The Mysterious Portrait
Le Portrait mystérieux, 1899, 1m07s
Star Film Catalogue No. 196
A man walks behind a large, empty gilded picture frame, then round the front, then round the back again before stepping through it. He then rolls up the background scenery to reveal the grounds of a chateau. He picks up a canvas depicting a landscape and fits it into the frame. He then picks up a stool and places it within the frame. He takes a seat and observes the painting, which slips out of focus and then gradually sharpens to reveal the same man sitting on the stool. They gesture and react to each other, and appear to share a joke. Finally, the portrait slips out of focus again, revealing the empty stool in front of the landscape. (print ends here)
Like The Four Troublesome Heads (Un Homme de têtes, 1898), The Mysterious Portrait makes use of superimposition, though the technique here is deployed in an altogether more sedate fashion. Essentially, the “mysterious portrait” of the title is one of Georges Méliès himself, which comes to life and conducts a conversation with the real Méliès, who reacts with considerable amusement.
The film’s main technical point of interest is that Méliès has clearly given some thought to how best to present the transition from static landscape to live-action portrait. Instead of resorting to a simple jump-cut, as one might expect, he lets the portrait gradually come into focus, the effect enhanced by the fact that the surroundings (frame, backdrop and real-life Méliès) remain sharp throughout. That aside, it’s primarily an exercise in timing, with both Mélièses reacting to each other and sharing a private joke.
The essential theatricality of The Mysterious Portrait is emphasised at the start, when Méliès, after demonstrating that the frame is indeed empty by walking around and then through it, blithely rolls up the previous background, revealing it to be a painted backdrop on canvas. The function of this would seem to be not so much an implicit claim that nothing in this film is to be believed, as a deliberately clunky and obvious effect that would be registered by even the most dimwitted spectator. By contrast, the appearance of the portrait makes use of genuinely cutting-edge film technology, and would have looked far more impressive to an 1899 audience. An experienced stage illusionist, Méliès remained an incorrigible showman to the last.
Sadly, this untinted print is the worst-preserved in Flicker Alley’s DVD compilation so far. At the start, severe chemical decomposition fights a running battle with the picture and frequently threatens to come out on top, and while the image improves later on, it remains soft and contrasty throughout, riddled with scratches and blotches, and ends too abruptly for comfort (though it’s safe to assume that the visual meat has already been served). Eric Beheim’s electronic score is pretty generic, though he does take the trouble to time a tinkling bell sound to the point where the portrait is summoned.
Links
- BFI Film and TV Database entry.
- Internet Movie Database entry.
- Jshaide’s review (Rotten Tomatoes forum)