Visual Anthropology Review, Vol. 32, Issue 1, pp. 89–90, ISSN 1058-7187, online ISSN 1548-7458.  2016 by the American Anthropological Association. DOI: 10.1111/var.12098. Book Review Visual Anthropology in Sardinia Silvio Carta. Bern, Switzerland: Peter Lang, 2015. Sydney M. Silverstein Emory University While its title may suggest a broad overview of regional visual culture, Visual Anthropology in Sardinia, by Silvio Carta, uses an extended case study of Sardinian documentary films to build a broader argument about the subdiscipline of visual anthropology. Amidst ongo- ing debates about the relationship of the “visual” to ethnographic research, Carta uses a historical sequence of films to argue that revelatory visual research prac- tices can contribute new ways of knowing about—and through—ethnographic subjects. This is accomplished through patient and exploratory cameras, and attention to the sensorial details in the rhythms of everyday life: a language of cinema not reproducible in words. The introduction begins with a clarification of the author’s understanding of visual anthropology, before transitioning to a brief overview of documentary and ethnographic cinema in Sardinia, setting the body of work to be analyzed within the broader academic field of visual anthropology. Carta addresses the bifurcated nature of the (sub)discipline, split between studies and analyses of material culture on one hand, and the use of a visual-sensorial-oriented research practice to produce anthropological knowledge on the other. It is the latter form of visual anthropology that Carta prioritizes in this book, keeping in line with recent arguments (Grimshaw and Ravetz 2009; MacDou- gall 1998; Piault et al. 2015) that this branch of the discipline holds transformative potential for cultural anthropology writ large. Cinematic exploration can offer new ways of knowing and understanding culture in its embodied and practiced state. This filmmaking praxis contrasts illustrative cinema, which leans heav- ily on voice-over narration, the authoritative vision of the camera’s “eye,” and a generalizing message about cultural types. The book’s discussion of Sardinian documentary cinema begins with a series of propaganda films cre- ated in and around Italy’s fascist period (ventennio), and an analysis of two important illustrative documen- taries made in the wake of Fascism. These case studies underpin Carta’s argument that illustrative films mobi- lize images to project a particular political narrative. The emphasis on voice-over controls the experience of the viewer and prevents engagement with the films' subjects and the experiential content of their lives. Fascist-era documentaries become a tool of the regime for illustrating the sorts of progress possible through projects such as the cittá di fondazione (New Towns); all that is distinct about Sardinia is its backwardness and need for Fascist improvement. The second set of films analyzed in this chapter demonstrates the use of cinematic discourse to spin an entirely different nar- rative about Sardinia. In contrast to the difference- erasing modernity promoted by the Fascist program, the timelessness and ethnic difference of Sardinia and its people are illustrated by Fiorenzo Serra’s Il regno del silenzio (1954—1962) and Ubaldo Magnaghi’s Viaggo en Sardegna (1953). The difference in narrative and form sets up the next two chapters of the book, where Carta begins his intervention by making a case for revelatory cinema. Chapter 4 addresses Vittorio De Seta’s Banditi a Orgosolo (1961), a film that Carta argues is poorly recognized for its contribution to ethnographic documentary. One reason may be that Banditi is not a documentary film; it is fiction. However, Carta effectively argues that in De Seta’s filmmaking praxis, there is a strong anthropo- logical ethic, rooted in commitment to the subjects and exploration of their lives, that gives the film an ethno- graphic legitimacy that transcends its fictional nature. This focus on the particular and not the cultural type, the rhythms of everyday life and not the cadence of footage set to inspiring music, is important to both De Seta’s film and to the body of revelatory cinema that comes afterward. Chapter 5, then, is dedicated to one such film, David MacDougall’s Tempus de Baristas (1992), which Carta uses to anchor his argument about the generative potentials of revelatory cinema.