Responses to the camera & recorder ranged from total incomprehension among the Biami, to keen sophistication among young political leaders in the cities.

The Biami at first had no idea what cameras were. That is, they had no idea cameras made pictures. They thought cameras simply stored pictures. To them, Polaroid cameras were boxes containing images of themselves, while movie cameras were boxes with windows into which we peered. We encouraged them to sight through viewfinders, assuming they might at least gain the notion of a telescope. But I don't think they understood even this & they continually wrecked one scene after another by walking in front of cameras, standing in front of them, above all peering into them. Time & again, right in the middle of a superb sequence, I would suddenly see an eyeball coming directly into the camera.

In the Highlands, however, and even in the Middle Sepik, most villagers know what cameras are & the moment they see one pointed at them, their behavior changes. This change is far more pronounced than that produced by awareness that one is simply being observed. A camera holds the potential for self-viewing, self-awareness.

Using long lenses, we filmed people who were unaware of our presence. Then one of us stepped from concealment & stood watching, but not interrupting their activity. Finally the cameraman set up his equipment in full view, urging everyone to go on with whatever he was doing. Almost invariably, body movements became faster, jerky, without poise or confidence. Faces that had been relaxed froze or alternated between twitching & rigidity.

Thus we had sequences showing people who, in their own minds, were: (1) unobserved, (2) being observed by a stranger, (3) being recorded on film which they later might see. There was little difference between (1) & (2), but (3) was quite different.

Before we learned better, we asked people to repeat actions just observed but missed in filming. It was hopeless. Subjects were willing enough, but their self-conscious performances bore little resemblance to their unconscious behavior. Among the hundreds of subjects filmed in a variety of situations, I cannot recall a single person familiar with a camera who was capable of ignoring it. This makes me wonder about ethnographic films generally. Even where subjects are accomplished actors, how does their acting compare with their behavior when no cameras are present? We may compliment their acting, but is it the theatrical performance we admire or their true-to-life impersonation?

When Joshua Whitcomb, a 19th century actor, performed in Keene, New Hampshire, the audience demanded its money back. It couldn't understand being charged admission. On stage, Whitcomb was exactly the same as any number of local citizens who could be seen daily without charge. Said a representative in protest: "It warn't no acting; it was just a lot of fellers goin' around and doin' things."

Since most ethnographic films profess to record just that - people going around doing things - the question arises: do they? Or has the camera produced changes in behavior we can't see because they are so common among us, so much a part of our lives that we fail to recognize them as alien in others? Do we take self-awareness for granted?

For New Guinea, the record is clear: comparing footage of a subject who is unaware of a camera, then aware of it - fully aware of it as an instrument for self-viewing, self-examination - is comparing different behavior, different persons.