The magazine for alumni and friends of Massey University.
Issue 14, April 2002

In the 150 years since its invention, the zoetrope – one of the first animation devices – has lost none of its magic. Maybe it is the more magical for being a simple contrivance of tin, card and Indian ink in an age of flat screens and DVDs.

When Slater, a media studies lecturer, teaches the history of the moving image, he brings in the zoetrope.

“ In terms of teaching visual narrative, to demonstrate the basic moving image is a definite advantage. And the response from students is wonderful – they see how it relates to today’s technology.”

The zoetrope (the ‘wheel of life’) is one item in Slater’s personal collection of pre-cinema media technology: of zoetropes, thaumatropes, phenakistoscopes, stereoscopes, a Rousell’s graphoscope, flicker books, hundreds of slides and more than 20 varieties of magic lantern.

The zoetrope, explains Slater, is a persistence-of-vision toy. Persistence of vision will be familiar to anyone who has traced their name in the dark with a sparkler: the eye retains momentary impression of a stimulus after the source has disappeared or moved on.

The flicker book works the same way. Slater’s collection includes both a miniature version of the 1897 Melbourne Cup (rerun the horse and jockey’s ride to glory, over and over again) and a Disney flicker from a century later. Besides enlivening school book corners, flicker ‘films’ were first put to good use demonstrating action – a baseball pitch or football kick. Flicker books are also reputed to have been airdropped by the British as WWII propaganda; the jolly British tank crushing its cry-baby Nazi enemy.

“ Television and cinema would never have come about without these toys, and the basic notion of persistence of vision,” Slater says.

If one strand of media evolution stretches back to early animation, then another begins with the magic lantern, which you might think of as the equivalent of today’s slide projector (itself a vanishing medium), but, in pre-electricity days, illuminated by flame.

“ Slide shows were the start of mass media imagery, the shift from the one-on-one parlour toy to a room full of people. It wasn’t until we latched on to the idea of an actual show, in a darkened room, that modern entertainment really got going,” Slater says.

In some ways the magic lantern could outdo the slide projector. It could display images of greater complexity and the comparatively large and bulky slides could contain mechanical features that allowed limited movement of one or more slides within the projector.

For a special occasion, lanternists enhanced the magic with smoke screens, live piano and elocutionists. Multiple lanterns merged and dissolved images, and clever operators invented the original zoom effect – rolling their lanterns back and forth to make the picture loom and recede in the gloom.

The magic lantern debuted in the 1660s and by the 19th century it had spawned many variants, from expensive “but, it’s educational” toys, to models for the professional showman.

An American handbill from around 1880 promises “Views of the most Prominent Objects of Interest in both the Old and New World”, “The Ill Fated Ship Comprises a series of Paintings showing the sunshine and shadow of a Sailor’s life” and “The Highland Lover’s Court ship for Marriage Showing how it is done, also the result that usually follows; a caution to those about to embark on this kind of a ship.”

Among Slater’s boxes of hand-painted slides are many that are macabre, racist, or evangelically Christian.

Shows teetered on the psychedelic, with kaleidoscope patterns projected through layers of chromatrope slides, of which Slater has several.

Slater’s favourite is a gleaming brass French lantern. He is also fond of a slide series of Napier before and after the 1931 earthquake – a junkshop bargain. Scoring a good deal, and knowing the true value of a particular piece is, he says, the collector’s privilege. Slater began collecting optical toys as a ’60s teenager – his eye is trained.

He finds small towns best for fossicking, and every now and then an old cinema shuts down with a garage sale. Slater’s family and friends cooperate nicely, casually scouting for things he may like.

“ People know I collect, and often things find their way to me. Duplicates or any fragile stuff – volatile nitrate films and the like –  I pass on to film archives and museums.”

Slater’s collection and his passion for media are evolving; he is currently researching computer games and thinking about a new series of lectures.

“ The same principles apply to a Playstation and a zoetrope, with their one-on-one interaction and visual narrative. Computer games create a hyper-reality, as did the parlour toy. Both are utterly captivating.”