The Countryman and the Cinematograph (1901) Online

The comedy of Robert W. Paul's "The Countryman and the Cinematograph" is rather unoriginal; yet, I think, it is the most fascinating of early self-referential, or self-reflexive, films. Not all of the film exists today. Originally, it began with a scene of a girl dancing thrown on the screen. The countryman then climbs onto the stage and joins the projected image by dancing himself. A brief glimpse of him dancing to the dancing girl is where the film begins in its current state.

Following this is a scene of a train approaching the camera—a film in imitation of the Lumière scene "Arrivée d'un train à La Ciotat" (1896). Indeed, probably every filmmaker at the time copied it. Presumably, Paul used his own derivative stock film here, or, perhaps, he filmed it and the other two films specifically for this film. Interestingly, the yokel plays out the popular myth of uninitiated audiences having panicked at the sight of an approaching train on screen. In the film, he literally runs off-screen and away from the train.

A romantic and idyllic scene is the third and last film projected within the film. The countryman returns, throws his arms up and points at the scene. The man with the woman in the film-within-the-film is himself. Today, the film ends here, with the countryman face to face with his doppelgänger. Originally, as you can still see in the Edison Company remake "Uncle Josh at the Moving Picture Show" (1902), the countryman then tore down the screen, but only to find himself in a fight with the projectionist found behind the screen. In a way, this plot is the generic comedic formula of a trickster perpetrating a trick upon an unsuspecting character (the fool) – the discovery of the trickster – and the climactic punishment of the trickster. This was a common formula in early screen comedy since the Lumière film "L' Arroseur arrosé" (1895). The difference here, however, is that the trick of motion pictures is too elaborate and the fool too dimwitted for the discovery and punishment to fully materialize.

Today, this comedy seems crude and even classist, but its self-reflexivity is sophisticated for the time and demonstrates a connection of influence in later films. This film, unlike some of the other earliest such films, features the cinema experience—the reception of a movie program. Earlier self-reflexive films have as their subject the process of filming, as in the earlier two films I cover: "How It Feels to Be Run Over" and "The Big Swallow". Paul also made an earlier such film (which is now presumed lost); entitled "Photographing: Difficulties of an Animated Photographer" (1898), it was about a cinematographer being pestered by those passing by. Historian John Barnes (The Beginnings of Cinema in England 1894-1901) suggests that this is perhaps the first film on the movies. The Lumière Company, however, made films of the filming of an event around the same time (see "Fête de Paris 1899: Concours d'automobiles fleuries"). "The Countryman and the Cinematograph" is, perhaps, the first instance of a film-within-a-film. The staging and spatial relations of this film were rather specific to its film period, with the long-shot staging typical back then, the projected subjects of the film-within-the-film appear life size; moreover, the exhibition of varied short films edited together typical at that time further allow for the countryman to interact with the subjects.

In later self-reflexive films about spectators interacting with films, or, in general, the interaction of audiences and film programs, the mise-en-scène had to change to subsequent film standards and changing moviegoer experiences. In D.W. Griffith's "Those Awful Hats" (1909), the standard movie house and distance between film and audience appears. Griffith's film is also a lesson on how to act when watching movies. Later, Mack Sennet, having worked under Griffith, would expand further upon this field, such as in "Mabel's Dramatic Career" (1913), which also, perhaps, introduced the character who comes upon a movie being filmed but confuses the staged scene as real.

Although the mise-en-scène changed, the multiple exposure effect, or superimposition, for the illusion of a projected film-within-a-film would continue to be used for a long time. This seems to be the first instance of the multiple exposure for a film-within-a-film, but it had previously been employed for a parallel action scene-within-a-scene, such as in George Albert Smith's "Santa Claus" (1899), and for various other effects, such as in Smith and Georges Méliès's trick films. Shortly later, Ferdinand Zecca would even use the multiple exposure effect as a dream scene within a scene in "Historie d'un crime" (1901). "The Countryman and the Cinematograph" is an important early film; from it came such early self-reflexive classics as "The Cameraman's Revenge" (Mest kinematograficheskogo operatora) (1912) and "Sherlock, Jr." (1924).

This early classic is done rather cleverly, is amusing, and is even a little thought-provoking. The rudimentary special camera effects really work just fine, and the scenario is so economical and straightforward that it belies the substance that underlies what you see. The story starts with an outgoing, but rather dull-witted, person watching movies and reacting to them in various ways. It's very simple, but done skillfully enough, and it's interesting in at least a couple of other ways.

The concept of using other films and film itself as points of reference has clearly been around almost as long as cinema itself. Some early films handled such material in a fashion that is both amusing and efficient. Unfortunately, film-makers of the present too often over-indulge in the use of self-referential devices, and in an overabundance of references to other films, popular songs, and the like, far beyond the point where any of this serves a constructive purpose.

Then too, since cinema began, the basic idea of confusing film with reality has changed only in terms of the specific applications. It's easy enough to laugh at the "Countryman", as we were meant to do in this feature, but viewers of movies and television in any era often find difficulty in separating film from reality: in forming opinions, in their priorities, and in their attitudes towards life. Just as the "Countryman" doesn't quite understand the nature of what he is seeing, so too, many films can dazzle the senses of today's audiences, and persuade uncritical viewers to think that the films have more substance than they really do. So there's more to this feature than merely a clever little film about the ways that early movies affected their viewers over a century ago.

Probably the funniest of the early comedies, this is a delightful example of complacent metropolitan snobbery. A jovial rustic stands beside a cinema screen showing some of the early Lumiere classics, mugging incessantly, laughing at the pictures. It is unclear who he is, whether a bumptious local entrepeneur bringing the new cosmopolitan marvel to the provinces, or a drunken yokel showing off to his mates. Either way, he soon gets his comeuppance as 'Arrivee d'un train' appears, and, like those legendary early audiences, the sight of a hurtling locomotive, seemingly ready to burst off the screen and run him over, makes him flee in terror. If he IS a drunk, the sight must be even more frightening.

The joke has a number of purposes. While country audiences are still getting excited about primitive films from the last century like 'Train' (an ancient half decade old!), new directors are developing a sophisticated intellectual grammar. The bumpkins' monomania is signalled not only by their gullibility, but by their watching a single frame recording a single scene, leading the innocents to mistake representation for reality.

THIS film, however, is full of clever self-reflexivity, featuring frames within frames, films within films, asking the audience watching a film to watch an audience watching a film. In this, it is a precursor to 'House of Wax' and Godard - it foregrounds the nature of cinema, it asks us to recognise that there is a technical apparatus between the audience and the film's content, and maybe even consider the implications of this.

It is also guiltily funny: maybe not guilty, the braggart takes a fall. Although maybe we're the fools - we've lost that initial spark of wonder about the cinema that seems to have worn off incredibly quickly. Contrary to popular belief, audiences cottoned on very soon. This kind of inquiry, of course, would be stamped out with the coming of Hollywood regimentation, but the early silent era would be full of questioning pleasures like this.

I watched this film on a DVD that was rammed with short films from the period. I didn't watch all of them as the main problem with these type of things that their value is more in their historical novelty value rather than entertainment. So to watch them you do need to be put in the correct context so that you can keep this in mind and not watch it with modern eyes. With the Primitives & Pioneers DVD collection though you get nothing to help you out, literally the films are played one after the other (the main menu option is "play all") for several hours. With this it is hard to understand their relevance and as an educational tool it falls down as it leaves the viewer to fend for themselves, which I'm sure is fine for some viewers but certainly not the majority. What it means is that the DVD saves you searching the web for the films individually by putting them all in one place – but that's about it.

Clearly there is a lot that has been lost from this short film and, from what is available, it is a shame. We open at the very end of the establishing shot in which I believe the "countryman" has climbed up next to the screen to dance next to the maiden he can see dancing – seemingly unaware that she is only an image and not real. His fun time comes to an abrupt end when a train rushes towards him making him flee. His confusion is made greater by the sight of himself on the screen and here we end. It is a simple joke but it is an important part of the development of the media that it becomes self-referential and topical. Today we are shocked when a film does not reference something else at least once every five minutes but to see this done over a century ago (and at the birth of the technology) is all the more impressive.

Shame that it feels like it has been cut into pieces by the loss of the early stages because this is an engaging smart and clever little film that references other films in the media and challenges the audience at the same time.

This is among my favorite very early short films as it's about a topic I tend to think a lot when watching some of these old gems from time to time. How do you perceive a medium that is so new and you know so little about? Are you able to make the connection between what is reality and what is no more than a display of something which happened in the past and was already gone long before you experienced it, but somehow revived and now happening again. Or is it really?

Of course, when films became popular, there have been photographs already and people sort of understood that there is a parallel, only that these photographs are moving now, but I'm sure it must have genuinely confused many people in the late 19th and early 20th century. This is also the case for the central character in this short films. He dances carelessly with a girl put on screen before all of a sudden a train approaches. Closer and closer and closer until he has no choice but step to the side, so he won't get hit. Better not take the risk. I very much recommend this short film as it's one of the most interesting examples of film on film ever put on the screen.

This is a film by the British filmmaker, R. W. Paul, who was, according to most people, the King of Humor. This short is no exception-it's a film about how people reacted to the first animated pictures. This chap here appears not to have seen a movie before. He appears to be engrossed with the images on the screen, and doesn't know the difference between reality and fiction.

Sadly, this film survives as a fragment, as does Paul's "Come Along Do!" The footage we've got is about 20 seconds. A few mildly amusing things happen and that's it. Apparently the original film ended with the countryman tearing down the screen and fighting with the showman projecting the films, after becoming enraged when seeing himself on the screen. I'm guessing the original was a minute, as most films at the time were.

Thus I can't give this one a higher rating, as what's here is too brief to be really funny. In it's original form I'm sure it would've made a nice little comedy, because what's here is actually pretty good.

This is quite a clever little comedy for its time. Just six years after the birth of the cinema movies had already become self-referential and were capable of a satirical mockery of its audience. A portion of this film appears to be missing (at least on the BFI DVD I watched) which is a shame. What remains shows a country bumpkin type complete with farmer's smock, hat, and rustic cheeks, dancing riotously on stage in front of the screen on which dances a ballerina. When the picture changes to that of a train racing towards the screen, the panic-stricken rube dashes from the stage in terror - a jokey reference to the myth that members of the audience ran screaming from the train pulling into a station at the first public ever screening. The bumpkin then returns to find, to his puzzlement, that it is now he who is on screen. Clever and interesting.