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The four manifestos that compose this chapter all revolve around the question of sound in the cinema. Perhaps it is not surprising that three of the four were written on the cusp of sound cinema. Many filmmakers, critics, and theorists were convinced that the advent of sound would strip away from the cinema its specificity and its universalism. Indeed, even for filmmakers who mastered sound, there was a lingering feeling that the silent image constituted the true cinema. Alfred Hitchcock, who made ten silent films in the United Kingdom between 1925 and 1929, often argued that a good sound film ought to be perfectly comprehensible to an audience even if the sound were turned off. The first three manifestos address the arrival of film sound at the end of the 1920s. The first, and most famous, sound manifesto, “A Statement on Sound,” by Sergei Eisenstein, Vsevolod Pudovkin, and Grigori Alexandrov, published in 1928, argues for contrapuntal sound, eventually achieved in some parts of Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky (USSR, 1938), most notably in the battle on the ice between Novgorod and the Teutonic knights. This manifesto is especially relevant given that in the late 1920s socialist realism had not replaced the early formalism of Soviet cinema; the films of the period were still focused on the plasticity of the cinema that Bazin later decried; the naturalism of sound presented specific aesthetic problems for Russian formalists. In “A Rejection of the Talkies,” written as part of the press material for City Lights (USA, 1931), Chaplin defends the use of synchronized sound but, like his Soviet cineaste compatriots, decries the use of sound as a substitute for the international language of the silent cinema as he defines it. For Chaplin the specificity and universal appeal of the cinema lies in its use of pantomime, and he argues that sound can easily eradicate this aspect of the cinema through an overreliance on explanatory dialogue in lieu of pantomimic acting. Basil Wright and B. Vivian Braun raise similar issues; like the aforementioned manifestos, “A Dialogue on Sound: A Manifesto” derides the “talkies.” Wright and Braun develop in a practical manner many of the points raised in “A Statement on Sound,” foregrounding again the contrapuntal use of sound, raising a clarion call that sound can easily overdetermine an image, killing its meaning in the process. The “Amalfi Manifesto,” written some thirty years after the advent of sound, examines the way in which overdubbing has functioned in Italian cinema and decries the lack of imagination in the soundscapes of Italian films. Unlike the other sound manifestos presented here, the “Amalfi Manifesto” concerns itself with the problems of antirealism and argues that dubbing detaches actors from their roles, creating a degree of alienation for the audience through the break in verisimilitude. It argues for a “unitary plane of style,” urging a more complete and total cinema, one that does not break apart sound and image.
Sergei Eisenstein, Vsevolod Pudovkin, and Grigori Alexandrov
[First published in Russian in Zhizn iskusstva 32 (1928): 4–5. First published in English in the New York Herald Tribune, 21 September 1928.]
Eisenstein, Pudovkin, and Alexandrov argue for sound to be used in the cinema in such a way that it does not simply illustrate the images on the screen and that the use of sound to provide an added level of naturalism to the screen will destroy the principles of montage and the specificity of cinema itself. As such, they argue for the use of nonsynchronized, contrapuntal sound to develop the sonic aspect of the cinema along the same lines of those the Soviets developed for montage.
The dream of a sound film has come true. With the invention of a practical sound film, the Americans have placed it on the first step of substantial and rapid realization. Germany is working intensively in the same direction. The whole world is talking about the silent thing that has learned to talk.
We who work in the U.S.S.R. are aware that with our technical potential we shall not move ahead to a practical realization of the sound film in the near future. At the same time we consider it opportune to state a number of principal premises of a theoretical nature, for in the accounts of the invention it appears that this advance in films is being employed in an incorrect direction. Meanwhile, a misconception of the potentialities within this new technical discovery may not only hinder the development and perfection of the cinema as an art but also threaten to destroy all its present formal achievements.
At present, the film, working with visual images, has a powerful effect on a person and has rightfully taken one of the first places among the arts.
It is known that the basic (and only) means that has brought the cinema to such a powerfully effective strength is montage. The affirmation of montage, as the chief means of effect, has become the indisputable axiom on which the worldwide culture of the cinema has been built.
The success of Soviet films on the world’s screens is due, to a significant degree, to those methods of montage which they first revealed and consolidated.
Therefore, for the further development of the cinema, the important moments will be only those that strengthen and broaden the montage methods of affecting the spectator. Examining each new discovery from this viewpoint, it is easy to show the insignificance of the color and the stereoscopic film in comparison with the vast significance of sound.
Sound recording is a two-edged invention, and it is most probable that its use will proceed along the line of least resistance, i.e., along the line of satisfying simple curiosity.
In the first place there will be commercial exploitation of the most salable merchandise, talking films. Those in which sound recording will proceed on a naturalistic level, exactly corresponding with the movement on the screen, and providing a certain “illusion” of talking people, of audible objects, etc.
A first period of sensations does not injure the development of a new art, but it is the second period that is fearful in this case, a second period that will take the place of the fading virginity and purity of this first perception of new technical possibilities, and will assert an epoch of its automatic utilization for “highly cultured dramas” and other photographed performances of a theatrical sort.
To use sound in this way will destroy the culture of montage, for every adhesion of sound to a visual montage piece increases its inertia as a montage piece, and increases the independence of its meaning-and this will undoubtedly be to the detriment of montage, operating in the first place not on the montage pieces but on their juxtaposition.
only a contrapuntal use of sound in relation to the visual montage piece will afford a new potentiality of montage development and perfection.
the first experimental work with sound must be directed along the line of its distinct nonsynchronization with the visual images. And only such an attack will give the necessary palpability which will later lead to the creation of an orchestral counterpoint of visual and aural images.
This new technical discovery is not an accidental moment in film history but an organic way out of a whole series of impasses that have seemed hopeless to the cultured cinematic avant-garde.
The first impasse is the subtitle and all the unavailing attempts to tie it into the montage composition, as a montage piece (such as breaking it up into phrases and even words, increasing and decreasing the size of type used, employing camera movement, animation, and so on).
The second impasse is the explanatory pieces (for example, certain inserted close-ups) that burden the montage composition and retard the tempo.
The tasks of theme and story grow more complicated every day; attempts to solve these by methods of “visual” montage alone either lead to unsolved problems or force the director to resort to fanciful montage structures, arousing the fearsome eventuality of meaninglessness and reactionary decadence.
Sound, treated as a new montage element (as a factor divorced from the visual image), will inevitably introduce new means of enormous power to the expression and solution of the most complicated tasks that now oppress us with the impossibility of overcoming them by means of an imperfect film method, working only with visual images.
The CONTRAPUNTAL METHOD of constructing the sound film will not only not weaken the international cinema but will bring its significance to unprecedented power and cultural height.
Such a method for constructing the sound film will not confine it to a national market, as must happen with the photographing of plays, but will give a greater possibility than ever before for the circulation throughout the world of a filmically expressed idea.
Charlie Chaplin
[Originally published as part of the Exhibitors Campaign Book for City Lights and printed in numerous languages.]
Charlie Chaplin’s statement on sound is a defense of silent cinema as a universal language. Much like the avant-garde filmmakers of the time, and philosophers such as Rudolf Arnheim, who published Film als Kunst (Film as Art) a year later, Chaplin argued that simply adding sound to motion pictures takes away from their specificity and their ability to communicate across languages and, indeed, nations.
Because the silent or nondialogue picture has been temporarily pushed aside in the hysteria attending the introduction of speech by no means indicates that it is extinct or that the motion picture screen has seen the last of it. City Lights is evidence of this. In New York it is presented at the George M. Cohan Theater beginning Feb. 6. It is nondialogue but synchronized film.
Why did I continue to make nondialogue films? The silent picture, first of all, is a universal means of expression. Talking pictures necessarily have a limited field, they are held down to the particular tongue of particular races. I am confident that the future will see a return of interest of nontalking productions because there is a constant demand for a medium that is universal in its utility. It is axiomatic that true drama must be universal in its appeal—the word elemental might be better—and I believe the medium of presentation should also be a universal rather than a restricted one.
Understand, I consider the talking picture a valuable addition to the dramatic art regardless of its limitations, but I regard it only as an addition, not as a substitute. Certainly it cannot be a substitute for the motion picture that has advanced as a pantomimic art form so notably during its brief twenty years of storytelling. After all pantomime has always been the universal means of communication. It existed as the universal tool long before language was born. Pantomime serves well where languages are in the conflict of a common ignorance. Primitive folk used the sign language before they were able to form an intelligible word.
At what point in the world’s history pantomime first made its appearance is speculative. Undoubtedly it greatly antedates the first records of its part in Greek culture. It reached a highly definite development in Rome and was a distinct factor in the medieval mystery plays. Ancient Egypt was adept in its use, and in the sacrificial rites of Druidism and in the war dances of the aborigines of all lands it has a fixed place.
Pantomime lies at the base of any form of drama. In the silent form of the photoplay it is the keynote. In the vocal form it must always be an essential, because nonvisual drama leads altogether too much to the imagination. If there is any doubt of this, an example is the radio play.
Action is more generally understood than words. The lift of an eyebrow, however faint, may convey more than a hundred words. Like the Chinese symbolism it will mean different things, according to its scenic connotation. Listen to a description of some unfamiliar object—an African warthog, for example—then describe it; observe a picture of the animal and then note the variety of astonishment.
We hear a great deal about children not going to the movies anymore, and it is undoubtedly true that hundreds of thousands of prospective film patrons, of future film-goers, young tots who formerly thrilled to the silent screen, do not attend any more because they are unable to follow the dialogue of talking pictures readily. On the other hand, they do follow action unerringly. This is because the eye is better trained than the ear. There is nothing in City Lights that a child won’t follow easily and understand.
I am a comedian and I know that pantomime is more important in comedy than it is in pure drama. It may be even more effective in farce than in straight comedy. These two differ in that the former implies the attainment of humour without logical action—in fact, rather the reverse; and the latter achieves this attainment as the outcome of sheer legitimate motivation. Silent comedy is more satisfactory entertainment for the masses than talking comedy, because most comedy depends on swiftness of action, and an event can happen and be laughed at before it can be told in words. Of course, pantomime is invaluable in drama, too, because it serves to effect the gradual transition from farce to pathos or from comedy to tragedy much more smoothly and with less effort than speech can ever do.
I base this statement on recent observations; the sudden arrival of dialogue in motion pictures is causing many of our actors to forget the elementals of the art of acting. Pantomime, I have always believed and still believe, is the prime qualification of a successful screen player. A truly capable actor must possess a thorough grounding in pantomime. Consider the Irvings, Coquelins, Bernhardts, Duses, Mansfields, and Booths, and you will find at the root of their art pantomime.
My screen character remains speechless from choice. City Lights is synchronized and certain sound effects are part of the comedy, but it is a nondialogue picture because I preferred that it be that, for the reasons I have given.
Basil Wright and B. Vivian Braun
[First published in Film Art (UK) 2 (1934): 28–29.]
This manifesto by British director and producer Basil Wright, best known for Song of Ceylon (UK, 1934), and B. Vivian Braun, director of Beyond This Open Road (UK, 1934), argues for the orchestration of sound and decries the use of dialogue or natural sounds to simply anchor the image. The manifesto echoes some of the points raised by Chaplin but is also somewhat critical of the notion of contrapuntal sound put forth by the Soviets.
Wright: First we must realise that films have always been sound films, even in the silent days. The bigger the orchestra the better the film appeared.
Vivian Braun: Quite. And now that talk has been made possible. Do you consider it as good an adjunct as music?
W.: No, because a good “talkie” is a stage play possibly improved by the mechanical advantages of the camera. e.g. pans, close-ups, [and] cutting.
V.B.: You mean that “talkies” are not films?
W.: “Talkies” are technically film, but cinematically they are not.
V.B.: Then the only thing to do is to separate “talkies” and sound films into different categories from the start.
W.: Yes, and so we need not discuss “talkies” any further. Let’s go on to sound film proper. To begin with, what do the aesthetes say about sound film?
V.B.: A great deal. Firstly they crack up contrapuntal sound and sound imagery as grand artistic effects.
I believe this was originally due to a typical aesthetic reaction when the talking film first came; they refused to recognize them, quite rightly, and then when a year had passed and talking films had not wilted under their disapproval they went to the other extreme.
W.: Yes. I remember the hanging scene in The Virginian came in for a lot of praise.
V.B.: Still the aesthetes (I am never quite clear as to who these folk are) have a good deal on their side.
W.: Of course they have; most of the opinions are good solid cinema theory, but the difficulty is that they are unaware of this. It doesn’t harm the theory, but it vitiates the practice.
V.B.: Well perhaps we had better analyze the advantages of sound and in particular the advantages of sound imagery, if any, and counterpoint.
W.: But we must not forget that the film is visual so much so that the perfect film should be satisfactory from every point of view without sound, and, therefore, shown in complete silence.
V.B.: BUT THIS IS NOT TO SAY THAT THE PERFECT FILM COULD NOT BE SUPER-PERFECTED BY THE USE OF SOUND AS AN ADJUNCT.
W.: The use of sound imagistically, the crosscutting of sound and visuals (counterpoint) can undoubtedly be effective, but this does not mean to say that good visuals could not get the same effect more legitimately—in fact I begin to wonder if sound has any advantage at all.
V.B.: Yes it has. It can and does undoubtedly intensify the effect of visuals. But it does not necessarily create that effect. The wrong sound (so powerful is sound) can kill the image.
W.: Yes. And I happen to have seen my pet sequence killed stone dead by the addition of Bach’s music, which happens to be better than any film yet made. It killed my visuals because it was too powerful.
V.B.: Which reminds us that one of the most potent arts is sound.
W.: What do we mean by sound in connection with film?
V.B.: Before you start your film you have available every sound in the world from the lark’s song to Mae West’s voice to the Jupiter symphony to the internal combustion engine.
W.: And the human voice is no greater in value than any other sound.
V.B.: When synchronizing your film you select, from all the sounds, those you require. If you put natural sound corresponding to visual image, and in particular concentrate on the human voice, you make a “talkie.”
W.: If you put any natural sound which doesn’t correspond with the visual action, you make a dull highbrow film!
V.B.: If you make a good visual film which is self-contained without any sound, you will find that the only sound which will really intensify your visuals is abstract sound.
W.: Music is abstract.
V.B.: But music confines itself, very rightly, to noises produced by a limited number of special instruments. You are at liberty to orchestrate any sound in the world.
W.: Once orchestrated they will become as abstract as music. Orchestrated abstract sound is the true complement to film. It can intensify the value of, say, an aeroplane in flight in a way which natural aeroplane sound could not achieve—
V.B.: Because natural sound is uncontrolled. No art is uncontrolled. Abstract sound is completely controlled by the artist, in this case the director of the film. The director must create his sound as well as his visuals, and as he cannot create natural sound he must orchestrate it for his own purpose.
W.: When he can do this as well as Cézanne orchestrated nature onto canvas, the first real film will have been made.
Michelangelo Antonioni, Bernardo Bertolucci, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Gillo Pontecorvo, Marco Bellocchio, Vittorio Cottafavi, Vittorio De Sica, Alberto Lattuada, Alfredo Leonardi, Valentino Orsini, Brunello Rondi, Francesco Rosi, Paolo Taviani, Vittorio Taviani
[First published in Italian as “Il manifesto di Amalfi,” Filmcritica (February 1968): 95. First published in English in Sight and Sound 37, no. 3 (1968): 145.]
The dubbing of actors in Italian films stretches back to the emergence of sound. In this manifesto, issued at a symposium on film sound in Amalfi, many of Italy’s key filmmakers of the 1960s take a stance against dubbing, arguing that the practice impedes the possibility of Italian cinema producing total works of art and leaves films open to ideological manipulation and censoring by producers and distributors.
Contemporary developments in theoretical studies on the sound film imply the need to take up a position at the outset against the systematic abuse of dubbing, which consistently compromises the expressive values of film. The actors themselves acquire from the habit of post-synchronisation (generally carried out with other people’s voices) an increasing detachment from the character they are playing. The techniques of dubbing and the use of stock sound-effects deprive films of the support, on the unitary plane of style, of elements which should be integral to them, and at the same time they subject the film to the manoeuvres and mystifications on the part of producers and distributors, whose final effect has an ideological character. The post-synchronisation of Italian films, when not required for expressive reasons, and the dubbing and translation of foreign films, are two equally absurd and unacceptable sides of one and the same problem . . .
The abolition of the indiscriminate use of dubbing, whose existence compromises the very possibility of an Italian sound cinema, is a vital aspect of the battle to safeguard linguistic research, to protect effective freedom of expression, and to realise and develop a total cinema.