television treat, a tradition that lasted until 1991 as a major event. It has been estimated by many that this very well may be the most watched film in American history. It is a keystone in “the greatest year in movies" and certainly one of the most important films from the early sound era in cinema.
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