A Companion for Amateur Cinematographers: Vol. I

"A companion for amateur cinematographers" is how the title is translated, from crisp typography in neat sans serif black against the white background of a scanning plate. Manuale Di Cinematografia Per Dilettanti - Vol. I isn't quite the same, but the sense is similar. it has the ring to it, one matched by the glassy campanology of the score.

Mechanisms for lighting, and capturing the light. Engraved illustrations of film machinery. A discussion of wattage over lavage, a baby bathed. The speckle and crackle of film, the fall of water on celluloid or similar that has also been soaked.

The voiceover continues with its advice. Tripods where things are cranked by hand. Figure 64 another pair of hands with calipers, measuring the film. See the sprockets and their spacing. See the child in the garden, toy dog in hand. See the rounded corners of the cell, see the punctuating punctures top and bottom. See the letters disappear from the description of some long gone cinema brand. See the criticism of the distinction between cinema and animated photography.

"A clever amateur will need to study the character... of each family member." "If he is a poultry farmer among his chickens." So we know, then, from newspaper, from cigarette at desk, something. What is locked in that reel? In the catalogue we see the padlock on its case, and closeup again. What is concealed, and contained?

"While shooting home movies be like a despot," In Italy, of course, or what will have been becoming Italy. In black and white and floral dresses, other shirts and collars before the colours. See them run and jump in the before. Reversal of footage, reversal of fortune.

The jumping figure on the diagram of the zoetrope resembles most the devil, gait, drive, horns. In other places a yellow not seen in the era highlights details as counterpoint. Circular in its substitutions.

Within its scope of guidance we are told that some things are paramount. Others come close to universal, enough to fox the inattentive. Animation in the paper interludes matches invention in the filmed segments. "equipped with an artistic sense" we see further explorations. The documentary with its "infinite boundaries" could extend to include this. These are real reels, bleach and nitrate and vinegar syndrome, scratch and dust and movement through time.

From the stage the flags do not flutter, but there is still movement. In the silence we can only imagine what is being said. All the more striking when followed by the shadow of the operator. The empty case. The space over the page implied but unturned.

Counterclock, in striped jodphurs and jackboots, the jumping figure falls up. Gestures from the balcony. Discussion of triumph, crowds thronging the walls washed white. Turn the page. See the staples torn. The alleyway honourguard. The salute of the nursemaids, infants on the parade ground. A choreography of spectacle, director as dictator and the reverse. Kerchiefs and caps, parade rest and bayonets, long steps and wheeling.

Frozen frames of Ascari of the Royal Corps of Colonial Troops, their high tarbush, their low held rifles. The stamp at the end says 25th February 1940.

The text at the end says more. The black ferns of decay from sprocket speak to time. The words about Augusto Gandini speak to era. The two tight columns of credits speak to effort. Federico Di Corato's film is, as is often the case with documentary, self-reflexive. A film about film-making, at least of a kind. He writes, directs, narrates, but "direct" means something different when another hand and eye at nearly 80 years of distance produced the material. Sara Galli's animation and the addition of music composed by Enrico Gabrielli all add things available after the fact. No less powerful for it, however, as a portrait of a time and place and a consideration thereof.