The One-Man Band
L’Homme orchestre, 1900, 1m33s
Star Film Catalogue Nos. 262-263
A man lays out seven chairs in a row and counts and recounts them to make sure. He sits down in the one on the far right, and splits in two, his double moving to the seat next to him. This process is repeated until there are seven men, identical except for their differing musical instruments, occupying all the chairs. They chat amongst each other until the man in the middle stands up to conduct. The six instrumentalists perform, then sit back and relax. The conductor stands up again and indicates that they should come closer. They do so, blending into each other until only the conductor is left. He makes the chairs disappear and reappear en bloc, then individually. As he is bowing to the audience, a gigantic fan rises behind him, startling him when he turns round. He sits on the only remaining chair and sinks through the floor of the stage. He then reappears on the other side of the fan, jumping over it before disappearing in a puff of smoke. The fan descends to reveal him behind it. He bows to the audience.
In many ways a sequel to The Four Troublesome Heads (Un Homme de têtes, 1898), The One-Man Band ups the ante to a considerable degree by featuring no fewer than seven identically-dressed Georges Mélièses playing musical instruments and interacting with one another in remarkably convincing synchronisation. Buster Keaton pulled off a similar trick in The Playhouse (1921) with greater technical polish, but Méliès beat him to the screen by over twenty years.
Even though it’s obvious to our more enlightened eyes how the trick was achieved, the level of precision and planning involved in getting seven multiple exposures to sync up perfectly in terms of both image and movement is remarkable, especially given that the director was also the performer. The synchronisation goes further than just getting them to play and bow together - at one point, the conductor stretches out his arms and the two men either side of him duck to avoid him. The registration wobbles at times, but is generally superior to that in The Four Troublesome Heads, providing further evidence of how Méliès was constantly refining his techniques through repetition and variation.
Méliès was no stranger to playing the lead in his films, but it’s worth noting that in this and The Four Troublesome Heads, he’s performing without any elaborate costume or make-up, as though he wanted to be as recognisable as possible. Given that the early screenings would presumably have been held in his own theatre with the man himself in attendance, this would have added an extra dimension to the fakery. It’s the work of a showman with plenty to show off, though the film’s second half sadly lacks the fireworks of the first - the multiple-Méliès orchestra is such a tour de force that the solo business with the fan can’t help but seem a bit anti-climactic.
The print on Flicket Alley’s DVD has quite a few tramlines (possible side-effects of having to rewind it seven times for the multiple exposures?) and exposure fluctuations, but has plenty of fine detail. Robert Israel’s score begins with a drumroll before launching into a highly convincing impression of a circus orchestra, entirely appropriate to the subject.
Links
- The complete film on YouTube.
- BFI Film and TV Database entry.
- Internet Movie Database entry.
- Jshaide’s review (Rotten Tomatoes forum)
- Paghat the Ratgirl’s review (Weird Wild Realm)