Paradox City is striking for the forcefulness of its social critique. Its
technique of juxtaposing shots of the opulent homes of the 'favoured few' with
shots of slum dwellings is reminiscent of, and probably inspired by, the
technique of montage used by influential Soviet filmmakers in the 1920s. The
principle behind the editing was to put together disparate images and generate
new meanings from the combination of the shots.
Made for the St. Pancras House Improvement Society, this is probably their
only surviving film of little-known filmmakers Gerald Belmont and Leonard Day.
It is inventively shot, particularly in the demolition and building scenes, as
when the large black shadow of a pickaxe looms on a wall before the first blow
of demolition falls.
Unusually for documentary films of the period, there are a number of interior
shots, as there are in the later, better-known Housing Problems (d. Arthur
Elton/Edgar Anstey, 1935). These shots are used to demonstrate the scale of the
overcrowding and the immense struggle of family life in a one-room home.
The filmmakers take care to avert any criticism of the sometimes unhygienic
practices of the people living in these conditions. When an old woman
throws dirty water out of her top-floor window, intertitles puncture any
disapproval the audience may feel by asking "Sanitary arrangements being totally
inadequate, can you blame her for doing this?" The use of questions in the
intertitles demands the audience's engagement with the film in what is an
unusually direct style of filmmaking for the period.
In another surprising touch, the film draws attention to itself with
intertitles such as: "Rooms are dark and dingy. Photography is therefore
difficult; but the following scene gives some idea of existing squalor." There
is no attempt to suspend the audience's disbelief, the dominant approach of
fictional narrative films. Instead, an attempt is made to reinforce the
authenticity of what is being shown, while also paradoxically expressing the
inadequacy of photography to convey the full squalor.
Ros Cranston
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