"The Vanishing Lady", numbered 70 in Méliès's Star Films Catalogue, is thus the renowned filmmaker's 70th film and already he's delving into trick photography. Previously, the great auteur had indeed created magic performances for camera long before the release of this film, as in "Conjuring" (1896, his second film), but for that short, no trick photography was used at all and was in truth merely a live performance rather than a showcase of special effects. This movie is often considered by many the director's first film to use editing, and indeed is probably so since the earlier shorts he had made were mostly the typical Lumière-based subjects of the time. That's not to say this is anything like "A Trip to the Moon"; on the contrary, it's very simplistic compared to later shorts and will feel all too light looking at what he produced in future years. Part of this is probably because it recreates a stage performance already performed in theater and thus feels limited in trickery. Another reason is probably because, considering the director would in the next few years keep making Lumière subjects between his special effect movies, he didn't yet realize all the crazy things he could produce using such an effect.
Running at just a minute, this act features Méliès himself starring in the role of a magician (typical if you keep watching his work) who makes a lady disappear by seating her on a chair and draping her with a blanket, before whisking it away to make her vanish. To bring her back, he gathers all his powers up to produce a skeleton and transforms the skeleton back into the lady the same way as in the beginning. They bow, the film ends. It's interesting to think if the skeleton bit was at all part of the original act in this way, considering the way it's conjured out of mid-air here would have been impossible to do in real life.
Even the edits in this movie aren't always seamless as in his later stuff. Apparently, and unlike "The Execution of Mary Stuart", this one uses three edits to create the illusion. Making the lady vanish in the first place is pretty rough since you can see part of her dress vanish into mid-air, and even Méliès himself seems to be waiting for her to vanish instead of just casually yanking it away. This is undoubtedly rather critical because of being the director's first trick film, but he would improve. As for the other two edits, they appear to be overall decently executed, so it is worthy of praise that he was able to get two out of three pulled off.
Another thing that's notable is that colorized prints of "The Vanishing Lady" were also sold. This puzzles me, because for the most part Méliès's movies were colored by Elisabeth Thuillier's shop in Paris by the hand-painting method, and she began work for him in early 1897 according to online sources. I suppose either somebody else did the hand-color work for him, or he had the prints colored by Thuillier the next year when he still had buyers of the movie. Unfortunately, none of the color prints survive today, as far as we know, so I hope to see Jacques Malthête's authentic recreation put online at some point. Because of the timelessness of the print we have, it's hard to imagine at all the way the scene would look colored.
While it's true "The Vanishing Lady" does become buried under the rest of the director's output, there is something that feels different about this illusion than others. Perhaps it is that it was a stage performance originally. Perhaps it's the history behind it. Either way, this is still quite an enjoyable film in its own right even if it feels simplistic compared to later shorts. Also, note that because Méliès performed this trick on the theater stage as well, at his Théâtre Robert-Houdin, it's obvious he knew how to sell the illusion with his joyful performance. This has to be the reason why he was always so energetic in his later films.
Running at just a minute, this act features Méliès himself starring in the role of a magician (typical if you keep watching his work) who makes a lady disappear by seating her on a chair and draping her with a blanket, before whisking it away to make her vanish. To bring her back, he gathers all his powers up to produce a skeleton and transforms the skeleton back into the lady the same way as in the beginning. They bow, the film ends. It's interesting to think if the skeleton bit was at all part of the original act in this way, considering the way it's conjured out of mid-air here would have been impossible to do in real life.
Even the edits in this movie aren't always seamless as in his later stuff. Apparently, and unlike "The Execution of Mary Stuart", this one uses three edits to create the illusion. Making the lady vanish in the first place is pretty rough since you can see part of her dress vanish into mid-air, and even Méliès himself seems to be waiting for her to vanish instead of just casually yanking it away. This is undoubtedly rather critical because of being the director's first trick film, but he would improve. As for the other two edits, they appear to be overall decently executed, so it is worthy of praise that he was able to get two out of three pulled off.
Another thing that's notable is that colorized prints of "The Vanishing Lady" were also sold. This puzzles me, because for the most part Méliès's movies were colored by Elisabeth Thuillier's shop in Paris by the hand-painting method, and she began work for him in early 1897 according to online sources. I suppose either somebody else did the hand-color work for him, or he had the prints colored by Thuillier the next year when he still had buyers of the movie. Unfortunately, none of the color prints survive today, as far as we know, so I hope to see Jacques Malthête's authentic recreation put online at some point. Because of the timelessness of the print we have, it's hard to imagine at all the way the scene would look colored.
While it's true "The Vanishing Lady" does become buried under the rest of the director's output, there is something that feels different about this illusion than others. Perhaps it is that it was a stage performance originally. Perhaps it's the history behind it. Either way, this is still quite an enjoyable film in its own right even if it feels simplistic compared to later shorts. Also, note that because Méliès performed this trick on the theater stage as well, at his Théâtre Robert-Houdin, it's obvious he knew how to sell the illusion with his joyful performance. This has to be the reason why he was always so energetic in his later films.