Review: Man With A Movie Camera

A manifesto, a proclamation of intent that infiltrates the film’s narrative across a 68 minute event, offering a glimpse into the Soviet industrial experience that may unite blue collar professionals intergenerationally - leaving audiences with more questions, rather than answers. Specifically referring to the inquiry - how much has the world of labour evolved in 100 years? 

WORDS: Michael James

‘Man with a Movie Camera’, explores the implication of the title, presenting audiences with the process of creating and constructing a motion picture, a metatextual adventure whilst positioning a separate narrative strand within the story that captures the proletariat’s ‘modus vivendi’. Categorised by its genre, an avant-garde experimental documentary, the film features no singular protagonist, but rather an ensemblesque entity, specifically, the working class. Throughout, Vertov carefully weaves between the labour of workers and filmmakers alike, pursuing their craft during the Soviet era of the 1920s, arguably challenging the western perspective by demonstrating local lifestyles from Moscow, Odessa, and Kyiv - a myriad of people working, laughing, playing. However, Soviet art must not be segregated from Soviet political activity and government, leaving audiences to speculate, is this invitation to witness the unscripted labourers, merely a distraction from the brutality of Stalin’s dictatorship? Or are we being exposed to a quieter angle that doesn’t shy away from different versions of the truth? 

Paradoxically, given the structure of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, a communist state across the European and Asian borderlines, ‘Man with a Movie Camera’, acts as a Declaration of Independence regarding filmmaking techniques and narrative activity. Having been described as ‘(pointless) camera hooliganism’, by fellow Soviet filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein, while intended as a negative critique, the rebellious style of the filmmaking vision carries a ‘Rock n Roll’ nature, an act of hooliganism that offers more experimental and stimulating camera movements and editing methods than most works of the contemporary era, particularly within the same genre, despite our technological advantages and great access to information across the current digital climate. Eisenstein’s criticism, “pointless”, is that an honest remark or a confession of jealousy? Can it be an unbiased opinion if someone else in your area of work is creating pieces of visual innovation that still feels revolutionary a century later? Given Eisenstein’s status as a Soviet directorial mastermind, his work has curated an elongated lifespan similar to Vertov, yet, a rejectionist attitude should not distract from the merit of invention, despite one’s credibility.

Since the inception of cinema, art, and further afield, the value of a woman’s contribution has been neglected and understated consistently, with authoritarians twisting tales into accounts that presents men as the orchestrators of originality, societal rule, and popular culture. When assessing any medium of art, gender must be one of the facets we inspect. ‘Man with a Movie Camera’, features scenes of a woman giving birth, women bathing topless at the beach, and a woman working as a film editor (the woman in question is the film’s true editor, Elizaveta Svilova). Viewers perception of gender liberty may be examined by the topless women on the beach for example, defying the patriarchal expectations of a ‘polite society’ as women have been villainised generationally for revealing ‘too much’ skin, having their sexuality weaponised against them; begging the analysis, is a woman’s body inherently sexual or has social norms antagonised women for just, having bodies? There is a gender-based double standard regarding (partial) male nudity, as topless men appear within the film, a concept not deemed as abnormal, due to social normalisation of the appearance of a man’s nipples. The same applies for the scene of the woman giving birth - the general consensus regarding the birth of a child is considered a miracle, a moment to cherish, but the cinematic viewing of a birth may be a new experience for modern masses.

‘Man with a Movie Camera’ was released in 1929, but if released in 2026, would it be criticised or accepted? There’s a lack of similar on-screen moments in today’s artistry, reinforcing certain wonders - is a natural experience like childbirth a taboo concept to display? Or is it a question of audience rejection and a filmmakers refusal? ‘Man with a Movie Camera’ upholds a certain maturity regarding gender performance whilst withholding from any spoken word, only permeating the picture with an ever-changing instrumental rhythm that accompanies the film throughout. 

There is a purity to films with no dialogue, obeying the original intention of photographs moving at 24 frames per second, transferring information from creator to consumer solely through the use of visual communication. There were a plethora of Soviet filmmakers, Vertov included, who objected to the use of synchronised dialogue, viewing talkie-based narratives as a broken crutch rather than resourceful brilliance. The visual experience of ‘Man with a Movie Camera’ is coupled with the futuristic orchestral efforts of the musical score, an ultramodern and explosive support system that compliments the spectator’s viewing, an audio-based carnival that integrates a new sensation of wonder, questioning the nature of artists from the 1920s Soviet Union. The works of Vertov, specifically ‘Man with a Movie Camera’, may have threatened the growing acceptance of audio-visual technology with great rivalry in the late 1920s, proposing a substantial contention for silent films and conversation-driven narratives to co-exist, as demonstrated by the everlasting quality of silent Soviet pictures, during an era fueled by ideological hostility and political tension with the United States government, western status quo, and international filmmaking communities alike.  

An avant-garde experimental documentary with an ambiguous narrative from the 1920s USSR, a concept so distant from today’s cultural relevance, continues to prove its worth in the cinematic realm of importance, serving as an educational tool for the next generation of artists, historians of cinema and Sovietism, whilst operating as a doorway, enticing us into a nation that no longer exists. Retaining an authentic communist ethos, this film is free for all to view on YouTube.