FLIP all the pages of this book at the top and you will see an acrobat move. Why? Because on each right hand page, in the upper right hand corner, there is a picture of an acrobat that is just a little different from the one on the page before and after. When your eye looks at something, it retains the image of what it sees for a second or so after the object has moved or changed. When a group of pictures are moved in the proper sequence and speed, their persistence of vision makes one picture flow into the next. Which is the basis of all motion pictures.
But flipping the pages of a book does not make the kind of motion pictures you think of as the movies. These are created by a long series of pictures that are different from each other in the same way the acrobat pictures differ from each other, but there are many more of them - long reels of them - that are projected by a machine onto a screen.
Movies are made from projected photographs. But before the first movies came into being, there were shows that used movement of pictures and objects in various ways like the acrobat or like shadows created on the wall by moving puppets before a light. And there was a long and gradual development of the art of photography. How pictures that moved and photographs that didn't both developed and then how the two were combined to make movies is told here in an interesting and involving account.
Judith Thurman began contributing to The New Yorker in 1987, and became a staff writer in 2000. She writes about fashion, books, and culture. Her subjects have included André Malraux, Elsa Schiaparelli, and Cristóbal Balenciaga.
Thurman is the author of “Isak Dinesen: The Life of a Storyteller,” which won the 1983 National Book Award for Non-Fiction, and “Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette,” (1999), winner of the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Biography, and the Salon Book Award for biography. The Dinesen biography served as the basis for Sydney Pollack’s movie “Out of Africa.” A collection of her New Yorker essays, “Cleopatra’s Nose,” was published in 2007.
Straight up, I wanted The Magic Lantern to be a breakup book and it turned out to be a book about getting back to yourself. Judith Thurman writes the aftermath with a dry sense of humor, like the chapter on dividing up a shared kitchen where she fights over a single, ugly mug. It's honest about how petty grief can get. A few sections wander. Good for anyone nursing a broken heart. Skip it if you want revenge fantasy and big drama.
I finished The Magic Lantern: How Movies Got to Move and honestly felt like I'd been dumped by a friend I liked. Judith Thurman makes you care about these people and then doesn't hand you any comfort. It's cruel and it's beautiful. Good for readers who want something that stings, skip if you need a soft landing.