Free: British Pathé Puts Over 85,000 Historical Films on YouTube

British Pathé was one of the lead­ing pro­duc­ers of news­reels and doc­u­men­taries dur­ing the 20th Cen­tu­ry. This week, the com­pa­ny, now an archive, is turn­ing over its entire col­lec­tion — over 85,000 his­tor­i­cal films – to YouTube.

The archive — which spans from 1896 to 1976 – is a gold­mine of footage, con­tain­ing movies of some of the most impor­tant moments of the last 100 years. It’s a trea­sure trove for film buffs, cul­ture nerds and his­to­ry mavens every­where. In Pathé’s playlist “A Day That Shook the World,” which traces an Anglo-cen­tric his­to­ry of the 20th Cen­tu­ry, you will find clips of the Wright Broth­ers’ first flight, the bomb­ing of Hiroshi­ma and Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon, along­side footage of Queen Victoria’s funer­al and Roger Bannister’s 4‑minute mile. There’s, of course, footage of the dra­mat­ic Hin­den­burg crash and Lind­bergh’s dar­ing cross-Atlantic flight. And then you can see King Edward VIII abdi­cat­ing the throne in 1936, and the even­tu­al Pearl Har­bor attack in Decem­ber 1941 (above).

But the real­ly intrigu­ing part of the archive is see­ing all the ephemera from the 20th Cen­tu­ry, the stuff that real­ly makes the past feel like a for­eign coun­try – the weird hair­styles, the way a city street looked, the breath­tak­ing­ly casu­al sex­ism and racism. There’s a rush in see­ing his­to­ry come alive. Case in point, this doc­u­men­tary from 1967 about the won­ders to be found in a sur­pris­ing­ly mono­chrome Vir­ginia.

Here’s a film about a tech­no­log­i­cal inno­va­tion that curi­ous­ly didn’t take off — an amphibi­ous scoot­er. The look of regal dig­ni­ty on the driver’s face as his vehi­cle moves down the Thames is price­less.

In an ear­ly exam­ple of a polit­i­cal bloop­er, there’s this footage from 1942 of Bess Tru­man try­ing valiant­ly to smash an unyield­ing bot­tle of cham­pagne against the fuse­lage of a brand new bomber.

And then there’s this news­reel from 1938 on the wed­ding between Bil­ly Cur­tis, a 3’7” night­club bounc­er and his 6’4” bur­lesque star bride. The jaun­ty, spec­tac­u­lar­ly un-PC voiceover should prob­a­bly be filed under “things were dif­fer­ent then.”

If you have sev­er­al weeks to kill, you can watch all of the videos here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Film: Claude Mon­et at Work in His Famous Gar­den at Giverny, 1915

The Weird World of Vin­tage Sports

The World’s First Mobile Phone Shown on 1922 Vin­tage Film

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

Rare Audio: Albert Einstein Explains “Why I Am an American” on Day He Passes Citizenship Test (1940)

Most Amer­i­cans by birth, myself includ­ed, have lit­tle rea­son to think about the process of attain­ing our high­ly sought-after nation­al­i­ty. But it only takes a momen­t’s reflec­tion on the mil­lions upon mil­lions of immi­grants who came to the Unit­ed States in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry alone to get us pon­der­ing not just the how but the why of Amer­i­can cit­i­zen­ship. It’s become more rel­e­vant than ever today, when we need not look far to notice how many trans-nation­al projects, careers, cou­ples, and fam­i­lies have sprung up around us. Not only do a wider vari­ety of peo­ple come to Amer­i­ca today, but more Amer­i­cans base them­selves else­where than ever before. For some seri­ous thoughts on chang­ing nations, have a lis­ten to the radio clip above, a brief inter­view with Ger­man-born the­o­ret­i­cal physi­cist (and inter­na­tion­al­ly known icon of sci­ence and intel­li­gence) Albert Ein­stein. Last year, we fea­tured footage of Ein­stein’s 1933 speech in praise of indi­vid­ual lib­er­ty at Lon­don’s Roy­al Albert Hall. He gave it not long after the Nazis took pow­er in his home­land;  just four days lat­er, he set sail for Amer­i­ca and nev­er looked back.

This broad­cast went out in 1940, not long before the Unit­ed States joined the Sec­ond World War, as part of I’m An Amer­i­can, a joint effort of the NBC net­work and the Immi­gra­tion and Nation­al­iza­tion Ser­vice to invite “a num­ber of nat­u­ral­ized cit­i­zens to talk about the Amer­i­can cit­i­zen­ship which they have recent­ly acquired, a pos­ses­sion which we our­selves take for grant­ed, but which is still new and thrilling to them.” Ein­stein, an artic­u­late if still thick­ly accent­ed speak­er of Eng­lish, calls this rare media appear­ance a “self-evi­dent duty,” and prais­es the egal­i­tar­i­an­ism and coop­er­a­tive spir­it that inclines Amer­i­ca toward “the devel­op­ment of the indi­vid­ual and his cre­ative pow­er.” The famed sci­en­tist’s inter­locu­tor, Sec­ond Assis­tant Sec­re­tary of the Depart­ment of Labor Mar­shall E. Dimock, asks him about the rea­sons he appre­ci­ates his new cit­i­zen­ship, why he prefers to live in Amer­i­ca giv­en his “inter­na­tion­al out­look,” and whether he feels Amer­i­ca still lives up to its grand promise of lib­er­ty. Whether you believe Amer­i­ca has improved or gone down­hill since that era, I think you’ll find in Ein­stein’s proud respons­es a reminder that it often takes a for­mer out­sider to clear­ly see the qual­i­ties that have giv­en the coun­try its place in his­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Albert Ein­stein on Indi­vid­ual Lib­er­ty, With­out Which There Would Be ‘No Shake­speare, No Goethe, No New­ton’

Albert Ein­stein Called Racism “A Dis­ease of White Peo­ple” in His Lit­tle-Known Fight for Civ­il Rights

Lis­ten as Albert Ein­stein Reads ‘The Com­mon Lan­guage of Sci­ence’ (1941)

Ein­stein for the Mass­es: Yale Presents a Primer on the Great Physicist’s Think­ing

Albert Ein­stein Hold­ing an Albert Ein­stein Pup­pet (Cir­ca 1931)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How the CIA Turned Doctor Zhivago into a Propaganda Weapon Against the Soviet Union

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Human­i­ty has long pon­dered the rel­a­tive might of the pen and the sword. While one time-worn apho­rism does grant the advan­tage to the pen, most of us have enter­tained doubts: the sword, metaphor­i­cal­ly or lit­er­al­ly, seems to have won out across an awful­ly wide swath of his­to­ry. Still, the pen has scored some impres­sive vic­to­ries, some even in liv­ing mem­o­ry. Take, for exam­ple, the CIA’s recent­ly revealed use of Boris Paster­nak’s nov­el Doc­tor Zhiva­go as a pro­pa­gan­da weapon. Repressed in Paster­nak’s native Rus­sia, the book first appeared in Italy in 1957. The fol­low­ing year, the British sug­gest­ed to Amer­i­ca’s Cen­tral Intel­li­gence Agency that the book stood a decent chance of win­ning hearts and minds behind the Iron Cur­tain — if, of course, they could get a few copies in there. A CIA memo sent across its own Sovi­et Rus­sia Divi­sion sub­se­quent­ly pro­nounced Doc­tor Zhiva­go as pos­sessed of “great pro­pa­gan­da val­ue, not only for its intrin­sic mes­sage and thought-pro­vok­ing nature, but also for the cir­cum­stances of its pub­li­ca­tion. We have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to make Sovi­et cit­i­zens won­der what is wrong with their gov­ern­ment, when a fine lit­er­ary work by the man acknowl­edged to be the great­est liv­ing Russ­ian writer is not even avail­able in his own coun­try in his own lan­guage for his own peo­ple to read.”

That eval­u­a­tion comes from one of the over 130 declas­si­fied doc­u­ments used by Peter Finn and Petra Cou­vée in their brand new his­to­ry of this act of real-life lit­er­ary espi­onage, The Zhiva­go Affair: The Krem­lin, the CIA and the Bat­tle Over a For­bid­den Book. You can read an in-depth arti­cle on some of the events involved in this oper­a­tion — the CIA’s print­ing of both hard­cov­er and minia­ture paper­back Russ­ian-lan­guage edi­tions, the not-so-clan­des­tine dis­tri­b­u­tion of copies at 1958’s Brus­sels Uni­ver­sal and Inter­na­tion­al Expo­si­tion, the CIA’s unex­pect­ed alliance with the Vat­i­can in this mis­sion, the inept prob­ing by Sovi­et “researchers” — at the Wash­ing­ton Post.

You can also watch a CBS This Morn­ing clip on the book just above. Dra­mat­ic though this “Zhiva­go Affair” sounds, it came as nei­ther the first nor last Amer­i­can use of cul­ture as a means of desta­bi­liz­ing the Sovi­et Union. We’ve even pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured two oth­ers: secret­ly-fund­ed abstract expres­sion­ist paint­ing, and Louis Arm­strong’s 1965 East Berlin and Budapest con­certs. Cold War Amer­i­ca may have had the sword, in the form of its vast nuclear arse­nal, pol­ished and ready, but clear­ly it retained a cer­tain regard for the pen — and brush, and trum­pet — as well.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Louis Arm­strong Plays His­toric Cold War Con­certs in East Berlin & Budapest (1965)

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Old Books Bound in Human Skin Found in Harvard Libraries (and Elsewhere in Boston)

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For at least a decade now, the “death of print” has seemed all but inevitable. Amidst all the nos­tal­gia for print­ed lit­er­a­ture, it’s easy to for­get that mass-pro­duced books and media, and a lit­er­ate pop­u­la­tion, are fair­ly recent phe­nom­e­na in human his­to­ry. Books—whether print­ed or hand-copied—had a totemic sta­tus for thou­sands of years, giv­en that they were kept under the pro­tec­tion of an edu­cat­ed elite, who were among the few able to read and inter­pret them. Even after the age of print­ing, books were rare and hard to come by, large­ly too expen­sive for most peo­ple to afford until the advent of paper­backs.

A gris­ly reminder of the book’s sta­tus as an almost mag­i­cal object sur­faced in Harvard’s rare book col­lec­tion a few years ago. In 2006, librar­i­ans dis­cov­ered at least three vol­umes bound in human skin—and as trav­el site Road­trip­pers reports, “in one case, skin har­vest­ed from a man who was flayed alive.” Grue­some as all this seems, the prac­tice of skin-bind­ing was appar­ent­ly not the sole province of ser­i­al killers:

As it turns out, the prac­tice of using human skin to bind books was actu­al­ly pret­ty pop­u­lar dur­ing the 17th cen­tu­ry. It’s referred to as Anthro­po­der­mic bib­liop­e­gy and proved pret­ty com­mon when it came to anatom­i­cal text­books. Med­ical pro­fes­sion­als would often use the flesh of cadav­ers they’d dis­sect­ed dur­ing their research.

The book sup­pos­ed­ly made of flayed skin is a Span­ish law text from the sev­en­teenth cen­tu­ry titled Prac­ti­carum quaes­tion­um cir­ca leg­es regias (above). Despite an inscrip­tion nam­ing the deceased and claim­ing his skin as the bind­ing, this vol­ume has actu­al­ly just been iden­ti­fied as sheepskin—according to a Har­vard Law Library blog post from yesterday—“thanks to a tech­nique for iden­ti­fy­ing pro­teins that was devel­oped in the last twen­ty years.” Spec­u­lates the Law Library post:

Per­haps before it arrived at HLS [Har­vard Law School] in 1946, the book was bound in a dif­fer­ent bind­ing at some point in its his­to­ry. Or per­haps the inscrip­tion was sim­ply the prod­uct of someone’s macabre imag­i­na­tion.

Nev­er­the­less, oth­er human skin-bound books exist—as far as librar­i­ans and sci­en­tists can deter­mine. For­mer direc­tor of libraries for the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ken­tucky Lawrence S. Thomp­son claims that the prac­tice dates as far back as a 13th cen­tu­ry French Bible and became more com­mon in the 16th and 17th cen­turies. A 1933 Crim­son arti­cle men­tioned anoth­er skin-bound book in a col­lec­tion of minia­ture books, includ­ing this graph­ic detail: “removal of 20 square inch­es of skin from his back failed to impair the health of its donor, who is still alive and in the best of con­di­tion.”

Anoth­er skin-bound vol­ume, which Thomp­son calls “the most famous of all anthro­po­der­mic bind­ings,” resides across the riv­er from Har­vard at inde­pen­dent library the Boston Athenaeum. Called The High­way­man: Nar­ra­tive of the Life of James Allen alias George Wal­ton (above), the book is a mem­oir of the tit­u­lar out­law. The author, reports the Crim­son, “was impressed by the courage of a man whom he once attacked, and when Wal­ton was fac­ing exe­cu­tion, he asked to have his mem­oir bound in his own skin and pre­sent­ed to the brave man.” Thumb through (so to speak) a dig­i­tal copy of Walton’s 1837 mem­oir above, and imag­ine being the recip­i­ent of such a gift.

via Road­trip­pers

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Medieval Cats Behav­ing Bad­ly: Kit­ties That Left Paw Prints … and Peed … on 15th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­scripts

How a Book Thief Forged a Rare Edi­tion of Galileo’s Sci­en­tif­ic Work, and Almost Pulled it Off

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Batgirl Fights for Equal Pay in a 1960s Television Ad Supporting The Equal Pay Act

Fea­tured on the Emi­ly’s List Face­book Page today is this “PSA from the 1960s,” where “Bat­girl advo­cates for equal pay while sav­ing Bat­man and Robin.” Emi­ly’s List, a PAC aim­ing to put more pro-choice Demo­c­rat female can­di­dates into polit­i­cal office, goes on to note, “Over 50 years ago, Con­gress passed the Equal Pay Act, a law designed to end wage dis­crim­i­na­tion against women. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the fight’s still got many rounds left.”

Indeed, a 2008 Cen­sus Bureau report shows that wom­en’s medi­an annu­al earn­ings were 77.5% of men’s earn­ings, and efforts to address that imbal­ance with The Pay­check Fair­ness Act have been fil­i­bus­tered suc­cess­ful­ly by Repub­li­cans in the Sen­ate. Although Pres­i­dent Oba­ma sup­ports the mea­sure, data shows women aren’t far­ing well finan­cial­ly in the Oba­ma White House either. Where’s Bat­girl when we need her?

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

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Eleanor Roosevelt’s Durable Wisdom on Curiosity, Empathy, Education & Responding to Criticism

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First Lady Eleanor Roo­sevelt was a pro­lif­ic colum­nist and writer, with an impres­sive list of clips pro­duced both dur­ing FDR’s tenure in the White House and after­wards. George Wash­ing­ton University’s Eleanor Roo­sevelt Papers Project tal­lies up her out­put: 8,000 columns, 580 arti­cles, 27 books, and 100,000 let­ters (not to men­tion speech­es and appear­ances). Many of those columns and arti­cles can be found on their web­site.

Their archive offers every one of Roosevelt’s “My Day” columns, which ran through Unit­ed Fea­tures Syn­di­cate from 1936–1962. These short pieces act­ed like a dai­ly diary, chron­i­cling Roosevelt’s trav­els, the books she read, the peo­ple she vis­it­ed, her evolv­ing polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy, and, occa­sion­al­ly, her reflec­tions on such top­ics as edu­ca­tion, empa­thy, apa­thy, friend­ship, stress, and the scourge of exces­sive mail (“I love my per­son­al let­ters and I am real­ly deeply inter­est­ed in much of my mail, but when I see it in a mass I would some­times like to run away! I just closed my eyes in this case and went to bed!”)

The “My Day” archive is a lit­tle dif­fi­cult to navigate—you have to browse by year, or search by keyword—but the archive’s short list of select­ed longer arti­cles is a bit sim­pler to sur­vey. Some of my favorites:

“In Defense of Curios­i­ty” (Sat­ur­day Evening Post, 1935): Roo­sevelt often drew fire for her insa­tiable inter­est in all areas of nation­al life—a char­ac­ter­is­tic that peo­ple thought of as unla­dy­like. This arti­cle argues that women, too, should be curi­ous, and that curios­i­ty is the basis for hap­pi­ness, imag­i­na­tion, and empa­thy.

“How to Take Crit­i­cism” (Ladies Home Jour­nal, 1944): Roo­sevelt had a lot of haters. This longer piece mulls over the dif­fer­ent types of crit­i­cism that she received dur­ing her pub­lic career, and asks how one should dis­tin­guish between wor­thy and unwor­thy cri­tiques.

“Build­ing Char­ac­ter” (The Parent’s Mag­a­zine, 1931): An edi­to­r­i­al on the impor­tance of pro­vid­ing chil­dren with chal­lenges, clear­ly meant to reas­sure par­ents wor­ried about the effects of the Depres­sion on their kids.

“Good Cit­i­zen­ship: The Pur­pose of Edu­ca­tion” (Pic­to­r­i­al Review, 1930): Much of this piece is about the impor­tance of fair com­pen­sa­tion for good teach­ers. “There are many inad­e­quate teach­ers today,” Roo­sevelt wrote. “Per­haps our stan­dards should be high­er, but they can­not be until we learn to val­ue and under­stand the func­tion of the teacher in our midst. While we have put much mon­ey in build­ings and lab­o­ra­to­ries and gym­na­si­ums, we have for­got­ten that they are but the shell, and will nev­er live and cre­ate a vital spark in the minds and hearts of our youth unless some teacher fur­nish­es the inspi­ra­tion. A child responds nat­u­ral­ly to high ideals, and we are all of us crea­tures of habit.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“F. Scott Fitzger­ald Tells His 11-Year-Old Daugh­ter What to Wor­ry About (and Not Wor­ry About) in Life, 1933”

“’Noth­ing Good Gets Away’: John Stein­beck Offers Love Advice in a Let­ter to His Son (1958)”

“George Washington’s 110 Rules for Civil­i­ty and Decent Behav­ior”

Rebec­ca Onion is a writer and aca­d­e­m­ic liv­ing in Philadel­phia. She runs Slate.com’s his­to­ry blog, The Vault. Fol­low her on Twit­ter: @rebeccaonion. 

New York Public Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Download and Use

1863CentralPark

When I was a kid, my father brought home from I know not where an enor­mous col­lec­tion of Nation­al Geo­graph­ic mag­a­zines span­ning the years 1917 to 1985. I found, tucked in almost every issue, one of the magazine’s gor­geous maps—of the Moon, St. Peters­burg, the Himalayas, East­ern Europe’s ever-shift­ing bound­aries. I became a car­tog­ra­phy enthu­si­ast and geo­graph­i­cal sponge, por­ing over them for years just for the sheer enjoy­ment of it, a plea­sure that remains with me today. Whether you’re like me and sim­ply love the imag­i­na­tive exer­cise of trac­ing a map’s lines and con­tours and absorb­ing infor­ma­tion, or you love to do that and you get paid for it, you’ll find innu­mer­able ways to spend your time on the new Open Access Maps project at the New York Pub­lic Library. The NYPL announces the release with the expla­na­tion below:

The Lionel Pin­cus & Princess Firyal Map Divi­sion is very proud to announce the release of more than 20,000 car­to­graph­ic works as high res­o­lu­tion down­loads. We believe these maps have no known US copy­right restric­tions.* To the extent that some juris­dic­tions grant NYPL an addi­tion­al copy­right in the dig­i­tal repro­duc­tions of these maps, NYPL is dis­trib­ut­ing these images under a Cre­ative Com­mons CC0 1.0 Uni­ver­sal Pub­lic Domain Ded­i­ca­tion. The maps can be viewed through the New York Pub­lic Library’s Dig­i­tal Col­lec­tions page, and down­loaded (!), through the Map Warp­er.

What does this mean? Sim­ply put, “it means you can have the maps, all of them if you want, for free, in high res­o­lu­tion.” Maps like that above, of New York’s Cen­tral Park, issued in 1863, ten years before Fred­er­ick Law Olm­st­ed and Calvert Vaux com­plet­ed their his­toric re-design.

Can you—as I did with my neat­ly fold­ed, yel­low­ing archive—have all the maps in full-col­or print? Well, no, unless you’re pre­pared to bear the cost in ink and paper and have some spe­cial­ized print­ing equip­ment that can ren­der each map in its orig­i­nal dimen­sions. But you can access some­thing worlds away from what I could have imagined—a dig­i­tal enhance­ment tech­nol­o­gy called “warp­ing,” also known as “geo­rec­ti­fi­ca­tion.”

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This, explains the NYPL, “is the process where dig­i­tal images of maps are stretched, plac­ing the maps them­selves into their geo­graph­ic con­text, ren­dered either on the web­site or with tools such as Google Earth.” For exam­ple, below see a “warp­ing” of the 1916 Redraft of the 1660 “Castel­lo Plan” for then-New Ams­ter­dam over a cur­rent-day Google Earth image of low­er Man­hat­tan (and note how much the island has been expand­ed past its 17th cen­tu­ry shores). The “warp­ing” tech­nol­o­gy is open access, mean­ing that “any­body with a com­put­er can cre­ate an account, log in, and begin warp­ing and trac­ing maps.” User con­tri­bu­tions remain, “a la Wikipedia,” and add “one more piece to this new his­tor­i­cal geo­graph­ic data mod­el.”

Castello_Plan_Warp

The “warp­er” is a spe­cial fea­ture that helps place his­tor­i­cal maps in a mod­ern visu­al field, but it in no way ruins the enjoy­ment of those maps as archival pieces or art objects. You can see car­tog­ra­ph­er John Wol­cott Adams orig­i­nal 1916 Castel­lo Plan redraft below, and vis­it NYPL’s Dig­i­tal Col­lec­tions for a high res­o­lu­tion image, ful­ly zoomable and, yes, print­able. For more on the incred­i­ble warp­ing tech­nol­o­gy NYPL makes avail­able to us, see this extend­ed blog post, “Unbind­ing the Atlas: Work­ing with Dig­i­tal Maps.” Over ten thou­sand of the collection’s maps are of New York and New Jer­sey, dat­ing from 1852 to 1922, includ­ing prop­er­ty, zon­ing, and topo­graph­ic maps. In addi­tion, over one thou­sand of the maps depict Mid-Atlantic cities from the 16th to the 19th cen­turies, and over 700 are topo­graph­ic maps of the Aus­tro-Hun­gar­i­an Empire between 1877 and 1914. That should be enough to keep any ama­teur or pro­fes­sion­al map-lover busy for a good long while. Start dig­ging into the maps here.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

The British Library Puts 1,000,000 Images into the Pub­lic Domain, Mak­ing Them Free to Reuse & Remix

Down­load 15,000+ Free Gold­en Age Comics from the Dig­i­tal Com­ic Muse­um

Down­load Over 250 Free Art Books From the Get­ty Muse­um

14,000 Free Images from the French Rev­o­lu­tion Now Avail­able Online

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Thomas Edison & His Trusty Kinetoscope Create the First Movie Filmed In The US (c. 1889)

Thomas Edi­son is undoubt­ed­ly America’s best-known inven­tor. Nick­named “The Wiz­ard of Men­lo Park” for his pro­lif­ic cre­ativ­i­ty, Edi­son amassed a whop­ping 1093 patents through­out his life­time. His most impor­tant inven­tions, such as the incan­des­cent light bulb and the phono­graph, were not mere­ly rev­o­lu­tion­ary in and of them­selves: they led direct­ly to the estab­lish­ment of vast indus­tries, such as pow­er util­i­ties and the music busi­ness. It is one of his less­er known inven­tions, how­ev­er, that led to the pro­duc­tion of the first film shot in the Unit­ed States, which you can view above.

The film, called Mon­keyshines, No. 1, was record­ed at some point between June 1889 and Novem­ber 1890. Its cre­ation is the work of William Dick­son, an employ­ee of Edison’s, who had been in charge of devel­op­ing the inventor’s idea for a new film-view­ing device. The machine that Edi­son had con­ceived and Dick­son engi­neered was the Kine­to­scope: a large box that housed a sys­tem that quick­ly moved a strip of film over a light source. Users watched the film whiz by from a hole in the top of the box, and by using sequen­tial images, like those in a flip-book, the Kine­to­scope gave the impres­sion of move­ment.

kinematografidisona

In the film, which Dick­son and anoth­er Edi­son employ­ee named William Heise cre­at­ed, a blur­ry out­line of an Edi­son labs employ­ee moves about, seem­ing­ly danc­ing. The above clip con­tains both Mon­keyshines, No. 1, and its sequel, appar­ent­ly filmed to con­duct fur­ther equip­ment tests, known as Mon­keyshines, No. 2. HD video, this is not. Despite hav­ing the hon­or of being the first films to be shot in the US, the Mon­keyshines series has gar­nered an unen­thu­si­as­tic reac­tion from present-day crit­ics: the orig­i­nal received a rat­ing of 5.5/10 stars at IMDB. The sequel? A 5.4.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Thomas Edi­son and Niko­la Tes­la Face Off in “Epic Rap Bat­tles of His­to­ry”

Magi­cian Mar­co Tem­pest Daz­zles a TED Audi­ence with “The Elec­tric Rise and Fall of Niko­la Tes­la”

A Brief, Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Thomas Edi­son (and Niko­la Tes­la)

Thomas Edi­son Recites “Mary Had a Lit­tle Lamb” in Ear­ly Voice Record­ing

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