The first screen adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s beloved novel is a whistle-stop tour of some of its best-known moments. What it loses in not being able to retain any of Carroll’s memorable prose or dialogue, it makes up for by being a neat showcase for some early-cinema special effects — Alice shrinks and grows; a baby turns into a pig; and so on. There’s little doubt that this isn’t the best filmed version of the tale (unless you have a fondness for early cinema over anything made later), but it’s a valuable glimpse into the ambition and skill of the form’s pioneers.

The only surviving print is in terrible shape and missing several minutes of footage (it was originally 12 minutes long), but at least we have some way of seeing this important bit of film history. Talking of which, you can watch it on the BFI’s official YouTube channel, although they only provide it in standard definition. Fortunately, there’s a full HD version here.

Cars randomly exploding for almost no reason is a hallmark of action cinema, but it begins even earlier than the codification of that genre, as this short from 1900 shows.

We watch as a car full of people merrily trundles along a suburban street… then, suddenly, there’s a puff of smoke and the vehicle is reduced to a pile of parts. A policeman comes over to inspect, at which point body parts rain from the sky. It would be gruesome if it weren’t so obviously comical… especially when the policeman begins to casually pile them up. And that’s the end.

Basically, it’s a comedy sketch à la 1900. I guess it was probably inspired by fears of this modern new invention, the motor car, but at least it plays those for laughs. There are worse ways to spend 90-or-so seconds (depending on the playback speed of the version you watch — the BFI version is here).

So, I bought the 88 Films Blu-ray of ’70s British-produced Western Hannie Caulder (mentioned in my May failures), had a little look at the booklet and, for whatever reason, the opening paragraph of the essay by Lee Broughton caught my eye. To quote: “The British have been making Westerns since the early days of silent cinema (see The Indian Chief and the Seidlitz Powder [Cecil M. Hepworth, 1901]) and they continue to make Westerns today (see The English [Hugo Blick, 2022]).” This, first off, reminded me that I’d meant to watch The English (I find Blick’s work to be both fascinating and somehow off-putting, so I always feel I should watch them but, when there’s such a plethora of choice nowadays, it’s easier to go for something, well, easier). More relevantly, it sent me off to Google this short, having recognised the director’s name (partly from watching the above-reviewed shorts a couple of months earlier) and, more importantly, being interested in the early days of cinema — especially as shorts such as these can usually be found online, if they survive. You often end up with low-quality DVD rips on YouTube, but, thankfully, this one is available on the BFI for free.

All of that said, it’s… not all that. It’s a Western in technicality only: the sole character is a Native American chief; though you’d only infer that from the title, because his costume is terrible. There are no other signifiers that this is a Western — the basic set could be a store or storeroom anywhere, and presumably Seidlitz Powder was a product sold in British shops. I presume that because the short is a one-gag comedy based around the effects of that product, and so British audiences must’ve known about it. As far as I’m aware, it’s not a product still in existence today, so thank goodness for the BFI’s explanatory notes (also at the link above) to illuminate the context of the joke.

Other than that, the film is noteworthy for containing a sequence in slow motion. It’s an inherently cinematic effect, so it’s always interesting to see it deployed so early in the form’s history. Indeed, it stands at odds with how the other ‘effects’ in the film are achieved: the chief’s belly swells by the performer (Hepworth himself, possibly? I don’t know, but I believe he often appeared in his own films; equally, someone is operating the camera) fiddling around inside his costume and shaking it about until it inflates. Then he “bounce[s] around like a balloon”, says the BFI — rather overselling it, as he just kind of leaps about a bit. There is one more cinematic technique: a jump cut to allow for a puff of smoke when his stomach bursts… followed by the performer awkwardly folding up his now over-large costume before darting out the door.

So, two minutes filled with casual racism, 120-year-old topical humour, and some weak theatrical ‘special’ effects. But hey, at least we can experience British cinema’s early forays into uniquely cinematic technique and a key genre.