Borinage: Gritty, raw, and impossible to shake off

Is it worth your time?

If you like your movies shiny and fast, stay away. Far away. But if you want to see what happens when cinema decides to pick up a pitchfork, Borinage is essential viewing. It’s for the people who prefer history that still has the dirt under its fingernails.

Honestly, the first ten minutes are just heavy. You’re watching families live in huts that make a cardboard box look like a mansion. It’s miserable, but you can’t look away because the camera keeps finding these faces that look like they’ve seen the end of the world twice over.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Borinage (1934) through its definitive frames.

Ivens and Storck didn’t have the budget to make things look pretty, and thank god for that. The way they frame the coal heaps—it’s like they’re mountains made of misery. There’s no voiceover trying to tell you how to feel, which is a relief. They just show you the walk to the mine. It feels endless. Literally endless.

There’s a moment where they show the evicted families dragging their furniture into the rain. It’s so quiet it hurts. I kept thinking about how modern documentaries would probably add some sad piano music here to force the waterworks. Not this one. It’s just the sound of boots in the mud and the wind.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Borinage (1934) through its definitive frames.

It’s a bit jarring how it jumps between being a straight newsreel and something much more staged. You can tell they coached some of these shots. Does it matter? Not really. The point they're making is so loud that the seams in the production don’t matter much.

If you’ve seen The Ship of Doom or maybe something like Die Ratte, you know that era had this specific way of showing desperation. But Borinage feels more like a punch in the gut than those. It’s not trying to entertain you; it’s trying to wake you up.

Odd little notes from my notepad:

• That one shot of the woman walking with the bundle on her back—it lingers for way too long, almost until it becomes uncomfortable.
• The way the light hits the coal dust, it looks like snow, but you know it’s just poison.
• I think I saw a dog in the background that was definitely not supposed to be there.

There is no polish here. The camera shakes. The focus isn't always perfect. Sometimes the editing feels like it was done with a pair of rusty scissors. But maybe that’s why it works.

It doesn't feel like a museum piece. It feels like someone screaming in a crowded room. Most people might find it too bleak, but hey, the truth usually is. If you want to see where the soul of documentary filmmaking really started—the kind that actually gives a damn—start here. Just maybe don't watch it on a day when you’re already feeling down. It's a heavy one. 🌫️