Networks of Entertainment

Early Film Distribution, 1895–1915

Frank Kessler, Nanna Verhoeff, Frank Kessler, Nanna Verhoeff

• Publisher: John Libbey Publishing
• Year: 2008
• Print ISBN: 9780861966813
• eBook ISBN: 9780861969371
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Supply Chain Management

Essays by prominent scholars examining film distribution in the early years of cinema. This collection of essays explores the complex issue of film distribution from the invention of cinema into the 1910s. From regional distribution networks to international marketing strategies, from the analysis of distribution catalogs to case studies on individual distributors, these essays written by well-known specialists in the field discuss the intriguing question of how films came to meet their audiences. Contributors include Richard Abel, Marta Braun, Joseph Garncarz, André Gaudreault, François Jost, Charlie Keil, Martin Loiperdinger, Viva Paci, Wanda Strauven, Gregory Waller, and many more.

PART I

NETWORKS:
Distribution across borders

1

Rethinking Boundaries. The First moving images between Spain and Portugal

Begoña Soto

Universidad Rey Juan Carlos, Madrid, Spain

Issues pertaining to the map

An initial clarification: although the subject of the first distribution of films in the Iberian Peninsula, along with its mechanisms and networks, is the point of origin for this text, it is not necessarily the only focus of the argument developed here.

Above all, because when I propose to study Spain’s first distribution networks, I encounter certain historiographical concepts and stereotypes which deserve at a minimum to be rethought and questioned from a perspective which, if not innovative, is at least different. As such, and according to this approach, there would be two essential focuses of research and discussion for this text: the first distribution networks, and the way they are described by cinema history and historians.

Benedict Anderson¹ establishes, or rather proposes, three institutions of power which mould the manner in which States (in the case discussed by Anderson the postcolonial states) imagine their territories. These institutions are the census, the map and the museum. The immediate and evident question is the relationship between these institutions of the postcolonial states and the topic proposed here.

Let me take these concepts and apply them to the way in which a national cinema is institutionalised by its history. First, the historiography of such a national cinema defines a census, or in other words an anthology or corpus of truly worthwhile films and/or directors, which constitute, according to specific quality criteria or due to particular idiosyncrasies, the ‘honours list’ that makes up a national filmography.

The complement to such a census is provided by a second element: the museum. We might denominate this element in a variety of ways, but, simply put, I am referring to the various institutions dedicated to the national patrimony, in this case generically speaking the audiovisual and concretely speaking the cinematographic one. Such institutions, once formalised, dedicate themselves to the conservation and inventory of certain objects which, through predetermined criteria, have priority over others. These institutions have the role of spreading a particular view of a given history instead of other possible views.

But it is the third institution, the map, which is of primary concern to me here. The idea of establishing a culturally and geographically defined territory in which to inscribe a given national cinema is one which, despite the fact that it may pass unnoticed and appear obvious, is not any less problematic.

When film historians speak of Spanish cinema, we all seem to have a clear idea regarding what exactly we are referring to. This is despite the fact that the very concept of ‘Spanish’-ness is one that today is regularly questioned in the geographical and, especially, the cultural sphere.²

Even though this seems to be evident and is repeatedly disputed politically, socially or culturally in daily Spanish life today, when we remove ourselves in time and write cinema history, however, it is as if the geographical sphere, or the map, is not a concept to be questioned. It is almost taken for granted that the geographical and cultural context of what is taken to be Spanish cinema, from the historiographical point of view, is quite clear.³ However, even in the purely geographical context (without entering into cultural issues) this assumption deserves, at the least, some important qualifications. Some of these qualifications will form the basic theme examined in this article.

Let me take a first example within film history. There is a fact which, although somewhat marginal, does not for that reason deserve to be completely ignored, but which nonetheless generally passes unnoticed.

When the ‘invention’ of moving images arrived on the Iberian Peninsula,⁴ the geographical boundaries of Spain and Portugal (in this case we will focus on those of Spain) were somewhat different from present-day boundaries. What were then generically called Spanish overseas territories (Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Philippines) undisputedly belonged to the map of the Spanish State. But above all, in terms of what interests me here, they were fully integrated into the general circuit of Spanish leisure and culture.⁵

However, I will focus here on a case which is much closer: the relationships between the various locations and/or regions within the same European continent, but belonging to two separate nationalities, those of Portugal and Spain. These relationships were fundamentally characterised by means of communications and transport which were, to say the least, rather precarious. This factor, among others, suggests the inadvisability of assuming as historically evident and unquestionable a view of the nation, in this case the Spanish one, which is as uniform and homogenous as is customarily accepted. It would be useful, as a minimally preventive measure, to maintain a certain distance between what are today considered to be peninsular relationships and what these were at the end of the 19th century.⁶

The map established by the customary circuits of spectacles at the end of the 19th century, whose logical heirs would be the networks later instituted by the first film showings and distribution in Spain and Portugal, has much to do with an issue that is rarely taken into account in cinema histories. This issue, which is a fundamental one from the perspective that I adopt here, is that of the conditions and conveniences associated with the infrastructure of peninsular transportation.

So far, so near: cross-border logics

The first presentations of moving images before an audience on Spanish territory took place in Madrid, and on Portuguese territory in Lisbon. The two sessions occurred within a month of each other and were conducted, according to references in newspapers, with the same machine – an Animatographe that had come straight from London – and by the same businessman, Edwin Rousby.⁷ Given this beginning, it is logical to suppose that the cinematographic connections between the two countries, in these initial years, were not only numerous but also very fluid.

Nonetheless, the relationships between the cinema histories of the two countries have yet to be researched. Although in the Portuguese bibliography it is somewhat more usual to cite facts from general and local Spanish history, in Spain facts from the other side of the border are rarely cited.⁸ This contrast between the two sides of the border, systematically ignored to date, is essential for the reconstruction of these early years of film.

It is a fact that Lisbon established relationships with Spanish cities and regions which, for reasons of cultural proximity, but above all due to the conveniences derived from geographical accidents and the transportation infrastructure, were better connected with the Portuguese capital than with the two most important Spanish cities, Madrid and Barcelona. This was the case, as demonstrated by cinematographical data, of Seville, in Andalusia in southern Spain, and of La Coruña, in Galicia in the Northwest.⁹

The means of transport were a factor of vital importance in a context where the length of the trip and the ease and convenience of travel were two variables that had to be considered in order not to make things more difficult than they already were. This was in particular crucial for itinerant showmen, who had to travel with the ‘tools of the trade’ which were not only heavy but in most cases considerably fragile.¹⁰

If this was the case for show business in general, including for theatre, circuses and operas, with the arrival of the early film equipment the situation was considerably aggravated. The tools that were essential for screening the first movies – the projector and/or camera as well as the film itself – were not only heavy and fragile, but, as if this were not enough, the latter were also inflammable.

This panorama is further complicated if we take into account the fact that early film equipment invariably derived from outside of the Portuguese and Spanish borders, and from places that were not exactly close by or easily accessible. The Peninsula’s cinematographic pioneers had neither the tools nor the knowledge required to resolve unforeseen mishaps, let alone repair malfunctioning equipment.¹¹ And while on tour through Spain and Portugal, they were particularly far from anyone who could assist them directly or at least advise them as to how to solve the problem themselves. Getting to France, the United Kingdom or the United States¹² took in the best case scenario several days, and in the majority of cases several weeks with the transportation available at the turn of the century.

In this situation of obligatory itinerancy and of inevitably complicated transport, it is logical that the early showmen would attempt to minimise their risks and to maximise, to the extent then possible, the ease of their trips. There were two possible options for such trips:

• On the one hand, the railways, which were precarious in both Spain and Portugal at the end of the 19th century. The only direct railway connection with the ‘outside’ was the one that linked France, via Barcelona, to Madrid (in the centre of the Peninsula), and then extended towards the south up to Lisbon. This trip, which only a few could carry out in relatively comfortable conditions, had a duration that was usually unforeseeable, but of a minimum of a few weeks.

• At the other extreme was travel by sea. Fluid maritime connections were vital to peninsular countries with strategic routes on both the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. The major points of contact with the outside, on the one hand with America and on the other with the rest of Europe, were provided by an important series of ports that extended through the length and breadth of the peninsular coast.

Let us draw a map of peninsular connections, necessarily approximative, without considering the political and administrative boundaries of the two countries. What would first draw our attention, would be the situation of Lisbon which, as an active seaport, was an ideal point of connection between Portuguese and Spanish cities on the Atlantic coast. These were cities which, furthermore, had many and important difficulties in connecting among themselves and with other points nationwide via land transportation. In this sense, Portugal was a point of reference, better connected with a large part of Spanish territory in independence of political or administrative divisions. In contrast, the Spanish capital of Madrid was the distributing centre and the nexus of connection with the entire Castellan region in the interior. It also had a relatively easy and fluid relationship with Barcelona, the second most important Spanish city in economic and administrative terms. At the same time, this Catalan capital was the most logical link with the Mediterranean coast both in eastern Spain and in south-eastern France, and was therefore an obligatory step for any connections to continental Europe through France.

If we examine a bit more deeply the routes followed by the first films in the two countries, we are led to the conclusion that, most of the time, these routes had little to do with national dynamics.

In the Hispanic/Portuguese case, the logic followed by the expansion and early distribution of film had more to do with commercial routes established prior to the invention of film. And from this perspective it is a fact, and one true not only for the case of film, that some parts of Spain had better and stronger relationships with Lisbon or Oporto than with Madrid or Barcelona.¹³ In some cases these relationships focused solely on the commercial, while in others they also had to do with broad cultural affinities.

All of this followed the overriding logic of reducing the length of the trip, minimizing unnecessary effort or risk, and as far as possible increasing the minimal conveniences of trips which by nature were rather uncomfortable. These factors would lead showmen to use the most comfortable and rapid means of transportation in each case, tried and proven by traders and by their ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction: Distribution – preliminary notes
• Part I Networks: Distribution across borders
• Part II Networks: Regional distribution and the problem of the national
• Part III Networks: Local actors
• Part IV Practices: Distribution strategies
• Part V Practices: Distribution paratexts
• Part VI Practices: Non-theatrical distribution
• Part VII Practices: Distribution into the future
• Conclusion: Distribuer les films ou distribuer les rôles?
• Afterthoughts: Beyond distribution: some thoughts on the future of archival films
• The Authors