Brumes d’automne (Autumn Mists), a 1928 silent film by Dimitri Kirsanoff, is a masterclass in early cinematic language. Even now, almost a century later, its experimental editing techniques remain captivating. Kirsanoff utilizes fast cuts, rhythmic montage, and close-ups to draw us into the internal world of a woman navigating a landscape of memory and emotion.

The film’s power lies in its ability to evoke a distinct mood. As the woman’s face, framed by dark eyes and porcelain skin, flickers across the screen, we are struck by a sense of unease. Her carefully sculpted eyebrows and pulled-back hair give her an unsettling, almost doll-like appearance. This, coupled with her restrained expressions, creates a feeling of something not quite human, like a porcelain doll animated by a lingering spirit.

Kirsanoff’s intention was to depict a state of mind through images of nature losing their “density and unity.” He achieves this through distorted perspectives, fragmented images, and scenes of nature in a state of flux, mirroring the woman’s inner turmoil. The fast-paced editing, innovative for its time, mirrors the fragmented nature of memory and thought. As new scenes appear, the accompanying music shifts, creating a symphony of visual and auditory cues that guide us through the woman’s emotional landscape.

However, the film’s impact may differ greatly depending on the viewer’s cultural context and experiences. While Kirsanoff’s editing was groundbreaking in 1928, modern audiences accustomed to rapid cuts and visual effects might find the film’s pace slow and its imagery dated. Furthermore, the woman’s doll-like appearance, coupled with the film’s melancholic tone, could easily be reinterpreted through a modern horror lens. Imagine the same footage with a sinister score – suddenly, the film transforms into something quite different.



This raises an interesting question: Does the meaning of a film remain fixed over time, or can it evolve alongside cultural perceptions and technological advancements? Brumes d’automne serves as a reminder that art can be a fluid and dynamic entity, its interpretation shaped by the lens through which it is viewed. While Kirsanoff’s intentions are evident in his masterful use of montage and evocative imagery, the film’s impact ultimately rests in the hands and minds of its audience

Brumes d’automne (Autumn Mists) is another strong example of the artistic creativity that comes from “silent films” tasking to present a story or in this films case, ideas and thought processes. The usage of music is key as it helps bring out tone and direction that the film is working to express visually. Not to mention being made in 1928 during black and white filming also creates a sense of tone that may have been natural and fit in with other black and white film, but has since adopted its own unique sense of artistic expression different from how film is presented today.

An aspect of Brumes d’automne that I noticed early on is how the character expresses emotion very reservedly and most of the emotional impact is shown through her eyes. In moments of putting the papers into the fire, you can see small shivers that she has as the papers burn. Perhaps these papers hold or held value at one point and she has a desire to let go in order to move forward? Or possibly the papers were love notes from a old relationship that she feels pain remembering.

Another detail I noticed while watching was the use of focus to almost show the audience memory in how well she can and cant remember details based upon how clearly the imagery is, or perhaps the glossiness of her eyes indicate the tears, maybe the visuals are based upon how sad specific details may make her cry more. It shows its intention as non of the shots of the women are blurry and we have an assortment of very clear images that keep showing up (the tree branch over the water, the mud water tire marks, and shots of water dropping on what appears to be a lake.) meanwhile new additional pieces like the silhouette of the person, and specific locations can change its clarity like tears are forming or memory is failing.

The editing is unique but almost seems sporadic. As if someone is trying to tell a dream they had and in the time you try to make sense of what you just heard, even more information has come to process. The cuts between shows flow often through the relation of certain elements such as the fire burring then cutting to the smoke coming out the top and then having more shots be done outside. I get the feeling that she is thinking on the past or going through a mixture of emotions leading her overall expression to at times feel blank almost letting her eyes solely convey how she feels.

I believe that the montage work does work for the sense that is doesn’t have sound besides music and creates its sense of tone by almost having a rush of different imagery reflect on our minds racing thoughts on locations and feelings. Although as much as it evokes its purpose, the style doesn’t really evoke anything from me. The lack of an exact story doesn’t make me feel very invested in the woman or in the shots it is showing because of the imagery changing so quickly it seems like the film doesn’t care if I am “caught up” or not. It makes me just keep asking “why are there so many shots of water, ponds, rain, and even a beach?” leading me to create my own sense of story such as the woman having a love interest that she lost to the ocean and her sorrow is so strong she wants to rid of the pain by forgetting the memories of him while having regrets doing so.

I can see the vision that Kirsanoff was going for and can see the benefit it holds towards a specific feeling to evoke with your audience. but because the film is so “long” (for what is being conveyed) it almost was leaving me confused as to if the points I was drawing from it were correct, like the movie was showing me more because I might have drawn an incorrect conclusion so it keeps showing more to potentially clear that up. But for me it kind of makes it seem like the movie is trying to hold my hand explaining it carefully and cautiously, but its in words I can’t fully understand. So visual queues and music work helps try to put my brain into the right mindset to possibly make my own connections to what the woman is feeling. Maybe I myself was losing my density and unity as a result being shown so much imagery and scenic shots working to evoke those feelings.

-Rylan Eisenhauer

This was shot on Sunday after sitting in my recording room brainstorming ideas when I realized I left my headphones in another room. I was struck with the idea of making continuous space by shooting multiple shots on the same camera direction but in different spots to create the illusion of my arm stretching to grab something while my body sits in a chair.

The music was an intentional addition as the audio of me breathing and making other sounds would break the illusion as you could hear the rest of my body being closer to the camera than I would like it to seem. The grabbing of incorrect items in different spaces I believe helps add to the effect that I am blindly letting my arm move through space while making educated guesses due to having no visual queues. I had a lot of fun trying to ensure my arm moved as straight forward and back as possible so that the stretch  illusion would work best rather than it seeming like I have a bunch of joints all extending outward.

Run Lola Run isn’t your typical heist film. It’s a vibrant, 90’s gamification experiment in cinema storytelling, where the protagonist, Lola, races against time to save her boyfriend, Manni. The film’s discontinuous style, blending film, animation, and polaroid photography, could easily become chaotic. Yet, the director, Tom Tykwer, masterfully maintains coherence and momentum, keeping us on the edge of our seats through three iterations of the same 20-minute sprint.

One key to this coherence is the repetition of Lola’s quest and driving motivation to obtain $100,000. While the broader narrative shifts with each “run,” familiar elements ground us. We see Lola repeatedly leaving her apartment (in animation) and navigating the same Berlin streets (in film), encountering recurring characters that aren’t essential to the main plot, like the older woman with her baby and the nuns getting in her way. This repetition creates a rhythmic structure, allowing the audience to anticipate certain events while remaining alert for deviations.

But repetition doesn’t mean stagnation. Tykwer cleverly uses these recurring encounters to explore the butterfly effect. Each time Lola interacts with someone, even in passing, their lives, and ultimately hers, are subtly altered. A bumped shoulder here, a different reaction there, can lead to vastly different outcomes, visually conveyed through rapid-fire flash-forwards of their potential futures as Polaroid still photography.

Driving this narrative is Lola’s fierce determination to save Manni, a desire born from love and a questioning of her own devotion. This propulsive energy fuels the frantic editing, mirroring her racing heartbeat and the ticking clock. The urgency is palpable, heightened by the recurring motif of clocks and timepieces.

Tykwer manipulates time not just through editing, but also through pacing. The first run feels incredibly compressed, bombarding us with information and new faces. This mirrors Lola’s initial panic and the audience’s own disorientation. As the film progresses, time seems to stretch and contract. The final run, with Lola’s casino gamble, feels almost suspended in time, building suspense as the roulette wheel spins.

Furthermore, the intimate scenes between Lola and Manni, bathed in red light, provide a crucial break from the frenetic pace. These moments, detached from the external chaos, offer a glimpse into their emotional connection, reminding us of the stakes involved.

Run Lola Run is a testament to the power of cinematic storytelling. Through innovative editing, visual motifs, and a compelling narrative, Tykwer crafts a film that is both thrilling and thought-provoking, leaving us to ponder the nature of time, chance, and the choices that shape our lives.

The main aspect of Run Lola Run that maintains its narrative momentum is repetition. It sets up a baseline with the first run, and then alters small details. Due to the repetitive nature of the narrative, breaking from this repetition brings attention to those moments. Not only that, but this film does a beautiful job of setting up the narrative with Lola’s first phone call with Mani. This gives the viewer enough information to understand all three runs, and is a great starting point for the branching timelines. 

Bouncing off that, this film also has strong visual symbols, which also help ground the viewer. For example, the color red is extremely potent in this film, and the flashback scenes have strong red lighting and color grading signaling to the viewer that  the content of those scenes is outside the narrative timeline. 

Not only that, but the film uses real world time as well, with all three segments being exactly 20 minutes. It does this by focusing on different details through each run, making shots longer or shorter depending on the narrative importance. For example, in run three we get a sequence of the homeless man and what he does after he obtains the bag. This is a contrast to the previous runs that only focus on Lola. This draws attention away from Lola, and based on the repetition and what we know from the previous runs, we can assume nothing new is happening with Lola’s timeline. This shot continuity signals the viewer what to focus on for each individual run.

Lastly, this film uses split screens to show multiple visual elements happening at once to maintain timing consistency, and show multiple events happening at once. This film also expands upon that by having a split screen take place within the same shot, showing altered perspectives in the same space.

The footage I captured had themes of my cats, working and doing activities for school/work, connecting with others, and traveling. I did not go into this assignment with a plan, but I tried to get a wide variety of shots, while still maintaining some shot continuity to connect ideas. For example, most shots of me walking are of my feet, and this clues the viewer that I am transitioning from one location to another. I also used a blue and desaturated color grade, as I asked some close friends what color I was and that (relatively) was the color they gave.

Run Lola Run has an amalgam of eccentric, varying stylistic choices that create a chaotic yet captivating atmosphere, manipulating time and space in ways that are both disorienting and intriguing. Despite the seeming chaos, the film’s structure makes the narrative is easy to follow. The storyline is divided into 20-minute segments, each retaining central elements that anchor the audience’s understanding while altering specific details to keep them engaged and anticipating changes to the story. This repetition is a crucial part of building the narrative momentum, as it makes it easy to follow, while utilizing subtle differences and potential outcomes of each scenario. Continuity also helps the viewers comprehend the overarching narrative, in spite of the frequent shifts and chaotic energy. The recurring scenes of Lola running act as a visual thread that ties the segments together, providing a consistent rhythm. The repetition allows the film to explore various styles without losing coherence, enhancing the storytelling experience. The editing contributes to the film’s dynamic energy. Rapid, frequent cuts push the feeling of urgency of Lola’s quest, aligning the pacing of the visuals with the frantic tone. The editing helps to heighten the tension and immerse the audience in Lola’s high-stakes race against time. 

I am not able to get screencaps of the film right now, but will once I get access of the film.

In the film ‘Run, Lola, Run’, the director manipulates time through multiple techniques such as repetition with variations, shot length, and specific focus on moments in time. The use of these techniques allows time to be stretched, compressed, or entirely repeated without losing the viewer’s perception of the current timeline.

To create a cohesive timeline over the three sequences, the director utilizes repetition with slight variation to allow the viewers to truly understand that each sequence is the same period of time, changed through the actions of the protagonists. The repetition begins with very little variation, re-situating the viewer into the sequence with each new beginning.

Another technique the director uses to manipulate time is a variety in shot length to lessen or create tension and speed. When the action of the movie is high, the shots are quick, condensed, and dynamic, with the camera often following Lola personally as she runs. In the lulling moments of the movie, shots are longer and more still, with less movement and more dialogue. This effect keeps the viewer engaged without tiring them out, and allows heavy moments, such as their deaths, to sink in more effectively due to a less ‘alive’ motion of camera.

Finally, by choosing to focus almost entirely on the present moment as the action occurs, it eases confusion viewers may have about where they are in the timeline. The moments that aren’t in the present are shown in quick, flashing succession, allowing random characters to have full and fulfilled storylines in each timeline in a matter of seconds. Not only does this maintain the overall pace of the movie, it avoids distracting the viewer from Lola’s story and overall goal, which is the pushing point behind all action in the movie.