How I Filmed the War A Record of the Extraordinary Experiences of the Man Who Filmed the Great Somme Battles, etc. — Edition Insights

The Camera as a Weapon

Malins repeatedly emphasizes the physical and tactical challenges of filming in combat. In one episode, he crawls through a narrow sap into No Man's Land, dragging his camera by its strap, to film Lancashire Fusiliers waiting to attack. He notes the need for 'every precaution' to keep his machine hidden, as a false step would expose the position to German fire. The camera is not a passive observer but an active participant, requiring the same stealth and risk-taking as a soldier's advance. Malins's descriptions of setting up his equipment under shellfire, using sandbags for camouflage, and timing his shots with the rhythm of bombardment reveal a practical, almost mechanical focus on the craft of war cinematography.

Close Calls and Narrow Margins

The narrative is punctuated by near-misses and moments of extreme danger. Malins recounts a shell bursting 'within six yards' while filming the preliminary bombardment of July 1, 1916, smashing trench walls and half-burying him. Elsewhere, he describes a race across sand-dunes, a spill into a shell-hole, and a collision with a mule. These incidents are reported with a matter-of-fact tone that underscores the routine nature of peril in his work. The reader senses that Malins's survival depends on split-second decisions and a certain fatalistic humor. He is 'reported dead' at one point but proves 'very much alive,' a pattern that recurs throughout the excerpts.

Encounters with Allied Soldiers

Malins's interactions with troops provide glimpses of the human side of war. He films Goumiers, the Moroccan colonial soldiers, noting their 'habits and customs' and sharing a meal with their chief. With the Lancashire Fusiliers, he observes that some men 'looked happy and gay, others sat with stern, set faces.' An officer expresses astonishment that a 'movie-man' would be at the nearest point to German lines, then casually hopes to see Malins after the attack 'if I haven't gone West.' These encounters are brief but vivid, capturing the camaraderie and fatalism of soldiers facing battle. Malins does not editorialize; he records what he sees and hears, letting the reader infer the emotional weight.

Navigating the Landscape of War

The physical environment is a constant presence in Malins's account. He moves through trenches, tunnels, and saps, often in darkness or under fire. The tunnel he describes is 'no more than two feet six inches wide and five feet high,' with men passing ammunition in an 'endless chain.' The ground slopes, the shaft takes a downward trend, and the exit leads into a sap only four feet deep, dug overnight in No Man's Land. Malins's attention to spatial details—the width of a sap, the height of a tunnel, the distance across a road—creates a palpable sense of confinement and exposure. The landscape is not a backdrop but an active obstacle, shaping every movement and decision.

Malins's narrative is best approached as a technician's log rather than a memoir of reflection. He records what he did, where he went, and what he saw, with little introspection. Readers should pay attention to the specific details of camera placement, timing, and movement, as these reveal the practical realities of early war cinematography. The book's value lies in its unadorned testimony, offering a ground-level view of the Great War from behind a lens.

That Somme book left me feeling like I'd stood beside him in the mud, breath held, watching history through a lens. It made me wonder about the quiet observers of those years, the ones trying to make sense of it all from a distance. That same ache for understanding surfaces in Woodrow Wilson and the World War A Chronicle of Our Own Times. — Text and Context, just from a different angle. A softer, more wondering place, somehow.