Estronho e esquésito

We have reached the fifth article in our series on the art of vintage posters, this time featuring posters from several films released in 1915. We open with the poster for The Birth of a Nation (1915, D. W. Griffith), followed by one of the more than 2,000 posters created by the artist Achille Mauzan, a prominent figure in the French design scene of that era. 

The premise of Land of the Lost (1974-1977) is an adventure classic: during a routine expedition, forest ranger Rick Marshall (Spencer Milligan) and his children, Will (Wesley Eure) and Holly (Kathy Coleman), are caught by a colossal earthquake while white-water rafting in a canoe. They fall down a waterfall that leads not to the river, but to a space-time portal.

The General Lee is not just a television series car. For many fans of the show — myself included — he is the lead character of The Dukes of Hazzard. More than just a means of transportation for cousins Bo and Luke Duke, the car became a cultural icon of strength, Southern rebellion, and the breathtaking car chases that defined television between 1979 and 1985.

Imagine you are in 1902, your mind is racing at a thousand miles per hour, full of original ideas to make a film that, until then, tackles a subject that your fellow directors have not yet explored. But there is one problem... computers haven't been invented yet, let alone CGI. Not even simpler effects. Ah, but you have the improvisation of the theater, pulsing creativity, and experience with magic and illusionism.

We reach 1914, a year that marks the beginning of World War I and a decisive turning point in cinema history. Across much of Europe, the conflict led to the interruption or drastic reduction of many studios' activities. There was a lack of resources, labor, and the minimum economic conditions to maintain regular production. 

Nowadays, when we think of starships crossing galaxies or giant monsters destroying metropolises, our minds go straight to powerful processors and cutting-edge software. But there was a time — not so long ago — when movie magic didn't depend on ones and zeros, but rather on latex, sawdust, nylon threads, and an absurd dose of raw creativity.

We continue our journey through the art of movie posters. In 1913, the number of productions around the world increased significantly, and the volume of posters followed this evolution. Unfortunately, as with previous years, much has been lost over time or survives in fragmented form, awaiting recovery and study in museums and specialized archives./p>

Gradually, producers of short, medium, and feature-length films began to understand the importance of posters in promoting their works. We will see examples ranging from the simplest — such as the poster for the short film Frankenstein (1910, J. Searle Dawley), produced by Edison Studios and distributed by the Edison Manufacturing Company — to works that, if the typography were removed, could easily be mistaken for paintings worthy of prominent display in an art museum.

Ultraman is one of the pillars of Japanese tokusatsu. Produced by Tsuburaya Productions, the franchise spans decades combining giant heroes, bizarre monsters, practical effects, and something that always caught the attention of children (and many adults too): incredible vehicles. From futuristic jets to improbable tanks, the cars used by the defense teams became an essential part of the Ultra Series’ identity.

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the so-called “Cinema Painters” created posters heavily influenced by theatre and circus posters. The goal was not merely to inform audiences about the film, but above all to create a visual impact capable of attracting the public, highlighting titles and slogans. In some cases, scenes from the films themselves appeared on the posters, allowing audiences to judge whether the work was suitable for the whole family.