Like a miniature wooden and tin city symphony

Toccata for Toy Trains is not so much a film as it a fifteen minute explosion of colourful, nostalgic delight. The first film of both sound and colour that I viewed in this unit certainly used both aspects relentlessly to present a picture that is vibrant and loud, the trains almost bounding off the screen in their mechanical and speedy splendour.

The music complements the scenes delightfully, the rich, sonorous blow of the trumpet issuing in the beginning and the end of the film, with a slew of many other instruments such as the clarinet and percussion harmonising sight with sound. Music was central to the mood of the film, as Charles Eames would later remark: “We used a lot of sound, sometimes carried to a very high volume so you would actually feel the vibrations...We did it because we wanted to heighten awareness”.[1] The jovial flute and the mellow oboe certainly captivate the senses, immersing the viewer in a symphonic riot which is made all the pleasing by its vivid visual grandeur. The first scene appears to be a candy filled glass train, a bright introduction into an array of candy apple reds, glistening blacks and canary yellows contrasted against pastel pinks and baby blues. The worn appearance of some of the trains and people does not detract from their brilliance – it simply makes them more interesting, knowing there is a history in these pretty little objects. The objects surrounding the trains are also visually pleasing – the buildings, power lines, food stands, luggage, trees, cars and of course people that craft the makeshift town. What appear to be children with toys of their own add a touch of serenity, and the film gathers excitement when it showcases a race between a car and a train, and also two men wrestling in an open carriage which is in danger of tipping over. The meticulous detail of spinning wheels and pistons and the cinematic shots such as virtual zoom that facilitate the fast paced movement are an impressive confluence of the creative talent of Ray and Charles. The toy people are particularly splendid, almost coming to life in all the humming fervour of their surroundings, formulating a microcosm of human activity. What is most enchanting about this film is that it delightfully authentic, almost like a miniature wooden and tin city symphony that mirrors the bustle of Ruttman’s Berlin: Symphony of a Great City or Sheeler and Strand’s Manhatta. In fact, Toccata for Toy Trains does carry on in the tradition of expressionist films which appeared during the 1920s, evidence of a growing interest in film-making: “Young artists, photographers, poets, novelists, dancers, architects, eager to explore the rich terrain of movie expression, learned how to handle a camera and with the most meagre resources attempted to produce pictures of their own.”[2]

Although Toccata for Toy Trains is a pleasure unto itself to watch, what makes this film all the more intriguing is Charles and Ray Eames’ inspiration for the film, and also their fascination with toys and both their aesthetic and functional purpose. In 1957, the Eames’ were asked by Sam Bernstein, who leased the Griffith Park Railroad, to redesign the station.  Soon, they became very involved in the project, redesigning not only the station, but the tickets, the posters and the signs, all of which created nostalgia surrounding train, for Charles in particular who held a fascination with them stretching back to childhood. The railroad was also significant to the formation of America and its industrial character, as Pat Kirkham has stated: “In 1957 the great American railroad system was already something of an anachronism. Yet the railroad system symbolised a great deal of the American myth. It had helped open California to white settlers from the Midwest, and it was associated with the ‘frontier spirit’ (whatever this was and however it was represented).”[3]

“The Eames’ respect for objects was rooted in the Arts and Crafts ideals of truth to materials, honesty of construction, joy in labour, and the dialectical relationship of truth and beauty.”[4] The verbal introduction to Toccata for Toy Trains alludes to these factors, as well as the reality of the degradation of the toy industry, which has proceeded to descend into the throes of mass mechanical production since. Toccata for Toy Trains is a rare pleasure, to watch it and think that these were real play things and not scale models awards one a sense of nostalgia for objects that are no longer made and probably only exist within private collections. The toys featured are certainly more beautiful, and have a much longer shelf life owing to their durable materials, than any toys I may have possessed as a child. Toys these days, it seems, are mostly made of cheap plastic and rely on dodgy electronics to captivate the interest of children. The one thing I am aware of that comes closest to mimicking the Eames’ respect for toys is a scene from Toy Story 2, where Woody is painstakingly repaired in order to become a collector’s item, however this may not have entirely earned the approval of Charles and Ray. The Eames’ love of toys was not strictly limited to their aesthetic appeal, but rather the integrity of old objects and the way they were produced and cared for. They admired how specific objects, or toys, could be understood in context and could reveal certain facts about history and culture – indeed, clues “to what sets the creative climate of any time, including our own”. Toys, according to the Eames’, could be both beautiful and instructional, and were vehicles for creative thought and production. The Eames’ fascination with toys led them to both design and make their own, giving them as gifts to friends and family.[5] The films that the Eames’s made about toys were effective in visually articulating issues relating to memory and childhood, movement, texture and colour and encourage, through “functioning decoration”, the expansion of imaginative powers and practical skills.[6] Through their creative prowess, the Eames’ were able to imaginatively explore the modernist absorption with trains through their personal adoration of toys, these factors manifesting themselves into a film that captivates the senses and imagination of both children and adults.

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[1] Pat Kirkham, Charles and Ray Eames: Designers of the twentieth century, (The MIT Press: Cambridge, 1995), p. 318

[2] Kirkham, Charles and Ray Eames: Designers of the twentieth century, p. 313

[3] Ibid, p. 130

[4] Ibid, p. 144

[5] Donald Albrecht, The work of Charles and Ray Eames: a legacy of invention, (Harry N. Abrams Inc. Publishers, New York: 1997), p. 138

[6] Kirkham, Charles and Ray Eames: Designers of the twentieth century, p. 146