Close Up (Jan-Jun 1930)

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CLOSE UP would serve very well to answer those who said that the technique of silent films could go no further. He started with portraits that showed that still photography was almost an unexploited adventure. Familiar faces, taken by him, became characteristic moments in time — moods impaled, as it were, and kept for ever. One eye would peep round a black, scythe-like coil of hair. A nose and an e}'e would look forward across a blank darkness. Each of his heads would seem to be living, would convey something of vitality and impermanence. His method has been called cinematic. To cinema it belongs. In cinema, as a matter of fact, it was born. He played a small part in L berfall, the now famous, though still unseen film of Erno Metzner. Xot only did he play a part, but realising a former ambition, he brought with him a still camera, and began his photographic career by making the stills for that film. I have not seen him at work making films, though I have had the pleasure of seeing his new, short fantasy starring Sigfried Arno, but when I went to see him, he made a portrait of me, so I can tell vou about that. A large, comfortable studio, invitingly nooked, and divanned, with an English fire as somewhat welcome change from the porcelain stoves of the Berlin best-parlours. Tea is served, cigarettes. You want to see some of his photos? Lights are turned on. 2,000 watt, I think. Cigarettes, please. A portfolio of thrilling pictures is put in your hand. Suddenly i\Ir. Casparius is standing on a chair or kneeling behind you, and something that has poked over vour shoulder and disappeared, has been a camera — a 57