Between 1896 and 1912, Georges Méliès (1861-1938) made 502 films. Not all were conjuring turns, fantastic voyages, and burlesque parables.[1] Indeed, toward the end of his life, he lamented that “young people don’t know anything of my productions except a few fairy stories. . . . And that’s why . . . they often accuse me of naiveté, clearly unaware that I touched all the genres.”[2] In fact, under his Star-Film trademark, Méliès also made advertising films, stag films (in which models stripped down to flesh-colored body stockings—see Figure B3.1), and actualités reconstituées (reconstructed newsreels designed to simulate travelogues or current-events coverage—see Figure B3.2). The lengths of his films ranged from the earliest 50-second shorts to more ambitious productions of up to 26 minutes.

A Politically Conscious Interlude: L’Affaire Dreyfus

  Interestingly, Méliès’ first long film was an atypical historical drama with distinctly political overtones. Released in eleven tableaux and running thirteen minutes in 1899, L’Affaire Dreyfus (The Dreyfus Affair) was occasioned by the heated national controversy surrounding the arrest and conviction of a Jewish army officer on what turned out to be false charges of treason. The film is also unusual in the Méliès canon in that the star was a nonprofessional who bore a resemblance to the real Dreyfus and its studio-mounted tableaux were based on illustrations appearing in weekly magazines. Méliès’ stance in favor of the imprisoned officer, Alfred Dreyfus, was unmistakable, and one historian observes that Méliès’ “willingness to undertake a genre basically alien to his own sense of what he did best is a testament to his own feelings about the case.”[3]

“I Am Not a Corporation”


           George s Méliès (left), at Work

                 in His Montreuil Studio

In 1896 and 1897, Méliès had completed 78 and 53 films, respectively, but hisoutput dropped to 30 in 1898 (the year before L’Affaire Dreyfus), when he began featuring more elaborate scenarios, sets, and camera tricks.[4] Although Méliès worked out of a fully equipped studio and eventually posted distribution agents to Berlin, Barcelona, London, and New York, his operation was always more artisanal than industrial in nature—the work of a multitalented craftsman who took a hand in all the crafts performed under the glass roof of his studio in Montreuil. Unfortunately, as the craftwork became more demanding and each major release consumed more of his resources, Méliès was forced to charge distributors 30-50 percent more for his films than they had to pay for films from competitor Pathé-Frères (see Chapter 6.1).[5] As a result, production at Montreuil continued to diminish: in the five years from 1903 to 1907, Méliès turned out only 29, 35, 22, 18, and 19 films, respectively.

He managed 68 films in 1908, but by 1909, the reality of international competition and rising costs had caught up with Méliès, who was one of fifty delegates to the Congrès International des Fabricants de Film (International Congress of Film Producers) in Paris. Here a crucial industrywide decision was made: rather than sold outright (as had always been the case in the past), films would in the future be rented to authorized exchanges that would pay according to the amount of footage made available by producers.[6] Such an arrangement encouraged the mass production of uniform products and was especially troublesome for Méliès, who would find it hard to deliver enough finished films to return revenues sufficient for financing continuing production. “I am not a corporation,” he complained in a fairground trade journal. “I am an independent producer.”[7]

The Other Méliès; Or, The Duping of Georges


                 Gaston Méliès

At about the same time, Méliès was dealt a similar economic blow by changes in the U.S. film industry—exacerbated, perhaps, by the American business activities of his own brother.[8] In 1903, Méliès had sought both to curtail piracy of his films and to promote sales among American distributors by opening the Star Film Company of Paris, a New York-based operation entrusted to his older brother Gaston Méliès (1852-1915). Shortly after he arrived, Gaston discovered that the American producer Biograph (see Chapter 2.1) was regularly purchasing prints of Star-Film subjects from Méliès’ English distributor, Charles Urban (see Biographical Sketch 5.2), at a rate of one cent per foot; Urban kept the “royalties” and Biograph the distribution and exhibition receipts, and Star-Film itself got nothing except what Urban, a preferred vendor, had paid for the print.[9] Meanwhile, companies such as Lubin (see Chapter 4.1) and Edison were content to pirate on a film-by-film basis. For Christmas 1900, Edison promoted two Méliès films (Cinderella [Cendrillon] and Astronomer’s Dream [La Lune à un mêtre]) on its own bills and a year later advertised Cinderella and Little Red Riding Hood (Le Petit chaperon rouge) as its own seasonal offerings. In the summer of 1902, Lubin listed Bluebeard (Barbe-bleu) and Martinique Disaster (Eruption volcanique à la Martinique) in its ads (along with Jack and the Beanstalk, a Méliès imitation made by Edison).[10]

The most coveted print, however, was A Trip to the Moon (Le Voyage dans la lune), which, according to one report, had been purchased from Georges Méliès himself by an undercover agent for Edison, which made copies in its own labs and then turned the dupes over to Vitagraph (see Chapter 4.1), at that time an Edison licensee, for screening through its own exhibition service. Ironically, the enduring popularity of A Trip to the Moon allowed Edison, Lubin, and other companies to continue profiting from duped prints for several years.[11]

In the U.S. Star-Film catalog for 1903, Gaston declared that “we are prepared and determined energetically to pursue all counterfeiters and pirates. We will not speak twice. We will act!” Unfortunately, duping was legal in the United States—at least for a brief four-month period in 1903. In January, a federal judge ruled in the case of Edison v. Lubin that U.S. copyright law covered photographs but not “aggregations of photos.” The decision meant that there was no copyright protection for films, and until the ruling was overturned in April, the practice of pirating films was allowed to proceed apace.[12]


                         Star-Film Logo

Even after the decision had been reversed, the copyright situation remained confusing, and U.S. companies continued to pass off competitors’ products as their own. Edison targeted European films for which it could locate no U.S. copyright registration, but Lubin ignored such niceties and went right on duping everything it could get its hands on. Beginning in 1903, Star-Film featured its trademark—a black star—in U.S. ads, and Georges began punching the “negative” version (a white star) into the opening frames of every film. The tactic didn’t do much to establish ownership or prevent duping, but it had the effect of identifying original prints of a higher quality than duped prints.[13]

Méliès and the MPPC

  In 1907, Edison, which held major patents on American-manufactured equipment (see Chapter 1.2), had begun issuing licenses to producers and distributors, who paid royalties in return for the privilege of operating free oflitigation. Gaston Méliès, as “Attorney for Georges Méliès,” received a license in February 1908. In August, however, Gaston applied for a license to be issued to a company called “Geo. Méliès of Paris,” which was in fact his own company. The new license was granted in September, replacing the one that had originally been issued in the names of both Georges and Gaston. In December 1908, Edison announced the formation of the Motion Picture Patents Company (MPPC)—a trust of major moving-picture manufacturers who sought to monopolize the production end of the industry by enforcing equipment patents controlled by its members. The MPPC would use a licensing system much like one that Edison had employed before it. When the first list of MPPC licensees appeared in early 1909, Georges Méliès’ Star-Film was not on it—a fact that seriously threatened his ability to function in the American market. Georges sued the MPPC but lost.[14]

Georges later reported that Gaston had sent him 50,000-60,000 francs per year but suddenly ceased the practice in November 1910. At about the same time, Gaston opened production facilities in Brooklyn, New York, and Fort Lee, New Jersey, where he began making films as “G. Méliès.” It appears that Gaston was using his Edison license to attract partners and capital for his own operations. It also appears that Georges knew nothing about the partnership arrangements and stock manipulations that underlay Gaston’s distribution and production activities until much later.

We do know, however, what Georges ultimately had to say about Gaston’s treatment of him, thanks to an extensive correspondence that he conducted with an American film historian named Merritt Crawford between 1930 and 1933.[15] In mid-1903, for example, Georges had adopted the practice of making two negatives of every film, sending one to New York so that Gaston could print films for distribution.[16] When he wrote in 1930 that Gaston had “made agreements with the pirates,” he may have suspected that Gaston had actually colluded in the duping of Star-Film subjects, but Crawford’s investigation into Gaston’s activities led him to conclude that his brother had been “entirely loyal” to Georges from 1902 to 1909. Nevertheless, Georges remained “certain that I have not made any mistake in saying that he acted against my interests.” The two brothers remained estranged for the rest of Gaston’s life.

For his own part, Gaston may have reasoned that it was his own energy and acumen that had generated the cash which he’d been sending to France. By 1910, he may also have reached the conclusion that an MPPC license was wasted on the French branch of the family business.[17] The MPPC’s scheme to restrict production to a handful of firms was workable only if members could produce and distribute enough product to prevent exhibitors from turning to unauthorized suppliers: each member, therefore, was required to produce at least 1,000 feet of film (about one reel) every week. By 1909, however, Star-Film’s output from Montreuil had dwindled to seven films for the whole year.


     Gaston Méliès’ Star Film Ranch, 1911

Star Film Ranch

  In any case, by 1910 Gaston was convinced that American audiences wanted melodramas and adventure tales, especially cowboy stories. He thus moved his operations to San Antonio, Texas, where he rechristened his enterprise the Star Film Ranch. Between 1910 and 1912 (after a second move, to Santa Paula, California), Gaston’s American operations produced 130 films; during the same period, Georges produced only 20. By 1912, however, Gaston’s venture had failed, and at the end of the year, he sold his remaining assets to the American production company Vitagraph. For the rest of Gaston’s story, see Figure B3.3.

Declining Fortunes

Back in Montreuil, Georges produced only four films in 1912—all of them ambitious projects (see Figure B3.4). A year earlier, he had put up his home and studio against a personal loan from Charles Pathé, whose own production company, Pathé-Frères (see Chapter 6.1), was also granted the right to distribute (and, as necessary, edit) subsequent Méliès releases. In 1913, Méliès broke with Pathé over the cutting of several films, and when he could not repay the loan, his property passed (as of 1923, after a moratorium entailed by World War I) to his creditors.

Méliès attributed the decline in his fortunes to Gaston’s activities and his own inability to adapt to the industrywide rental system installed by the 1909 Congrès International. On the latter score, he was quite correct: not only did the rental system favor mass production over Méliès’ artisinal mode of production, but it paved the way for Pathé-Frères’ eventual domination of the French industry.[18] The critical blow, however, was dealt by the war. In 1914, the Théâtre Robert-Houdin was closed for a year, costing Méliès a year’s worth of revenues in return for only a year’s rent. The studio at Montreuil was converted into a military hospital in 1917, the same year in which a second studio was turned into a variety theater in which Méliès and his family staged musical-comedy revues for the next seven years. During the war, about 400 Star Films held in the company’s Paris offices were confiscated by the army to retrieve their silver and celluloid; what was left over went into the manufacture of women’s bootheels. In 1923, Méliès himself destroyed all the negatives stored at the studio in Montreuil.


      Georges Méliès and Jeanne d’Alcy,

  in Their Gare Montparnasse Shop, 1929

In the Gare Montparnasse

  In 1925, the widowed Méliès married Jehanne D’Alcy, who had once been an actress for him both on the stage and in the movies.[19] She owned a small toy store in the Gare Montparnasse, a Paris train station, which provided the couple with their only income for the next seven years (Figure B3.5). In a 1932 letter recounting his days as a filmmaker, Méliès informed his unknown correspondent that

you will find me every day, even Sundays, in the hall of Montparnasse station, from 10 o'clock A.M. to 10 P.M. I keep there a shop of toys and sweets, since I have unfortunately lost 3 millions of francs during the war, which I had gained as a producer of motion pictures and pioneer of cinematography.

Three years earlier, he explained that a letter covering some brief biographical pieces intended for publication

is written in great haste (and on my knees, above the market) . . . from my little store atelier where there is no space for me and I am crowded by, or should I say, drowned in merchandise. I, at 67, a merchant! I who was always an artist first and who always detested business! What is there to do!? Life has reversals like this, and the war has made me lose the result of 47 years of work. [One must] resign oneself, and that is what I have done. That doesn't mean that I do not miss the good old days and I am never as happy as when I am together with colleagues, comedians, cinematographers, or magicians, when I am in my own element.[20]


As early as 1926, however, journalists and critics had become interested in the career of Georges Méliès, and articles began to appear in the industry press. Thus he was not entirely forgotten when, in 1929, Jean-Placide Mauclaire, operator of Studio 28, a cinema devoted to contemporary and avant-garde films in Paris, came into possession of a cache of old films that had been discovered in the dairy shed of a chateau in northwestern France.[21] The films were in poor condition, but Mauclaire was sufficiently intrigued to make his own trip to the chateau, where he eventually collected more than 800 canisters of films. Spotting the name of Georges Méliès in the credits of one film, Mauclaire realized what he had and managed to locate the impoverished old filmmaker. One day in July 1929, Mauclaire showed Méliès prints of Papillon fantastique (The Spider and the Butterfly), Le Locataire diabolique (The Devilish Tenant), Les 400 farces du diable (The Merry Frolics of Satan), and La Fée carabosse (The Witch). In October, Maclaire managed to acquire a print of Le Voyage dans la lune from a traveling exhibitor and began began screening his Méliès collection at Studio 28.[22]


                   Georges Méliès and

           Jean-Placide Mauclaire, 1929

“Enormous Accumulations of Unexpected Trucs” at the Salle Pleyel

  Mauclaire also arranged for the films to be restored and for new prints to be struck. He then arranged with his friend the composer Paul Gilson and Jean-Georges Auriol, editor of the periodical La Révue du cinéma, to organize a gala in celebration of the newly discovered work of Méliès. Sponsored by two newspapers owned by the perfumier Coty, the event was held on 16 December 1929 at the Salle Pleyel, a Paris concert hall. The centerpiece was the screening of eight Star Films which their maker described for the audience as “enormous accumulations of unexpected trucs that struck spectators with stupor . . . [and] incomprehensible images where I executed the wildest cavortings and pirouettes to amuse [them].”[23]

The celebration was, he later wrote in his (third-person) memoirs, "one of the most brilliant moments of his life,"[24] but while it was a great success in restoring his rightful position in film history, it had little impact on his material circumstances. Méliès would continue to struggle until he received some relief in 1932, when the Mutuelle du Cinéma, an industry assistance organization, installed him, Mme. Méliès, and his granddaughter Madeleine in a rent-free apartment, where Méliès lived out the rest of his life. In 1931, he was awarded the Légion d’honneur, which was presented to him by Louis Lumière (see Chapter 2.2). It was on this occasion that Lumière bestowed upon him the appelation—“créateur du spectacle cinématographique”—that was inscribed on his tomb when he died in 1938.

A Nostalgia for “Decorative Naturalism”: Le Grand Méliès

  In 1952, French filmmaker Georges Franju (1912-1987) cast Méliès’ widow as herself in Le Grand Méliès, a deft, often whimsical combination of documentary and fictional reconstruction of Méliès’ life and career (see Figure B3.7).[25] Billed as Madame Marie-Georges Méliès, Charlotte Stephanie Faés (1866-1956) not only plays Madame Méliès (who survived her husband by 18 years) but also narrates the recollected story of his life from the years of artistic and commercial success to the years of neglect. In her role as Jehanne d’Alcy, Mme. Faés is also given fictional life in the person of a younger actress.


                  Georges Franju

Méliès himself—that is, the Méliès of the past—is played by the filmmaker’s real-life son André, who bore a striking resemblance to his father. In one memorable fictional scene, the son (as himself) visits the widow (as herself) in the apartment in which her husband had died and plays a piano waltz that his father had composed for her many years earlier: he thus seems to become both father and son at once, and Franju (who knew Méliès in his later years) creates throughout Le Grand Méliès a sense of nostalgia not only for Méliès’ world—the world changed forever by the Great War—but for the spirit of the cinema that he created and embodied. Georges Méliès, wrote Franju,

conjured from thin air, in his Montreuil studio, the cinematic spectacle . . ., unreal, decorative, and admired. . . . Méliès . . . opened doors at every turn. But those doors swung shut behind him. The wand of this magician broke, in these years preceding the First World War, against a concrete obstacle, which was utterly immovable. . . . [T]he cinema of those years belonged to a decorative naturalism which had, he among them, its miraculous sources and which other pioneers . . . were going to discover. [But] the cinema of Méliès, which “put the moon within our reach,” didn’t have its feet on the ground. Sublime in 1902, [The Conquest of the Pole] was still sublime ten years later, but it was no longer “with the times.”  [26]

Postscript: The Long Voyage Home of Le Voyage dans la lune

In 1930, Jean Acmé LeRoy, projection-system inventor, erstwhile friend of Gaston Méliès, and film historian, acquired a copy of Le Voyage dans la lune. Merritt Crawford affirmed that it was a “good dupe negative,” but it was incomplete: concluding at the point at which the explorers’ capsule splashes down at sea and is towed to shore, LeRoy’s print was just over 700 feet long—about 100 feet shorter than versions of the film that had circulated just after the turn of the century. The print held by Jean-Placide Mauclair in Paris was also truncated, but it did contain a scene at that LeRoy’s did not—a penultimate scene consisting of a parade, military procession, and awards ceremony that take place after the capsule has been recovered.

At his death in 1932, LeRoy bequeathed his print of Le Voyage to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. MoMA created 16mm and 35mm prints for circulation and, in 1937, gave a copy to the Cinémathèque française, the premier film archive in France. (Cinémathèque director Henri Langlois presented a print to Georges Méliès in the same year.) MoMA’s prints of LeRoy’s copy were the only available versions of Méliès’ best-known masterpiece from the mid-1930s until 1997, when a more or less complete version was assembled by the Cinémathèque Méliès.[27]

See the moving picture


     Le Voyage dans la lune: The Final Scene

Prior to 1993, it was also assumed that all color versions of Le Voyage had been lost. In that year, however, a nitrate print of an original hand-tinted version was found in a Spanish archive. Restoration began immediately, and the process of photographing deteriorating nitrate fragments as thousands of digital files was completed in 2002. It wasn’t until 2010, however, that experts had the technology to digitally hand-tint an original black-and-white print to match the look of Méliès’ color version, and the completed restoration did not premier until it was shown at France’s Cannes Film Festival in May 2011.[28] This print also seems to be complete: it contains not only the penultimate scene but a final scene as well, in which the celebration continues briefly at the foot of a statue of Barbenfouillis, the expedition leader.[29]

[1] On Méliès’ life, see esp. Paul Hammond, Marvellous Méliès (New York: St. Martin’s, 1975), Chapter 2; Elizabeth Ezra, Georges Méliès: The Birth of the Auteur (Manchester, UK: Manchester Univ. Press, 2000), Chapter 1; David Robinson, Georges Méliès: Father of Film Fantasy (New York: Museum of the Moving Image, 1993).

Brief biographical sketches can be found at: Robinson, “Georges Méliès,” Cinema: A Critical Dictionary. Volume Two, ed. Richard Roud (London: Martin Secker & Warburg, 1980), pp. 676-81; Paolo Cherchi Usai, “A Trip to the Movies: Georges Méliès, Filmmaker and Magician (1861-1938),” Image 34:3-4 (1991), pp. 3-11, at (accessed June 10, 2016); Miriam Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” in World Film Directors. Volume I. 1890-1945, ed. John Wakeman (New York: H.W. Wilson, 1987), pp. 747-65; and Robinson, “Marie-Georges-Jean Méliès,” Who’s Who of Victorian Cinema (British Film Institute, 2016), at (accessed June 10, 2016). See also “Méliès: Inspirations and Illusions,” The Missing Link (September 21, 2004), at (accessed June 10, 2016). Méliès’ grandaughter published a combination biography/autobiography in 1973: Madeleine Méliès-Malthête, Méliès, l’enchanteur [in French] (Paris: Hachette).

Extensive excerpts from Méliès’ Mes mémoires (1938) can be found in Maurice Bessy and Giuseppe Maria Lo Duca, Georges Méliès, Mage et “Mes Mémoires” par Méliès [in French] (1945; rpt. Paris: Jean-Jacques Pauvert, 1961). Neither the Méliès-Malthête biography nor the Bessy-Lo Duca volume has been translated into English.

[2] Bessy and Lo Duca, Georges Méliès; quoted by Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” p. 760. On Méliès’ comedies and contemporary melodramas, see Richard Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town: French Cinema 1896-1914 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press, 1994), pp. 90-91/216 and 184-85, respectively.

[3] Frazer, Artificially Arranged Scenes; quoted by Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” p. 753. On L’Affaire Dreyfus, see Stephen Bottomore, "Dreyfus and Documentary," Sight and Sound 53:4 (Autumn 1984), pp. 290-93; and Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, pp. 92-93. A 2011 novel, Susan Daitch’s Paper Conspiracies (San Francisco: City Lights Publishers), includes the making and motivation of Méliès’ film among its multiple perspectives on the Dreyfus episode. On Méliès’ “anti-Boulangism”—that is, his opposition to a contemporary right-leaning political faction—see Matthew Solomon, “Georges Méliès: Anti-Boulangist Caricature and the Incohérent Movement,” Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media 53:2 (Fall 2012), pp. 305-27. Solomon traces the satire of Le Voyage dans la lune back to Méliès’ anti-Boulangist politics: see his introduction to Fantastic Voyages of the Cinematic Imagination: Georges Méliès’ “A Trip to the Moon” (Albany, NY: State Univ. of New York Press, 2011), at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[4] Annual output totals for Star-Film come from Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” p. 758.

[5] Ezra, Georges Méliès, p. 17, at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[6] See Jens Ullf-Møller, Hollywood’s Film Wars with France: Film-Trade Diplomacy and the Emergence of the French Film Quota Policy (Rochester, NY: Rochester Univ. Press, 2001), pp. 13-16, at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[7] Quoted by Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” p. 758.

[8] On Gaston Méliès and the U.S. activities of the Méliès company and its various offshoots, see Frank Thompson, The Star Film Ranch: Texas’ First Picture Show (Plano, TX: Republic of Texas Press/Wordware Publishing, 1996); Thompson, “The First Picture Show: Gaston Méliès’s Star Film Ranch, San Antonio, Texas, 1910-1911,” Literature/Film Quarterly 23:2 (1995), pp. 110-13; and Patrick McInroy, “The American Méliès,” Sight and Sound 48 (Autumn 1979), pp. 250-54. See also Richard R. Flores, Remembering the Alamo: Memory, Modernity, and the Master Symbol (Austin: Univ. of Texas Press, 2002), pp. 95-98, at (accessed June 10, 2016); “Manufacturers Advance Notes,” Motion Picture World 17:1 (July 5, 1913), p. 54, at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[9] Charles Musser, The Emergence of Cinema: The American Screen to 1907 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press, 1994), p. 364.

[10] Richard Abel, The Red Rooster Scare: Making Cinema American, 1900-1910 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press, 1999), p. 10.

[11] Solomon, introduction to Fantastic Voyages of the Cinematic Imagination, p. 2, at (accessed June 10, 2016); and Abel, The Red Rooster Scare, p. 10.

[12] See Peter Decherney, Hollywood’s Coyright Wars: From Edison to the Internet (New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 2013), esp. pp. 19-36, at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[13] Abel, The Red Rooster Scare, pp. 15-16.

[14] These events are confirmed in the court report for George [sic] Melies Co. v. Motion Picture Patents Co. et al. See Reports Containing the Cases Determined in All the Circuits from the Organization of the Courts. Volume 118 (Eagan, MN: West Publishing Co., 1913), pp. 448-58, at (accessed June 10, 2016). See also Eileen Bowser, The Transformation of Cinema 1907-1915 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press, 1990), p. 30.

[15] The Merritt Crawford Papers, which also contain relevant correspondence with Thomas Edison, are held by the Museum of Modern Art in New York. See The Merritt Crawford Papers, ed. Eileen Bowser. Cinema History Microfilm Series. (Frederick, MD: University Publications of America, 1986).

[16] Musser, The Emergence of Cinema, p. 364; Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, p. 14. On the inadvertent stereoscopic effect that Méliès produced by filming with two cameras, see Brian Darr, “The Re-Making of Georges Méliès,” Keyframe (February 27, 2012), at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[17] See McInroy, “The American Méliès,” pp. 252-53; Thompson, “The First Picture Show,” p. 111.

[18] See Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” p. 759; and Abel, The Ciné Goes to Town, p. 179. On Méliès’ life between 1913 and his death in 1938, see esp. Hammond, Marvellous Méliès, pp. 80-85.

[19] See Stephen Herbert, “Jehanne d’Alcy (Charlotte-Stephanie Faes),” Who’s Who of Victorian Cinema (British Film Institute, 2016), at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[20] Both letters quoted by Stephen J. Gertz, “Scarce Letters of Movie Pioneer Georges Méliès, Hero of Scorsese’s ‘Hugo,’ Surface,” Booktryst (February 24, 2012), at (accessed February 19, 2014).

[21] This chapter in the story is recounted by Philippa Campsie, “Discovery in a Dairy Shed,” Parisian Fields (January 1, 2012), at (accessed June 10, 2016). Campsie also explains how 800 canisters full of old films—including twelve hand-tinted prints of films by Georges Méliès—ended up in a dairy shed in Normandy. She draws upon a book coedited by Méliès’ great-grandson: Jacques Malthête and Michel Marie, eds., Georges Méliès, l’Illusionite fin de siècle? [in French] (Paris: Presses de la Sorbonne Nouvelle, 1997).

[22] Solomon, introduction to Fantastic Voyages of the Cinematic Imagination, p. 3, at

[23] Quoted by Rae Beth Gordon, “From Charcot to Charlot: Unconscious Imitation and Spectatorship in French Cabaret and Early Cinema,” in The Mind of Modernism: Medicine, Psychology and the Cultural Arts in Europe and America, 1880-1940, ed. Mark S. Micale (Redwood City, CA: Stanford Univ. Press, 2004), p. 118, at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[24] Quoted by Rosen, “Méliès, Georges,” p. 759.

[25] See Raymond Durgnat, Franju (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1968), pp. 50-54. See also Kate Ince, Georges Franju (Manchester, UK: Manchester Univ. Press, 2005), esp. p. 23, at (accessed June 10, 2016); and Hal Gladfelder, “Franju, Georges,” in The Concise Routledge Encyclopedia of the Documentary Film, ed. Ian Aitken (Abington, UK: Routledge, 2013), esp. p. 273, at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[26] “Realism and Surrealism” (1965), trans. Jim Knox, at (accessed June 6, 2003).

[27] See Solomon, introduction to Fantastic Voyages of the Cinematic Imagination, pp. 3-5, at

[28] See “Real Culture: A Trip to the Moon as You’ve Never Seen It Before,” (September 2, 2011), at (accessed June 10, 2016); Ari Karpel, “A Long, Strange ‘Trip to the Moon,’” Fast Company (November 4, 2011), at (accessed June 10, 2016); Bill Desowitz, “Another Trip to the Moon with Méliès: Behind the Digital Restoration of VFX Landmark,” Thompson on Hollywood (September 2, 2011), at (accessed June 10, 2016); and Krisotpher Tapley, “Technicolor and Martin Scorsese’s ‘Hugo’ Restore the Magic of Méliès,” Hitfix (November 23, 2011), at (accessed June 10, 2016).

[29] On the ramifications of the last two scenes for a complete understanding of Méliès’ intentions in Le Voyage dans la lune, see Solomon, introduction to Fantastic Voyages of the Cinematic Imagination, pp. 7-12, at

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