Its maker, Claude Lanzmann, seemed to come from nowhere, even as he imposed his vision everywhere.

NEWYORKER: Witness

Here Lanzmann sets forth the peculiar yet exemplary fund of life experience that made the film possible.

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Lanzmann got hold of a paluche, or paw, a slender, stick-like video camera newly devised by the innovative designer Jean-Pierre Beauviala.

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If Sartre thought that man was defined by his actions, Lanzmann was, in the most concrete way, a man of action.

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Lanzmann is currently at work on a fourth such film, about Theresienstadt.

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Lanzmann borrowed money (including from Beauvoir) to keep shooting, and then spent five years obsessively editing his three hundred and fifty hours of footage.

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For the most part, the rig worked superbly, and Lanzmann and his crew became adept at introducing themselves to former Nazis and snatching their stories.

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Lanzmann hid it in a bag with a tiny hole for the lens, and had one of his cameramen point it at an unsuspecting interview subject.

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In 1948, Lanzmann, armed with a degree in philosophy from the Sorbonne (he specialized in Leibniz), went to Berlin to teach philosophy and literature to German students.

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Meanwhile, Lanzmann was hired to do on-camera reports for a television variety show, a job that led him to the great adventure of his life, the cinema.

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In the editing room, Lanzmann subtly transformed the interviews.

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