L'Homme à la caméra

While I thoroughly enjoyed this film (for several reasons previously mentioned), I think it is important to clear up a one thing that has been repeatedly mistaken in these user comments.

This was NOT produced under Lenin's Soviet Regime, but rather shortly after Stalin took over in 1928. The government, then, disapproved of Vertov's film style, not seeing the proletariat message but rather only the formalistic errors that they saw as inherent. After passing directives to forbid formalist methods of production (most likely specifically for Eisenstein and Vertov), Vertov moved to Kiev to produce this film, where I apparently the government was less strict.

The Man With The Movie Camera shows fragments of life transformed into film. It was a film about a film and a kaleidoscope of daily life of people in Russia.

The film is constantly moving, showing snippets of people in this town and how they live. The music, which was composed by Dziga himself, is fast paced and flows perfectly with the images.

At one scene the film begins to slow down, much like a train does when it arrives at a station, the music that accompanies these images begins to slow down as well, until we come to a complete stop. The film then transforms into still images, only to start up again. Dziga even uses the train as a way to connect the pace of the film and music to the still images and back again. The train slowly arrives and departs, the music slowly stops and starts up, the images become still and then back to the quick paced editing.

It's a master of cinematic techniques; the way the film was shot was very dangerous. The camera operator stands in a moving carriage while he films, supported by nothing. It's easy to see the influences this film has on what we see today, many people use this quick editing style and we've become accustomed to it. Just look at films like Run Lola Run or your average Michael Bay blockbuster.

Dziga Vertov's `The Man with the Movie Camera' begins with a prologue that explains that the director is attempting to stretch the boundaries of the cinematic medium, trying to achieve `a total separation from the language of literature and theater.' It accomplishes this by throwing out conventional storytelling and taking a non-narrative approach. Basically, the entire film consists of different series of shots that illuminate day-to-day life in Moscow and Odessa. The periods of the day- dawn, working hours, and resting hours- are represented by the activities of the ordinary people that make up the `cast' of the film, while the activities of certain citizens are contrasted with activities of others to create a panorama of Russian urban life in 1929.

The first thing we see is a projectionist threading film through the spools of a projector. An audience pours into the movie theater as the seats magically flip out; this stylized movement establishes a sense of choreography that will frequently reoccur. The projector comes to life and images appear on the movie screen.

Now we see the details of a woman's bedroom. The camera starts by focusing on her window, then moving inside and examining her belongings, such as pictures that hang on the wall and items scattered on her dresser. The woman herself rests in her bed. Then we gradually move outside to see the world in a seemingly frozen state; streets are empty, the parks and benches are unpopulated, telephones are silent, and the wheels and gears of the factory remain still. More people are seen resting in their beds. Then a solitary car moves out onto the street with a cameraman perched in it, and, as if the filmmaker was signaling the start of the day, the city comes alive. The woman wakes up, begins washing herself and attending to her appearance, and flickers the shades to her window. Intercut with this are the images of trolley cars leaving their stations and moving about in synchronized motion, as well as people arriving at factories to begin labor. The gears that were previously silent begin to shift and churn, and they grow more and more rapid in movement as the film progresses. Similarly, there are images of a train moving at high speed, quickly intercut with images of crowds in parks, cars streaming through the streets, and telephones buzzing with activity. They make the working hours of the day seem all the more hectic.

Another interesting aspect of Vertov's editing is the way he contrasts the upper-class members of society with the lower-class. One scenario involves the residents of a barber shop: women get their hair primped while men sharpen razor blades for shaving. This is intercut with images of workers in a factory: women get their hair dirtied as they shovel coal, while men sharpen axes for chopping. Shots of trolleys moving about in various directions are placed in almost every sequence, to convey the idea of people moving constantly, anywhere at anytime.

When the working hours end and the resting hours begin, the gears come to a sudden halt and, moments later, we see people's bodies at rest, this time on the beach. Athletic events are photographed in a way that makes them seem energetic, but still allows for slow-moving photography to show that such activities are intended to be relaxing. We see a buff athlete jumping a hurdle; his expression is very animated, but his body moves with slowness and ease. We see families on a merry-go-round intercut with bikers on a motorcycle track. Eventually, we are back in the movie theater, where the audience watches joyfully as stop-motion animation shows a tripod and camera moving about on their own.

There is no actual `story' to Vertov's film. It is an attempt to use the camera to capture things other mediums of entertainment, such as books and plays, cannot. It is fascinating for its dazzling technical skill, and noteworthy for its movement towards a new cinematic direction.

I'm writing about the Cinematic Orchestra version. It might possibly be the music, but somehow, in the first half of this film, I get overwhelmed by sadness. To the point where I feel I'm gonna start crying. Why? All we see are mundane scenes of everyday life. My daughter told me she has the same reaction. This must be a statement to the highly poetic nature of the film. I had seen the movie before with a different score and it didn't have the same effect. Blame it on the score, I guess.

The fact is, everything we see in this film will be annihilated in the following turbulent years. It's all done with a hand-cranked camera and is very powerful indeed.

I disagree with the other reviewer who compares Dziga Vertov to Leni Reifenstall and calls for his branding as a war criminal. TRIUMPH OF THE WILL was exalting the virtues of the Nazi party itself while this film is more about the communist way of life in general. Even if Stalin turned out to be a war criminal afterward, in my opinion this is different.

This film is a major achievement for it's time and is still relevant.

The DVD of Man with a Movie Camera has a wonderful modern music score that is based on the director's notes. Experiencing the music along with the visuals makes for one of the best films ever. The idea of a film being made of a film about reality points out that we can only be shown reality but never quite get into it with film. The scenes of everyday life are wonderful...they show a city alive with hope and vigor. The editing is of course excellent and places images, such as trains and people moving and machines functioning, next to each other to create a greater impression on the viewer. Hey, that's montage! Seriously, it is a great experience and one that makes hope live for film. Maybe one day American filmmakers, with all their technology and money, can make something as vibrant and relevant as this.