Le mélomane

The Music Lover aka The Melomaniac

Well, it is different - I've never seen anything quite like this before. If you like silent film shorts and music you may get a kick out of this one.

5/10

Though filmmakers had been toying with synchronised sound for almost as long as motion pictures have existed – William K.L. Dickson's 'Dickson Experimental Sound Film (1894)' is a remarkable piece of cinema history – audiences didn't get their first non-silent feature film until 'The Jazz Singer' in 1927. Why, then, would the "Cinemagician" turn his attention so early towards a short film based around music? Viewed today, and often presented in complete silence, the two-minute film seems to be lacking a certain rhythm, regardless of its visual triumphs. But, of course, I am, once again, underestimating the resourcefulness of these early filmmakers, as Georges Méliès usually accompanied his films with a live musical performance and spoken narration. My viewing of 'Le Mélomane / The Melomaniac (1904)' {also known as 'The Music Lover'} was today supplemented by Carlos Gardel and Alfredo Le Pera's "Por una Cabeza," a 1935 tango basically chosen at random from my music collection.

Much as he did six years earlier in 'Un homme de têtes / The Four Troublesome Heads (1898),' Méliès uses this brief gimmick film to show off his talent for visual effects, employing extensive substitution cuts, multiple exposures and cross-fades to create the illusion of real magic. The plot is simple enough: a music teacher (our usual host, Mr. Méliès himself) begins to show his marching-band students how to play music, but won't settle for writing down the notes on a small piece of paper. Instead, he fashions the music notes out of his own head (yes, you heard correctly!), removing his skull from its proper position and tossing it upwards at the telegraph wires above him, where it sticks in the appropriate place. Immediately, a new head appears on the teacher's shoulders, and the process is repeated several times. As the band marches off, presumably playing the aforementioned music, the multiple heads are still swivelling about in their places.

The film's ending is one of the absolute finest I've seen from the director, and was obviously a product of his former experience as a magician. With the stage empty except for the extant heads, Méliès performs a majestic coup de grâce when they are suddenly transformed into live birds, which flutter gracefully across the set. Interestingly, the uniquely-constructed musical notes form the opening of "God Save the King," an interesting choice for the French filmmaker. 'The Melomaniac' is an interesting Méliès short in many ways. Though not quite as revolutionary as his earlier efforts, as most of the techniques seen here can be glimpsed in earlier films, it is nonetheless an admirable attempt to add some "music" to silent cinema. Give me a video camera, and I'd probably be unable to reproduce the visual effects, which are meticulously-constructed while maintaining a sense of fun about them.

Georges Méliès had such a marvelous imagination that you should never be surprised with anything that he comes up with, but even when you've seen dozens of his features, there's still a good chance that the next one you see could have something new. In this short feature, he combines visual tricks with copies of his own head, something he had already done in a number of previous comedies, with an amusing and creative musical setting.

Méliès plays the leader of a marching band who shows them their music on a giant staff, using the heads and various other implements to write the music. It's funny, and the special effects are interesting and work quite well, as usual. (A previous reviewer has given a particularly apt description of the enjoyable trick with the heads.) It's a resourceful way to use a musical setting without having the benefit of the actual music or of any other sound, and it's also enjoyable to watch.

This was so much fun. Melies is a music teacher/conductor. He comes on stage, followed by his musicians/singers. He carries around a huge treble clef. Once the dancing has stopped, he throws the clef in the air and it sticks on a giant music staff. Now he does the wackiest thing. He begins to throw heads (his head) up to the music staff and they form notes. He also throws the stems up. I'm not sure if he is a half note or a quarter note. But once complete, the singers turn to the audience and begin to use the French version of do-re-mi on cards in front of them. And then they stop and exit the stage in a frenetic dance. It is so much fun.

You've just got to see the films of Méliès, as they are the cleverest and best made films of his era--period. Unlike the relatively plot less, setless and pointless films of Edison and Lumiere, Méliès' films were pure genius and inspired--with a strong dose of fantasy. His Le Voyage Dans le Lune is a landmark film due to its amazing special effects, camera tricks and watchability.

This film carries on in this same tradition--with the absolutely wildest and strangest trickery I've seen from the era. The film begins with a conductor explaining to his musicians how to write music. So, the conductor begins throwing notes up into the air where they magically stick. And, the notes?! Yep, they are his head--he pulls off his head and throws it upwards--and a new one appears in its place! You just gotta see it to believe it!

If you want to see this film online, go to Google and type in "Méliès" and then click the video button for a long list of his films that are viewable without special software.