As Usai questions, which is preferred when watching silent cinema: "incomplete authenticity or artificial beauty?" (159.)
"The Mesmerist" seemed like an ideal representation of this dilemma. Admittedly a sucker for postmodern playthings, I couldn't help but be seduced by the visual whimsy the effects of physical deterioration had endowed onto this film. I immediately thought of butterfly wings glued onto celluloid and purposefully tampered film stock. How wonderfully self-reflexive!, I thought.
However, this film was never intended to look this way. These moving bubbles weren't conceived of by a before-his-time filmmaker with highly inventive production techniques. They are simply the effects of decades of nitrate decomposition.
So, had this film been restored to its "original" version without this time-induced destruction, would I have been so acutely affected as I was when watching this "flawed" version? And how would audience interpretation change?
Cherchi Usai offers four likely solutions to this predicament, and "The Mesmerist" seems to be a blend of two of them. The film is being shown just as it was found (option 1), "with all the gaps and imperfections;" but as an earlier posting mentions, Morrison seems to be inserting himself a bit, which sounds a lot like Usai's option 4: "somebody…manipulated it in order to create a new work, with or without taking responsibility" (160.)
This question of archival ethics seems particularly significant in the discussion of "The Mesmerist" since its unique visual composition can greatly skew interpretations of theme, character, etc. and thus affect audience reception and critical analysis.
Personally, I prefer celluloid's wrinkles and crow's feet, so to speak. With actual film being increasingly replaced with digital filmmaking, I like seeing the film's old-age play through the camera, affecting the text and giving it an additional layer of intrigue and complication. I like the imperfections.
But maybe I'm the only one?
-kaitlyn thornton.
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