Maciej Drygas’s documentary, Trains, isn’t a celebration of engineering marvels; it’s a cinematic reckoning with the Faustian bargain of progress. Premiering at Bertha DocHouse in London on March 20th, the film, constructed entirely of archival footage, arrives at a moment when we’re increasingly questioning the unbridled optimism of technological advancement. It’s a particularly potent message as Hollywood itself grapples with the disruptive force of AI and the anxieties surrounding its impact on creative labor.
- The film draws a stark parallel between the locomotive’s promise of liberation and its role in facilitating war and destruction.
- Drygas’s choice to forgo voiceover forces the viewer to confront the historical footage directly, amplifying its emotional impact.
- The documentary subtly highlights the symbiotic relationship between the rise of mass media (Chaplin, early cinema) and the manipulation of public sentiment (Hitler’s rallies).
The director, prefacing the film with a Kafka quote – “There is plenty of hope, an infinite amount of hope … But not for us” – immediately signals a pessimistic reading. This isn’t a nostalgic look back; it’s an indictment. The imagery, particularly the early sequence of a steam engine’s assembly likened to the construction of a “Molochian idol,” is deliberately unsettling. It’s a visual metaphor that resonates deeply in an era where tech giants are often accused of building systems with little regard for human cost. The juxtaposition of munitions supply lines with footage of shellshocked soldiers is particularly brutal, framing the railway not as a symbol of connection, but as a conduit for trauma.
What’s fascinating is how Trains subtly implicates the very act of observation. The film acknowledges the train’s contemporary, the movie camera, and reminds us that both are voyeuristic technologies. The inclusion of moments where subjects acknowledge the camera – Nazi officers “mugging” for an early handheld camera – is a clever touch, suggesting that even in moments of darkness, there’s a performance of self, a desire for documentation. This feels particularly relevant in our age of hyper-visibility and curated online personas.
Drygas doesn’t offer easy answers. The film ends on an ambiguous note, with intersecting and diverging tracks representing the uncertain trajectory of modernity. It’s a fitting conclusion, suggesting that the “great acceleration” initiated by the steam train continues, and we’re still grappling with its consequences. The success of this documentary, however, may hinge on its ability to tap into a growing cultural fatigue with uncritical technological celebration – a fatigue that’s increasingly visible in the entertainment industry itself.
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