This week, there’s no need for my Good and Bad selves to duke it out.  For once, I’m in complete agreement with myself, and what I want to tell you is this:

Run, don’t walk, to your nearest online DVD retailer/suitably international film library/Soviet film aficionado and find/buy/borrow/wheedle yourself a copy of Leonid Gaidai’s 1973 film Ivan Vasil’evich meniaet professiiu. You’ll find it released by Russian Cinema Council as Ivan Vasilievich: Back to the Future. Then, find a comfortable seat, pour yourself some tea/wine/vodka/mead and enjoy (hare’s kidneys and pike heads with garlic are optional).  You won’t regret it, I promise.

The premise of this beautifully silly comedy – based on Bulgakov’s 1935 play Ivan Vasil’evich – is a great example of the “accidental place switch”.  Due to a halberd-induced time machine malfunction, tsar Ivan Vasil’evich – Ivan the Terrible – finds himself in the strange environment of a 1970s Soviet apartment block, while the regulations-obsessed building superintendent Ivan Vasil’evich Bunsha (played by the same actor: Iurii Iakovlev) ends up taking the place of the tsar.  Accompanying Bunsha is the impossibly blue-eyed conman Zhorzh Miloslavskii (Leonid Kuravlev). While Shurik, the time machine’s inventor (Aleksandr Demianenko) tries to keep his imperial guest happy, Miloslavskii must try to keep himself and the frankly rather thick Bunsha alive and whole in what can only be called interesting times. (I love Miloslavskii; he must be one of my favourite characters in anything, ever.)  Meanwhile, Shurik’s actress wife Zina (Natalia Selezneva) has run off to the Caucasus with her lover Iakin, and Bunsha’s wife Uliana is starting to notice that her husband is missing…

What results is a wonderful mix of physical comedy, visual gags, wordplay and satire providing something for every viewer, no matter what their level of familiarity with Russian culture.  Of course, if you know the various stories around Ivan the Terrible – particularly Eisenstein’s films, Lev Mei’s plays and Rimskii-Korsakov’s operas – you’ll find even more to laugh about; the same goes if you have some knowledge of Soviet everyday life and culture.  And knowing Russian unlocks a whole other level of wordplay in the script.  But all this is the icing on the cake.  What makes this film so utterly fantastic is the delightfully barmy feel of it all, the song and dance routines, the good-humoured caricature of (I think) universally recognisable types, the gleeful sense of subversion, and the particular chemistry of the cast.

Of course, I know that my complete and devoted love for this film is at least partly down to taste.  I will freely admit that not everyone might find singing horses, Kremlin rooftop chases and drunk building superintendents as hilarious as I do.  Nonetheless, I would urge you to give this film a try.  Ivan Vasil’evich belongs to a tradition of irreverent comedy which seems to be relatively rarely exported, or perhaps rarely expected, outside of Russia.  (If I had a ruble for every time I heard someone characterise Russian culture as gloom, doom and long novels, I’d be doing well.)  For me, it’s the perfect remedy for those days when life – and work – seems to be just that much more of a struggle; a gentle and funny reminder that even the most powerful people in their own sphere can sometimes find themselves in a strange land, baffled by bureaucracy.

One of the most beloved films in Russia… Only about 10 minutes long with English subtitles. It’s called :

Hedgehog In The Fog – Ёжик в тумане

The first hour of the film is made like a documentary of rural life in an Eskimo-like community on the northern Siberian coast. The other part of the film is a slowly progressive drama about a boy, his father and two other men going out for a boat trip to hunt some seals on a remote island off the coast. They are travelling in a handmade wooden boat, with only the sky to navigate from. After a successful hunting they head back for the village. However they are surprised by bad weather and are swept into a heavy fog that will last for days. With nothing to eat and the water supply running out, the men are starting to sacrifice themselves one by one for the little boy. This is a slow film, with almost no dialogue, but this is a unique piece of authentic social anthropology. Of course it is also a nice coming of age portrait about the boy. The film was made in 1990, an the director is Karen Gevorkian.

Restless Moscow teens seek girls and all things Western as a vast empire starts its long crumble (Ischeznuvshaya imperiya, Russia, 2008)

The setting for Russian director Karen Shakhnazarov’s latest film “The Vanished Empire” is 1973 Brezhnev-era Moscow as seen through the eyes of a restless group of university freshmen.  The title hints at a profundity that the film never achieves but Shakhnararov does offer amazingly realistic period props and media clips and a melancholic coming of age story.  The film shys away from direct political analysis but manages to convey the rights of passage for Moscow youth in a tightly-controlled society. 

The plot revolves around a trio of young men, the most interesting and dynamic of whom is Sergey (Aleksandr Lyapin) a restless 18 year old whose ambition is channeled towards scoring contraband blue jeans and hot rock albums from the Stones and Deep Purple which figure heavily in his cool factor and his seduction ploys with girls.  He probably models himself after what he’s heard about Mick Jagger but he lacks authentic charisma.  Still, he manages to pick up girls and to pull off bad boy behavior, disappointing those who are most important to him.   His friend Kostya (Ivan Kupreyenko) is on a quest to become an authentic rocker and when he scores a bass guitar, he quickly assembles a band and is soon performing at rave-like gatherings, high on weed.  Stupya or Stephan (Yegor Baranovsky), is a quiet follower, but figures late in the film as a rival to Sergey’s romantic interest, Lyuda (Lidiya Milyuzina), who shines as the naïve good girl.  Indeed it is sweet and trusting Lyuda who brings some real warmth to this story.  

When it comes to thinking the consequences of this actions through, Sergey, like most teen boys everywhere, seems to have mush for brains and he keeps repeating his mistakes.   He epitomizes the self-seeking individual, obtaining money for his contraband Western Wrangler jeans, Stone’s records and foreign film-festival tickets by stealing and then hawking his bed-ridden grandfather’s (Armen Dzhigarkhanyan) precious books.  He also persuades his friends to join in the action and start transforming their family libraries into cash. 

The most engaging aspect of this film is free-wheeling Sergey’s growing entanglement in the responsibilities of adult life, which he fights almost as strongly as his mother battles cancer.  When he lies to his freinds and cheats on his girlfriend, his betrayals breed unforeseen consequences and his care-free life is over.  His behavior epitomoizes all that lay ahead for the society–a national epidemic of corruption.

Sergey’s relationship with his grandfather, the father figure,  is strained.  The old man is a celebrated archeologist who discovered and excavated the ancient desert City of the Wind, all that remains of the ancient 5^th century BC Khorezm civilization (in central Uzbekistan).  He knows exactly what his grandson is up to but turns a blind eye. 

In a fascinating travel sequence, first presented as a hallucination on a drug trip and then as a real-life journey, Segey fulfills his grandfather’s request and treks through the sandy plains of central Uzbekistan to the desolate City of the Wind, an oasis of crumbing grand ruins immersed in sand along the tributaries of the Amu-dar’ya River.  These are the remains of the ancient Khorezm people, who survived the dessert climate by building an intricate system of damns that became a bustling center of commerce.  Eventually, everything crumbles, civilizations and boys who misbehave, but there are actions that hasten the fall.  

The brief snippets of Soviet-era life are gems—a history class devoted to Lenin, centralized government-run media blaring on about the American imperialists in Vietnam and the coup in Chile and Leonid Brezhnev’s reports to the people about productivity gains in the empire….it all sounds like ideological blather.

Written by Sergey Rokotov, Evgeny Nikishov. Photographed by Shandor Berkeshi. With Alexander Lyapin, Lidiya Milyuzina, Ivan Kupreyenko, Yegor Baranovsky. In Russian with English subtitles. 100 min. Distributed by Kino International Films.

Screens Sundance Kabuki Cinemas October 23-29, 2009 at 1:45 pm, 4:35 pm, 7:10 pm, 9:30 pm.

Mirror (1975)

Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky

OK, Febriblog is finally back and situated here in lovely Seattle, WA.  I’ve got some write-ups prepared this week, and certainly no shortage of amazing movie theaters to now choose from.  So without further ado, what better way to return than with quite possibly the finest use of cinematography I have ever witnessed, surprise surprise, from Mr. Andrei Tarkovsky and brilliant director of photography Georgi Rerberg.  If you haven’t yet seen this film, immediately find it.  Now here’s hoping Criterion will make their way around to cleaning up the film a bit (no offense Kino).  Enjoy.

i was in the middle of watching the cranes are flying, but i stopped it just at the point where premise and exposition gave way to development. and i am too lazy to go back to it (though it’s pretty amazing, especially the cinematography) because i’m also conveniently  at the point where i need to think about everything…

so lazy for a film major.

Photo by Milena Botova/Sony Pictures Classics.

I finally got around to seeing Nikita Mikhalkov’s film, 12. Released in 2007, it only recently became available in the U.S. through Netflix. I’ve been climbing the walls in anticipation. 12 is Mikhalkov’s remake of the American play/film, Twelve Angry Men. Set in Russia, the jurors decide the fate of a Chechen boy accused of murder. It is VERY GOOD and you should see it. Go watch it and come back and finish reading this, ok?

Ok.

Background:

For those of you who are neither film buffs nor interested in Russia (how do I know you? why are you here?), Nikita Mikhalkov is the director of the Oscar-winning 1994 film, Burnt by the Sun. If you haven’t seen Burnt by the Sun, I recommend it too. It’s stunningly beautiful, simultaneously sentimental yet critical about the Stalin era, a real gem of a film. You might remember that he carried his little daughter on his shoulders when he accepted the award. It was beyond adorable and we were all still feeling so good about ourselves after the recent collapse of the USSR. Those were the days… I suspect if it were released for the first time today, in the current political climate, it would have a radically different interpretation and reception than it received in 1994.

Mikhalkov gets a whole lot of heat. I’m not entirely convinced he doesn’t deserve some of it, given the amazing amount of hype he also drums up. Almost immediately after the success of Burnt By the Sun, it became fashionable to criticize his films for their sleek Hollywood aesthetics and patriotic agendas. The director himself has elicited charges of self-promotion, both in response to his films, which are vehicles for his own celebrity, and also for his role in the Russian film industry, which is a petri dish for egomania in its own right. It’s difficult to deny that he doesn’t mind being the center of attention, but it is more difficult to explain why he shouldn’t be. More recently his vocal support of one Vladimir V. Putin has garnered a lot of attention. It doesn’t bother me, but some people kinda consider him an ambitious sycophant. Some people lack the capacity for nuance, and possibly a heart.

Why Some People Do Not Like 12:

I’ve been climbing the walls in anticipation because critical reception of 12 was mixed at best. I mean, it is a remake. What kind of genius makes remakes, right? Also, now that Nikita has revealed himself to be a political animal, a lot of attention is paid to how honestly the film portrays the questionably administrated Russian legal system and to deciphering what Russophiliac pro-Putin propaganda Mikhalkov might be trying to peddle. The always keen Yasha Levine (ooh, that rhymed) wrote a scathing review of 12 for the eXile, arguing that 12 is little more that an cheap poltical stunt to show how corruption is not only a national characteristic (get yer legal nihilism on! get yer big Russian soul on!) but even a merciful one, and thus … Putin should be given a 3rd term.

My immediate reaction (after “and why would that be a bad thing?”) to Yasha is to insist that the film be judged on its own merits and not the politics of the director/producer/actor. However, I’ve more than once proclaimed, with unearned authority, that due to historical precedent all Russian film is political, because even making a non-political film is a political act in that country. From its very inception the Russian film industry has been cultivated by the State for achieving ideological ends and largely dependent upon the State for funding and career advancement. Being an esteemed filmmaker in Russia carries a cache it just doesn’t elsewhere. They don’t see themselves as an entertainment industry so much as creators, guardians or documentarains of a whole freaking national identity. It’s madness, really. So maybe Yasha is right. How do I know why Nikita made this film?

My grief with Yasha’s approach to film is twofold. First, when you read that review you get the impression that 12 is a cheap political stunt, but the only overtly partisan moment in the movie is when the lights go out someone blames Chubais. The film’s agenda is pro-Putin only in the way Goodnight and Goodluck is anti-Bush. You’d also get the impression from Levine that political agendas trump artistic merit. In that case, we should throw out the better part of all Russian cinema. Let’s take this to its logical conclusion: Leni Riefenstahl? Boo. Skip it. Colossal waste of time. But is it? The fact is talent, skill and being on the wrong side of history are not mutually exclusive. And history has yet to decide which side Mikhalkov is on. Moreover, films are products of their time and place, trapped in contemporaneity like few other mediums. As a result, they are quite informative from a cultural anthropology standpoint. Worst case scenario? 12 captures a Zeitgeist and becomes a cringe-inducing symbol of the political machinations of the Putin era. But this is not a valid reason not to see it.

Secondly, if the film can’t be judged without reference to its political context, it can’t be judged without reference to its artistic merit. Yasha’s like a realtor who takes you through the backdoor and only shows you the basement. Sure, you want to see the foundation, the mildew and go spelunking through the dark corridors, looking for ghosts, but what about the rest of the joint, the place where people live? What about the 2 hours and 40 minutes of film you actually sit through? It’s has to count for something, right? The questions are 1) is the message of the film a problem, and if yes, 2) is everything else about it what you are looking for in a film? Yasha makes the first decision for you and totally ignores the second. Me, I am making the second decision for you: it is! and letting you draw your own conclusion about the first.

Why I Like 12:

~It is quintessentially Russian. Whatever the hell that means.

I have never seen Twelve Angry Men, so while I may have a gaping hole in my repertoire of knowledge where the American film should be, I didn’t have to spend the whole 2 hours and 40 minutes comparing 12 to something else. I can’t testify to its faithfulness to the original, but I suspect it is more accurate to describe 12 as an adaptation than a remake because I found the film to be very … Russian. I’m not simply referring to the setting or plot elements, or even how the jurors give monologues on the nature of the Russian soul. Or the fact there is a moratorium on the death penalty in Russia, unlike in America. No, I am referring to matters more subtle and poignant. The dynamics of the cast, for example, which are as touching and endearing as they are frightening and confrontational, sometimes all simultaneously. The tone of the film is another aspect. It combines slapstick comedy and whimsy with gravity and horrors, and even includes a monologue exposing and condemning the Russian penchant for doing precisely this.

The film channels Dostoyevsky in droves, from the ensemble cast of characters, each less an average or realistic human being than the representation of an idea, philosophy, class or morality, to the murder, from the length, to perhaps the most obvious: a really just totally unnecessarily heavy-handed religious message slapped abrasively onto the end. Every time I read Mr. D. I have the same reaction that I did to this film: “No! I’ve been had! I thought I was enjoying this circus of ideas and melodrama and all along it was your bloody Christian propaganda! I hate you Feodor!” and I throw the book at the wall, really really hard. … Then I go back for more like girls who haven’t learned their lesson are want to do. I’m convinced the man won’t rest in peace until he finally converts this atheist. Now he’s in cahoots with Nikita, damn it.

(A note on the length. I gave myself an intermission, but it doesn’t drag. If you’ve ever actually been sequestered in a jury room, you see he’s not going for cinema verite here.)

Another point of comparison it that 12 is really not about the legal system. From what I’ve read about the original, it made Americans feel fiercely proud of the triumph and efficacy of their sacred institution of trial by jury. Having been in an American jury room, my experience was that the complete absence of distractions, the claustrophobic space and its location on the premises of a hallowed court all inspire a sense of sobriety and a vibe not unlike that at an SAT exam. Mikhalkov’s jury room is under remont -is there anything more Russian than being under remont?- so they must use a school gym for their deliberations. Insert metaphor here! 12 seems to suggest that legal systems, political systems, whatever systems come and go, but people should be compassionate regardless of their system du jour, despite its failures, or indeed precisely because of its failures. It was not pedantic about right v. wrong, winners or losers, or the merits of the legal system. It is mostly about humanity and redemption and aspiring to a higher responsibility. Well, that’s what I got from it, anyway.

~Treatment of Chechnya.

There are many of scenes devoted to the boy on trial, both in his homeland and in his prison cell. These are times when Mikhalkov lets the camera do the talking, providing snapshots of his life, and sometimes pausing to meditate on them. A good decision, since it not only provides a balance to the filmed stage play that is the jury room, but evokes the emotions associated with Chechnya, the horrors of the war, the pride of the people, the memories of a child. It doesn’t gloss over atrocities, and the last scene will probably be one I never forget. It also, without feeling too forced, challenges our assumptions. Apartment building stairwells, picnicking with bandits and a dagger come to mean different things over the course of the film. The boy is repeatedly shown doing a dance, as a child in Chechnya and in his Moscow prison cell. It’s not a silly fun dance done to pass the time, but a folk dance that obviously requires skill and discipline and looks absolutely brilliant! I want to learn to do that dance! Wow.

Having seen this and Sokurov’s Aleksandra, I can’t be convinced that Russia, or at least it’s better filmmakers, is unwilling to confront its recent past. Both films take care to show the impact war has had on the people of Chechnya. There’s no chest thumping, nor a blanket condemnation of the war or Russia’s role in it. I think it is a lot more complicated than that. But in both films there is a sense of responsibility. I do think an argument can be made that this paternal approach smacks of colonialism. Maybe someone has written something about that.

~Artistry.

12 is gorgeously shot, which is impressive since it mostly takes place inside a school gymnasium. The magical and poetic leitmotifs that characterized Burnt by the Sun show up here. It’s charming. What is the meaning of the little bird? The camera work is not formalist but it is dynamic, keeping what could be a boring film moving. Mikhalkov makes a lot of the lighting, which is a little personal criteria of mine when deciding the creative merit of a film, like an after-dinner coffee at nice restaurant. The acting is phenomenal. I’m the breed of cineaste who thinks acting is best left to the theater, but Sergei Garmash’s performance in this is really worth the rental fee alone. Mikhalkov’s role as the 12th juror, or apostle, or the conscience of the group, or its Savior, complete with a hairdo that evoke a child’s image of God, is admittedly insanely egomaniacal. But it’s also a technically (if not symbolically) very small roll; most of his lines are in the last few minutes of the very long film. Some critics have complained that the characters are unrealistic stereotypes, but if Mikhalkov was going for Dostoyevsky, it works on the whole, with the use of stock characters in a philosophical exercise. The film really is a far more psychological or metaphysical affair than an emotional drama or political statement, which allows him some creative license. If he was going for Mr. D.’s intellectual sophistication, well, the thing is, he isn’t. So, the downside is that it doesn’t stand up to a lot of rational scrutiny, but the upside is it is very watchable indeed.

~Weltanschauung.

I think I very much liked this film because it managed to pull off that annoying “do the right thing” Hollywood moral of the story b.s. in a way that was incredibly easy for me to swallow. Normally this formula pisses me off, because it’s always a heroic dramatic gesture that people can see, something big like saving the world, that seems to serve no purpose beyond confirming the hero’s goodness. And it shouldn’t be about heroes, exceptionally self-less people who save us from villains. I hate this mythology and what it has done to my country, to be honest. But give me a movie about rather pathetic individuals who decide to be merciful simply because they possess the capacity of empathy, and damn I am hooked. I want to be a better person already! Yes! Throw in some Russian kitsch and, I’m a sucker. FWIW, I don’t think of myself as a “russophile” and am not religious at all. I do have an icon on the bookshelf in the corner, but I don’t think it’s channeling a supernatural power. When it comes to some policies I do support Putin, but this movie didn’t even make me think about him until the end when the real villains are shown. This would seem to contradict Yasha’s thesis. In fact, the whole ending concerns a debate on the ethics of sending the kid out into the corrupt and dangerous Moscow streets where the law will fail to protect him, which hardly supports a pro-corruption theory. 12 probably does promote ambivalence about corruption and acceptance of it as a fact of life, but it overwhelmingly appeals to our better angels. Not so we can be heroes, but precisely because none of us are. It’s only when we can admit we’re embarrassing wrecks that we can be honest about our own humanity, and only when we are honest about our own humanity that we can be empathetic, and empathy can’t be legislated. Well, I don’t know if that’s where Nikita was going, but I’ll hop on that train.

At least they serve their Christianity with an Existentialist chaser.

Coda.

While writing this I read that Sergei Mikhalkov, Nikita’s father, has died today. Apparently he wrote the Soviet and Russian national anthems. … I have a serious case of famous people’s deaths fatigue.

So much for my better angels, huh?

As always, Thanks for reading!

Trifon is a short film based on Ivan S. Turgenev’s The District Doctor, story about a doctor (Trifon) who becomes involved with a young woman named Aleksandra.

Director: Caner Ozgul

Writer: Jeffrey James Keyes

Producer: Emre Emirgil

Director of Photography: Kaitlyn Barlow

Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1964)

Dir. Sergei Parajanov

A film like no other before or since.  Parajanov was a respected filmmaker in his homeland Russia, but after a viewing of Tarkovsky’s Ivan’s Childhood, his pupil, he felt he could not justly make anything but the most personal and evocative form of cinema.  This film is filled to the brim with genuinely confounding imagery, a film of pure impulse and poetry; this is but a mere highlight.  It is available in a box set from Kino, The Films of Sergei Parajanov.  Do yourself a favor and see this film.

Mermaid (1997)

Dir. Alexander Petrov

I know, I know… Another Russian… What can I say, I have a type… Their plaintive and painterly views of nature and humanity living in accordance with it, not in opposition to it just melts my heart.  This particular filmmaker, Alexander Petrov, may be recognizable to some of you, primarily for his Oscar winning short The Old Man and the Sea from 1999.  That and an incomprehensibly beautiful ad campaign for United Airlines that made the rounds a few years back.

Petrov’s signature technique is that of pastel oil-on-glass animation, a pain-staking process that essentially has him making individual paintings one-by-one on glass, and carefully photographing them using special motion-control camera rigs.  It’s a daunting technique, one that few have mastered in the world, but it’s no mere ploy.  His images feel like a Renoir coming to life in a dream, seeming just hazy enough to leave an indelible image, but not enough to define.  You will notice a great similarity to another animator covered in these very pages, Yuri Norstein, and you would not be mistaken.  Petrov studied under Norstein for a time, and his stamp can certainly be seen over Petrov’s work.  But make no mistake; Petrov has a refined style all his own, one that is distinctly Russian, but speaks to a larger community that admittedly, much of Russian cinema cannot.

Mermaid was the first of Petrov’s films I’d seen, and I still believe it to be a superior introduction to his work as a whole.  It contains a tight, familiar narrative, one that eases by in terms of length, but despite its diminutive stature, Petrov lets the shots really breathe in detail most commonly allowed for in feature films.  Essentially, everything a short film should do; provide enough of a narrative to draw an audience in, but focus more on the moment-in-time details.  And of course, give them some beautiful images to make a subtle but lasting impression. Enjoy.

The Cranes Are Flying (1957)

Dir. Mikhail Kalatozov

Witness Kalatozov’s mastery of movement.  I don’t know of a more fluid and graceful camera in the history of cinema; he moves it without any barriers, 180 degree rule be damned.  Watch the full film for free until the end of the month at The Auteurs.  Then for the love of god view I Am Cuba.  I swear you will see possibilities of cinema that even the most hardened film buffs will swear is a complete reinvention of the form.

Virginia Madsen, left, and Kyle Gallner, right, star in the horror thriller “The Haunting in Connecticut.”

It’s a slow week on the home video front with only one major theatrical release making its way to DVD. Fortunately, that mainstream title is being propped up by the DVD debut of a fascinating foreign film that was nominated for an Oscar in 2008.

The Haunting in Connecticut
2 stars (out of four)
Rated and unrated cuts available. The rated version received a PG-13 for for some intense sequences of terror and disturbing images.
Lionsgate
Available on: DVD and Blu-ray

Director Peter Cornwell’s “The Haunting in Connecticut” is a mainstream ghost story supposedly based on the actual adventures — or, more appropriately, nightmares — of an everyday American family. The setup begs many questions about the origins of the tale, but all are secondary to the proverbial elephant in the room: The presence of actress Virginia Madsen in this second-rate thriller.

Madsen’s filmography has its share of B projects, but they should have been relegated to history after her 2004 supporting actress Oscar nomination for “Sideways.” No such luck.

“Haunting” is painfully run-of-the-mill, and Madsen’s role lacks the substance an actress of her caliber should be pursuing. She plays Sara Campbell, the matriarch of a family dealing with the saddest of situations. Her teen son, Matt (Kyle Gallner), is undergoing experimental treatments for an advanced cancer that could very well kill him.

Because Matt’s medical care requires frequent trips from New York to Connecticut, Sara convinces her recovering-alcoholic husband (Martin Donovan) that they should rent a house near the hospital. And … you guessed it … the house they rent is haunted.

Soon after the family moves in, they discover that the home had been used as a funeral parlor, and all sorts of disconcerting things begin happening. What’s more, Matt is particularly susceptible to the supernatural happenings because of his tenuous grip on life.

Cornwell, making his feature directing debut, shows adequate chops with special effects and the use of sound to set a tone, but he does nothing to further the haunted house genre. In fact, “Haunting” suffers from an obvious case of been-there-done-that-itis, and neither Cornwell nor Madsen prove capable of exorcising the demons.

If it weren’t for cheap scares, like unexpected reflections in a mirror hammered home by jolts of dissonant music, the movie wouldn’t really be scary at all. That’s a big problem for a mainstream horror flick, even one reportedly based in truth.

The movie is available on multiple DVD configurations, including a two-disc unrated cut. Extra features vary.

12
3 stars
Rated PG-13 for violent images, disturbing content, thematic material, brief sexual and drug references and smoking
Sony Pictures Classics
Available on: DVD

An ongoing frustration for film lovers is that only a handful of the Academy Award nominees for best foreign language film make it into mainstream multiplexes. Fortunately, DVD distributors take up the slack, and this week we’re rewarded with “12,” an intriguing Russian drama nominated in 2008.

The movie, directed by Nikita Mikhalkov, is an adaptation of Sidney Lumet’s 1957 classic “12 Angry Men,” and it has been wonderfully modernized to work in a current Russian setting. Although a loose adaptation of Lumet’s film, the setup is similar, focusing on 12 jurors who must decide the fate of a Chechen boy accused of murdering his stepfather.

Initially, it seems as though the case will be closed quickly, with 11 of the 12 jurors immediately voting “guilty.” The one holdout, however, calls details into question and, slowly, other jurors begin to see things his way.

As the all-male jury deliberates, viewers learn a little about each player. One is a bigoted taxi driver, another an easily flustered television station owner, another a high-minded artist, and so on. As they argue, they offer personal stories, and most are intensely fascinating.

Because of the Russian setting, “12″ takes twists that vary significantly from Lumet’s film, and this makes it feel fresh and alive. The movie’s only downside is a dialogue-heavy screenplay that runs a full 160 minutes and takes place almost entirely in a school gymnasium that has been converted to a deliberation room. The fact that the picture is shown in Russian with English subtitles also presents a challenge for American viewers. Because there are so many characters, it can sometimes be difficult to decipher who’s talking, but this is in no way a flaw of the film.

Length and language barriers aside, “12″ is highly recommended for anyone who enjoys character dramas that are more interested in ideas than action.

Sadly, the DVD has no significant extra features.

ALSO OUT THIS WEEK

“Horsemen”: Dennis Quaid stars as a detective investigating a serial killing spree linked to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The movie, directed by Jonas Akerlund, also stars Ziyi Zhang and Clifton Collins Jr.

“The Edge of Love”: Keira Knightley, Sienna Miller, Cillian Murphy and Matthew Rhys star in this period piece that is loosely based on events in the life of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas. Despite being married to a spirited woman (Miller), Thomas (Rhys) finds himself enamored with his teen sweetheart (Knightley) and the three form an uneasy yet surprisingly tight relationship.

“Menage”: French director Bertrand Blier’s 1986 dramedy about a petty thief who insinuates himself into the lives of an unhappy married couple is receiving its DVD debut. The movie was nominated for eight Cesar Awards and the Golden Palm at the Cannes Film Festival when released theatrically. Gerard Depardieu, Michel Blanc and Miou-Miou star.

“For All Mankind”: Director Al Reinert’s 1989 documentary considering NASA’s Apollo moon missions. The film is built on actual NASA footage and features narration by the astronauts who flew the missions.

“Mad Men” — Season 2: This AMC series, centered on the employees of a fictional, 1960s advertising firm, has won two consecutive Golden Globes for best television drama. Season three is set to begin in August, so you have plenty of time to plow through this four-disc set and get up to speed.

Forrest Hartman is an independent film critic whose byline has appeared in some of the nation’s largest publications. E-mail him at Forrest@ForrestHartman.com

1. Country Teacher

- A very new Czech film about a middle aged teacher who is going to the countryside to work in the local school, at the same time struggling with his own acceptance of his homosexuality and with his falling in love with a teenage boy. A very rare and good film!

2. Nachttocht

-A Dutch coming-of-age story about a boy who is falling in love with his sports/canoe-teacher, who in turn is falling in love with the boy´s mom. A very nicely done and rare triangle drama about love and friendship. Similar to “Country teacher”, though with totally different twists and also much older (but equally good!).

3. Gutta boys

- A Norwegian TV-series about a group of boys in a coming-of-age drama.

4. Russian film (rare)

- A rare film (so rare I have forgotten the title but will of course update you with that information later), about a boy who is struggling to survive a hazardous boat trip.

5. My uncle Antoine

- Considered to be the best Canadian coming-of-age film, and is about the developing consciousness of a young boy as he learns to deal with both sexuality and death.

6. Malena

- An Italian coming-of-age-story about a young boy who encounters the beautiful Malena, the dream of all men. Said to be an intense and very interesting film.

7. City of Men

- A Brazilian TV-series about kids in the slum of Rio de Janeiro.

8. Captain Abu Raed

-A new film, not yet released in my country, about an older man finding a new task in life and becoming a sort of father figure to a group of boys/children. Seems interesting on the trailer, more info will come later.

And some bonus reviews…..

1. “Close to Leo”

2. “This boys life”

3. “The wizard”

4. “Saving Shiloh”

Russian Director Andrei Tarkovsky (1932-1986) is having a retrospective of his work next month at the Walter Reade theater in NYC. He is my favorite director and the theater is showing all seven of his films. I plan to at least catch a screening of Stalker which is one of my favorite films of all time. Not enough can be said about this artist. Though arguably the most famous Russian Director in history (along with Eisenstein), he is not well known in the United States which is a shame. A documentary about the man is also premiering during this retrospective entitled, Meeting Andrei Tarkovsky.

Cargo 200 (Gruz 200) is the term applied to the dead soldiers shipped back from Afghanistan-Soviet War. It’s estimated that the Soviet Union lost approximately 15,000 men in this conflict while over 1 million Afghans were killed, but the film isn’t about the war in Afghanistan, it’s a critique of a brutal collapsing Soviet society. While the film is based on a true story and has a political-social message, it doesn’t make it any easier to watch.

Set in 1984 in an urban wasteland the film begins with two brothers chatting and eating while they discuss their children. Army Colonel Mikhail (Yuri Stepanov) has a good relationship with his daughter and her boyfriend Valera (Leonid Bicevin) while his brother, Artem (Leonid Gromov) a professor of Scientific Atheism bemoans the direction his son is taking. That evening Valera goes to a disco alone, and there he picks up Angelika  (Agniya Kuznetsova) a young girl who says her fiance is a paratrooper in Afghanistan. When Valera runs out of booze, he drives out to the remote home of his favourite bootlegger, Aleksey (Aleksei Serebryakov).

Earlier that evening, Artem ’s car breaks down at the bootlegger’s house, and seeking help, Artem has a difficult discussion with Aleksey regarding the existence of god. While Artem delivers his standard lecture, Aleksey, who’s drunk becomes aggressive and belligerent as he defends his future, imagined utopia the “City of the Sun.” While Artem manages to leave, Valera and Angelika aren’t so lucky. When things go wrong, Angelika finds herself  held captive by a sick and twisted policeman, Zhurov (Alexei Poluyan).

If you want to stick with the film, then prepare yourself. Angelika’s degradations are extremely difficult to watch. I’ve seen some reviews that tout this film as “black humour.” I don’t see the humour in an on-screen rape with a bottle, and there’s more to come….

The film’s best scene shows a plane unloading its cargo of the dead while live soldiers march on board from the other side right before the plane flies back to Afghanistan to spew out its next load. While the film’s twisted villain, Zhurov is seen as a direct product of Soviet society, the film’s message is lost in the cultural wasteland of grotesque violence. From director Aleksey Balabanov (Brother).

Another Russian coming of age film, this one from 1989, where you sometimes in the dialogue can sense the fall of the Soviet union, even if the film is pre-perestrojka. Like most other Russian coming of age films, this one is also of high class, with excellent performances from for example the thirteen year old boy (played by Danya Tolkachev), but also from the other characters. The story is well written and the soundtrack quiet ok, especially towards the end. The film is about a boy who gets imprisoned after having attending a street riot on his way to the cinemas. We will then follow his days in prison, which can be a harsh place to be at his age.

* Country: Soviet Union

* Release: 1989

* Director: Oleg Kavun

* Actors: Danya Tolkachev

* Award: Promotional award, Cottbus Film Festival of Young East European Cinema

Photo: *****(excellent)

Acting: ****(very good)

Story: ****(very good)

Soundtrack: ***(good)

Total: ****(very good)

This review would not have been possible without the valuable support of CVMC. I would like to thank them for supporting my blog by providing the DVD of  “Lessons at the end of spring” .

Check out lots of other coming of age films at cvmc.net, the oldest movie rental service on the internet – since 1998. Specializing in hard to find & rare films from around the world!

In my review of the first part of “Inhabited Island,” I positively raved over the film (as did the living co-author of the series it’s based on, Boris Strugatsky), predicting a possible Russian answer to the original “Star Wars” trilogy.

No such luck.  The second installment, “Inhabited Island: The Encounter” (“Obitaemiy Ostrov: Skhvatka”), falls flatter than an Ewok who just got crisped by an AT-ST Walker.

The main problem is that director Fyodor Bondarchuk (who also plays the role of the main antagonist Umnik) doesn’t have the time or initiative let this film find its own unique dynamic.  With the original “Star Wars” trilogy, each film had its own distinctive feel: “A New Hope” was truly iconic as the introduction to the Star Wars universe and contained an element, like its title suggested, of hopeful rebellion, “The Empire Strikes Back” became a favorite of hardcore fans with its darker, ominous feel, and “The Return of the Jedi” brought everything to a head in an action-packed, plot-turning climax.

Whereas the first “Inhabited Island” mirrored “A New Hope,” the second fell far short of the kind of rousing finale “Jedi” achieved, leaving an impression of a brusque, made-for-the-SciFi-channel flick with entirely uninspiring action sequences.  Bondarchuk should have split the film into two parts and followed the “Star Wars” mold exactly, with a darker middle section for contrast.  Instead, he tries to cram everything into one film, giving such a rushed, schizophrenic presentation that his movie tests the limits of the viewer’s credulity and patience.

In this encounter, our hero Maksim (Vasiliy Stepanov) travels south to a borderland of mutants in order to enlist their help in his quest to bring down the regime of the Unknown Fathers, the circle of Stalinesque magnates who rule an empire based on a network of mind-control towers.  Two of these magnates, “Umnik” (“Smart One,” played by Bondarchuk) and “Strannik” (“Strange One,” played by Aleksei Serebryakov), want to use Maksim, who as a physically engineered citizen of the advanced future civilization of earth wields special physical and mental powers, to achieve their own ends.

Maksim, however, motivated by the simple creed that people should be free, could care less about either of their intricate schemes.  He travels on from the borderlands, getting conscripted into a war with a rival empire and learning more about the higher forces at work in the planet’s power structure, before he makes it back in time for a final confrontation with Umnik (a development accompanied by the film’s single major plot twist) that decides the fate of the empire.

In the rush to pack all this in, Bondarchuk misses every opportunity to build chemistry between Maksim and Umnik, or, for that matter, between Umnik and Strannik.  When the movie comes crashing to a close, the viewer is left without a strong sense of involvement with any of the characters.

For most of the movie, any tension or sense of dynamics is centered around bosom friends Maksim and Gai (Pyotr Fyodorov), which also fails due to the rather simplistic take on what is in essence a complicated, conflicted relationship.  Gai wrestles his brainwashed reflexes like they’re a bad cold, lacking the kind of deep, ambiguous psychological conflict displayed by other such Raskolnikov-style characters (Gollum in “Lord of the Rings” comes to mind).

Meanwhile, Maksim is lollygagging along without a care besides saving the world, while Gai whines and nags him in a strained, manly yelp.  In this manner, the film jumps schizophrenically from scene to scene, relying heavily on a series of deus ex machinas even more egregious than those in the first part: “Oh, here’s a giant working rocket ship they kept hidden in these stone ruins all these years” or “Oh, here’s an abandoned White Submarine like the one we’ve been looking for, with a man-sized hole blown in the side right next to the ladder.”

Likewise, the movie is chock full of characters who decide to stick their necks out and help Maksim in the most unbelievable ways, all with no apparent motivation besides a late-blooming sense of benevolence or personal ambition so misguided it is hardly realistic.  The ultimate such example is when Strannik decides to literally hands Maksim the keys to the empire and then expects him to play nice and do as he’s told.

Although the final plot twist is compelling and intriguing, the combat scene between Maksim and Umnik is pathetic, paling next to the tension-filled atmosphere and appropriately epic setting of the final scene in “The Return of the Jedi.”

Of course, it’s obvious after the second part that there’s no comparing the two series.  “Inhabited Island” is a fun flick that quickly fades due to its rushed feel and missed opportunities for the drama and tension that should accompany such an epic.

Years ago I saw a film by the unique, mysterious cinema artist Andrei Tarkovsky that included an early scene at an Italian hot springs town. What was immediately arresting about the scene was the film’s image of the town, which instead of a the usual piazza seemed to have a vast hot spring pool at its center. As I seem to recall, surrounding this ancient, steaming pool was an arcade through which two of the film’s characters, one native Italian and the other expatriate Russian, walked and talked as they attempted to connect emotionally. A dripping, gurgling sound followed them, the stone looked cracked and unclean, the light was dim, and instead of bringing to mind ideas of rebirth and health the pool side sequence left me with a clammy sensation of sickness, and the lingering, lush scent of mold. The film itself, like most of Tarkovsky’s works, was taxing, alternately appealingly poetic and exasperatingly incomprehensible.  But I liked it; it is a rare example of slow film, so to speak. And I find value in slow on the few occasions when I practice it.

Tarkovsky traded in themes of existential alienation (see: Solaris), and “Nostalghia” is resonant with themes of rootlessness, the incompatibility of different cultures and the quintessential Russian obsession with the inner soul. The characters attempt love, and fail; the villagers attempt health by bathing in the pool but age anyway; local women attempt fertility by praying to the Piero della Francesca “Pregnant Madonna” but the cure is not certain.  The male lead suffers from terminal doubts on the meaning of existence.

I know Italy pretty well, and have long pursued its many hot spring sites with fervor, but I’d never known of such a weird place, and for a while imagined it didn’t even exist. The Internet was way off into the future at that time and a search for “Tarkovsky, Nostalghia, hot springs” was not an option. Then, several years afterwards, an Italian magazine featured the town and its drenched piazza, on a sunny day, on its cover. So it was real after all.

And now it looks like I’ll finally get there. It turns out the bath is named after St. Catherine, my namesake.   I’ll erase the dank image with the non-existential happiness of my daughter’s company as we let the hydromassage turn our limbs to jelly. But Tarkovsky’s unanswered questions will stay on my mind.

“I don’t want to do it like humans.”

The iconic strong woman is a character often portrayed in Soviet & Russian cinema, and a strong woman is at the heart of Aleksandr Proshkin’s 1992 film To See Paris and Die.

Middle-aged, elegant and attractive Elena (Tatyana Vasilyeva) is an admirable, yet coldly driven character whose one ambition is to see her pianist son, Yuri (Dmitri Malikov) get to Paris. She will stop at nothing to achieve this, and is fully prepared to use whatever means she has at her disposal to achieve her ends.

While her son, Yuri attends the conservatory and spends endless hours practicing at a piano in their apartment, Elena plots his success, and she knows that talent alone isn’t going to get him to Paris. She works as a hostess in some swanky faux-ethnic restaurant in Moscow, and there dressed for the part, she shepherds important KGB officials and their guests as they enjoy lavish meals in a sumptuous setting. One of the restaurant’s frequent visitors is a young KGB officer who guides revolutionaries through Moscow, sleeping with them as part of the entertainment package. Another one of the restaurant patrons is a middle-aged bureaucrat who’s on a competition committee to select pianists for the Paris tour.

Elena plots her son’s success but she’s hampered by the arrival of a new neighbor, Evgeny. Crude, obnoxious and intrusive, Evgeny, a jockey, makes a sexual overture to Elena that is summarily rejected, and this sets a course of bitter revenge. Evgeny, however, is immediately popular with Elena’s other neighbour, and this division underscores Elena’s isolation and refinement. Elena’s struggle for Yuri’s success is also hampered by Yuri’s love for a young Jewish girl. While the girl is respectful of Elena and certainly doesn’t want to supplant her role of power and control, Elena is sure that the fact that her son wants to marry a Jew will bury his chances for Paris. Instead, Elena concocts ways to sabotage the romance and cultivates Yuri’s relationship with the KGB girl.

Elena’s character is revealed through her relationships with several men in her life. She prefers to be in control in these relationships–whether it’s her son, the accordion-playing bureaucrat, her shady ex-husband, or her former lover and artist Solodov. And while each of these men see a different side of Elena, there is never a hint of weakness.  Perhaps it is in her relationship with Solodov that Elena reveals more emotion and indecision. Even when Elena trades sex for favours, there’s never a hint that she’s humiliated or demeaned by men–it’s business, pure and simple. This all changes, however, with the arrival of the brutish Evgeny.

Some of the film’s best scenes occur in the cramped boarding house. Here, with a complete lack of privacy, neighbours are able to easily spy on each other, and Elena becomes convinced that Evgeny is a KGB spy. Elena is willing to use sex to further her goal, but it has to be on her terms, with her in control. She coldly metes out sexual favours, any hint of denigration is mollified by her total absence of emotional involvement. While Elena’s life is centered on her son’s success, she objectifies him, and drives him as hard as she drives herself, and in her treatment of Yuri she is merciless. In spite of her harshness, and her single-minded ambition to get Yuri to Paris, Elena is a sympathetic character. There are glimpses of humanity beneath her hard glittering exterior–her adoration of Edith Piaf for example. The film’s title: To See Paris and Die is significant. Elena’s ambition is to get Yuri to Paris, but she hasn’t planned beyond that. ‘Seeing Paris,’ is in many ways–at least to Elena–a symbolic, imaginative event. In her mind, she envisions Yuri there, and this vision leads to her destruction.

While the film is set in the 60s, two of the male characters, Yuri and the artist Solodov both have very 80s haircuts for some reason. I had to remind myself that this was the 60s in a couple of places. It isn’t easy to find a copy of this film, but if you are at all interested in Russian film, or the work of Proshkin, it’s well worth tracking down the excellent To See Paris and Die.

“A woman and a cow need their udders touched tenderly.”

SVOI (Our Own) is an amazing Russian film that explores shifting alliances and divided loyalties against the backdrop of the German invasion of Belarus during WWII. Interestingly, the film keeps the Germans–more or less–in the background of this tense, tight drama, and although the Germans swoop in occasionally like a plague of locusts, the action mainly focuses on how Russians, fractured by politics, see each other as ‘the enemy.’

I’m not a fan of most war films as I find the way film tends to concentrate on all the flag waving, patriotism and noble death stuff behind those governments, politicians, and megalomaniacs determined to off  large numbers of humans in lemming-like marches to their collective, meaningless suicides while collecting rotten pay and a few tacky bits of ribbon and metal along the way, well…absurd and nauseating.

In spite of the fact this Russian film is set in WWII and initially seems to set the stage for the repeat of a typical WWII scenario, instead the plot manages to avoid all those tired old clichés by focusing on the human drama.

The film begins explosively with Germans invading Belarus. While all the Russian soldiers are rounded up and marched off, the savvy Chekist (Sergei Garmash) who had just arrived at the Russian headquarters abandons his uniform for hastily donned civilian clothes. As he tells the young sniper, Mitka (Mikhail Yevlanov), soldiers will be shot whereas with civilian clothes perhaps they stand a chance. It’s in this moment, that the Chekist shows his quick thinking and that Mitka accepts him as a leader. Watching the film’s first scenes, there’s the sense that if anyone survives, it’ll be the wily Chekist

As the men are marched off, the Chekist and Mitka form an alliance with Jewish Russian soldier, Livshits (Konstantin Khabenskiy). Another soldier taunts Livshits about being Jewish and summarily strong-arms him into handing over his scanty rations. This scene sets the stage for the idea that the Russians are divided amongst themselves but also underscores the tentative coalition formed between Mitka, Livshits and the Chekist as the dominating, protecting figure.

As luck would have it, the prisoners are marched near to Mitka’s village, and the savvy Chekist realizing that the chance to escape will never be this good again, persuades Livshits and Mitka to escape with him. The trio ends up at Mitka’s village where his father, Ivan (Bogdan Stupka) is the headman. While the plan took the escaped prisoners to the village, it flounders in the face of reality. Germans are swarming all over the countryside looking for the escaped soldiers, but they more or less leave it up to the Russian villagers to hand them over.

Hiding in the barn and with Livshits beginning to succumb to illness, the three soldiers have plenty of time to consider their situation. Mitka happily reunites with his fiancée, Katya (Anna Mikhalkova) while the Chekist ogles Ivan’s woman, Anya (Natalya Surkova). Mitka takes increasingly bold chances to see Katya and the Chekist becomes obsessed with Anya.

Over time the seemingly simple situation becomes increasingly complex while human behavior boils down to its basic elements and loyalties are tested. The Headman Ivan, a former Kulak who escaped from Siberia, is no great lover of the current political situation. To him, the enemy is anyone who threatens his home, his children or his way of life, and there’s an automatic antipathy between the Chekist and Ivan when they recognize their political opposition. Locked in the barn, dependent on the villagers for food, water and shelter, the relationships between the characters are stripped down to the basest level, and yet in spite of the fact that survival underlies all their actions, some of the characters function at a level that includes a notion of brotherhood while other characters seek only their own selfish ends. Just what happens in the village and how this drama plays out is the substance of this excellent Russian film, and by the film’s conclusion ironically two Tsarist gold coins end up trumping everything else.

The film’s heavily biographical screenplay is from Valentin Chernykh, who also wrote Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears, and Chernykh modeled the character of Ivan on his grandfather, a man who hid his past as a kulak from Soviet power but who raised his grandson, the screenwriter, as a model Soviet citizen. The film is set in Chernykh’s grandfather’s region, Pskovshchina.

For those who don’t like to watch violence on the screen, the film includes a couple of killing scenes that are pretty brutal. From director Dmitri Meskhiyev.

“It seems to me that water and war are the only loves in your life.”

If you don’t have an issue with subordinating the Russian revolution to a love story, then the epic film Admiral is a feast for the eyes. But if you expect Admiral to be heavy on politics or historic events, then you may be disappointed in this visually stunning film from Andrei Kravchuk. If you simply want to enjoy the film, it’s best to approach Admiral for what it is–rather than what it isn’t, and basically Admiral is an epic love story of two people whose lives are defined by the backdrop of the Russian Revolution.

The Admiral of the title is Admiral Kolchak played with icy toughness by Konstantin Khabenskiy, and the film begins wisely by establishing the sort of man Kolchak is. It’s 1916, WWI and a Russian battleship is setting mines when a German ship appears on the horizon. A battle commences and severely outgunned, the Russian ship takes a beating. It’s the cool head and strategic military thinking of Kolchak that saves the day, designates him a Naval hero, and brings him honour from the Tsar.

The film follows Kolchak, as he becomes Commander-in-Chief of the Black Sea Fleet and at pivotal points in his life while the story focuses on the tentative love affair the married Kolchak has with equally married Anna (Elizaveta Boyarskaya). It doesn’t take a great deal of observational powers for Kolchak’s wife, Sofia (Anna Kovalchuk) to deduce that her husband is in love with Anna (and indications are that love affairs for Kolchak are a regular event), but Kolchak takes the ‘noble’ road and tells Anna that their love affair cannot be. This begins a relationship that’s maintained for some time just by letters. Meanwhile, the Russian Revolution is shaking the country to its foundations, and we have glimpses of Kronstadt, scenes of the Petrograd Soviet, the massacres in Sebastopol, Kolchak’s relationship with the Provisional Government, and Kolchak’s role as Supreme Ruler of Russia. Simultaneously, the film follows the love affair between its protagonists while the revolution wears on, so we have one scene for example, when Anna won’t leave Sebastopol (in spite of the slaughter of officers by Bolsheviks) simply because she is expecting a letter from Kolchak. Eventually, however, with Sofia living in exile in Paris, Anna and Kolchak, throw caution to the winds and begin a brief life, such as it is, together.

The film avoids political statements while touching on the sweeping brutality of the times, and the brutality focuses on the violence of the Bolsheviks. Some of the best scenes depict the wholesale class slaughter taking place, and the film’s cinematography excels at the underwater scenes. Particularly poignant (and accurate) are the scenes of the bodies of officers under the water at Sebastopol. An 1918 account from a diver who was sent to retrieve the body of a murdered officer recounts seeing the bodies of hundreds of freshly dead, weighted by stones, swaying in the ocean. This unnerving sight was powerfully recreated for the film, and the imagery of the secrets held by water is a recurrent theme throughout the film, culminating in Kolchak’s eerie watery grave.

Kolchak, as a leader of the White Russian forces intent on property protection and class privilege, was a ‘baddie’ as far as 20th Century Soviet history was concerned, and now the film seems to be an attempt at an image makeover as part of a celebration of Russian history. It’s ironic that Kolchak went from being a villain to being a saint or at least a flawless hero. Glaringly absent is any reference to Kolchak’s brutal methods of suppression, particularly in Siberia. There are no scenes of villages being burned while peasants are tortured and slaughtered. Personally I had issue with this almost complete lack of detail especially since the film shows scenes of the Bolshi mayhem and mass slaughter.

Since this film will be the introduction to Kolchak and in many cases the only knowledge a great number of people will have of the White Russian commander, one must ask whether or not it’s ethical to portray Kolchak in such a bleached out manner. There’s a lingering romanticism that attaches itself–at least in the West–to White Russians, and while I am certain most Westerners could sniff out a Red Bolshi propaganda film, I’m not convinced that the Whites are subject to an equal evaluation.

I think Russian cinema is making some very exciting films these days, and it’s sobering to think that just a few decades ago those associated with the film could have been dragged off to the gulag. So with the Cold War gone, and the Iron Curtain ripped asunder, Kolchak is no longer vilified but glorified. Note here that I am not trying to place the sins of the Whites or the Reds on to some sort of sliding scale of evaluation; I am noting the swinging doors of political ‘progress,’ the shift in acceptable attitudes and a sad lack of historical accuracy.

If you watch Admiral, do yourself a favor and check out the Hungarian film The Red and The White–a film that does a marvelous job of showing the interchangeability between both sides when it comes to senseless violence.

“I saw you in a dream.”

The 1917 film, Father Sergius (Otets Sergiy) is based on a story by Leo Tolstoy, and after suffering through the 1990 version from Paolo and Vittorio Taviani (Night Sun/Il Sole Anche di Notte), I hunted down a copy of this original, silent film. Father Sergius was made after the February Revolution but completed before the October Revolution, and with its anti-tsarist stance, it’s an extremely important film in the history of Russian cinema. Tolstoy’s story was controversial for its implications about the Tsar’s private life and also for the implications about the priesthood. The film was not shown in cinemas until May 1918.

Co directed by Yakov Protazanov and Alexandre Volkoff this is the tale of Prince Kasatsky (Ivan Mozzhukhin sometimes spelt Mozhukin). The story begins with glimpses into the character of the young Kasatsky as he attends military training school, and it’s noted that he would make a “model officer” if not for his temper.

In adulthood, Kasatsky falls in love with Maria (V. Dzheneyeva) and several scenes show Kasatsky tentatively attempting to establish a relationship with Maria, but unrequited love is in the air as he gazes at her while she gives him the cold shoulder. Unbeknownst to Kasatsky, Maria is the mistress to Tsar Nikolai I, and when rumours begin to fly around the court, the Tsar decides to marry off his mistress to avoid the scandal. Kasatsky is selected as the bridegroom, but is horrified when he learns the truth.

Devastated and humiliated, Kasatsky becomes an acolyte, a priest, a hermit, healer and a wandering holy man, and the film follows this process while emphasizing that this choice is Kasatsky’s failure to face his pride. Even as a priest, however, Kasatsky, now the bearded Father Sergius suffers the temptations of the flesh in some of the film’s very best scenes. At one point, he’s locked up with a nymphomaniac in an attempt to cure her (and the inevitable happens) and this sends him spiraling off into solitude. But even here the now middle-aged, unhappy and hysterical Maria finds him.

Actor Ivan Mozzhukhin (also known as the Russian Valentino) fled from Russia and settled in Paris, eventually trying his luck in Hollywood, but the end of silent films combined with the actor’s Russian accent ended hopes for a Hollywood career. Mozzhukhin returned to France and died there of tuberculosis in 1939.

If you are a fan of silent film, or if you are interested in Russian cinema, then seek out Father Sergius. This really is an amazing film–the sort of silent film in which you don’t ‘miss’ dialogue because the story and the acting are all encompassing. The film includes some incredible scenes–the temptations suffered by Father Sergius, a fantasy-guilt scene, and one scene (possibly the best scene in the film) in which father Sergius stares through a window and glimpses peasants dancing, and the dancing evokes poignant memories of the ball and falling in love with Maria.

Polaroid Love: Love Lost and Redeemed Through the Lens of a Polaroid Camera

Well I stumbled in the darkness
I’m lost and alone
Though I said I’d go before us
And show the way back home
There a light up ahead
I can’t hold onto her arm
Forgive me pretty baby
But I always take the long way home

Tom Waits

Polaroid Love (2008) is a half-hour long short film from Russia that already has won three awards at the 2008 28th Annual International Moscow Film School (VGIK) Film Festival. The short film won awards for the Best Actor, Best Editing and Best Production. Polaroid Love is a quiet, very introspective drama expressed in a quite unusual way; the film’s story can evoke from viewers a multitude of personal ideas and nostalgic thoughts.

Polaroid Love is a narrative about an unusual romance: It tells a bittersweet story about how a consuming passion for a Polaroid camera played the central role in being in love, losing that love and (I think) the love being unexpectedly regained. More generally, Polaroid Love might suggest that the world seems to be more beautiful when viewed while listening to your favorite music, or seen through the eyes of the one you love, or maybe even captured through the lens of a Polaroid camera.

Polaroid Love: Love Lost and Redeemed Through the Lens of a Polaroid Camera

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Andrei Rublev is set against the background of 15th century Russia. Although the film is only loosely based on the life of Andrei Rublev, its depiction of medieval Russia is realistic. Tarkovsky created a film that shows the artist as “a world-historic figure” and “Christianity as an axiom of Russias historical identity” during a turbulent period of Russian history, that ultimately resulted in the Tsardom of Russia. The film is about the essence of art and the importance of faith and shows an artist who tries to find the appropriate response to the tragedies of his time. The film is also about artistic freedom and the possibility and necessity of making art for, and in the face of, a repressive authority and its hypocrisy, technology and empiricism, by which knowledge is acquired on one’s own without reliance on authority, and the role of the individual, communnity, and government in the making of both spiritual and epic art.

Because of the films’s religious themes and political ambiguity, it was unreleased in the atheistic and authoritarian Soviet Union for years after it was completed, except for a single screening in Moscow. A cut version of the film was shown at the Cannes Film Festival in 1969, where it won the FIPRESCI prize. In 1971 a censored version of the film released in the Soviet Union. The film was further cut for commercial reasons upon release in the US in 1973. Because of this several versions of the film exist. Today Andrei Rublev is widely regarded as a masterpiece and one of Tarkovsky’s best works.

By opinion poll of the members of the European Academy of Film and Television (1995), this motion picture was recognized one of the worlds ten best films (8th place).

======================
Crew:
Director: Andrei Tarkovsky
Script: Andrei Mikhalkov-Konchalovsky, Andrei Tarkovsky
Camera: Vadim Yusov
Music by: Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov

Cast:
Anatoli Solonitsyn as Andrei Rublyov
Ivan Lapikov as Kirill
Nikolai Grinko as Danil Chorny
Nikolai Sergeyev as Theophanes the Greek
Irma Raush as Idiot girl
Nikolai Burlyayev as Boriska
Yuri Nazarov as The Grand Prince / The Lesser Prince
Yuri Nikulin as Monk Patrikey
Rolan Bykov as The jester
Nikolai Grabbe as Stepan
Mikhail Kononov as Foma
Stepan Krylov as Head Bell-founder
Irina Miroshnichenko as Mary Magdalene
Bolot Bejshenaliyev as Tatar Khan

Awards
* Special Jury Prize FIPRESCI for off-competition films at the Cannes IFF, 1969
* Honorary Diploma of the Belgrade IFF, 1973
* Grand Prize at the Azolo International Festival of Films about Art and Artists, 1973
* One of the worlds ten best films by opinion poll of the members of the European Academy of Film and Television, 1995
* Prix Special de la FIPRESCI attribue aux films hors-concours au Festival de Cannes 1969
* Diplome dhonneur du Festival de Belgrade 1973
* Grand Prix du Festival dAzolo 1973, attribue aux films traitant de lart et des personnages historiques
* Classe huitieme des dix meilleurs films du cinema mondial par les membres de lAcademie europeenne du Cinema et de la Television, 1995

© MOSFILM, 1966.
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Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrei_Rublev_film
Internet Movie database:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0060107/
Internet Movie database (comments):
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0060107/usercomments
RUSCICO:
http://www.ruscico.com/dvd.php?lang=en&dvd=5
Senses of cinema:
http://www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/cteq/01/15/andrei_rublev.html
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English subtitles from original DVD.

Bonus: Documentary about Andrei Tarkovsky.