"Berkeley's choreography is important less for its movement of the dancers than for its movement of the camera. To overcome the limitations of sound stages, he ripped out walls and drilled through ceilings and dug trenches for his film crews. When a desired effect could not be accomplished with traditional film equipment, he had his budget expanded to include costs for developing custom rigs. His innovations explored ideas that the stationary camera could not. He wanted to take the audience through waterfalls and windows. He wanted lines of dancers to fall away to reveal scenery that in turn would fall away to expose an even larger setting. His dreams were big, but his determination to see them actualized was even bigger.
Even his worst attempts resulted in eminently watchable movies of exhilarating movement, but his best efforts produced startling effects that bordered on surrealistic dream states. In the quintessential Berkeley films Footlight Parade (1933) and 42nd Street (1933), cameras mounted on tracks are sent soaring past a multitude of dancing legs, flailing arms and orchestra instruments. In all, he directed more than twenty musicals, including an underwater sequence with aquatic star Esther Williams."
(Scott Smith, 6 February 2013, Keyframe)
Video #9 Published on YouTube 23 Nov 2012 by Peter Jackson (WingNut Films), Film premiere: 28 November 2012 (Wellington, New Zealand) Release Date: 13 December 2012 (UK)
"Von Trier begins by casually rejecting a fundamental tenet of the cinema. Even the most minimalist storytellers are obliged to place their actors in a physical space: back lots and painted sets may be deliberately artificial, but they always have walls and doors. Dogville is set on a pitch black sound stage with minimal props and schematic chalk outlines on the floor in lieu of walls. (It's like watching The Phantom Menace at a nascent stage, the actors adrift against bare blue walls before the backgrounds and animation are grafted on.) Whenever the camera pulls back for a wide shot, every inhabitant of the tiny hamlet is clearly visible, miming their daily tasks in their 'houses.' At first this archly theatrical staging, with its deadpan narration, ironic chapter headings and characters knocking on non–existent doors while we hear the thumping on the soundtrack, seems to be Brechtian alienation run amok. Yet as the story grinds grimly forward the inescapability of the townspeople in each shot shifts from a clever metaphor for small town claustrophobia to a palpably oppressive reality."