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5.8/10
Archivist John
Senior Editor
A definitive 5.8/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Spiel der Wellen remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Short answer: Is this film worth watching today? Only if you are a dedicated student of animation history or the evolution of corporate propaganda. It is a vital artifact for those interested in the birth of motion graphics, but it is certainly not for casual viewers who demand narrative depth or those sensitive to the reductive racial tropes common in the 1920s.
Walter Ruttmann’s 1926 short, Spiel der Wellen, is a fascinating, if deeply uncomfortable, collision between high-art abstraction and blatant corporate messaging. Created as a promotional tool for AEG, the film attempts to make the invisible visible—specifically, the radio waves that were then revolutionizing global communication. It is a cold, calculated piece of work that demonstrates how the German avant-garde was quickly co-opted by industrial interests to sell the future to the masses.
1) This film works because it utilizes Ruttmann’s mastery of rhythm and geometric abstraction to create a visual language for a technology that had no physical form.
2) This film fails because its central conceit relies on a patronizing, 'exotic' framing of non-Western cultures to emphasize the 'civilizing' power of European technology.
3) You should watch it if you want to see the exact moment when abstract art became a tool for marketing.
If you are looking for entertainment, the answer is a firm no. At its core, Spiel der Wellen is a three-minute commercial. However, if you are looking to understand the history of the moving image, it is essential. Like other early works of technical ambition such as The Master Key, this short pushes the boundaries of what a camera and an animator's desk can achieve. It captures a specific Weimar-era optimism about technology that would eventually sour, making it a haunting watch in retrospect.
Walter Ruttmann didn't just make films; he composed them. In Spiel der Wellen, he treats the screen like a musical score. The 'waves' of the title are rendered as fluid, pulsating lines that expand and contract with a mathematical precision. When the music begins, the screen vibrates. It is an early example of synesthesia in cinema—trying to make the audience 'see' the sound.
Take, for instance, the sequence where the radio waves first leave the performer's instrument. Ruttmann uses concentric circles that grow in opacity and scale, cutting through the black void of the screen. It’s a technique he perfected in his earlier Opus series, but here, it serves a master: AEG. The lines aren't just art; they are a product demonstration. The precision is impressive. The soul is missing.
The pacing is frantic, mirroring the speed of light. Ruttmann understood that to sell 'modernity,' the film itself had to feel fast. Compared to the slower, more theatrical pacing of contemporary films like The Virgin of Stamboul, Spiel der Wellen feels like a transmission from a different century. It is aggressive in its kinetic energy.
We cannot discuss this film without addressing its use of the 'performer in Africa.' In the 1920s, German audiences were obsessed with exoticism. By starting the film with a Black performer and then showing his music being 'captured' and 'distributed' by German technology, the film makes a very specific political statement. It suggests that European industry is the necessary conduit for global culture.
The animation of the performer is simplified and stereotypical. It lacks the fluid, respectful observation found in later ethnographic works. Instead, the performer is a prop—a source of 'raw' sound that AEG’s 'refined' waves will carry to the 'civilized' world. It is a power dynamic rendered in ink and celluloid. It’s effective, and it’s gross.
This use of the 'other' to sell domestic products was a staple of the era, but seeing it filtered through Ruttmann’s avant-garde lens adds a layer of intellectual pretension that makes it feel even more manipulative. It’s not just a cartoon; it’s a manifesto on technological supremacy.
The cinematography—or rather, the frame-by-frame photography of the animation—is flawless. Ruttmann and Lotte Lendesdorff achieved a level of smoothness in their transitions that many modern digital animators would envy. There is no stutter. There is no jitter. The waves move like water.
But for all its technical brilliance, the film is emotionally hollow. It is a machine-made object for a machine-obsessed age. While a film like Together explores the intricacies of human connection, Spiel der Wellen is interested only in the wires and the signals. It treats the human voice as data to be moved from Point A to Point B.
This is the great irony of Ruttmann’s career. He was a master of form who often ignored the human heart. In his pursuit of the 'Absolute Film,' he created something that is beautiful to look at but impossible to feel. It’s a technical triumph. But it’s a spiritual desert.
Spiel der Wellen is significant because it is one of the earliest examples of a major corporation hiring an avant-garde artist to create an abstract commercial. It pioneered the use of rhythmic animation to explain complex technology to the general public. It also serves as a historical record of how 1920s European companies used colonial imagery to market their global reach.
Spiel der Wellen is a cold, brilliant, and ultimately troubling piece of work. Walter Ruttmann was a genius of the frame, but here his genius is bought and paid for by the industrial complex. The film succeeds in its goal: it makes radio seem like a magical, essential part of the modern world. However, it does so by stepping on the dignity of its subjects and stripping art of its humanity.
Watch it for the history. Watch it for the lines. But do not expect to be moved by anything other than the sheer speed of the animation. It is a ghost in the machine of early cinema—a reminder that the most beautiful waves are often the most hollow. It’s essential viewing for a very small group of people. Everyone else can skip it.
IMDb —
1918
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