Watched a free screening of the silent Berlin. Symphony of the big city. (Die Sinfonie der Großstadt, 1927, dir. Walter Ruttman) on the outdoor big screen at a distant neighborhood of Poznań I’ve never been. Not only that, but a live orchestra accompanied the footage. This is how such films were presented a hundred years back. Or with at least a solo pianist. How often are you to relive the old tradition these days?
Well, I thought it was quiet remarkable. Even those occasional awkward transitions when action continues yet the orchestra turns pages (heard through the microphones) or awaits the conductor’s cue, added an authentic layer.
Similar to the Dziga Vertov’s Soviet propaganda film Man with the Movie Camera, this one showcases an urban panorama of a single day in Berlin. Not a dull moment.
Each shot depicts an organic event of impressive polyphony: trains rolling, track mechanics, signals, steam works, chimney pipes, close-ups of industrialized machinery (ie levers, compressors, dishwashing conveyors); pedestrians, dogs, cats and pigeons engaged in silly or even compromising acts; ballroom dancers, canoeists, motorists, boxers, civic guards, all sorts of minutiae.
Wide shots of the older Berlin in constant movement. Sound cinema doesn’t convey visuals in quiet the same regard.
No superfluous dialogue. No dialogue at all. That means not even those title cards where any clever narrative is to be expected.
And all the better. I prefer meaning made clear through the context and versatile body language. Keaton, Chaplin, Lloyd, those guys and their troupes redefined the limits. And managed to convey plenty of pathos.
Or for the darker, expressionist twist over the character centric, 1920s and 1930s German cinema (ie Wegener, Murnau, Lang) deliver like a gritty comic book.
To think of it, Symphony of the big city is more of a documentary. Probably not without propaganda. But no matter. It makes for a valuable historical artifact and a visual splendour.
It is precisely this sort of film - black-and-white, silent, organic, expressionist - which justifies its medium. Next to most most other where alternate means exist to depict the same emotional gamut. I think I speak of the overwhelming amount of film in existence.
I wish I reflected more over what rolled before my eyes and rung before my ears. But my auditory and visual faculties underwent a storm of distractions, not the least of which were the battalions of vertically oriented smartphones recording the whole experience.
What is with that? Is there a bootleg market for silent film already in the public domain? Or is this a mere continuation of that general smartphone pandemic?
Questions, comments? Connect.