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Lesson #9 - Beware of Unproven Technologies
The Lingering Reek of “Smell-O-Vision”
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The 70mm Newsletter
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Written
by: Patrick J. Kiger
and Martin J. Smith. Article
excerpted from
"Oops : 20 Life Lessons from the Fiascoes That Shaped America",
by Martin J. Smith and Patrick J. Kiger. Published by HarperCollins, 2006 |
Date:
22 May 2006 |
Sound revolutionized motion pictures, but the tortured effort to bring
smell to the silver screen proved that some things are best left to the
imagination.
In satiric director John Waters’ 1981 film "Polyester", Divine, a
300-pound transvestite, portrays a love-starved suburban housewife
married to a porno theater proprietor, and aging former teen idol Tab
Hunter plays her malevolent paramour. But despite the perversity of the
casting, and a script filled with jokes about subjects ranging from
macramé to foot fetishism, the film became best known for an even more
bizarre gag. "Polyester" was the facetious debut of “Odorama,” in which
moviegoers were handed scratch-and-sniff cards, and numbers were flashed
on the screen to signal them when to smell appropriate odors ranging
from roses to flatulence. The film’s prologue takes place in the
laboratory of the technology’s purported inventor, “Dr. Arnold
Quackenshaw,” who explains in a thick Teutonic accent that “through this
nose come some of life’s most rewarding sensations…however, you may
experience some odors that will shock you. This film’s producers believe
that today’s audiences are mature enough to know that some things just
plain stink!”
It’s a safe bet, however, that relatively few of the people who rent the
DVD reissue of "Polyester" today even realize that Waters’ fragrant humor
parodied an actual cinematic phenomenon. In 1960, a romantic whodunit
entitled "Scent of Mystery" featured a dubious innovation billed as
“Glorious Smell-O-Vision,” in which a “smell brain” device pumped 30
different scents — wine, freshly-baked bread, pipe tobacco, a salty
ocean breeze ? through a network of tiny tubes to movie viewers’ seats.
The gadgetry was the masterwork of Hans Laube, touted in publicity
accounts as a “world famed osmologist,” or smell expert, from
Switzerland, who collaborated with flamboyant, gimmick-loving Hollywood
producer
Mike Todd, Jr., on one of the most outlandish projects in
movie history. “First they moved (1895)! Then they talked (1927)! Now
they smell!” the ads proclaimed.
While "Scent of Mystery" wasn’t the first attempt to employ aromas in
filmmaking, it was by far the most technologically intricate. Beyond
that, it was the first — and apparently the only — motion picture that
relied upon smells as integral devices in the plot. The history-making
nature of “Smell-O-Vision” aside, audiences and movie critics were
unimpressed, and Scent of Mystery quickly evaporated at the box office.
Today, it’s remembered, if at all, as a bit of trivia on movie-buff web
sites. Yet Laube’s and Todd’s attempt to lead moviegoers by their noses
presaged a postmodern culture in which the manipulation of scents would
become a powerful tool in shaping consumer behavior, in which synthetic
aromas would become so ubiquitous that some would begin to fear them as
environmental hazards.
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More
in 70mm reading:
Mike Todd, Jr. Interview
"The New World" with smells
"Holiday In Spain" released on Blu-Ray
Oliver Michael Todd in Conversation
with Thomas Hauerslev
Paul Rayton Remembers "Scent of
Mystery" in 3 minutes and 49 seconds
Internet link:
www.oops.com
About the authors
Patrick J. Kiger's articles have appeared in GQ, George, the Los
Angeles Times Magazine, Philadelphia, and other publications, and at
Discovery.com on the Internet. He lives near Washington, DC.
Martin J. Smith is a journalist, magazine editor, and winner of more
than 40 newspaper and magazine writing awards. He is a senior editor of
theLos Angeles Times Magazine and is the author of three critically
acclaimed suspense novels, including Straw Men, a 2002 Edgar Award nominee.
He lives with his family in southern California
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So Real It Made Audiences Queasy
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Authors
Martin J. Smith and Patrick J. Kiger. Photo by Steve Marsel.
Almost since the invention of the motion picture, filmmakers have sought
to exploit other senses in addition to sight, in an effort to create a
more compelling experience for audiences. Some tricks, such the THX
system that provides high-quality sound in theaters, have been
successful. Others, such as
“Sensurround” — a violent motion-simulating
technology featured in the 1975 film "Earthquake" — ended up joining the
list of cinematic gimmicks that fell flat.
The sense of smell, in particular, has tempted filmmakers for a long
time, and with good reason. The olfactory neurons in the nasal cavity,
which detect chemical components of aromas, and the brain’s olfactory
bulb — a clump of cells that somehow identifies nerve impulses as being
caused by jasmine rather than rose petals — are capable of sensing and
distinguishing about 10,000 different scents. Research has shown that
scents are capable of stimulating physiological responses before people
even realize what they’re smelling, and as a result they often have
powerful, primitive emotional associations. It was no accident that that
ancient Greek festivals such as the Eleusinian mysteries were replete
with potent smells, such as burning incense and flowers. In the 19th
century, stage dramatists sometimes used aromas as special effects in
plays. They scattered pine needles to suggest the odor of a forest, or
cooked food in the theater to simulate the aroma of a restaurant
onstage.
The use of smells in the movie industry, in fact, actually preceded the
introduction of sound. In 1906, proprietors of the Family Theater in
Forest City, Pennsylvania dipped cotton wool in rose oil and put it in
front of an electric fan during a newsreel about the Rose Bowl game.
Similarly, in 1929, a Boston theater put lilac oil in the ventilating
system to get audiences in the mood for Lilac Time, a love story about a
British aviator and a French woman during World War I. That same year,
when The Broadway Melody, one of the first Hollywood musicals, premiered
in New York, perfume was sprayed from the ceiling.
In the early 1940s, Hollywood experimented with using compressed air to
force various artificial scents through air-conditioning systems. In
1943, a theater in Detroit showed The Sea Hawk, a pirate swashbuckler
starring Errol Flynn, with aromas such as the smell of tar from a
sailing ship to add ambiance. Also on the bill was Boom Town, a drama in
which each character was given a distinctive scent ? tobacco for Clark
Gable, a pine scent for Spencer Tracy, and “My Sin” perfume for sexy
actress Hedy Lamarr.
There were two obvious shortcomings to early attempts at olfactory
filmmaking. Since they were added to existing movies, they were an
offense against film aesthetics, a distraction from what the director
had intended audiences to focus upon. Beyond that, the clouds of perfume
that accumulated in theaters created a problem. The human nose, which
has only so many smell receptors, has difficulty transitioning to a new
smell until it is cleared of the molecules that triggered a previous
scent. The result was a phenomenon called “olfactory fatigue,” in which
the sense of smell gradually stops working, like a smoker who no longer
notices the acrid stink of his cigarette. (Films with smells would work
a lot better if audiences were rabbits, which depend upon smell to avoid
predators and possess nostrils equipped with skin flaps, which restrict
the volume of molecules they can take in with a sniff.)
Enter Hans Laube with what seemed like a solution. A tall, gray-haired
Swiss native who affected owlishly severe dark eyeglasses, Laube’s
background is a bit mysterious — media coverage of his work identifies
him variously as a professor, an advertising executive, an electrical
engineer, and “an expert in osmology, the science of odors.” By one
account, sometime prior to World War II, he invented a method for
cleaning the air in large auditoriums, which became widely used
throughout Europe. That success somehow led him to his fascination with
reversing the process, and putting odors of his choosing back into
rooms. He developed an artificial scent-delivery process, in which
chemicals were transmitted through a network of pipes connected to
individual seats in the theater, so that the timing and amount of aroma
could be more carefully regulated. With a colleague, Robert Barth, Laube
produced a 35-minute “smell-o-drama” movie, "Mein Traum" — in English,
"My
Dream" — for the 1940 World’s Fair in New York. The projectionist
operated a control board with dials that allowed him to release 32
different odors, including roses, coconut, tar, hay and peaches.
Laube’s invention, “which of course is a secret pending patents, is said
to have produced odors as quickly and easily as the soundtrack of a film
produces sound,” a newspaper reported in 1943. “The scientists maintain
that with few exceptions, almost any smell can be produced and sent out
to the audience, and furthermore, any theater equipped for sound can
handle the odors, which are synchronized with the action of the picture
just as the sound is.” The New York Times was a bit more reserved,
noting that audiences thought the film’s simulated bacon aroma didn’t
quite seem real, but that the incense was on the mark.
Laube returned to the United States in 1944 intending to market a
version of his smell-producing technology to the nascent medium of
television. Laube claimed that he could produce 500 different scents
with a small, inexpensive gadget that could be installed inside a TV
set. A 1946 United Press account of Laube’s demonstration of
“Scentovision” in a New York hotel suite depicted him as laconic and
wary about revealing too much about his invention. Nevertheless, the
correspondent came away impressed: “Laube has one view of a circus at
work which gives off such realistic odors that his audience almost
always lets out a yell and runs for the window.”
In 1955, Laube set up his apparatus at the Cinerama-Warner Theater at
47th and Broadway in Manhattan. He filmed a 10-minute pilot film, with
17 different odors, to show to test audiences. Nevertheless, for reasons
lost to history, the television industry passed on Laube’s invention.
The inventor also approached supermarkets with the idea of projecting
slides of oranges, smoked ham and chocolate pie, accompanied by the
appropriate scents, as a way to entice shoppers. But that, too, proved
fruitless.
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The Sweet Smell of Excess
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Laube finally
found a patron in Michael Todd Jr., the son of flamboyant Broadway and
Hollywood producer Michael Todd. The elder Todd, who today is best
remembered as one of Elizabeth Taylor’s husbands, had put on a series of
successful musical spectaculars at the same World’s Fair at which Laube
first exhibited his experimental smell movie. A decade and a half later,
Todd and his collaborator-son were looking at gimmicks that might make
Todd’s outrageous wide-screen epic,
"Around the World in 80 Days", even more
spectacular. Smells were an intriguing possibility, and the Todds looked at
several different setups. Ultimately, they opted not to include aromas in
the 1956 film —a wise choice, since "80 Days" already had enough pizzazz to
become a box-office smash and win an Oscar for Best Picture. But after the
elder Todd died in a 1958 plane crash, the younger Todd — who’d inherited
his father’s penchant for the outrageous ? decided to take a chance on Laube’s technology. He signed the Swiss inventor to a movie deal, one
proviso being that “Scentovision” be redubbed “Smell-O-Vision.” When asked
why he didn’t change the name to something more dignified, Todd Jr. was
bemused. “I don’t understand how you can be ‘dignified’ about a process than
introduces smells into a theater,” was his reply.
Todd Jr.’s wonderfully tacky, Walter Winchell-esque plays on words (“I hope
it’s the kind of picture they call a scentsation!”) made great copy for
newspapers, and before a cast had been hired, Scent was already generating
hype. Syndicated columnist Earl Wilson, for example, gushed that
“Smell-O-Vision” “can produce anything from skunk to perfume, and remove it
instantly.”
Meanwhile, Todd provided Laube with use of the Todd Cinestage Theatre in
Chicago as a laboratory, so he could perfect the patented process. The core
of Laube’s process was his “smell brain” — actually, an assortment of
perfume containers linked in a belt, which in turn was wound around a
motorized supply reel. As the movie footage began to roll, markers on it
cued the brain. The containers, apparently arranged in the order that the
scents would be used in the film, whirred into position. At the right
moment, needles pierced membranes on the bottom of the appropriate container
and drew off perfume. Electric fans mixed the perfume with air, which was
then pumped through a mile’s worth of tubing that stretched to vents under
each and every seat in the theater. At the end of the movie, the belt would
be rewound and the containers refilled.
Laube added other nuances in an effort to prevent the smells from clashing
or mixing together, as had happened with other scent-producing gadgets. The
special perfumes were mixed without the chemicals normally added to make a
scent last longer. Between two clashing aromas — for example, garlic and the
delicate smell of lilacs ? he would squirt a neutralizing chemical designed
to revive audiences’ nostrils.
Laube saw “Smell-O-Vision” as having certain aesthetic limitations. He
theorized that heavy drama wouldn’t mix well emotionally with odors, but
that lighter fare could be enhanced by the right aroma. Wisely, Todd agreed,
and scheduled “Smell-O-Vision” to debut in a tongue-in-cheek whodunit, "Scent
of Mystery", instead of, say, a Biblical epic or historical costume drama
that would have resulted in an even more embarrassing fiasco. Scent’s plot centers around a photographer, played by British actor Denholm Elliott, on
vacation in Spain when he stumbles upon a plot to murder a beautiful
American heiress played by Todd Jr.’s stepmother, Elizabeth Taylor, in a
surprise cameo appearance. With the help of a brandy-sipping cab driver,
portrayed by screen legend Peter Lorre, Elliot embarks on a wild chase
across the picturesque Spanish countryside to thwart the crime.
For someone who was building a movie around a gimmick, Todd was remarkably
conscientious. To direct, he hired Jack Cardiff, who’d won an Oscar for his
cinematography on the 1947 film "Black Narcissus", and spent the summer of 1959
shooting at 149 different locations in Spain.
While Todd Jr. was in Italy working on the film’s musical score, the
entertainment press broke the story that "Scent" had competition. Soon after,
Walter Reade Jr., owner of a small theater chain and film distribution
company, confirmed at a news conference — scented, of course — that he was
releasing his smell-enhanced film, "Behind the Great Wall", in early December,
two months before "Scent"’s planned premiere. Todd Jr. had been laboring for
several years to generate hype for "Scent"; Reade’s project smelled
suspiciously like an effort to capitalize on that publicity spadework. He’d
taken an existing Italian-made travelogue and added “AromaRama,” which
basically pumped perfumes into the theater’s air-conditioning system in a
fashion virtually identical to the one used to scent "The Sea Hawk" and
Boomtown back in the 1940s. To make matters worse, Reade boasted that
“AromaRama” could be installed in a theater for just $7,500 — about a third
of what it cost to put in “Smell-O-Vision.” “This contest may well hang on
who has the best set of smells,” Newsweek reported.
Unfortunately for Reade, the pump didn’t work any better in 1959 than it had
years before. The high point of the production came during the opening
minutes, in which TV newsman Chet Huntley cut an orange and the accompanying
aroma was strong and realistic. But after that, the perfumes lingered in the
air and mixed together. “The odors that follow are neither clear nor
pleasurable,” sniffed New York Times critic Bosley Crowther. "Great Wall" and
“AromaRama” quickly disappeared.
But "Scent" still faced the difficult task of living up to the expectations
that Todd Jr. had so artfully created for “Smell-O-Vision.” The technology
was billed as far more precise and realistic than any of the previous
attempts at olfactory filmmaking, and some, such as New York Times writer
Richard Nason, thought it might actually represent a genuine advance in
cinema, the way that early crude attempts to add sound eventually had been
followed by the synchronized soundtrack.
"Scent" opened in three specially-equipped theaters in New York, Chicago, and
Los Angeles in February 1960. Some of the olfactory effects clearly had been
included to demonstrate the new technology’s capabilities. A view of a
monastery’s rose garden, predictably, was accompanied by a floral scent.
When wine casks rolled down a hill and smashed against a wall, the apparatus
produced the odor of grape juice. Additionally, director Cardiff had
included a number of “whiff gags,” such as a scene in which Elliott and
Lorre appear to be drinking coffee, but Lorre’s cup gives off the smell of
brandy ? leading Elliott to chastise him about the need to keep a clear
head. Beyond that, though, Scent was the first film in which aromas actually
were integral to the story, providing pivotal clues to the audience. The
killer is identified, for example, by the smell of his pipe tobacco, and in
turn, the mysterious heiress by her perfume.
But despite Laube’s years of laborious effort, on opening night
“Smell-O-Vision” didn’t work as intended.
According to Variety, moviegoers
in the balcony complained that the aromas reached them a few seconds after
the action on the screen, and were accompanied by a distracting hissing
sound. Crowther, the New York Times critic, complained that the aromas were
too faint, so that “patrons sit there sniffling and snuffling like a lot of
bird dogs, trying hard to catch the scent.” He caustically suggested that
Todd Jr. pump laughing gas into the audience instead, since the film’s
acting and script seemed to him nearly as sparse as the aromas.
Despite the care Laube had taken in designing his system, the audience
apparently was still afflicted with the same olfactory fatigue that had
doomed “AromaRama” —though, perhaps because of the delivery method, they
perceived it as an absence rather than excess. As Todd recalled years later
in an interview with Roy Frumkes of Film in Review magazine, Todd Jr.’s
press agent, Bill Doll, finally suggested that the “Smell-O-Vision” pump be
reversed after each scent. “It sucked air back so that there was no overhang
on the previous smell,” Todd Jr. explained to Frumkes. “Otherwise it just
sort of drifted in between smells. It wasn’t overpowering, but just enough
not to make the clearest delineation.” With that small adjustment, Todd
claimed, “Smell-O-Vision” worked just fine.
But it was too late. Negative reviews and word-of-mouth already had doomed
the film to oblivion. (Quipped comedian Henny Youngman: “I didn’t understand
the film — I had a cold.”) Todd Jr. shelved plans for installing
“Smell-O-Vision” in 100 theaters around the world, and the film eventually
was re-released as “Holiday in Spain,” minus the odors. As a British
newspaper, the Daily Telegraph, noted, “the film acquired a baffling, almost
surreal quality, since there was no reason why, for example, a loaf of bread
should be lifted from the oven and thrust into the camera for what seemed to
be an unconscionably long time.”
With the failure of "Scent", Laube, “Smell-O-Vision’s” inventor, quietly
disappeared. Todd Jr.’s Hollywood career similarly petered out. He announced
plans to make two more films — a sci-fi picture, "The Creature from the
Bronx", and "Bumpkin’s Holiday", in which the action was to consist of a man
riding on a bus, with no spoken dialogue or subtitles. Neither film was
made, and Todd went nearly another two decades before producing another.
Strangely, the olfactory auteur’s swan song was a painfully serious
cinematic version of suicidal poetess Sylvia Plath’s autobiographical novel,
"The Bell Jar".
Nevertheless, the notion of “smellies,” as some had called them, was as
stubbornly persistent as the aroma of cat urine on a carpet. In 1981,
independent filmmaker John Waters parodied the idea in "Polyester" with
“Odorama” scratch-and-sniff cards, and Waters’ gag was copied by makers of
the 2003 animated film, "Rugrats Go Wild", who claimed it was an “homage” to
him. Laube’s and Todd Jr.’s film was revived briefly in the mid-1980s, when
the MTV cable network aired it in conjunction with a convenience store chain
promotion that offered scratch-and-sniff cards.
"The
New World" presented with smell in Japan
Read the press release
In 2000, Hong Kong director Ip Kam-Hung released "Lavender", a fantasy romance
in which an aromatherapy shop owner falls in love with an injured angel who
has tumbled onto her balcony. To add to the film’s ambiance, producers
reportedly spent $1 million to purchase special devices that would pump
flowery scents into the air conditioning systems at theaters. Ip told the
South China Morning Post that he got the inspiration from Internet accounts
of previous odor-enhanced films. Ip, mercifully, chose to forgo the gimmick
in a subsequent film, 2004’s "Elixir of Love", which focused on the romantic
travails of a princess afflicted with intolerable body odor.
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Sony
Pictures also toying with smell for movies.
Press image for enlargement.
But while success has eluded "Scent"’s cinematic imitators, another of Laube’s
underlying notions - that synthetic aromas could be used to influence
consumers - has become a postmodern paradigm. Today, manufacturers of an
astonishing variety of products imbue them with artificial fragrances - from
chamomile-scented carpeting and rosebush sofas to wristwatches and mobile
phones that smell faintly like coffee. Some doctors have blamed synthetic
aromas for exacerbating patients’ hay fever, and a small but vociferous
segment of the population have protested that the continual barrage of
simulated scents may be having harmful effects on their immune systems. In
the late 1990s, a high-tech company even developed a system called iSmell
for transmitting aromas via the Internet. Perhaps fortunately for the
olfactory-fatigued among us, the technology never made it to market.
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Recipe for Disaster
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Cream of Reek
Soup
Ingredients
1 mediocre comedy-mystery film
1 theater full of curious moviegoers
30 different perfumes
1 mile of tubes
Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of pumps and other gadgetry
Combine comedy-mystery film and moviegoers in crowded theater. Douse with
indecipherable succession of perfumes. Kiss money goodbye.
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Other Doomed Innovations
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“Smell-O-Vision” was just one
of many outlandish gambits tried over the years in the movie industry. Among
the others:
CinemaScope: "The Robe", a ponderous 1953 religious epic, was the first
film to use special lenses, one on the camera and another on the projector,
that squeezed a wide-angle camera image down to 35-millimeter size and then
expanded it again on a gigantic screen that was two and a half times as long
as it was tall. The action was supposed to be more vivid; instead, it was
grotesquely distorted. Director Fritz Lang once joked that it was fit only
for photographing snakes or funerals.
Cinemagic: An attempt to exploit the hype around 3-D. In the 1959
film "The Angry Red Planet", producer Sid Pink added a filter to the
projector, which was supposed to make the screen image seem surrealistically
distorted. Instead, it was simply hard to look at.
Percepto: B-movie horror director William Castle, who never saw a
cheesy gimmick he didn’t like, tried to put some electricity into his 1959
film "The Tingler" by rigging a few seats in the theater to give unsuspecting
patrons a mild shock.
Hallucinogenic Hypno-Vision: Ads for the 1964 film "The Thrill Killers"
(also known as "The Maniacs are Loose") claimed that it featured a hypnotic
effect, which supposedly would fool audiences into thinking the crazed
killers were running around in the theater.
Sensurround: The 1974 film "Earthquake" and 1977’s "Rollercoaster" used
low-frequency sound to create the illusion of violent movement. And you
thought that footage of Shelley Winters swimming underwater in "The Poseidon
Adventure" was nauseating?
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