Pauvre Pierrot

It is said that Pauvre Pierrot (1892) was the first animated film ever (it was presented with Le Clown et ses chiens (1892) and Un bon bock (1892)). Was exhibited in October 1892 when Charles-Émile Reynaud opened his Théâtre Optique at the Musée Grévin. It is probably the first usage of film perforations. Pauvre Pierrot originally consisted of 500 individually painted images, which originally was 15 minutes long, but the 1996 restoration made it 4 minutes long.

The story is about Harlequin (best-known of the zanni or comic servant characters from the Italian Commedia dell'arte), Colombina (a stock character in the Commedia dell'Arte, she is Harlequin's mistress, a comic servant playing the tricky slave type and wife of Pierrot) and Pierrot (is a stock character of pantomime and Commedia dell'Arte). It is a comedy, though nowadays it isn't that funny, in its time it must have been one of the funniest things that existed. I wish I was there when it happened.

J. Stuart Blackton's 'Humorous Phases of Funny Faces (1906)' is generally held as the first animated film. Indeed, it was the first animated film made on motion-picture film, but such history is nevertheless unfair to Émile Reynaud, who, fourteen years earlier, was projecting moving animated images to delighted audiences. 'Pauvre Pierrot (1892)' is one of the director's few surviving works (most were, in a fit of frustration, discarded into the Seine by the director himself), and such a colourful and charming curio remains a delight to behold.

Reynaud animated each frame himself – 500 in total (36 metres long) – and extended the film to 12-15 minutes by personally manipulating the picture-bands during the projection. The story told is a simple one: Pierrot and Arlequin compete for the romantic attention of Colombine, a beautiful maiden. One potential suitor attempts to charm the good lady with a lute performance, but his competitor goes one better with a baton or sword of some sort.

Reynaud's moving picture show, billed as "Théâtre Optique" or "Pantomimes Lumineuses," included a triple-bill of three films: 'Pauvre Pierrot,' 'Un bon bock (1892),' and 'Le Clown et ses chiens (1892).' One contemporary newspaper reported that Reynaud "creates characters with expressions and movements so perfect that they give the complete illusion of life." The show was initially a great success, but, in 1918, Reynaud died a poor man. His delicate work, prone to rapid degradation, could not compete with the Lumière brothers' cinematograph, which depicted real-life, and not merely an animated approximation.

It's cheating a little to list this as a film as strictly speaking it's not one, though its maker Émile Reynaud pushed pre-cinema technology as far as it could go to achieve an experience practically indistinguishable from that of watching a theatrical presentation of an animated cartoon film. His Théâtre Optique featured his Praxinoscope, a radical development of old-established animation toys like the Zoetrope. This used rotating faceted mirrors and lenses that could project a succession of hand-drawn images from a paper strip with sprocket holes, allowing much longer sequences of continuous action than the short loops hitherto used in such devices. These images were then superimposed on a static background projected from a conventional magic lantern slide, prefiguring later cel animation techniques in which the image is broken down into a succession of layers with the minimum of movement in each one. The exhibition was completed with live narration and music.

Some of Reynaud's original elements survive (others he later threw in the Seine) and their affinity with film is demonstrated by the ease with which they can be reconstructed on modern film or video. Pauvre Pierrot was the first such production and is among the most charming, a simple tale featuring the traditional characters Pierrot, Arlequin and Colombine acting out their ancient love triangle. Some reconstructions replicate the translucent, slightly ghostly quality the characters would have had at the time. Sadly Reynaud's work was overtaken by the arrival of the cinema proper and he died a poor and unhappy man.

History lesson time! Back when films were viewed as magical gimmicks rather than an art form, inventor Reynaud made advancements on the standard zoetrope that children would be hypnotised by, and patented the praxinoscope. The difference? The ability to give further dimensions to the strips that are used to project a flowing film. And that's where Pauvre Pierrot comes in (roughly translated as "Poor Pete"), part one of three short stories that combined to produce Reynaud's 'Pantomimes Lumineuses'. Whilst the other two are considered lost, this third has had four minutes restored from its original fifteen minute runtime. And much to my surprise, it's just as viewable now as it was back in 1892.

The straightforward plot consists of a man teasing another man to scare him away from a woman he was trying to woo. The limited fluidity resulted in the story being as clunky as various frame transitions (occasionally pausing on every third strip), but for such an experimental ancient silent film, the story isn't exactly at the forefront. It's the innovation, and Reynaud was an innovator through and through. Just by staring at the detailed drawings that are able to exude featured facial expressions, you get a sense of commitment from Reynaud. The lack of narrative interest is seemingly masked by the grandeur of this static backdrop, and it's still stupendously amazing to watch today. Will I remember it next week? Most likely not. However it's imperative to appreciate the milestones that paved the way for films today, and Pauvre Pierrot is a technical achievement.

This might be fairly basic animation compared to today's 3D computer-generated spectaculars, but it is in its own way just as remarkable. Emile Reynaud developed many marvels like this, and operated some rather tricky mechanism to screen it. Sadly, Reynaud was not only something of a perfectionist who personally hand-painted every image of every film, he also only trusted himself to operate the screenings. and therefore stretched himself a little too far. He was hugely successful before the advent of movies, but was incapable of progressing and stands as a singular warning of the fate that befalls any business that fails to adapt to a changing market. The film has historical importance, and as a bitter and impoverished Reynaud destroyed most of his films years after the film industry had made his shows obsolete, it's something of a minor miracle that it still exists today.