This Is Cinerama 1952

The film opens in black and white, framed in the standard Academy ratio and presented with mono sound, as travel writer and newscaster Lowell Thomas guides viewers through the arc of film entertainment. He outlines a journey from the earliest cave paintings that hint at movement to the advent of color and sound, sketching how cinema has evolved into a immersive, wide-screen experience. After a concise, 12-minute lecture, the host declares the famous line, and the screen expands into the full Cinerama format, bursting into color and inviting us into a sequence of vivid vignettes that are clearly designed to showcase technology as well as spectacle.

This Is Cinerama

What follows is a whirlwind, first-person voyage across genres and geographies, all captured in panoramic, multi-panel glory. The viewer witnesses the sensation of a roller coaster ride through the Atom Smasher at Rockaways’ Playland, presented through a point-of-view perspective that makes the thrill almost tactile. The journey then shifts to a grand operatic moment, the temple dance from the La Scala production of Aïda, whose movement and staging contrast with the next, more natural vistas.

The panorama sweeps across Niagara Falls in cascading, thunderous beauty, then softens for a church choir performance rendered in sepia-toned black and white, before moving to the bright tones of the Vienna Boys’ Choir. A leisurely but cinematic drift carries the audience over the canals of Venice, followed by a martial, echoing display at a military tattoo in Edinburgh. A dramatic bullfight in Spain injects immediacy and danger, while the triumph of Aïda’s famous scene brings operatic grandeur back into focus. A technical interlude demonstrates stereo sound, showcasing the film’s ability to layer audio with the visuals. Cypress Gardens’ waterskiing spectacle introduces more dynamic movement and color, a reminder of the era’s fascination with synchronized precision.

The closing act shifts to the vast, open landscapes of the American West, photographed from the nose of a low-flying North American B-25 Mitchell. The finale crescendos with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir lending its voices to a musical tapestry that threads together “America the Beautiful,” “Come, Come Ye Saints,” and the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” stacking grand scenery with patriotic choral power.

The project’s creators emphasize grand technical ambition as much as spectacle: producers include Lowell Thomas, Merian C. Cooper, and Robert L. Bendick, with Bendick also serving as director (alongside an uncredited Mike Todd Jr.). Cooper’s background—most notably directing the original 1933 King Kong—frames the film as part of a long tradition of pushing the boundaries of cinematic technique, looking to fuse innovation with a broad, uplifting showcase of culture, nature, and human achievement.

The result is a sweeping, boldly immersive travelogue that blends documentary curiosity with technological bravado. It invites viewers not only to watch but to experience cinema as a grand, shared event—an ambitious early milestone in widescreen, multi-panel storytelling that still aims to astonish with its variety, scale, and sound.