Earth

Aleksandr Dovzhenko, 1930.
This film holds a deeply sensual manner. We have our longer, stiller shots. With sidelighting that is strong, but also softens edges, we have the bounty of the soil, and a great humanism in the depiction of people. With a reticent tenderness, and a slow and heartfelt manner, our characters come to know us, and we them. These are truly wondrous moments, reminiscent of a kind of calmer Renoir, or even of 'Ordet' in a sense.
This film is generally less hardcore montage work, with longer takes and more complete images. Particular symbols to take into account are the low-ground, much-sky, shots. These often have a single vertical line, a tree or a pole, off centre in them, perhaps slightly crooked. Also reappearing are the shots of animals, sometimes with man, which emphasise a togetherness.
There is also a slight strangeness, a slight uncanniness about these images, especially with the animals. This is further heightened by another bizaree scene, here where the gentlemen have a refreshing bathroom break into the tractor.
There are of course montage elements, especially near the middle, that exploit pretty tight framings on faces. But these are not entirely mechanistic; the focus on the pure product has a kind of sensuousness, and the priest comes across as strange, defamiliarized, rather than straightforwardly mocked.
This film ultimately portrays an earth and a people that is more than just still, but is quite literally organic. It seems alive, it is moist, the wind ruffles the field, the fruit seems hearty, juicy. Into this comes th efield of subjectivity, dreams and tenderness. They must work with the changes, but this relation is one of sympathy, nothing is rolled over (even the 'villain' is more piteous, mad, than dastardly. And our lead remains slightly fey).
This is a masterful work of humanist filmmaking, a lesson on shooting the cateogry of 'nature'. Measured, rich, and forgiving.