I think cinema, movies, and magic have always been closely

“I think cinema, movies, and magic have always been closely associated. The very earliest people who made film were magicians.” Thus spoke Francis Ford Coppola, a master of the silver screen, and in his words we glimpse a profound truth: that the art of cinema was born not merely of machines, but of wonder. From its beginning, film has been less a craft of mechanics than a conjuring of illusions, an enchantment of the senses, a spell woven in light and shadow. The first filmmakers were not merely inventors; they were sorcerers of sight, who bent reality to create visions the human eye had never before beheld.

Consider the dawn of this art. In the late 19th century, Georges Méliès, once a stage magician, became one of the fathers of cinema. With sleight of hand and a heart filled with dreams, he discovered that by stopping the camera and starting it again, objects could appear, vanish, or transform. To audiences of his time, such marvels were not tricks of technology but acts of sorcery. His masterpiece, A Trip to the Moon, was no less wondrous than an alchemist’s transmutation, carrying the imagination of men beyond the firmament itself. Truly, as Coppola declares, the earliest people who made film were magicians—not in name only, but in essence.

For what is cinema if not an illusion that persuades the heart to believe in worlds unseen? The screen becomes a portal, the reel of film a spellbook, and the director, like a conjurer, summons visions from the void. Shadows move, images breathe, and from lifeless light is born the appearance of life itself. This is the enchantment that binds cinema and magic together: the power to make us see what is not there, and to feel as though it were. To the untrained eye, it is sorcery; to the wise, it is art.

And yet, the spell of film is not mere deception. It is magic with purpose, for it reveals truths hidden beneath the surface of ordinary life. Consider Coppola himself, whose The Godfather transformed not only crime stories but the very language of cinema. Through its imagery, its silences, and its rhythms, audiences were drawn into a world at once foreign and familiar, where questions of power, loyalty, and fate played out as though on an eternal stage. Was this not magic, to hold millions enthralled, to awaken in them feelings they had never known? Truly, the magician of film does not merely deceive—he awakens.

We see this power also in history’s grandest spectacles. When the Lumière brothers first showed moving pictures—simple workers leaving a factory or a train arriving at a station—the audience gasped, some even fled in fear, believing the train would burst through the wall. Such was the sorcery of new sight: the ordinary transfigured into the extraordinary. In that moment, the line between science and sorcery vanished, and the projector became the wand by which mankind would conjure whole new worlds.

From these stories, let us draw a lesson: all true creation begins in wonder. To make art, to innovate, to inspire—these are not cold acts of calculation, but flames lit by awe, curiosity, and the willingness to enchant. The great filmmakers of old were magicians because they did not see limits where others saw walls; they saw doors into new realities. So too must we, in our own lives, learn to carry a magician’s eye—to look at the ordinary with reverence, and to dare to shape it into something extraordinary.

Practical wisdom follows. Seek out the wonder in your craft, no matter your path. Ask yourself: What spell can I cast in the hearts of others? Perhaps it is through a story, a gesture of kindness, or an invention that seems impossible until it is real. Guard against the dullness of habit, for routine is the enemy of enchantment. Instead, cultivate imagination, dare to experiment, and when the chance arises, let your work not merely inform, but transform.

Thus, remember the words of Coppola: “Cinema, movies, and magic have always been closely associated.” Hold them close, for they remind us that art is not simply to record what is, but to reveal what could be. We are all, in some way, magicians. With our hands, our voices, our visions, we conjure new worlds. May we wield this magic with courage, honesty, and awe, so that future generations may say of us: they too were magicians of their time.