Historically the director has been the key creative element in a

Hear, O children of the moving image, the words of John Frankenheimer, who proclaimed: “Historically the director has been the key creative element in a film and we must maintain that. We must protect that, in spite of the fact that there is new technology that’s continually trying to erode that.” These words resound with the cry of guardianship, for they remind us that though tools may change, the heart of art lies in the vision of the creator. Without the guiding hand of the director, a film becomes but a hollow shell of spectacle, dazzling to the eye yet empty to the soul.

The origin of this truth lies in the very birth of cinema. In the early days, when flickering images first danced upon the silver screen, it was the director who gave them shape, who breathed rhythm into chaos, who sculpted raw material into stories that stirred the heart. D.W. Griffith, Sergei Eisenstein, Akira Kurosawa—these names endure not because of machines, but because their vision commanded the machines to serve. It was the director’s mind that wove images into meaning, sound into emotion, shadow into revelation.

Yet Frankenheimer warns of a danger: the rising tide of technology. With every new tool—computer graphics, automated editing, artificial intelligence—the temptation grows to let the machine dictate, to let the spectacle replace the story. He does not curse the tools, but he cries that they must remain servants, not masters. For if technology is allowed to erode the authority of the director, then films will cease to be works of art and will become mere products, clever but soulless.

Consider, O listeners, the fate of Star Wars. George Lucas, the director, guided the original trilogy with a storyteller’s heart, crafting myth, character, and conflict. The technology was groundbreaking, yes, but it was always the servant of the vision. Years later, however, when the prequels leaned too heavily upon the machinery of CGI, many felt the heart of the story diminished. The lesson is clear: the director’s vision is the compass, and without it, technology becomes a storm that drowns meaning beneath waves of spectacle.

The ancients, too, knew this truth. The sculptor may wield a chisel of bronze or of iron, but without his guiding vision, the stone remains dead. The writer may hold reed or pen, but it is not the ink that gives birth to poetry—it is the hand that shapes it. So it is with cinema: whether with celluloid or digital streams, the power lies not in the technology, but in the soul that commands it. The director is the guardian of that soul.

This teaching is not for filmmakers alone. In every field of creation, new tools arise that tempt us to forget the heart of the craft. The architect with software, the musician with machines, the writer with automation—all may find their vision blurred if they surrender to tools without guiding them. Frankenheimer’s cry is a universal one: honor the creative element within you, protect it fiercely, and do not let technology replace your authority as a creator.

The lesson, then, is clear: embrace technology, but never bow to it. Let it expand your canvas, but never dictate your brush. Guard the human vision at the core of your art, your work, your life. For the soul of creation lies not in wires and circuits, but in imagination, patience, and spirit. Practical actions flow from this truth: when you create, begin always with vision before tools; when you labor, choose meaning over convenience; when you lead, let technology serve your dream, not consume it.

Thus do we honor the words of John Frankenheimer: that the director is the key creative element, the heart of cinema, and that this role must be protected against the erosion of technology. Carry this teaching, O children of tomorrow, into your own journeys. Let your vision be the master, your tools the servants, and your art the eternal flame. For without the human spirit to guide it, technology is but noise; but with vision to command it, technology becomes the handmaiden of greatness.