Leacock and the One-Man Studio

Two documentaries shown here last week may mean as much for the future of films as the invention of the soundtrack. The man behind them, Richard Leacock, has made it possible for one man to photograph and record synchronously without assistance from anyone. Leacock's new equipment does away with the need for large and awkward production crews and opens the way for motion pictures shot spontaneously in any setting whatever.

This technical innovation may strike you as something purely for the film buff; I had that feeling when John Prizer of Ivy Films described it to me. Fortunately, Prizer's enthusiasm convinced me to attend the showing at 2 Divinity Avenue last Wednesday. Leacock's two movies are not merely experiments, but fully conceived works of art with big implications for movie-makers and actors, since Leacock has found a way to make "the method" obsolete. His camera handles so easily that he can slip unobtrusively into private conversations and capture unguarded sequences directly from life. He never has to worry about motivation because everything he films is naturally motivated; he just records selectively from what he sees.

Thus, planning becomes all-important. Primary, which shows Kennedy and Humphrey stumping in Wisconsin, could never have succeeded if Leacock hadn't spent a vast amount of time trying to anticipate every stage of the campaign. As a result, he can catch both candidates at revealing times, he can stand in the most advantageous place, and his equipment allows him to choose that place with utter freedom.

Sitting in the back seat of the Humphrey limousine, he photographed the human details of the campaign. Just as a technical feat, this scene is unique, but it also constitutes a new high in realism and composition. While the senator and his party talk, Leacock scans the Wisconsin countryside through the rainswept windshield. Humphrey speaks glowingly about the state's rich land, but the camera takes in nothing but dreary rocks and gullies.

At a Kennedy rally, the cameraman stands backstage and shoots Jackie wringing her hands behind her back. Then he moves into the crowd as they shake hands with Jack.

At one point, Leacock pokes fun at orthodox newsreels. He shows four or five men hovering around Kennedy, posing him for a canned, two-minute statement. After the intimacy that Leacock has put on the screen, this formal sitting seems as turgid and pompous as a commencement address.

Eddie attempts something a good deal more ambitious than political reporting; it tells the story of a race driver in Indianapolis "500," and probes rather deeply into his character over a three-year period.

In addition to the techniques already described, Leacock enlarges the limits of color in photography in Eddie. At the dramatic peak, the day of the last race, the sunrise is done in color, and the small red accents of morning light seem to bleed across the screen as the movie changes from black-and-white to color. After Eddie loses the race, the color distorts the world into a fauvist painting, wild and brutally disorganized. For the final moments of disillusionment, Leacock switches back to black-and-white.

Eddie almost achieves the freedom of a feature film, and perhaps that will be the next project Leacock will tackle. Whatever his future, don't miss these first two revolutionary efforts when they come to the Brattle next semester.