Muratti privat: Dancing cigarettes and weird 30s energy

Is this for you?

If you have three minutes to spare and want to see something that feels like a glitch in the history of advertising, then yes, watch Muratti privat. It is for people who enjoy experimental animation or anyone who likes their cinema with a side of bizarre corporate nostalgia. If you need a coherent story or characters you can relate to, stay away. This is basically just smoking sticks jumping around on a table.

I caught this one mostly because I’ve been digging through Oskar Fischinger’s older stuff. You can see the DNA of his more abstract work here, but it’s trapped inside a cigarette ad. It’s funny how a commercial can feel more experimental than most modern blockbusters. 🚬

The pacing is honestly all over the place. One second it’s slow, and the next, the cigarettes are doing a full-on choreographed dance number. It reminded me a bit of the frantic energy in Autumn Fire, but with way more tobacco and way less atmosphere. The stop-motion is smooth, which is wild considering when this was made. It’s got that tactile, slightly dusty feeling that you only get from older film stock.

Odd observations:

• The way the cigarettes move feels like they have tiny, invisible legs. It’s kind of unsettling.
• I spent most of the runtime wondering who exactly this was supposed to sell cigarettes to. Did people really see this and think, 'Yes, I need to smoke that'?
• The lighting is surprisingly moody for something selling a consumer product.

It’s definitely not as heavy as something like Rose Bernd, which is a relief. Sometimes you just want to watch shapes move without needing to process a whole emotional breakdown. It’s short, it’s snappy, and it doesn't try to be anything more than it is. That’s probably why it still works today.

Don't expect a masterpiece. Just expect to be weirdly entertained by a pack of cigarettes that has better rhythm than I do. It’s the kind of thing you watch once, nod at, and then think about randomly at 2:00 AM while staring at your ceiling. Exactly the kind of stuff I live for.