Since the release of his seminal Nanook of the North in 1922, Robert J. Flaherty has since been affectionately dubbed as the "father of the documentary", a title which is striking considering he knew almost nothing with regards to film-making before his expeditions to the north began in the mid-10s. Somewhat amusingly and very much in contrast to what Flaherty depicts on screen for his audiences, it's since been widely known that much of the director's crew (who were in fact native Inuit and by now favoured rifles over harpoons and spears) knew more about his crazy Western picture-machine than he did. Despite all the grumblings and murmurs with regards to Nanook of the North's authenticity however—and there's plenty of it, if you look—there exists a compelling and fascinating look into a culture and way of life that was completely alien in 1922 and to this day remains as something to behold.
One of the film's stand-out scenes which involves a long, drawn-out seal hunt shown in one continuous cut, whether completely natural or not, relentlessly draws you in as if it were happening right before your eyes. In restricting his camera to one still shot, devoid of movement or cuts, Flaherty establishes one of the pillars of documentary film-making; to make the puppeteer's hand blend into the background as much as possible. While one may find cause to argue against politically-inclined documentaries or overly-manipulative docu-dramas in regards to their editing, Nanook of the North never really sets out to tell a story in the first place anyway. Instead Flaherty opts to depict, observe and, well, document. Sure, he may depict more than he observes, but the results can nevertheless be marvellous to watch. In terms of modern-day documentaries, the film is almost as barren as the landscapes it showcases; Information is sparse and character, plot or narrative is almost non-existent, or at the very least is contrived. What Nanook offers now is more akin to the icy window on the side of the tribe's igloo. When you first see it, you probably imagine that the view isn't that great from the inside. Frosted over and scraped, it instead provides curious spectators a hazy viewport through which to glance back into a bygone era which itself was peeking over its shoulder, romantically reminiscing of what once was a simpler, more fundamental time for both the Inuit, and the documentary film-maker.
One of the film's stand-out scenes which involves a long, drawn-out seal hunt shown in one continuous cut, whether completely natural or not, relentlessly draws you in as if it were happening right before your eyes. In restricting his camera to one still shot, devoid of movement or cuts, Flaherty establishes one of the pillars of documentary film-making; to make the puppeteer's hand blend into the background as much as possible. While one may find cause to argue against politically-inclined documentaries or overly-manipulative docu-dramas in regards to their editing, Nanook of the North never really sets out to tell a story in the first place anyway. Instead Flaherty opts to depict, observe and, well, document. Sure, he may depict more than he observes, but the results can nevertheless be marvellous to watch. In terms of modern-day documentaries, the film is almost as barren as the landscapes it showcases; Information is sparse and character, plot or narrative is almost non-existent, or at the very least is contrived. What Nanook offers now is more akin to the icy window on the side of the tribe's igloo. When you first see it, you probably imagine that the view isn't that great from the inside. Frosted over and scraped, it instead provides curious spectators a hazy viewport through which to glance back into a bygone era which itself was peeking over its shoulder, romantically reminiscing of what once was a simpler, more fundamental time for both the Inuit, and the documentary film-maker.