They call themselves “orphanistas”: archivists, historians, students, filmmakers and film buffs who assemble every two years to view what they call orphan films. Shorts, cartoons, newsreels, travelogues, sponsored films, stock footage, advertising, propaganda, home movies, all parts of our cultural heritage that are potentially at risk because they have no owner – abandoned to disintegrate over time.
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This year’s symposium, held in New York City, featured films from 17 countries and included: a 1903 Objiwe performance of Hiawatha, home movies of Mahatma Gandhi, the only known visual record of refugee camps established after the Japanese invasion of Shanghai in 1937, the Velvet Underground rehearsing in 1965 and clandestine footage of the Soviet invasion of Prague in 1968. These are the outcasts of the film medium, “sleeping beauties” as Paula Félix-Didier calls them. As director of Museo del Cine in Buenos Aires, she helped to save a print of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis with some 20 minutes of extra footage that hadn’t been seen in decades. (This restored Metropolis is currently touring the United States.)
Perhaps the most exciting discovery at this year’s meeting was With the Abraham Lincoln Brigade in Spain, a fund-raising film made by photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson (assisted by Herbert Kline). During the Spanish Civil War, 35,000 volunteers from some 50 nations joined the Republic in its fight against General Franco. These volunteers included the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, a small unit of 3,000 Americans. Cartier-Bresson had been working on a documentary about treating wounded Republic soldiers when he was asked to go to the front to make a film that would be shown to the Friends of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade back in the United States.
As a fundraiser, the film was designed to highlight the impact of previous donations: food, showers, medical supplies. But its real purpose was to get money to the Americans trapped behind the Spanish border. It cost $125 to bring back one American from Europe, so Cartier-Bresson made sure to film as many individuals as possible so viewers back home would donate to the cause.
With the Abraham Lincoln Brigade is not high art, but it is a passionate film that complements Cartier-Bresson’s other work. It shows his commitment both to leftist causes and to photojournalism, the source of much of his later fame. For years it had been hiding in plain sight in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade Archives, viewable on a poor-quality 16mm print that had been transferred to videotape around 1995. Art historian Juan Salas saw an unlabeled copy while researching American photographers in the Spanish Civil War. Using newspapers, photographs, autobiographies and diaries, he was not only able to pinpoint the shooting location and dates—October 28, 1937, near Quinto, a town outside Zaragoza in northeast Spain—but place Cartier-Bresson there conclusively.
During his research, Salas made another intriguing discovery. Given access to the “Capa suitcase,” a valise filled with the negatives of photographer Robert Capa that only recently emerged after being presumed lost for decades, Salas connected one of Capa’s exposures to a brief shot in the closing credits of With the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. Salas even found a photograph of Capa’s motion picture camera set to film the scene, revealing a cooperative effort between the two visionaries.
“You have to be very strategic about what you preserve,” Salas said, pointing out that the original 35mm print of With the Abraham Lincoln Brigade is still missing. The more the film is screened, the better the chances that additional material might be found.
Another rare period film—one that documented racial injustice on American soil—also screened at the New York symposium. In 1940, the Rockefeller Foundation’s General Education Board hired Felix Greene, a cousin of novelist Graham Greene, to produce a 26-minute upbeat documentary about education possibilities for African-Americans to mark the 75th anniversary of emancipation. Greene sent film crews under cinematographer Roger Barlow throughout the Southeast. At one point Barlow and two crew members were arrested in Memphis as suspected Communists; explaining that they were actually working for the Rockefellers didn’t help their cause much.
One Tenth of Our Nation was scheduled to premiere at the American Negro Exposition in Chicago on October 21, 1940 to mark the 75th anniversary of emancipation, but members of the General Education Board were dismayed when they saw the finished movie. They demanded changes to spotlight advances in black education, but the conclusions reached in the second version of the film remained harsh and inescapable: poverty, poor facilities, lower standards—bluntly, institutional racism—were holding blacks back. A voice-over advising that black schoolchildren should have four servings of milk daily and eat lots of fresh vegetables seemed to the board to be not just ironic but cruel juxtaposed with Barlow’s images of fly-specked lunch tables and raisins doled out for meals.