Shadows 02. Bernardino de Lamas, Cineísta
By Pepe Coira
“Yesterday I was in the Kingdom of Shadows.” Maxim Gorky
Shadows is a space we opened last year, dedicated to the memory of a cinema that is close to us yet so often forgotten. In this second edition, we return a figure to the screen who is not merely forgotten, but almost entirely unknown: Bernardino de Lamas.
The person responsible for his rediscovery—and for the programme we present—is Manolo González, who in recent years has added to his pivotal work in building contemporary Galician cinema an outstanding contribution as a researcher of its past, rescuing figures such as José Gil, Rey Soto, and now, the wanderer Bernardino de Lamas.
On Bernardino de Lamas[1]
By Manolo González
Filmmaker or Domestic Film Amateur?
In the first third of the 20th century, documentary filmmaking in Galicia left us with a number of remarkable milestones—from early professionals like José Gil, Rey Soto, the itinerant “cinema-by-mail” operators, or the Barreiro brothers, to the great figures of the Republican era: José Suárez, Carlos Velo, and Antonio Román. What all of them shared was the desire to portray the present of Galicia from different perspectives, always through professional technologies.
Rarely have we considered the value of the amateur’s point of view—that which, as its Latin root amare suggests, is motivated by passion or love. Scholars[2] also draw a distinction between the amateur filmmaker and the domestic or family film amateur. Each holds a radically different attitude toward filmmaking and the images themselves.
The amateur filmmaker strives to create films with technical quality and narrative ambition—like José Ernesto Díaz Noriega, for instance. For them, cinema is a goal in itself, a way of life that often merges art with existence. In contrast, the domestic film amateur doesn’t aim to make a “film” at all: they seek to “capture life” as it happens in the private or family sphere, without the intention of crafting a finished narrative. Their scope remains strictly domestic, as the footage is not intended for commercial use.
This is precisely the case here. For cineísta[3] Bernardino de Lamas, filmmaking was just one facet of a multifaceted life, a practical, complementary tool. Bernardino was one of the seven pseudonyms of Alfonso Piñón Teixido: an itinerant journalist, devoted mountaineer, Esperantist, vegetarian, and Galician nationalist, who roamed Ferrolterra and all over Galicia with his Pathé Baby camera between 1924 and 1935, shooting almost 300 reels of 90 seconds each in 9.5mm format.
Filming in 9.5mm
From the singular body of work created by this homo viator (“man who walks”), the Galician Film Archive preserves 90 reels, of which 22 have been selected to premiere at Play-Doc. Before the screening, we’ll offer some insight into this elusive and enigmatic figure—almost a subject of psychology—given how well he managed to conceal a complex personal life.
His filmmaking aligns perfectly with the advertising slogans used to promote the Pathé Baby camera, which reached Galicia in the winter of 1923–1924: “Remember that time passes, and you can stop it.”“A true living archive of your happy hours.”“The past comes alive.” Back then, filmmaking was no easy task. The cameras were small—just 600 grams—and hand-cranked. Two full turns yielded 14 frames, or one second of film. This made framing difficult, as you had to maintain a consistent cranking speed. A tripod was essential to avoid shaky footage. The 9-meter reels allowed only 90 seconds of continuous filming. The collapsible metal frame, which functioned as a rudimentary viewfinder, caused parallax errors in the framing, frequently altering the composition and cropping people’s heads or feet. Most of the reels were shot in Ferrolterra, during spring and summer.
On the other hand, Bernardino de Lamas is a “dominguero[4] filmmaker,” as his filming coincided with outings or activities held on Sundays and holidays. This is why the people who appear in his films, even those from the working classes, are dressed with a certain elegance.
The Cinema of Bernardino de Lamas
Bernardino behaves like a compulsive fisher of happy moments. His aim is to preserve fleeting experiences — to freeze time — ensuring that the emotional trace of those brief instants of joy — among friends, women, mountains, cliffs, gestures, and laughter — may endure. His films are filled with recurring scenes: excursions, pilgrimages, outdoor picnics, conversations, music and dancing, with people singing, laughing and looking into the camera.
Bernardino does his best to integrate the movement of life into the frame, cranking the camera while giving his “actors” simple instructions. His films evoke the frontal aesthetics of the so-called primitive mode of representation, in which people move dynamically within the shot, looking directly at the cameraman—generating a sense of spontaneity and an unintentional break with classical narrative transparency. Pure improvisation.
He edits as he films, using in-camera cuts while cranking—like taking photographs in sequence—what the French call tourné-monté.
But this archive of ephemeral happiness, suspended in time in an effort to counteract the inevitable passage of life—even to ward off death—ultimately reveals a melancholic, even tragic underside. It’s felt more deeply when we learn that many of the people who appear in the images were executed at the start of the Spanish Civil War: Matías Usero, Xaime Quintanilla, Juan García Niebla, and Ramón Maseda, among many others.
In the words of Fernando Redondo:
“Bernardino’s films always respond to an attempt to recover, preserve, and relive the happy moments of existence.” No more, no less.
And indeed, many of these naive and humble pieces, quickly shot by a self-taught amateur, may contain more cinema—and more truth—than much of the formulaic content served up by today’s dominant platforms and mainstream industry.
Music performed live by musicians from the Tui Professional Conservatory and School of Music: Jacobo González Álvarez (piano), Jesús González Rodríguez (accordion), and Sara Quesado Pérez (clarinet).
[1] More detailed information on the film amateur can be found in: González, Manolo: O cineísta andarengo. Edicións Embora, Ferrol, 2025 Redondo Neira, Fernando: Os amorodos de Bergman. Editorial Galaxia, 2019
[2]Odin, Roger: “Home Movies in the Family Institution.” In Efrén Cuevas (ed.): The Open House. Home Movies and Their Contemporary Reuses. Madrid: Documenta Madrid / Ocho y Medio, 2010
[3] “Cineísta” (domestic film amateur), is a term no longer in common use, though it was widely popular in the 1920s. In fact, it does not appear in standard Spanish or Galician dictionaries.
[4] Translator’s note: The Spanish term dominguero refers to someone who engages in leisure activities, such as filming, on Sundays or holidays, often with a casual or occasional connotation.