Every once in a while you still see this old slogan being used for public library film programs: Movies That Matter. Where did it come from and what does it mean? And more importantly, does it still matter to have "movies that matter?"  

Now, this is going to be a little tricky to summarize because we need to think through not just the "matter" bit but also "movies." It took me years of developing my Pratt Institute curriculum to realize I felt most comfortable and effective teaching film history when I broadened the concept of this history to include motion pictures as a science, business and art. And that those factors themselves are influenced by social, political and economic motivations and prohibitors (ever think about who picked all the cotton that went into making cellulose nitrate film in the first half of the 20th century?). 

Mathematically speaking, if we think of history as fixed points plotted on an X axis of effect, then one must consider intersectional axes of causation. What makes a "movie" different from a "film" and how is that different from "cinema?" And if we have the artifacts of this history at our disposal, do we need to consider who made these works, why and how they can be employed as more than mere distraction today? Basically, think all the thoughts about all the things.

Good. So now you’ve arrived at the conclusion that there are a variety of motion picture types made from a variety of intentions and that some motion pictures may be more inclusive or considered than others. Now let’s think about the role of these productions in the public library.

Lucky for us, in 1978, Library Trends journal dedicated its entire summer issue to the topic of films in public libraries.  There were essays on the history of film in the public library (fascinating!), but also on what we are discussing right here and right now: what is "film" and how should it be used at the People’s University, as public libraries are known? Euclid Peltier, a distinguished film librarian at Boston Public Library, put forth a taxonomy for film productions, separating them into three types: "the teaching or classroom film, the information or idea film and the entertainment or recreation film." Patricia H. Mackey, in introducing the Film Library Information Council’s "Core Collection" of 500 recommended titles, said of the film medium that it is "a librarian’s dream come true, an ideal tool which moves, talks, informs, excites and inspires."  In reviewing the titles, I would agree but would also say they do much more. Sure, "Alvin Ailey: Memories and Visions" is an exciting demonstration of dance. It is inspiring to see Judith Jamison in the roles she made famous. But it is in the public library context that this work shines as an "idea film." Imagine seeing Mr. Ailey speak about what influenced his work...now you see Ms. Jamison dancing...okay, now the lights come up and a multi-generational panel of African American dancers discuss their experiences in the ballet world. It gets the audience thinking and talking about not just dance but “black joy” and afrofuturism. Get what I mean?

I adore the Core Collection works.  Next year will be the 50th anniversary of the Attica prison uprising; no matter how or where you see it, see Cinda Firestone’s Attica (1972). It Happens to Us, Ballet Adagio, High School: these are now considered modern classics. And it’s not just highbrow material the librarians were prescient about recommending for acquisition. Two years ago, a miscalculation in timing during an elementary school classroom demonstration left me with ten minutes of downtime, just enough for 20 idle 10-year-olds to dismantle the entire building. At their request, I picked up the old and faded 16mm film print of The Foolish Frog (1971) we had unspooled to get a good look at the film format and put it on the projector. Despite the film being very silly and very old, there were cheers. If you’ve never been in the midst of a cheering, clapping, laughing group of children, I recommend it highly.  

From where did this sensibility come, this idea or impulse to classify and qualify works before serving them to the public? That summer 1978 issue of Library Trends was not an outlier nor was it at the forefront of, well, library trends.  There are hundreds if not thousands of books, articles and periodicals, starting at the turn-of-the-century, dedicated to analyzing the idea or the logistics of motion pictures in the public library. And it wasn’t just librarians working out what we should be watching and how we should be watching it. John Grierson, filmmaker and person  who literally invented the term "documentary film," gave a speech to the American Library Association in 1946 encouraging librarians to get with the program and use motion pictures, not just as a popular educational medium, but for dynamic community outreach facilitation. Similarly, Julien Bryan, a contemporary of Grierson and himself a producer and distributor of exceedingly good educational films, advocated for public libraries to make available the kinds of films which would promote thoughtfulness and new ideas; Boundary Lines, produced in 1948 by his company International Film Foundation specifically for the public library market, used stylized animation to challenge viewers to consider the origin of racism and divisiveness.

I find it interesting that the demand and protection of material selection criteria is, in these two instances, coming from the film producers themselves. In the 1967 inaugural edition of Film Library Quarterly, Mr. Bryan wrote to the editor-in-chief, William J. Sloan, this department’s first Film Librarian, "with great power comes great responsibility." Okay, I’m paraphrasing because all of my primary documents are in my office at the Library for the Performing Arts. But I swear this is really close to what he actually wrote. His point: a periodical dedicated to how and why film should be used in the American public library would be hugely influential in facilitating the flow of high quality, educational audio-visual material from producer to the public. He was right. The Foolish Frog is owned by hundreds of libraries and is still in distribution.

So you see, 50 years ago there existed a symbiotic relationship in the nontheatrical film world, producer and public library librarian working together to, as pioneer film librarian Violet Myer wrote in 1966, "provide the opportunity for the public to acquire, to analyze, to understand and to use quality film."

Where do we go from here? The thing that John Grierson really liked about film service at the public library was that it was for everyone. You will find this published again and again over the course of the last century: the public library is the only institution meant to serve the whole public and throughout one's entire life. But what to do in an era when lots and lots of moving pictures can be accessed right from the couch? Or in the palm of your hand! Why bother with the middle man—the film librarian—when you’ve got a helpful algorithm suggesting a slew of content to watch next?

Here is what I propose: a merging of 20th century best practices with 21st century technology and consumption habits.  We use terms like "curated" and "vetted" when talking about the spaces in which we shop; now substitute "selection" and "guidance" and instead of looking for the perfectly ironic dad jean, you are seeking out viewing material that will inform, excite and inspire you. That’s what The New York Public Library can help you with. At this very moment, we are integrating into our catalog at nypl.org links to streaming files for quality films. Feeling hemmed in by social distancing? Check out Neighbors.  Speaking of "neighbors," maybe you can commiserate with the New Yorkers in Roaches’ Lullaby.  Need small hands clapping and small voices cheering? Head on over to our Overdrive section for the Weston Woods picture book films.  If you’re doing a lot of walking these days, Walking may provide a different perspective. And if you are feeling overwhelmed by 2020, perhaps seeing how others have addressed tribulation can be of comfort, as is documented in the 1965 film You Don’t Back Down.

I hope you find these films a source of reflection and conversation.  Check back often as we will be continually adding more links.