the abbreviated reign of “neon” leon spinks
the abbreviated reign of “neon” leon spinks
the abbreviated reign of “neon” leon spinks
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BEWARE OF UNPROVEN TECHNOLOGIES 97<br />
tory filmmaking. Since <strong>the</strong>y were added to existing movies, <strong>the</strong>y were an<br />
<strong>of</strong>fense against film aes<strong>the</strong>tics, a distraction from what <strong>the</strong> director had<br />
intended audiences to focus upon. Beyond that, <strong>the</strong> clouds <strong>of</strong> perfume that<br />
accumulated in <strong>the</strong>aters created a problem. The human nose, which has<br />
only so many smell receptors, has difficulty transitioning to a new smell<br />
until it is cleared <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> molecules that triggered a previous scent. The<br />
result was a phenomenon called “olfactory fatigue,” in which <strong>the</strong> sense <strong>of</strong><br />
smell gradually stops working, like a smoker who no longer notices <strong>the</strong><br />
acrid stink <strong>of</strong> his cigarette. (Films with smells would work a lot better if<br />
audiences were rabbits, which depend upon smell to avoid predators and<br />
possess nostrils equipped with skin flaps, which restrict <strong>the</strong> volume <strong>of</strong><br />
molecules <strong>the</strong>y can take in with a sniff.)<br />
Enter Hans Laube with what seemed like a solution. A tall, grayhaired<br />
Swiss native who affected owlishly severe dark eyeglasses, Laube’s<br />
background is a bit mysterious—media coverage <strong>of</strong> his work identifi es<br />
him variously as a pr<strong>of</strong>essor, an advertising executive, an electrical engineer,<br />
and “an expert in osmology, <strong>the</strong> science <strong>of</strong> odors.” By one account,<br />
sometime prior to World War II, he invented a method for cleaning <strong>the</strong> air<br />
in large auditoriums, which became widely used throughout Europe. That<br />
success somehow led him to his fascination with reversing <strong>the</strong> process,<br />
and putting odors <strong>of</strong> his choosing back into rooms. He developed an artifi<br />
cial scent-delivery process, in which chemicals were transmitted through<br />
a network <strong>of</strong> pipes connected to individual seats in <strong>the</strong> <strong>the</strong>ater, so that <strong>the</strong><br />
timing and amount <strong>of</strong> aroma could be more carefully regulated. With a<br />
colleague, Robert Barth, Laube produced a thirty- fi ve- minute “smello-drama”<br />
movie, Mein Traum—in En glish, My Dream—for <strong>the</strong> 1940<br />
world’s fair in New York. The projectionist operated a control board with<br />
dials that allowed him to release thirty-two different odors, including<br />
roses, coconut, tar, hay, and peaches.<br />
Laube’s invention, “which <strong>of</strong> course is a secret pending patents, is<br />
said to have produced odors as quickly and easily as <strong>the</strong> soundtrack <strong>of</strong> a<br />
film produces sound,” a newspaper reported in 1943. “The scientists