The cinema began with a passionate, physical relationship
The cinema began with a passionate, physical relationship between celluloid and the artists and craftsmen and technicians who handled it, manipulated it, and came to know it the way a lover comes to know every inch of the body of the beloved. No matter where the cinema goes, we cannot afford to lose sight of its beginnings.
The master of storytelling, Martin Scorsese, once proclaimed: “The cinema began with a passionate, physical relationship between celluloid and the artists and craftsmen and technicians who handled it, manipulated it, and came to know it the way a lover comes to know every inch of the body of the beloved. No matter where the cinema goes, we cannot afford to lose sight of its beginnings.” In these words he speaks of reverence, of the sacred bond between art and its material vessel, reminding us that cinema is not merely image, but labor, intimacy, and devotion.
In its dawn, the cinema was born from fire and touch, from the trembling strips of celluloid carried in the hands of those who dared to weave light into story. The artists, craftsmen, and technicians did not merely operate machines—they caressed and shaped, discovering through trial and error how to summon beauty from fragile reels. Their relationship with the medium was not cold nor distant, but passionate, as lovers who explore the beloved with awe, patience, and longing.
Scorsese warns that as the cinema journeys into new forms—into digital realms, into unseen horizons—we must not forget its beginnings. For in its origins lies its soul: the sweat of labor, the risk of fire, the tactile intimacy of touch. To sever the art from its roots is to strip it of memory, and without memory, no art endures.
The ancients too honored their beginnings. They revered the first stone set in the temple, the first note struck upon the lyre, the first word spoken in story. For they knew that to remember the origin is to keep the flame pure, even as the fire grows brighter and wider. So too must lovers of cinema cherish the celluloid past, even as they stride into the future.
Thus let this wisdom be handed down: never despise the humble origins of any art. Honor the craftsmen, the technicians, the quiet hands that gave it life. For in remembering where it began, the cinema remains not a hollow spectacle, but a living lover—passionate, eternal, and true.
THBong toi Haccuong
Scorsese’s quote highlights how cinema was once a craft, deeply personal and physical, almost like a dance between artist and material. It’s fascinating to think about how this connection shaped the creative process in the early days of film. But now that digital filmmaking is the norm, how do we maintain the artistry while adapting to the new tools at our disposal? Can the passion for cinema remain intact in this ever-changing landscape?
NHNguyen Thi Ngoc Hang
I really appreciate Scorsese’s poetic description of the relationship between cinema and its creators. It makes me wonder how this deep, personal bond with the medium influenced the storytelling of early filmmakers. Does the emotional connection to the tools of filmmaking still exist today, or has it been replaced by efficiency and convenience? In what ways can modern filmmakers revive this intimate, passionate approach to the art?
AHkieu thi anh hong
Scorsese’s reflection on cinema’s origins reminds us that filmmaking was once a physical, almost sacred process. With the advent of digital tools, filmmaking has become much more accessible, but has something intangible been lost in the process? How do we balance the convenience of digital technology with the artistry and passion that defined early cinema? Is there a way to preserve the essence of the craft while embracing the future?
DDDung Duong
This quote makes me reflect on the artistry and craftsmanship involved in filmmaking. Scorsese highlights the relationship between the artist and the medium, which is something that seems less prevalent in today’s fast-paced, digital filmmaking environment. Are we losing the depth and passion of the craft as filmmaking becomes more technical and less tactile? Can we still honor the roots of cinema while embracing new technologies?
PADang Phuong Anh
Scorsese’s words evoke a sense of nostalgia for the early days of cinema, when filmmakers had a direct and personal relationship with the materials they worked with. I wonder, though, in today’s digital world, where everything is virtual, can filmmakers still forge a similar deep connection to their work? How has the transition from film to digital changed the way we experience the art of filmmaking?