[MOVIE]
P.: Comerio, Milano. D.: 20’. 35mm.
Edition History
In 1913 the music publisher Lorenzo Sonzogno decided to transpose to film the famous theatrical production Ballo Excelsior, written in 1881 by Luigi Manzotti with a score by Romualdo Marenco. The play, which alternates between dance numbers and prose, is an allegorical celebration of modernity: through the development of science and technology, the human race is guaranteed a prosperous and socially progressive future. The direction of the film was entrusted to Luca Comerio, who created an updated version of the 19th century Ballo, substituting the inventions whose praises had been sung in the original, but which had by that time become obsolete, with the latest marvels of modern technology. And this is where Comerio’s genius becomes most evident: to illustrate the most prodigious and innovative technological advances, he spliced in scenes from documentaries he himself had made, seamlessly integrating them in between the choreography and dialogues. Up until recently, it was believed that the only surviving scenes from Excelsior were the dance sequences from the first and second scenes kept at Cineteca Nazionale. However, last November a reel was discovered in the archives of Cineteca di Bologna which contained not only the opening credits, but several fragments of scenes which were thought to have been lost. These fragments included some of the dal vero shots, in particular the one about the Mt. Cenis tunnel and a segment of the final apotheosis.
Giovanni Lasi
“The film reproduces the main scenes referring to the production of the Excelsior allegorical ballet, already staged at Milan’s La Scala in 1881 and subsequently presented in Italian and foreign theatres. The ballet is dedicated to the titanic struggle of Progress against Regression. The power of civilisation wins at the end, by destroying old reactionary and obscurant forces which kept people in darkness”.
(E. Bernstein, Il Maggese Cinematografico, 10th February 1914)
“The orchestra has been constrained within a huge and completely covered cage in order to pursue two objectives: getting the utmost attention from the orchestra; not detracting from the necessary darkness of the theatre. Music does not suffer from it, but rather the contrary; it seems that music reproduces itself as if by some magic spell. One does not think that under that veil, from which the orchestra conductor’s head emerges through an opening, as he is the only one allowed to see, would hide the magic forge of success”
(Emilio Rugiadini, La Cine-Fono e la Rivista Fono-Cinematografica, no. 262, 20th December 1913)