Manfred Kirchheimer, ‘Indispensable’ New York Filmmaker, Dies at 93

Manfred Kirchheimer, a filmmaker who was drawn to stickball, jazz, subway graffiti, gargoyles on old buildings and the memories of aging immigrants, and who after decades of slowpoke perfectionism earned a reputation as a master of nonfiction cinema, died on July 16 at his home on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He was 93.

The cause was cancer, his son Gabe said.

Mr. Kirchheimer often wrote, produced, directed and edited his movies as well as photographed them. He worked hard to get funding from nonprofit sources, and he earned a living as a freelance film editor and a film professor at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan from the mid-1970s until the mid-2010s.

His camera moved at the speed of people-watching: lingering for an extra moment to relish a certain scene, turning to something else in the bounty of street sights, then returning his gaze somewhere it had already been, hungry for a second helping.

He found dignity and delight in what other New Yorkers overlooked or even disdained. Mayor Ed Koch, for instance, called subway graffiti blight, but Mr. Kirchheimer exulted in the subway exteriors of the late 1970s as traveling canvases. He made the subway the main character of his 1981 movie, “Stations of the Elevated,” with a soundtrack by Charles Mingus that suggested that graffiti could have the same rough, improvisational genius as his jazz.

The subway cars that Mr. Kirchheimer filmed featured a portrait of a hitchhiking snowman; a verdant landscape overseen by a smiling, big-eyed sun; and cryptic messages in bubble letters — “HEAVEN IS LIFE,” “am nor disaster!” He followed the trains from Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx, at the city’s northern edge, past South Bronx tenements whose stoops hosted playing children, all the way to the beaches of Coney Island.