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Yes, I’m aware: the Earth rotates all day, every day. But on this date in 1851, Léon Foucault proved it scientifically by setting his eponymous pendulum in motion in Paris. You can see replicas of this pendulum in science and natural history museums all over the world. They’re kind of boring to watch, as they very slowly change direction and periodically knock over little pegs. But that subtle change in direction would occur only if the Earth is rotating. This simple invention was and remains a brilliant demonstration of what to many of us is a self-evident truth.

Image credit: BrokenSphere [CC BY-SA 3.0 or GFDL], from Wikimedia Commons

When it comes to recording video, elements like composition, lighting, audio recording, judicious use of camera angles, panning, zooming, and so on all require practice and a certain degree of artistic sensibility; these do not come in the box with your smartphone, DSLR, or camcorder. And although virtually every modern video recording device for consumers has a built-in mechanism to compensate for the jitter caused by small hand movements, long handheld shots—especially those taken while walking, as is natural for camcorder users—typically include a fair amount of bounce and sway, making them look amateurish regardless of any other merits the recording may have. You almost never see such bumpy images on TV or in movies, unless a shot was made that way intentionally to achieve a certain effect. Professional videographers and cinematographers supplement their skill with a great piece of technology called a steadicam to smooth out the trickiest of handheld shots.

Steady as You Go

You can think of the steadicam as an extremely sophisticated shock absorber for a camera. Just as the shock absorbers on your car keep the ride smooth even when the road is not, so a steadicam keeps a camera steady despite bumps underneath. But unlike automotive shock absorbers, a steadicam must also compensate for pan (horizontal rotation), tilt (rotation up or down), and roll (rotation about the axis of the lens)—but only when these changes are not explicitly implemented by the operator. After all, a handheld shot that could only ever point in one direction would not be terribly interesting.

To do all this, a steadicam starts with a large, rigid harness or vest worn by the operator. Because the entire apparatus, including the camera, is typically quite heavy—sometimes as much as 90 lb. (about 40kg)—the vest spreads out the weight as much as possible. This not only minimizes fatigue, but also gives the camera a much more solid attachment point than the operator’s arms would provide. Protruding from this vest is a heavy-duty mechanical arm, somewhat reminiscent of the ones used in certain adjustable desk lamps. The arm has two rigid segments (called “bones”), connected by spring-loaded joints. The mechanism is designed in such a way that the bones always remain parallel to each other, but can move up, down, left, and right with the application of a small force from the operator. The camera itself (whether film or video) sits atop a postlike mounting assembly called a “sled,” which is attached to the end of the arm by a free-floating rotating joint known as a gimbal. The weight of the camera is counterbalanced partly by the tension of the springs and partly by other components mounted at the bottom of the sled such as batteries and a video screen that enables the operator to see what is being filmed while watching their step.

All these joints, springs, and weights shift the center of gravity away from the camera itself while providing multiple points where vibration and other unwanted movement can be isolated from the camera. The net effect is that the operator can walk, climb stairs, step over obstacles, or even jog while keeping the “floating” camera perfectly smooth. This makes possible shots that could never be achieved with a tripod or dolly, enabling the camera operator to walk among the actors freely while keeping all equipment out of the shot.

Gonna Film Now

The steadicam was invented in 1973 by cinematographer Garrett Brown, with its mainstream debut in the 1976 film Rocky. Since then, it has become ubiquitous in both film and TV. The most impressive use of the steadicam I’ve seen is the 2002 film Russian Ark, shot in the Hermitage, a former palace in St. Petersburg that’s now a museum. The entire 90-minute film was done as a single, continuous steadicam shot that followed the main character as he walked from one room to the next. Garrett Brown himself also famously used a steadicam to capture footage of California’s Redwood National Park in slow motion as he walked through it; when the footage was played at regular speed, it produced the backdrop for the speeder bike sequence in Return of the Jedi (1983).

As sophisticated as steadicams are, they are useless without a highly trained operator. A great deal of practice, not to mention stamina, is necessary to become proficient filming scenes with a 90-pound weight hanging from your chest. Steadicam operators, who generally work as freelancers and provide their own equipment, are both highly paid and well respected. Professional steadicam equipment is, not surprisingly, quite expensive (a complete rig can cost as much as a mid-range car)—though scaled-down versions for use with smaller consumer devices can be had for well under US$1,000. That money won’t make your vacation videos less boring, but your camera’s “off” switch was designed for just such a purpose.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on November 11, 2004.

Image credit: Mike1024 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Tempura refers to the Japanese technique of dipping food (usually vegetables or seafood) in a light batter and deep-frying it. There are lots of other ways to deep-fry stuff (with or without batter), but tempura has a distinctive texture and flavor. I don’t know if I’ve ever had tempura anywhere besides a Japanese restaurant, but it’s easy enough to make yourself if you’re so inclined.

Image credit: FASTILY [CC BY-SA 4.0], from Wikimedia Commons

Building a rural city

While on a business trip in Scottsdale, Arizona in the early 1990s, I took a walk down the road from the hotel one afternoon and ran into a peculiar-looking place called Cosanti. This compound, an official Arizona Historical Site, is a collection of oddly shaped concrete structures, including large domes and apses made from earthen molds. The first thing a visitor notices is the multitude of handmade bronze and ceramic windbells all over the property. These are made in the foundry and workshops on the site and available for sale in the gift shop. But Cosanti is much more than a new-agey craft center. It’s gallery and studio of the late Italian-American architect and artist Paolo Soleri (who also lived there until his death in 2013). As the brochures on the counter explained, Cosanti is, among other things, a prototype for a much larger and grander construction project called Arcosanti.

City in the Wilderness

Located about 70 miles (110 km) north of Phoenix, Arcosanti is called an “urban laboratory.” What Soleri was testing in this laboratory for nearly 50 years is a concept he called arcology, a blending of architecture and ecology. His vision was to build a 25-acre city where 5,000 people can one day live, work, and play—comfortably, sustainably, and in harmony with nature.

Soleri believed that wastefulness and urban sprawl are among the great evils of the age, and he wanted to eliminate these problems with careful design. According to arcology, well-planned urban areas can use space much more efficiently and benefit from dramatically reduced energy requirements and environmental impact. This means, for example, eliminating cars, roads, and garages by putting all buildings within walking distance of each other. It also means creating multi-use spaces for maximum flexibility, and relying on solar and wind energy for most heating, cooling, and lighting.

Beyond the issues of consumption and pollution that plague the world’s urban and suburban areas, Soleri felt that people have become too detached from each other, and that an effective community requires more human interaction. Accordingly, Arcosanti has been designed with a large amount of shared living space (such as kitchens, gardens, and recreation areas). This seemingly benign fact sets off warning bells for Soleri’s critics, some of whom see Arcosanti as an immense commune, or worse—a cult-like organization. While the project does attract its fair share of New Age types, it also attracts many ordinary people for whom privacy does not necessarily mean a single-family house in a cul-de-sac. But if anything, Arcosanti’s biggest problem is that it hasn’t produced enough converts—or, to use a less loaded term, enthusiasts.

A Time to Build

When construction on Arcosanti began in 1970, Soleri expected it to be completed in 10 years, but less than 5% of the planned project has been completed to date. Construction is done by volunteers, who pay to live and work at Arcosanti during five-week workshops. Fewer than 100 people reside at Arcosanti at any given time, though the site receives more than 40,000 tourists per year. Much of the money used to fund the work comes from sales of the windbells and other pieces of art. But the money and volunteers are not plentiful enough to move the project along quickly. Before Soleri’s death, he left Arcosanti under the control of the nonprofit Cosanti Foundation, which continues to pursue Soleri’s vision.

Even if Soleri’s experiment in the Arizona desert proves one day to be fabulously successful, it will not necessarily signal a triumph of arcology over other forms of urban planning. What works for 5,000 people may not scale up to a city of millions; what works in a hot, dry climate may fail in colder, darker, and wetter areas. But the biggest roadblock of all is not technological, it’s psychological—convincing suburbanites that the cozy, interdependent community of a rural “city” is an improvement over the self-sufficient existence they’ve worked toward their entire lives. After all, arcology assumes that everyone will more or less like, respect, and work happily together with their neighbors. Sounds like a fantasy to me.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on August 21, 2004.

Image credit: Carwil [CC BY-SA 4.0], from Wikimedia Commons