Kino-pravda no. 1

Dziga Vertov’s electric newsreel mosaic hurtles through Petrograd, Odessa, and Moscow like a fever dream stitched from lightning. Spliced streetcars clang past thawing ice floes; bread queues snake into phantom factories; a child’s marble eye reflects banners that still smell of wet ink. Svilova’s razor-sharp montage lets locomotives argue with icons, while Kaufman’s camera vaults rooftops to spy on workers unbolting the very idea of czars. Each frame is a propaganda neuron firing inside 1922’s skull: tram tickets become confetti for the new mythos, and every face—whether grimy or jubilant—gets immortalized as celluloid folklore. The reel ends, yet the city keeps breathing through perforated holes, a mechanical heart learning to beat in public.