All language subtitles for Exposing.Muybridge

When you think of Muybridge, is there a...

What single word comes to mind for you,

when you think of Edward Muybridge?

Tricky. Um...

and certainly daring.

I almost said "crazy."

Eccentric.

Duplicitous.

He's temperamental, volatile.

I don't have to like him.

I like his work, I like what he did.

Ego.

He wanted to be seen as...

I don't know
if it was the God or the Devil.

Probably both.

My one word
for Muybridge is "survivor."

Mischievous,

and out of that mischievousness,

we have this wonderful work.

He's sharp.

Uh, talented.

Just a wonderful cocktail.

Edward Muybridge is best known

for his breakthrough
motion study photographs.

Early in his career,

Muybridge was largely
a landscape photographer,

and he was traveling throughout the West...

California, Utah, Alaska...

making photographs
that he was hoping to sell

to a buying public.

He's photographing
destinations, like Yosemite,

that have a sense of drama, a mystique,

perhaps a degree of exoticism.

His vision was singular.

When you stand

in the same place a photographer stood,

and you look at what they saw,

you see with your body,

not just your eyes.

You feel the place.

You see not only what's in the picture,

but what's on the side of
the picture, what's behind it.

And then we can say, "Well,
look what Muybridge did."

Re-photography of Muybridge...

gives us some insight
into how he saw the world

and how he recreated the world

within the borders of his photographs.

The place is never like the photograph.

It never matches.

I mean, sure, you can make details,

but the experience is not the
same thing as the photograph.

I mean, landscape photography
is often thought

of as pictures of rocks and trees,

and they may be the subject of the pictures

in a place like Yosemite,

but there is no such thing
as a neutral photograph.

You're making a picture.

It's made from the position
of the... the maker,

and their opinion,

their thinking about
how to make the picture,

pushes their own vision

and decides what to see, and how to see it.

Pictures, in the end,
are stories, you know?

So, who was Muybridge?

He was a character in his own story.

He's a mysterious figure.

He was always engaged
in some sort of decision

about what to reveal and what to hide.

- Ooh, yeah.
- Yeah, this is it.

This is it.

- That's great.
- There's a rock right there.

- There, there.
- Here we go.

Oh, no, no.
Too far.

That covers it up.
I got to go this way.

There, there.
There we go. See that?

Does that look about right?

Let me look at the, uh, one you had.

One of the things

that makes Lake Tenaya
a special place for us

is that there were several
different photographers

who made pictures here.

These photographers didn't know

where the other one made
their picture necessarily,

but they chose vantage points

that were within 20 feet of one another.

The Weston and Adams pictures

really depict a very similar scene,

looking out across Tenaya Lake.

And in fact, their two photographs

overlap a little bit

with the way that they frame the scene.

They're these highly graphic,

incredibly simplified
representations of a place.

Big granite faces, and deep, dark shadows.

Very simplified and bold,

and kind of modern-looking pictures.

Muybridge photographs are not that.

I think Muybridge was telling

a more complicated story.

He's looking at stuff that...

that's dead.

There's a lot of debris.

Foreground spaces are often confusing.

He uses details like rocks and trees

in ways that feel chaotic and jumbled.

It's often hard to tell where
you are standing, as a viewer.

He uses space and planes

in ways that are highly disorienting.

Lovely.

Uh, my wife and I are
fortunate to have found this.

It's got a little fading,

I think maybe a little
watermark, and some foxing,

but... but o... overall,
it's in pretty good condition.

And this is... is...
it was taken in Yosemite.

And of course,
there is Mr. Muybridge.

Now, what you see here...

is...

there's a determination

and a real sort of...

f... fixity of purpose in the eyes.

Even though the body language is relaxed,

the eyes are intense and focused.

I mean, for an actor,

if I were to play Muybridge,
or an actor were to play him,

um...

I mean, that's... that's gold dust.

Muybridge was born in 1830,

in a small town
called Kingston-upon-Thames.

He's given the name
Edward James Muggeridge.

Time was measured by the
rising and setting of the sun.

There was no electrical illumination.

Transportation is by horse and carriage,

or by barge and boat.

And he's still in a... a society

in which ancient traditions are followed,

traditions of... of family, of class.

Muybridge's family ran the barges

between London and Kingston
that would bring coal and corn

between the outlying areas and the city.

Muybridge, he certainly was

an incredibly creative individual.

Right from the start,

even as a young person,

he sought out a life for himself

that was separate from the generations

of his family that he was born into.

He leaves England when he's 20 years old,

for a completely unknown country.

In 1855,

Edward Muybridge arrives in San Francisco.

He's a... a bookseller, a publisher,

an inventor,

a banker, an investor...

a photographer.

Muybridge's photography takes place

in a period of just 20 years of his life.

He goes from learning photography

to becoming one of the... the best known

and most important
photographers in the world.

But as a photographer,
he calls himself "Helios."

Helios was the name

of the Greek God of the sun.

So, he certainly took on
this idea of the photographer

as a mythic being.

He'll go anywhere,
he'll photograph anything,

and it'll be perfect.

Helios and his flying studio.

One of the most
popular forms of photography

in the 1860s were stereo views,

a pair of photographs

taken through a special
camera with two lenses,

just slightly different.

And then when they're viewed
through a special viewer,

your brain puts them together
as a three-dimensional image.

These are the pictures
that different photographers

would sell in their galleries

to the middle class people, you know,

who could afford to buy them

for a dollar a view.

And, you know, Muybridge
made an extensive catalog

of stereo views at the time.

Of course, in those days

you would have to hire an expedition team.

You might want a guide who knows the area.

You've got these massive
plates that... that weigh a ton,

and many of them, and they're in crates,

and you've got the tripod,

which is very, sort of, cumbersome.

And you've got these big cameras.

And really dangerous chemicals.

It was all glass, so everything
was in glass bottles.

You got to keep these things
really... spotlessly clean.

And you've then got
to traverse this terrain

with all of this equipment
to get to where you're going.

The story goes

that he would do things and go to places

where the guides and the team would not go.

He would go out on a ledge,

and really not care for his own safety,

to get the picture.

The picture was all.
The picture was everything.

Muybridge is right about here,
where my hands are,

and he made a stereo view

from right about this position, two lenses.

But it's interesting, because
he could have had his assistant

sit in the view,

but he had the guy he was working with

take a picture of him,
so he's actually choosing

to put himself
in the picture for some reason.

Who knows? Maybe his assistant
refused to go out on the point.

Maybe!
I don't blame him.

- I'm not going out there.
- Would you go out there?

I'm not gonna go out there.

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

Glass plate film was incredibly slow,

so an ordinary exposure
could easily take a minute,

or up to two minutes, depending upon

what the lighting conditions were.

So, if something like a river
were to be photographed,

it might end up as this
sort of blur in the scene.

A lot of those
waterfalls are like white foam.

They become creamy and...

they're like lace,

or chiffon, or something.

There's some...

something very soft and feminine

about them.

Photographers might put a figure

in a landscape for scale.

Muybridge shows scale,

but then he just gives
it an artistic twist.

At times, it's whimsy.

He'll put someone

way down in a third of the frame

with their back to you.

They always seemed to be looking out.

When Muybridge arrives in San Francisco,

he arrives in this world
that's being modernized,

with the railroad,

with the steam engine,

with the telegraph.

Everything is
changing, where a way of life,

which had gone on for
quite literally millennia,

is now over,

and Muybridge is a part of it.

Photography is used to sell
bonds for the railroads,

and it's used to bring
people west as tourists,

and to bring them west as settlers.

Certainly, Muybridge is selling the west.

He makes images
that are a great representation

of the destiny of the nation.

You know, reach the Pacific Shore

with the beacons of the lighthouses

marking that territory.

Muybridge is working

for corporate and government interests.

He's certainly making pictures
that are propaganda pictures.

But he's also playing with it,

and he's using those opportunities

to make pictures for himself.

Independence was paramount for him.

It's just who he was.

Muybridge is commissioned to help

the United States Army,

the War Department,

to photograph a war going on

between the Modoc Indians

in Northern California,

and the US military.

Basically, Muybridge
is hired to help the army

to understand the territory

in which the fighting is going on.

And at the same time,
there's interest in the media.

Muybridge's photographs
are used in Harper's Weekly,

which was a very important weekly magazine.

One of the images
that Muybridge makes is called

Modoc Brave on the Warpath.

I think that Muybridge's
photographs of Native people

are his most documentary images,

showing, kind of, everyday side of life,

uh, among people who are native
to the American West.

He's not trying to make photographs that

disparage the people he's photographing.

I think he's trying to survey and document

and convey a sense of respect

to communities outside of his own,

you know, in ways that other photographers

weren't really doing at the time.

In 1868, Muybridge was invited

to accompany a military
expedition to Alaska,

and it's just after America has purchased

the territory from Russia.

Muybridge's job was really

to photograph military forts and harbors.

But he also photographed Native people.

Muybridge made, really,
the very first photographs

of Native people in southeast Alaska.

The Tlingit people, if you look
at the word "Tlingit..."

It's... it's a blowing sound...
"Thlingit. Thlingit."

It... they're the Tidelands people.

Russia claims Alaska,
through a discovery, right?

They came here and discovered
it, even though we were here.

We had our ownership rules,

we had our established villages.

And then in 1867, they
sold it to the United States.

And there's a thought that, you know,

because they were...

we were purchased by the United States,

that we were going to be cultured, right?

Well, we already had a culture.

We expected some reciprocity for...

them moving on our land.

Instead, we were moved off the land.

We were excluded from boating,

we were excluded from having civil rights.

We lost our soul.

The soul that we are,
the soul of our identity.

We lost.
We lost a lot.

We've been here since time immemorial.

And now we're down
to maybe two million families

that are left in an area

that can trace their history

back to Tongass Island.

There's a Kootéeyaa
over here, a totem pole.

The base of one.

It fell down...

falling back into the forest.

Yeah.

Okay, so, here, I want to hand this to you

and have you look at it.

Only pick it up and sort of...
that's right, just like that.

And my grandmother
was on this island after this.

She was born in 1876.

And I think one of these ladies

could be my grandmother's mother.

The young ones.

And similar loo... looks...

features like my grandmother right here.

It gives me a longing.

At this time they were a unit,

they were families.

They had a cultural life.

Well, they probably think,

"What... what's
that strange box?"

So, when Muybridge sent
the picture to them...

it was a gift to them.

It was a return of what
he... he promised them

from the box.

They probably didn't know it,

but then, probably, when they saw it,

they... made them real excited.

That you say say,

"Here I am inside this picture,
and here's my family."

He gave us,
our "precious thing."

This is the precious thing now.

That's what we say, when we say.

This is something that
belonged to me and my soul.

It's a renewal when I look at it

to... and feel better
when I walk out of here

and continue on my life.

And once in a while,
when I don't feel so good,

I'll look at this picture.

That's kind of like
a revitalization every time.

That's what I feel.

In 1871, Muybridge meets

and marries Flora Shallcross Stone.

She's much younger than he is.

She's in her early twenties,
and he's in his early forties.

This is a description of Flora

by a Postjournalist who would
actually have known her.

"Petite, but voluptuous-looking,

with a sweet, winning face

and large eyes of tender blue,

and with a wealth of dark brown hair.

She was just the woman
to make an impression

upon a cynic like Muybridge, who was then,

after a life of toil and privation,

beginning to achieve

the enviable reputation
he enjoys now."

He's traveling, he's expanding his career.

He's always on the move,
and he leaves her at home.

That spells trouble.

In a way, you have the mistress.

The siren's call, the art.

You have to be obsessed with it,

you can't dabble.

That... that's the thing,

if... and... and it's...
a... and it's very selfish.

She gets taken out to the theater a lot.

She loves the theater.

And one of the men
who take her to the theater

is a man called Harry Larkins.

I am related to Harry Larkins.

He was my great-great-great-uncle.

Muybridge was born into a family of, um,

coal dealers and corn salesmen
who ran barges on the Thames.

Harry's family, uh, owned
these great ships,

and were captains of these ships,

and they were running, uh, indigo, opium,

uh, porcelain, and tea around the world.

When the two first met,
according to the reports

in the press written by Harry's friends,

Muybridge was deeply enamored of Harry.

Um, maybe slightly glamorized by him,

before it all fell apart.

I think he was somewhat naive

to think that he could
marry a pretty young girl

who's 20 years his junior

and disappear
for six and seven, eight months

up a mountain, taking pictures.

And she's gonna to be

waiting for him.

In the 1950s, a man called Brandenburg,

found a photograph album
in a secondhand shop.

It was identified early
on as belonging to Flora.

Fascinatingly, two of the figures in there

were theorists about women's equality

and women's sexual liberation.

One, Victoria Woodhull,

who was the first woman to run
for United States president,

and the other, a man
called Orson Squire Fowler.

Fowler argued passionately

that women should be
as fulfilled sexually as men.

And was this unusual for that era?

Absolutely, yes.

Not just thatera.

And Flora gets pregnant.

Muybridge, well, he's off
like he usually is, you know,

making pictures,
during the whole pregnancy.

Flora gives birth to their son.

They begin a family

and Muybridge makes
a very unfortunate discovery.

Muybridge sees a picture of, uh, the child,

and on the back
is written, "little Harry."

This little inscription that says, um,

"Oh,
my lovely little Harry."

Major Harry... Harry Larkins.

And he thinks...

"I'm going to... I'm gonna... I'm...

I'm going to kill him."

He is in a whirlwind

of... of... of...

I mean, just rage.

Muybridge went to see William Roelofson,

who was by this point, selling
his photographs for him.

Had a complete, sort of, nervous breakdown.

Roelofson, uh, said

that he desperately
tried to stop Muybridge,

but Muybridge with the strength of ten men

burst away from him.

Leapt from the dock onto the boat.

Caught the train to Callisto,
hurried through the night,

reached the Yellowjacket
mine at about 11 o'clock.

Larkins comes out,

looks into the sort of...

velvet black,

and says, you know,
"Hello? Who is it?"

And Muybridge says,

"I have a message
from my wife..."

and shoots him.

One time?

Dead.

Muybridge...

is caught red-handed.

This article contains
Muybridge's direct account,

in theory, of what happened
when he shot Harry,

uh, under the subheading,
"The Fatal Meeting."

"The only thing I am sorry for

in connection with the affair

is that he died so quickly.

I would have wished

that he could have lived long enough

at least to acknowledge
the wrong he had done me,

that his punishment was deserved,

and that my act was a justifiable defense

of my marital rights."

Extraordinary.

Flora not only
doesn't take Muybridge's side,

she actually tries to help

the district attorney prosecute Muybridge.

She also institutes divorce
proceedings against Muybridge.

And at the trial, Muybridge's defense team

dredged up something from earlier years

that they hoped might get him off.

He had been in a stagecoach accident

that had almost killed him,

and left him, perhaps, brain damaged.

This is how Muybridge recalled the accident

from the witness stand:

"We got on board the stage,

which was drawn by six wild Mustang horses.

That is the last
I recollect of that nine days.

After that, I found myself lying in bed.

There was a small wound
on the top of my head.

When I recovered,

each eye formed an individual impression,

so that looking at you, for instance,

I could see another man
sitting by your side.

I had no taste,
nor smell, and was very deaf."

We don't really have much of an idea

of what he was like before the accident.

It may have triggered something.

It may have changed
something in his personality.

Afterward,

we hear about, he's eccentric,

he's prone to rage,

he's uninhibited, he wears strange clothes,

he's got a hole in his hat,

he doesn't shave.

He's always putting himself out

on the very edges of rocks,

looking into an abyss.

There's the risk-taking aspect of Muybridge

that one could say
is a product of this injury.

In the reliving of it
and the telling of the story,

it was a way in which he could,

perhaps, persuade the jury

and the judge

that this...

madness that came upon him

was... was, in part,
connected to the head injury.

They plead temporary insanity.

This is a picture of Muybridge in Yosemite

on Contemplation Rock.

And he is sitting untethered,

with his feet dangling over the edge.

There's a 3,000 foot drop

beneath him.

And this was used in evidence to prove

that Muybridge was indeed insane.

Why the prosecution allowed
him to make that case,

I'm not sure, but they
brought in the superintendent

of a local in... insane asylum

who absolutely disagreed with all evidence

to suggest that Muybridge was, uh, insane

at the time of the killing.

The opposing counsel...

argued that it was cold-blooded murder,

plain and simple,

and that he should hang for it.

Muybridge, and everyone at the trial...

knew he... he was guilty.

Muybridge confessed his guilt.
He was proud of what he did.

He has a very, very good attorney

by the name of, uh, Pendergast.

So, Pendergast kind of
has to really do a 180,

think on his feet, and he comes back.

Now they're pleading,
really, crime of passion.

This is from the closing
statement of the defense.

"You, gentlemen of the jury,

you who have wives whom you love,

daughters whom you cherish,

and mothers whom you reverence,

will not say insanity.

I cannot ask you to send
this man back to a happy home.

He hasn't any.

The destroyer has been there

and has written all over it

from foundation stone to roof tile.

Desolation, desolation!"

They obviously go back to the jury room

going, "Yeah, you know.

Well, how would you feel, Bill,

if someone came in
and slept with your wife?"

I mean, whatever this conversation was

in the jury room,

it didn't take very long to deliberate.

And they came back
and they said not guilty.

And what's Muybridge's reaction?

Oh, he... he collapses...

and bursts into uncontrollable tears.

He's, like, just stupefied by it.

I mean, he is... he is just... uh,

he... he becomes like w... water, you know?

And so much... so much so...

that even Pendergast
and the people are telling him,

"Really, you've got
to pull yourself together."

He was wailing.

People were leaving the courthouse...

the judge had to actually leave

because he said,
"Oh, for heaven's sake."

My... Ta... take that man!

He was going...

Muybridge... sort of
snapped out of it again

after a certain time
and, uh, gathered his wits

and walked out of court

and started joking with the pressmen,

and he also said, um, he wished Flora well,

and while he had a penny to his name,

she would never come to want.

Muybridge, he slips away

in the middle of the night,

and boards a steamer to Central America

on a new commission,

leaving, uh, his troubles and Flora behind.

Flora, she was overcome by some illness

that's never really been clearly explained,

and, in July, she died

in hospital, age 24 by then.

Alone, no money ever having
come through to help her.

The son, Muybridge put into an orphanage.

Abandoned him, left him.

In Central America,

he changes his name
to Eduardo Santiago Muybridge.

Muybridge took on so many different names.

He's born Edward James Muggeridge,

and then he takes out
the "E"... "Muggridge."

When he goes to
the United States, "Muygridge."

Then he becomes "Muybridge" with a "B,"

and then finally,

the strange first name, Eadweard,

the name that he takes after
Edward, the King of England.

I think Muybridge keeps changing his name

because I think his whole life

is the search for...

his self, for status.

He says, as a very young child,
to his grandmother,

"I am going to make a name for myself.

And, uh, if I don't,
you'll never hear from me."

A couple of years before the events

that really changed Muybridge's life,

the murder of Larkins and
his trip to Central America,

he began working with Leland Stanford

when he was hired to photograph his home.

If Stanford is the king on the hill

looking out over all of his
wealth and territory, you know,

Muybridge is an artist
who's commissioned by the King.

[Richard Leland Stanford's known

for building the Central Pacific Railroad.

He was one of the richest
and most powerful men

in 19th century California...
indeed in the United States.

He was a governor, he was a senator.

This man who is enamored with horses.

He really is in love with horses.

He'd rather spend more time

with his horses than with the railroad.

And in fact, he often does.

And Leland Stanford builds

what is probably the greatest
stable of trotting horses

in the United States
in the late 19th century.

He throws himself into it.

Stanford wants to show

that a horse at full gallop
is going to have

all four feet off the ground
at the same time.

The issue is when a horse is galloping,

no human eye can see exactly
what it's doing.

It's too quick.

He wants Muybridge to take a single picture

of a moment

when the horse has
all, uh, hooves off the ground.

Muybridge thinks that the...
the adventure is impossible.

The mission is impossible.

The process of photography
is just too slow.

When it's all very quickly,

I think, put together, and they get...

uh, I think, just a smudge.

When Muybridge comes back
from Central America,

they picked up this mission,

this adventure.

Muybridge proposes to try to capture

a sequence of images.
Not just one picture,

but a sequence of images,

one after another,

that show a horse running through time.

And Stanford agrees to this.

Stanford wants to use machines

to understand how the horse runs

in order to make them run faster,

in order to make them compete better,

in order to win.

I think Muybridge had no
interest in that at all.

I think Muybridge was interested in

the idea that one could

create the illusion
of real life with a camera.

And that's what he set out to do.

He wants to capture this horse moving

over a certain...

space in time.

So, he's thinking,

"Well, the horse is moving, you know,

as it... as it runs across.

I'm going
to need multiple cameras."

Of course, you had all the naysayers

saying that it couldn't be done.

The chemistry used to produce the images

at that time period,

the lenses, the shutters,

all of the technology, um, said no.

Muybridge is still working

with a very slow, wet plate.

So, this was made
by taking a piece of glass

and, uh, pouring on a very special type

of chemistry called collodion.

Collodion are cotton balls
dissolved in nitric acid.

They have ether
and alcohol as the vaporants

and salts of iodides and bromides,

in this whole mixture concoction.

Super volatile.

You could have caught fire

and blown yourself up.

Pour that onto the glass plate

from corner to corner, to corner to corner,

and drain that off

and then put that
into a bath of silver nitrate.

The silver nitrate was not light-sensitive,

the collodion is not light-sensitive,

but you put this little
bit of chemistry together

and it becomes light-sensitive,

and, uh, it makes molecules
of light-sensitive compound

floating in a sticky substance
stuck to the glass.

And while that light-sensitive
emulsion is still tacky,

carry that plate in a light-proof box

over to his camera,

put it into his camera, expose it.

Back in the day
you were counting out seconds,

not fractions of seconds.

You can't remove a lens cap
real fast... that fast...

and have it happen.
You couldn't time that.

This is how primitive it was.

I expose.

So, you... you're not going to be

able to capture a horse running.

Probably what's the most important

part of this equation is a shutter.

Something to open and close

to let a fraction of a second of light

into that camera.

That would allow the light to go through.

He kept on trying,
reinventing his inventions,

figuring out better ways to do this.

So, this wasn't a one-shot deal.

He tried all different ways to do this.

Still, his cameras are too slow

to ever capture the horse,
so he has to make something

that's completely artificial

in order to make the cameras

capture something.

He built this big, monstrous wall

that was raked at an angle

so the sunlight would bounce off of it

and straight into the cameras.

He then makes the ground white

by putting marble dust or lime on it.

White, white, white, white.

All the light they could possibly muster.

They were trying to photograph
the light behind the object,

and the horse would become
the absence of light.

Looking at the wall

are, in fact, a series of cameras.

Each a stereo camera

that has two lenses which operate

faster than any lens operated at the time.

In front of them is a guillotine shutter.

And there's the added thing of alchemy.

There's something in the chemistry

that Muybridge does.

We don't know what it is.

Muybridge, with help,

uh, from some of Stanford's engineers,

had, uh, been working on this for months,

and they invited
the press to come and watch

so there would be no disputing
that the images were real.

Yaw!

And the image appears.

And it is like...

"Ooh! Oh, my God."

It's... it's... it's magical.

[Marta He was able to

take a series of images

in 1/500th, 1/1000th,

1/2000th of a second.

He captures time.

He got mostly silhouettes,

but they were exactly
what Stanford had hoped.

For the first time,

one could see the gaits of a horse.

It's like splitting the atom.

It's like discovering penicillin

or... I... I mean, you know,

it's... it's...

a monumental achievement.

Muybridge was offering a picture

that nobody had seen before.

Here, we're involved,

I would say, in a real revolution.

The camera becomes

more powerful than the eye.

The camera's purposes, its abilities,

its possibilities, become redefined.

To be something that can penetrate

into, basically, an invisible world.

The images were simply a phenomenon.

Everyone is astonished
and Muybridge is triumphant.

But immediately, there was also skepticism.

There are people who don't believe them.

If you look at paintings
in the 19th century

and earlier of... of galloping horses,

they're very often like a rocking horse.

You know, the legs are stretched out

before and after.

Whereas if you look at a Muybridge,

they're curled up under the belly.

I often say they look like a dead spider.

They're ugly.

Rodin, the great
French sculptor of this era,

when he was asked,

"Do you believe these?
Are these true?"

He said,

"No, Muybridge's work lies.

Muybridge gives you
the truth of the machine

that can stop an image,

but it's not the truth of human experience.

It's not the truth
of human vision."

Leland Stanford travels
to Europe on the heels

of the success of Muybridge's,

uh, experiments and the construction

of the album,

The Attitudes of Animals in Motion.

And Stanford brings a copy of the album

to the great French painter,

Jean-Louis Ernest Meissonier.

And Meissonier is astounded

by what he sees.

Meissonier really expresses
disbelief that, you know,

the pictures were authentic and true.

Stanford responded to Meissonier,

"The machine cannot lie."

So, can the machine lie?

You know, I think
that in some ways, you know,

Muybridge and his photographs

are at the heart of this question.

There's the question of how do you prove

that they're authentic?

That even though they look very bizarre

when you look at them one by one,

if you look at them in rapid succession

so that, you know,
you're looking at them in this,

in effect, motion picture device,

you can see continuous motion.

It doesn't look weird.

It looks just like a horse galloping.

So, he devises

what he calls a zoopraxiscope.

Muybridge actually creates disks

that have sequential drawings on them...

drawings made from his photographs...

each phase of the movement,

and a machine

that will put those disks into motion

and project the movement of the animal.

He is able to show discs

that he's made from his photographs from

the San Francisco Olympic Club.

So, you have guys doing somersaults,

jumping and running and leaping

and even shaking his hand.

Muybridge, sort of like Alfred Hitchcock,

he always puts himself into the project.

Then he gives public lectures

and... and people are
absolutely lining up to see it.

They love it.
They can't get enough of it.

He combines the various photographs

that he had made
in this creative, narrative,

fantastical way.

He has an idea that, "What I stopped,

I can reanimate."

So, when people first saw this,

this was the very beginnings of cinema.

Just the effect of watching
something that was still

move... is magical.

It's witchcraft.

There's, a... a new aspect

to Muybridge's understanding

of what kind of name
he wants to make for himself.

He wants to be a scientist,

and he wants to be
associated with that kind of...

higher calling.

I mean, even on the back here,

it says, "Left forefoot,"

and then the horse's head is 85 inches

and then 38 inches,

the vertical lines are 27 inches apart.

I mean, it's incredibly detailed.

But I also like

the aesthetic.

I think they're just beautiful-looking.

And Muybridge
goes to Europe as a famous man.

He's made a name for himself.

And he presents his zoopraxiscope,

uh, to the artists
and the scientists of his time,

and the royal family.

There's a record of the Prince of Wales

being astonished and laughing

and enjoying what Muybridge has to show.

Letter from Muybridge to Frank Shay,

Leland Stanford's secretary.

"Many of the most eminent men in arts,

science and letters in Europe were present

at the exhibition.

Happily, I have strong nerves,

or I should have blushed

with the lavishness of their praises.

Yours faithfully, Muybridge."

"Happily, I have strong nerves,"

I'll have to use that one.

"No, you're too kind.

Oh, no, it was...

it was merely competent, come now.

Ha... ha... happily,

I have a strong nerve."

You know, and he's soaking up the applause

that he so desperately wanted.

Now he's quite famous.

He is being asked to these places

that Stanford had to buy his way into.

And it puts Stanford's nose out of joint.

He doesn't... he... he...
he doesn't like this.

"It was my idea,

my funding."

Stanford's letter to Stillman, 1883.

"The actual facts are,
from beginning to end,

he was an instrument to carry out my ideas.

I think the fame that we have given him

has turned his head."

When Muybridge is about to get

his greatest honor,

Stanford publishes a book.

But the author of the book
is not Muybridge.

The title is The Horse in Motion

with a Study of Animal Mechanics.

And it's by J.D.B. Stillman.

"Executed and published

under the auspices
of Leland Stanford."

There is no credit here
given to Muybridge at all.

He is not mentioned on the title page.

He is mentioned only briefly in the preface

and then again as a technician.

So, all of a sudden,
Muybridge's triumph is dashed.

Muybridge's whole work
is called into question

and his name, uh, is besmirched.

He's actually being told
that the work isn't his...

the work he's showing.

He... it... it's not
his, it's... it's stolen.

I mean, talk about
having your legs cut off.

The Royal Society...

that was the... that's the Oscar.

That's the recognition by your peers,

and he was almost,

almost to it, you know what I mean?

It is really a b... a betrayal.

He doesn't ha... he doesn't handle it well.

And... and really,

uh, Leland Stanford just cuts him off.

Muybridge never got over,

never got over the pain
of what Stanford did.

He writes a letter

to Mrs. Stanford
years later

saying how hurt he was.

"I received a note requesting my presence

at the rooms of the society.

Upon my arrival, I was conducted

to the council chamber

and was asked by the president

if I knew anything about a book,

then on the table, having on its title page

the following:

The Horse in Motion
by J.D.B. Stillman, M.D.

Published under the auspices

of Leland Stanford.

The doors of the Royal Society

were thus closed against me,

and my promising career in London

was thus brought
to a disastrous close."

So great.

Muybridge began lecturing again

with his zoopraxiscope
all over the East Coast.

He was in Baltimore,

Washington, New York, Philadelphia...

When he was finished with California,

he went to Europe.

When Europe was finished with him,

he came back to the States.

And he just keeps soldiering on,

picking himself up

when his reputation is trashed,

when his body is trashed.

He is persistent

and he keeps finding a way

to be relevant and important.

In one of these lectures,

he met Thomas Eakins, the painter.

Eakins was one of the painters,

like Meissonier,

who saw Muybridge's Stanford work

and was absolutely enthralled by it.

Eeakins introduced him to the provost

of the University of Pennsylvania

whose name was William Pepper,

and they invited Muybridge

to make a new series of photographs

on animal and human movements.

This was a very expensive undertaking,

and William Pepper
was really taking a gamble

with a lot of people's money

on the project's outcome

being magnificent and amazing.

Pepper creates

what he calls
his "scientific commission."

A group of professors

that will ensure

the scientific accuracy of the project.

Why did he put this committee together?

Why did he need this oversight?

He must have known about the murder,

because that was in all the papers.

He may have known
about Muybridge's reputation

as an eccentric character.

There's no question

that this is Muybridge's project,

but he is so circumscribed

in what he can do

by virtue of the people

who are overseeing his work...

professors, doctors,

physicists, artists.

They believe that he can deliver

what they all want.

Frances Durkheim, who's a neurologist,

brought his patients

from the Philadelphia hospital

to measure and document
the changes in their gait,

the difficulties they had with balance.

And then you have
the comparative zoologists

who are really interested
in this very Darwinian project

of understanding the relationship

between animals and humans.

Where is that line really crossed?

And then, of course, you have artists

who stand to benefit
from these representations

of the body in motion.

At the very beginning,

he sets up his cameras,

not in a sequence at all.

He has six cameras

and he plants them

around the subject

he's photographing.

And he has them synched

to go off simultaneously.

It's kind of
like a cinematic tracking shot,

the camera is moving around.

And then, just as he did in Palo Alto,

he puts 12 cameras in a row

and he photographs sequences.

And then he adds two more cameras,

so from the rear and from the front.

And then he takes 12, 12 and 12,

and he assembles them so that they line up.

But in order to make those final prints,

he has to organize them,

he has to enlarge some of them,

he has to crop the laterals.

He has to make every image match up.

All of these men on the commission

think they're creating
knowledge that is neutral,

that is verifiable, that is measurable.

We see a grid in the background,

very scientific looking grid
that makes the whole picture

look scientific.

Muybridge wasn't the first photographer

to use a grid,

but it typically was used

in anthropological studies

to document images

of people of color.

There was a strong belief

in the hierarchy of race at this time.

There's the belief

that the most
technologically advanced humans

are the most civilized humans.

And there's a desire

to measure racial difference

in order to show a hierarchy

with white men at the top.

In Muybridge's case,

the very first person

that he photographs with a grid

is a gentleman who's listed
as a mulatto pugilist.

Ben Bailey, the first,
and only, Black model

in the whole project.

The grid appears with Ben Bailey,

because the commissioners

were studying racial difference.

And the grid stays in the picture

from this time onward.

The project, as it develops,

confines Muybridge a little bit,

because the professors
are working with him.

The professors are sending him,

uh, the people that they want photographed.

These are all white men making decisions

about who they're going to photograph

and what they're going to photograph

and what these people
are going to be doing.

If you're a man,
you're going to be photographed

as an athlete,

performing amazing feats

of flexibility and strength.

Women are asked

to do things like move gracefully...

...carry buckets of water.

Often they're asked to do things

that refer to domestic tasks.

The male models include

University of Pennsylvania
student athletes and alumni.

The reason that those upper class students

were not afraid to pose in the nude

was because they weren't vulnerable.

The women in the photographs

were vulnerable.

The women who posed
for Muybridge in the nude

all came from these ranks

of working class women
who didn't have a lot

of employment opportunities.

Then at the far end, we have women

who would not be, in any way,

respectable and polite
middle class society.

Muybridge's models were...

some of them, and especially the ones

that... that carry

the, uh, erotic content of the word...

artist's models.

Artist models were no better than,

or, prostitutes.

Muybridge, really, his attraction

is to the naked women
and to the frozen water.

That is what Muybridge is,

where his interests lie.

So, you have class,
you have race, you have gender.

Is there anything else you need?

And then there are scenes

that really don't make any sense

from a scientific perspective.

This is supposed
to be a scientific project,

it's funded as a scientific project.

When you read the history of photography,

Muybridge is always the great creator

of the study of locomotion.

Hmm. What movement
is being described here?

What are the laws of locomotive mechanics?

Certainly, William Pepper never imagined

that Muybridge was going to try

to make funny pictures.

It was definitely
not in the mission statement,

but it's in there.

You know, all those strange images

of naked women having tea parties.

What are those?

He... he had no idea what surrealism was,

you know, and I don't think he thought

they were funny or bizarre,

but they are.

Jokes, these are jokes.

These are fantasies.

Most of all, they're stories.

It's the content...

of what will become

the industry of motion pictures.

Stories and sex.

That's it, that's Muybridge's

contribution to motion pictures.

It's the fantasy that we all know

from the movies,

that we all go to the movies for.

He's a rulebreaker.

He doesn't get the accolades

for his inventiveness,

for his ability to do what he wanted to do,

even under the watchful eyes

of a committee

that really didn't want him to do that.

Muybridge, the artist,
and Muybridge, the scientist,

what he produces with the conflation

of those two things,

to me, is really the true work of art.

A true work of genius.

When I think about the choice

that William Pepper made

to forge on with Muybridge's project,

even including the photographs

that have somewhat provocative,

and clearly unscientific themes,

I think about how far deep he was in,

in terms of his own reputation

and the reputation of the university.

There was no turning back.

It would have been such an admission

of poor judgment.

They decided to just hold their nose

and keep insisting

that this was a scientific project.

And the decision that's made in 1886

is basically to go ahead

with the publication and distribution,

but to market them in a way

that they would only be accessible

by very rich people

in limited circulation,

thereby pretty much guaranteeing

that only wealthy white men

would ever see these photographs.

She has this kind of...

He's... he's outlined her boobs.

He's taken an instrument
to outline certain things,

to add shade to certain things
that are missing.

I mean, there's all sorts
of things you can see

about the process
and about the pictures here

that...

again, support this idea
of how manipulated it was.

Some of the pictures he took

are just single images of poses

which he put into a sequence.

And sometimes not even
a sequence of movement,

it's the sequence of a pattern.

This is called,

Woman Dropping a Handkerchief.

The position of the handkerchief

in this image, and in this image,

is not the same.

It didn't happen at the same time.

Do you think it's being sold as the same,

like, we're meant to think that?

Of course.

You know that the sequence

tells you how to look,

so you never question it.

You have to really look.

Is it a deception?

Is it the truth?

The truth of what?

This picture is called,
La Libertad, El Salvador,

and like many of Muybridge's photographs,

it has a figure positioned somewhere,

partly for scale.

It also has some details,

like a little rip in the emulsion

where you can see part of the picture

literally peeling away from the glass.

There are some specks and spots

throughout the scene.

And normally, these are details

that you wouldn't pay
that much attention to.

But when I looked at this picture,

I was looking for those
kinds of telltale signs

that would indicate the uniqueness

of this actual picture,

so that when I would look at a photograph

that existed in another album,

I could see a different view.

And I could know

that this same landscape picture

with the torn negative
also revealed a picture

that included clouds,

and a fictional horizon

that showed mountain peaks in the scene.

And so, these two pictures side by side

are what I call, La Libertad,

basic and deluxe versions.

There is an element of...

I don't know if I would call it

whimsy or playfulness.

There are particular clouds
that he liked to use

over and over again.

When I first looked

at The Crater of Volcano,
Quetzaltenango, I laughed.

It was as... an absurd picture,

it was a construction, a fabrication.

I came to appreciate that one picture

maybe more than any of the others,

because it has a falseness to it,

which makes it
a little bit more believable.

It doesn't hide behind...

a fiction of pretending

to be an accurate
representation of a moment.

Muybridge's photographs in Central America,

and in some ways, all of his work,

are more like poems,

and less like precise,
accurate descriptions

of something that happened in the world.

At the time Muybridge is doing this,

the manipulation of photographs

was really open and prevalent.

Photographers did it all the time.

You know, we have to always be vigilant

in looking at photography

about, you know, whether what we're seeing

is actually right and... and truthful.

What's so interesting

about Muybridge's
photograph of the Modoc warrior

is that it is represented

as a journalistic photograph,

as the news.

But when you look closely,

you can see that the Native American man

is actually holding a military rifle

and it's not, in fact,
a Modoc warrior at all.

It's a Warm Springs scout
helping the US Army.

Muybridge himself,
he couldn't go to the front,

and so he had to stage a photograph.

So, in fact, Muybridge
is deceiving the viewer.

He... he was not going to
go to that encampment

and return to San Francisco

without picture.

And so, he dressed a guy up

as a Modoc warrior,

and posed him with a gun on a wall.

I mean, that's dress-up.

That's directing.

"I want what I want."

The contract between the viewer

and the photographer,
that seeing is believing,

is... is not... does not
hold in Muybridge's work.

Seeing is not believing.

No.

You cannot believe what you see.

Leland Stanford says,

you know, the machine cannot lie.

You know, the machine
just records what's there.

What I would say about that is,

of course it can't lie,

but it can't tell the truth either.

Machines don't say anything.

It's only how people

present the image
of the machine, the photograph,

that is either a lie or a truth.

We have letters

back to Philadelphia from Muybridge,

who's on the road

trying to sell Animal Locomotion.

And he tries for a few years

in order, uh, to... to make it work.

And he just doesn't.

He... he sold maybe

37 full copies, as far as we know.

Don't know how many single images

or groups of a hundred he sold,

but it... it wasn't a... a commercial success

by any means.

He then has a booth
at the Chicago World's Fair

that is also not a success.

Muybridge showed his zoopraxiscope,

but he couldn't compete

with the hoochie coochie girl

down the street.

An old man with a beard turning a handle

these horses going around in a circle...

I don't know, might be boring

the pants off you, talking about...

you know...

"When the left fore foot is 85 inches,

the right hand foot on the vertical line..."

I... I... I mean, maybe these lectures

had... run their course.

December 1895 and 1896,

we have the motion picture projection

of the Lumiere brothers,

the beginning
of the motion picture industry,

and of course, that leaves Muybridge

completely, completely behind.

So, he sets sail for home.

Muybridge, toward the end of his life

when he went back to Kingston,

you know, he felt like a failure

because he didn't really
get credited for innovation,

you know, the development
of the motion picture.

He tells Lafeber,

the painter who colored his glass discs,

to destroy the disks

so that he will not be associated

with the zoopraxiscope.

I think he is still...

conscious of the name he made for himself,

and he doesn't want to be associated

with the technology
that really doesn't lead

to the motion pictures, uh,
that were on the world stage

at that point.

He's diagnosed with prostate cancer.

It's like he didn't know what he had.

It was like he went out there one day,

took a great, big box of plates,

um...

You know, he's like,
going through his things

and saying, "Oh, that's not good.

Chuck that out, oh, that's crap," you know?

And anything that could be left behind

that wasn't up to snuff,

I think he just smashed it,
he just chucked.

In 1904, when Muybridge dies,

he dies in a world utterly changed.

Muybridge has become forgotten.

Here we are.

Mr. Muybridge.

All right.

Let's...

"Loving memory..."

"In loving memory
of Eadweard..."

Eadweard.

"Loving memory...

Eadweard Maybridge..."

M-A-Y.

Oh, the indignity

that you suffered.
Betrayal and...

and even in death...

they got your name wrong.

You poor soul.

♪ Oh

...time is gonna be unstable?
What does that even mean?