The newsreels of The March of Time (1935–1951) projected
Time magazine’s fast-paced, syncopated, self-important
ethos onto movie screens across the nation and the world.
Newsreels, in general, borrowed from stagecraft, radio and,
most notably, cinema. The March of Time films of the 1930s
and 1940s bridged a gap between the brief, unconnected
collages offered by traditional newsreels and long, textured,
interpretive narratives of serious documentary films.
The March of Time made its debut on American movie
screens on February 1, 1935, a dozen years after the founding of Time magazine. Drawing on the reportorial resources
of Time and the visual sensibilities of another Luce product,
Life magazine, The March of Time aspired to journalism
— but it sometimes filled the role of slick propagandist for
the particular Americanism of Time owner Henry Luce.
The March of Time grew out of a similarly themed
radio show. Roy Edward Larsen, originally Time’s circulation manager and later a major stockholder in the company, first experimented with a broadcast version of Time in
1928. At first, Larsen described the ten-minute show, which
featured at least one “hair raising” story per broadcast, as
“newscasting.” But he soon invented a new term—“newsacting”—which was more accurate because the broadcasts
contained numerous dramatic recreations of news events.
In 1931, CBS promoted the show nationally and rechristened it The March of Time, after a Harold Arlen song of
the same name.
The radio version of The March of Time would provide
a narrative template for the film version, while its dramatic
and unique visual style owed much to Life. Larsen had
almost total control over its operations after The March of
Time was incorporated as a separate company under the
control and ownership of Time. The multimedia empire
Luce created represented an early example of the corporate
synergy that characterizes the modern media.
A New York Times review of the first episode of The
March of Time, published Feb. 2, 1935, asserted that it bore
approximately the same relationship to the newsreel “as
the weekly interpretive magazine bears to the daily newspaper.” The purpose of the newsreels, according to their
editors was to show the news as “live dramatic events that
unfold on the screen as they actually took place.” When
necessary, the producers acknowledged, they would not hesitate to recreate or re-enact stories (The New York Times,
February 2, 1935, 10).
One hundred and sixty March of Time documentaries
were produced during its sixteen-year run. The first episodes, billed by the producers as “a new kind of pictorial
journalism,” contained two or three reels. At ten minutes
per reel, they were far longer than typical newsreel subjects
and allowed for far more analysis and interpretation. In
1938, each episode covered only a single subject, allowing
for even more depth. As British filmmaker John Grierson
observed, “It gets behind the news . . . and gives perspective
to events. Not the parade of armies so much as the race in
armaments.”
The March of Time was popular, profitable, and generally well-regarded by critics, but re-enactments of current
or historical events and melodramatic narration by Westbrook Van Voorhis—known as the “Voice of Time”—made
it difficult to say if it represented a legitimate form of journalism. (In one episode, Ethiopian King Haile Selasse was
portrayed by a Time office boy.)
That the series attempted to influence on public perception and opinion was undeniable. By 1936, each episode
was screened in over five thousand theatres in thirty-two
hundred cities around the world. Over the course of its sixteen-year history, The March of Time informed, amused,
and sometimes inflamed. In only the third episode, the
series earned the enmity of Louisiana Governor Huey Long
by describing him as a “demagogue” and his administration
as a “decidedly un-American dictatorship.”
The report on Long bore the stamp of The March of
Time’s creative director, Louis de Rochemont, who had long
argued that staging scenes and using actors was no different
than rendering an occurrence in words, as legitimate print
journalists did every day. The Huey Long segment mixed
actual footage of the governor with re-enactments of his
“more obnoxious behavior” by an impersonator. While the
film disclosed the re-enactment, it is doubtful that a day
or two after its screening audience members could remember what was real and what was made up. In addition, the
Long segment was edited to marry alleged Long statements
to footage of the governor or the actor who impersonated
him. The result may well have been devastating, but it also
pointed up the manipulative power of The March of Time
formula.
Other controversies followed. In 1938, several exhibitors
refused to show an episode entitled “Inside Nazi Germany”
because of threats by American Nazi groups. Another episode, which used elaborate re-enactments to highlight the
grandiose character of the Dominican Republic’s dictatorpresident caused an international incident.
Social Impact
With their depth, striking imagery, high production values,
and authoritative tone,
The March of Time films gave viewers vivid contexts
and frames of reference for world events, government policies, and political leaders. And, because of the series’ huge
reach, senators, C.E.O.’s, and assorted other public figures
were all too happy to appear before The March of Time
cameras.
The March of Time tended to turn its cameras on complex
processes rather than sensational occurrences. Episodes
explored the operations of the Tennessee Valley Authority
(which brought electricity to the rural South), the rise of
right-wing radio priest Father Coughlin, and, internationally, political intrigues in the Soviet Union.
During World War II, The March of Time focused on
both the battlefield and the war room and its style had a
profound influence on director Frank Capra’s popular and
effective “Why We Fight” series, which sought to explain
the larger purposes and ramifications of the war to soldiers
and civilians.
Many critics felt the series began to lose its energy and
sense of innovation in 1942, as the somber atmosphere of
a nation at war removed some of the unpredictability and
edge from the series. In addition, de Rochemont left the
company, taking his unique aesthetic sensibility with him.
The rise of television helped spell the end of the series. It
ceased production in 1951. There were two later, short-lived
incarnations on television. Time marched on but The March
of Time had ended.
Further Reading
Alexander, William. “The March of Time and the World Today.”
American Quarterly, vol. 29, no. 2 (Summer, 1977):
182–193.
Bohn, Thomas W. and Lichty, Lawerence W. “The March of Time:
News as Drama,” Journal of Popular Film, Volume 2, No. 4
(Fall, 1973): 373–387.
Fielding, Raymond. The American Newsreel: 1911–1967. Omaha:
The University of Oklahoma Press, 1972.
Fielding. The March of Time: 1935–1951. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978.
Grierson, John. Grierson on Documentary. New York: Praeger,
1971.
“The Screen.” New York Times, Feb. 2, 1935, 10.
Mike Dillon