The Magical Charm of Méliès Wins Out Over Burgeoning Realism
Note: This is the eleventh in a series of historical/critical essays examining the best in film from each year. Essentially, I am watching films from the beginning of cinematic history that interest me and/or hold some critical or cultural impact. My personal, living list of favorites is being created at Mubi, showcasing five films per year. All this being explained, what follows is an examination of my favorite 1901 film, THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY, directed by Georges Méliès.
As I looked at 1901 as a whole, I couldn’t help wondering if THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY (1901) wasn’t a weaker film for my favorite of the year. But the more I reflected on what else came out that year, the more I felt secure in my selections for my favorite, and my top five in general. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY or any of the other films I’m to write about soon; I just felt like it (and they) didn’t represent innovation like my picks from the 1890s and 1900 did.
Perhaps it’s because I don’t consider THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY one of Georges Méliès’ best works; it was his best film of 1901, but in the wake of landmark films like CINDERELLA (1899) and JOAN OF ARC (1900) and in anticipation of A TRIP TO THE MOON (1902), it could be seen as underwhelming. Furthermore, I’ve written a lot about Méliès and his féerie style already, with only more to come. What more is there to say about a film that fits into the genre so well? And, even though my picks for 1901 don’t necessarily reflect innovation like previous favorites, there were some landmark, technically impressive, and important films to come out of the year.
But, as is often the case with my circular thinking, I came back to the realization that the magic of Méliès is what I love about early cinema, not necessarily the incremental innovations across numerous films that built an entire art form. The great thing is that Méliès also has that in spades, with certain films; THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY just isn’t one of them. Nevertheless, its fantastical centerpoint transformation and effects win out over the burgeoning realism and complexity film was tackling. It would be some time, but not overly long, before that nascent style of filmmaking would overtake Méliès and leave him in the dust.
All this explanation of how I felt about putting a film from 116 years ago on an arbitrary, subjective list is to drive home how personal this process is for me, and why I use the term “favorites” as much as I can. My assertion is these essays are about the “best” in film…for me. And although I can’t point to THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY and say it wowed me like a lot of other Méliès films, I can use it as an example of the kind of strange, magical, otherworldly feeling I crave from my movie experiences.
THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY, for all of its two minutes, follows a Brahmin, which is essentially a Hindu priest. I hope I’m not being reductive and/or offensive in that assertion, but ultimately, the character doesn’t share any sort of traits or behavior with the real world people. You see, this Brahmin sees a large, beautifully and strangely designed worm/caterpillar (we’ll call it a wormerpillar), and puts it into the cocoon he was working on. The wormerpillar comes out a beautiful human/butterfly hybrid, who impressively lands on his hand and dances around before the Brahmin throws a blanket on top of her.
This is where things get strange(-r, somehow), and some kind of influence may be pulled here that I don’t understand, whether it be from a cultural thread or the 1880s magic act Méliès probably saw. Two women come out of nowhere, pull the blanket off the butterfly girl, and walk away. Except the butterfly girl isn’t a butterfly anymore, and is so angry she turns the Brahmin into a wormerpillar himself. And then she walks away with these nonplussed, strange women, with the Brahmin-turned-wormerpillar left to wriggle after them. The end.
Regardless of what was literally taking place with some of the characters and their motivations, I think some kind of metaphor can be pulled from THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY more effectively than some of the latest Méliès films I’ve written about. The Brahmin’s desire to cage and change the woman for, presumably, his own selfish interests, results in his own devolution and a sad remainder of a life. The film demonstrates the self-destructive behavior of humans to control others, ruining their own lives and souls in the process. Or it’s just a neat representation of transformation effects and exotic mysticism.
Either way, THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY is magical. The wormerpillar, exotic background, and strange behavior of the characters make it feel like the film is a window into another world, a significant reason why I watch films in the first place. At the same time Méliès was trucking along with his already familiar fantasies, a growing trend in filmmaking was emerging: realism. While early films were actualities, they weren’t building narratives in a realistic style; by 1901, films were using complex narrative devices like flashbacks and combination indoor/outdoor shots in order to create intricate events.
From a modern perspective, these films, like James Williamson’s FIRE! (1901) and Ferdinand Zecca’s HISTORY OF A CRIME (1901), might not look like INCEPTION (2010), but in 1901, they were leaps forward in terms of the technical and narrative intricacies they were pulling off. And yet, they’re kind of boring when put next to the zaniness of Méliès and his kin, of which there were many by 1901.
They, and important milestones like President McKinley being the first president to be extensively photographed and filmed, are certainly notable 1901 films that are worth discussing, but they’re just not my favorites. Méliès’ magic is just more interesting today, still incredibly evocative and full of strange designs and events that make it easy to share the wonder of early cinema. For that reason, THE BRAHMIN AND THE BUTTERFLY is my favorite 1901 film. And I really just want one of those wormerpillars.
