Single-take films have a long history. In 1948 Alfred Hitchcock released Rope, his revolutionary crime-thriller that presented its narrative as one continuous take over the course of its eighty-minute runtime. In reality, it was actually ten shots edited together to give the illusion of a single take (with some supposedly hidden edits being very obvious), but it didn’t matter. The film was a hit with both critics and audiences, and set a precedent that countless directors have tried to top since. Jump forward seven decades and the technique is more popular than ever. From indie dramas to prestigious Hollywood epics, single-take films are steadily becoming more than just an amusing experiment and instead a serious method of filmmaking. Thanks to the success of Birdman and 1917, both of which earned the Academy Award for Best Cinematography, there is no doubt single-take films will continue to grow in popularity over the coming years.

RELATED: ‘1917’ One Shot Challenge Contest Winner Riffs on Roger Deakins with a Single-Take Short

1917
Image via Universal Pictures

But as unfortunately happens when a unique technique finds success in a few select films, copycats are soon to follow, often forgetting the most vital components of what made said technique good as they chase the crown others have already claimed. 1917, for example, is an extraordinarily well-made film with hundreds of extras being coordinated with perfect timing to the movement of an always moving camera, all the while factoring in a myriad of practical effects that have to be orchestrated with the utmost precision, and ensuring that the lighting remains consistent throughout its three-month shoot, and also making sure all of this looks seamless as to not ruin the illusion. But it’s also a film that cuts to the root problem most one-shot films suffer from: that it’s a decision seemingly made less to benefit the film and more to impress critics. 1917 may have had phenomenal levels of work put into it, but it’s also one where its central gimmick overshadows everything else. It never once cracks the surface of believability, with the precision of every moment feeling too clean against the backdrop of such a tragic event, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that it’s just an exercise in showmanship rather than a film made with genuine passion. In theory the idea of presenting its narrative with no editing should ground the film squarely in reality, but in practice it just heightens the artifice Sam Mendes and company are trying so hard to avoid.

victoria movie image
Image via Senator Film

It’s a problem endemic with many films of this type, and it’s exactly because Victoria avoids it that makes it the shining example of how to do a one-shot film. The 2015 drama focuses on the titular Victoria (Laia Costa), a Spanish woman who has recently moved to Berlin and who works at a local café while harboring dreams about becoming a concert pianist. After a night of drinking in a club, she meets four young men who have lived in Berlin their entire life. She bonds with the group, particularly with Sonne (Frederick Lau), but the night takes a dark turn when their connection to a local gangster is revealed, and Victoria finds herself descending into the more nefarious side of the city.

The opening sections of the film, depicting Victoria and her new friends as they wander through the streets of Berlin, plays out like a Noah Baumbach indie drama. The night is young and there’s plenty of hedonism to go around, with the first act doing an excellent job establishing all the main players. Director Sebastian Schipper is careful never to let the single-shot premise become distracting. No flashy lighting or Kubrick-esc compositions here. Instead, the camera merely watches, hovering around the group as though it's an unseen sixth character. By the time the crime thriller portion of the film kicks in, culminating in a bank heist and then the aftermath as the quintet attempt to evade capture by the police, the camerawork is very different. The passiveness of before is gone, replaced by a frantic and intense look that mimics a news crew in the middle of a war-torn county. That Schipper can match the camerawork with Victoria’s state of mind is nothing impressive by itself, but doing so all in the same unbroken shot is something else entirely. While it would have been easier to attach the camera to a Steadicam and shoot the entire film like that, his decision to switch up cinematography styles on the fly showcases his commitment to making an actual film rather than just an elaborate experiment.

victoria 2015 film movie
Image via Senator Film

One of the consequences of presenting a film as a single take is that the narrative will progress in real-time, and Victoria utilizes this to full effect. The film presents itself as a two-hour snapshot into her life, starting with her meeting these four men and ending with them leaving her life forever. Seeing how much she changes over such a short space of time speaks volumes as to their effect on her, but also hints at a darker side to her character that has been waiting for the right moment to spring to life. The audience sees every second of this transformation, with the camera never leaving Victoria’s side, providing a level of insight a more traditional film could never allow for. Schipper also uses the real-time nature of the film to develop its other main character, that being Berlin itself. After Victoria’s opening in the nightclub, the film becomes an elaborate sightseeing tour of Berlin that covers convenience stores, cafés, rooftops, banks, a criminal base in an underground car park and the entire spiders web of streets that tie them all together. Since the film moves between all these locations in one unbroken shot, the audience get a sense of geography a more conventionally edited film would not allow for. Returning to the same nightclub that opened the film ninety minutes later is one thing, but being able to visualize every step that has led back there create levels of immersion unmatched by other films.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about the film is that, unlike many of the films that present themselves as one-shot, Victoria fully commits to its premise. No sneaky editing to disguise different shots here, instead cinematographer Sturla Brandth Grøvlen strapped a camera to himself and shot the entire film on 27 April 2014 between the times of 4.30 am and 7.00 am. It’s a remarkable achievement (especially since it only took three takes to get it right), but it's an achievement that also benefits the film rather than just being bragging rights for Grøvlen. The process of editing together multiple shots to appear like one, while easier than ever thanks to digital editing and CGI, is still not seamless. A constant niggle in Birdman and 1917, as well as countless films that attempt a single take shot for just one sequence (with examples seen in Extraction, Atomic Blonde and Children of Men, to name but a few), are the moments when, if you’re paying close enough attention, you can spot the edits. When the camera lingers on a blank wall for just a second too long, or when something momentarily blocks the entire image for no adequately explained reason. These are moments that pass in the blink of an eye, but there are also moments that, for the briefest of seconds, kill your immersion and remind you that what you’re watching is just an illusion. But Victoria has nothing to hide. It has the distinction of being one of the few films with no editing, so Schipper and Grøvlen are free to frame their shots in ways that benefit the story being told, rather than having to worry about a real-world issue that is impossible to solve anyway. No doubt the decision to shoot Victoria as one genuine unbroken take was a difficult one (and was also the reason financiers proved troublesome to come abroad during its development), but it’s a decision that greatly enhances the film.

Victoria-2015
Image via Senator Film

Victoria’s final moment is one of its greatest. Having escaped the police, Victoria walks silently down the streets of Berlin, timidly holding the heist money in her hand like it’s a bomb. The camera is shaking, mirroring the whirlwind of thoughts that are circling her head. But then, for the first time since the film started, the camera releases Victoria from its hold. The handheld look is stripped away, replaced with a stillness that appears more unnerving than calm. She disappears down the street. The night is over, a new day has dawned, but it’ll be a long time before she feels truly safe again. It’s a dour note to end on, but one that fits the narrative perfectly, and one where the camera carries all the emotions of the scene without a single line of dialog needed.

When the end credits begin, Sturla Brandth Grøvlen and the rest of the camera department’s names appear before Schipper’s. As it should be, because Victoria would be a shell of its potential without them. They deserve all the praise in the world for pulling off such an impossible task, and doing so without distracting from the film’s narrative is just the icing on the cake. The desire for egotistical directors to flaunt their talents will ensure that one-shot films will continue to exist for many years to come, but hopefully they will take a lesson from Victoria’s approach to the technique.