Zvenigora (1928) - Aleksandr Dovzhenko

The greatest poet, a true audio-visual reference the great Dovzhenko, is always, in terms of media exposure and recognition, a step behind the other russian luminaries that the history books of cinema collect, be it the inescapable Eisenstein, Vertov, or perhaps even Pudovkin. But the truth is that this huge audio-visual author has nothing to envy to those conspicuous big names, and even more, although it sounds insolent, even more considering those gregarious immortal surnames of the seventh art, maybe those are who have something to envy to the great master. The Soviet lands taught the world the powerful intellectual weapon that could be the cinema, none like them to express their collective feeling, their pride of mass, their history, but in none of the three authors cited above, is the artistic sensibility of Dovzhenko, his exquisite treatment, the strength and audiovisual poetry he knew how to display, and always without neglecting the other imprints, which he shared with his fellow comrades. The director himself is involved in supervising the writing of the script for this film, where a piece of the history of the Russian empire is captured, some Ukrainian lands hide a fabulous treasure, an old man will take care of it, but as time goes by, his two grandchildren, of opposing personalities, should watch over the future.

                 

In ancient territories of Ukrainian origin, the land houses a large and arcane treasure, are lands in which an aged old man (Nikolai Nademsky) lives and protects his country from strangers, where he meets a general, both join the troops, weapons in hand, to defend their nation from Viking invaders. During his long stay, the grandfather meets Okasana (P. Sklyar Otawa), and in turn has two grandchildren, Pavlo (Les Podorozhnij), the second, and Timoshka (Semyon Svashenko), the eldest. There is a great conflict, the invasions still hit the town, many men march to war, women and children cry those departures, while the grandfather tells Pavlo about the existence of the treasure, with Okasana as direct implicate, interacting with the strangers, falling in love with one; decades of struggle and death are narrated. Timoshka warns and deals with the invaders, resistances are organized, arduous battles are fought, sacrifices that both grandchildren witness, with Pavlo always expectant, but Timoshka is not relegated, he studies seriously about the subject. Decades pass, modernism arrives, cars and locomotives, the Cossacks continue to threaten, Bolsheviks also come into action. Modern days have arrived, machines, mass productions, workshops and companies dominate, finally the grandfather eats and drinks with some workers.

Anyone who has not seen a film by the giant Dovzhenko (who was initially a school teacher), can be surprised, pleasantly surprised, and if it is a prepared audience, the imprint that this immortal master will leave on the psyche will certainly be indelible, imperishable, is undoubtedly one of the greatest audiovisual artists of the silent era of cinema, curious considering that he began his career in the twilight of the solemn moment of the seventh art. Yes, Dovzhenko makes films like very few others, like almost nobody, it is necessary to have certain references of his to appreciate the author and his work, because this film does not take long to make clear its intentions, in the sequence that opens the film nature is poetically printed without further proem, slowed sequences are giving us an advance of that treatment, nature first, humans later, everything merges into a subtle and almost hieratic parade. In the film Dovzhenko also quickly changes the rhythm of the narrative, combines close-ups with mid, general shots, changes the speed of duration of those frames, the assembly will change the trend to a more frenetic pace, likewise in one of the first sequences we see that kind of dark demon leave an underground environment to face the grandfather, and that figure will then return to torment the old man, demon that is presented with a great use of the resource of the superposition of shots, magnifying its figure, the terror, the ambition that prints to the locals. In just over twenty minutes the director has already given us a preview of the wide range of his expressive and narrative possibilities, but again, this is just a prolegomena of what is to come. The enormous force of the film rests on two elements, on a singular binomial that constitutes the core of the film, which is also immediately portrayed, nature and the army, the field and weapons, dissimilar elements will soon be already intertwined. It is remarkable that the author sees poetry, introduces poetry with an overwhelming authority, that way we feel as if two independent stories were flowing together, in dissimilar braid, the epic story, the document where the log of the Russian history is recorded, but also the audiovisual story, the beauty, the audiovisual aesthetics, which in Dovzhenko's cinema, like almost no other author, seems to develop under its own rules. Great the master, amalgamates the realism with lyricism, the dry realism then flows at times span to span with poetry, two-edged duality, of apparent incompatibility, coexist and commune in the cinema of this titanic author, who manages to balance those apparently irreconcilable, antagonistic currents. The director will add more contrast, contrasts the modern with the old, the machines against the countryside, history itself bifurcates into our protagonists, expressing realism, but, as was said, also an irrepressible lyricism.

History bifurcates but at the same time merges, because the dividing line of one time and another vanishes in the figure of the grandfather, with him, time disappears, onirism and fantasy reach those heights, the old man becomes timeless guardian, the centuries pass, people die, people are born, but the ancient sentinel remains undaunted, hermetic to time. As indicated above, in the Russian film the assembly stands out, a key element of the film, the master thread that controls the rhythm of the film, which dynamizes the sequences, adding urgency, tension, frenzy, even despair, and then normalizing; a master class of assembly, which controls the times of the film, the rhythm of the film, the cadence of the emotions, of the moments, a montage that makes us enter or leave a moment with a different emotion. Notable moments of that change of pace, of that frantic editing, we have many during the film, just to name one, there is a public shooting, all the tension and dignity of the soldier are portrayed; or the disturbing sequence of Pavlo with the weapon in the temple, all, the jury, with aberrant fruition demand the sacrifice of the young man. Both moments are enhanced with frames, with high-angle shoots and low-angle shoots, a large glossary of audiovisual resources we find, images quickly concatenated, with pre-eminence of many close-ups, intensity touch, of course, in this montage. The filmmaker creates pleasant frames, such as Oksana's sequence in the field, with a beautiful natural mirror of water behind, a calm stream that reflects everything, that sublimates the image. This is exemplary of a Dovzhenko virtue, in the midst of a supposed austerity of elements from which to generate beauty, the director is capable of extracting lyricism, of discovering it in many cases, of generating it even in others. Of tiny details, of simplicity, like a playful bubble, it is from where extracts something different, something sublime, or likewise of great scenarios, like enormous fields of plants, or that mirror of water that is the stream; he extracts poetry in many cases from where it seems unable to be found. In his wide spectrum of resources and possibilities, we observe powerful low-angle shoots, images of the industry, of buildings, of constructions in process, of high structures, the camera moves upwards, it is development, machines, steam engines, standardized production, battle tanks, caterpillars, men marching in mass, in rows, modernism embodied with images, then even the neon lights, the moment of the present has arrived. Another characteristic of Dovzhenko's nascent cinema is that it dispenses with excessive texts, something very remarkable, in the years of silent cinema, where the spoken word does not exist, the filmmaker allows the audiovisual to govern, to be the greatest expressive and narrative resource, the image speaks like almost no other filmmaker in Dovzhenko, who lets it flow, there is no room for words, a total filmmaker, at a time when the sound was not yet complete in the cinema. In him, unlike his contemporary comrades, Eisenstein, Vertov, Pudovkin, the mass is humanized, individuality is recognized, there are faces, and there exists, with its lens, poetry, but the insolence of forgetting the irrecusable power of duty is never committed, sacred obligation to the homeland, Timoshka must liquidate the woman who loves him, because she would represent missing his obligation to the mother country, to his nation.

The film is a beautiful ode to Ukraine, to the land, to the men who inhabit it, its story is told with realism, a realism whose integrity is never threatened or diminished by the impetuous flow of the poetic power of the director; it is the history of his land, portrayed with truth, with realism, but finding a place in that realism to introduce lyrical details. Coexists well in the film, in a way not seen until the time -and perhaps later either-, poetry, nationalism, a poetic and proud exaltation of the nation, of Ukraine, in epic document, the history of centuries summarized with feeling, from the Viking invasions to the proletarian struggles, Bolsheviks, the men defending and forging with pride the history of the Russian empire, general feeling in the great filmmakers of that time. It is time to discuss a sequence of extreme wealth, that sequence of grandpa explaining to Pavlo the origin of the treasure, the audiovisual climax of the film, overwhelming talent, the moment of that complete sequence superimposed; never, never seen such an extensive sequence of that resource, of the superpositions of shots, complete minutes, complete centuries of battles, narrated in sequences of images in an irrepressible torrent of overlayed frames, images, sequences. Not even in Expressionism -which was the school that had one of its technical foundations in this resource-, much less in other currents, that level of visual exuberance was reached with this resource. Dovzhenko delights us with a complete episode of the story that is narrated in an unusual and forceful way, something unprecedented in the greatest films in the history of cinema, for something even Eisenstein himself was moved from the theater after its viewing, dedicating memorable lauds. We see in that extensive sequence, the history, symbolically defeated one by one the men, war with the invaders, what the conventional narrative does not allow, the magic of the dream, of the oneiric, all the immeasurable power of that sequence, prints, exemplary and incomparably, nobody had worked in the way that this poet does. It's extraordinary, the whole force of expressionism flows in that unforgettable sequence, the nightmarish gloom, the dark dementia, the deranging darkness, the audiovisual techniques have a free track in those precious minutes, the superpositions of frames, which in other authors is a positive resort in dribs-and-drabs used, in Dovzhenko is simply endless frenzy of delirium. Onirism and symbolism converge in this powerful sequence, a concomitance that can only reach that level of excellence in Dovzhenko, history and onirism merge, disparate couples find a point of balance and union in the filmmaker poet, who directs with boldness certainly, a sequence of overlayed images with so much ambition, with so much fluency and mastery was not captured before. Time would tell us that the film was a sublime farewell to silent films, the top, the peak, seemed an epitome of much of the film resources of all currents in epiphanic moment, 1928, year in which the great revolution came to the cinema, the sound came up with The Jazz Singer, everything changed forever, and Dovzhenko began his particular Trilogy of War with the present work, continuing with Arsenal (1929), and ending with Earth (1930). To take into account, is his fourth feature film, although some consider it the first for being the first work so recognized and so valuable, the hidden treasure was not only in the history portrayed, but in the film itself shot, which is the heritage of art, heritage of humanity, all the power of the director was already there. We have thus a tremendously versatile work, almost impossible to classify in its variety, with solid performances, the old man and his grandchildren, their tribulations reinforced by the close-ups, film that is closed with that final sequence, the old man, interacting before with Vikings and antediluvianos beings, faces the locomotive, symbol par excellence of the modernity; the fire monster calls it, after which we see him accepting food and hospitality of some workers, with his gesture, there remains a little the question of whether the grandfather has ceded in his impetus. One of the greatest poets of the cinema began his great contribution to the seventh art, the immortal Trilogy of War, the beautiful ode of Ukraine began with this film, war and beauty flowing together, poetry and history; I do not think that it is unreasonable to notice later echoes in someone who is close in sensitivity, changing the historical context, Tarkovsky and his beautiful Ivan's Childhood (1962). Extraordinary film, audiovisual delicacy, major author.

The Monastery of Sendomir (1920) - Victor Sjöström

Sweden saw the birth of one of the greatest talents of cinema at the beginning, the great Victor Sjöström, a theater actor by profession, would also become one of the referential film directors worldwide, and movies like this help to understand the wide talented range of this author. Some appreciators consider this film as part of a Sjöström film triptych, started with The Outlaw and His Wife (1918), continued with the present work and finished with The Phantom Carriage (1921), and as it did in the film that is initial, adapts the filmmaker a novel of his environment, authored by Franz Grillparzer, and again as in that film, the director is involved and participates in the development of the script; he only lacked the detail to star in this medium-length film, which nevertheless carries all the edges and cornerstones of its director, who was already experienced and experimented with dozens of feature films produced in just a few years. The director adapts this dark and brief history, a story that begins with strangers in Poland, travelers who in a difficult night seek refuge in a mysterious and dark monastery; there an old monk tells the uncertain origins of the foundation of the monastery, where a nobleman, humiliated by the betrayal of his wife, decides to take revenge, with unexpected end.

                  

On one occasion, on Polish territory, two travelers arrive in the vicinity of an old monastery, are on their way to Warsaw and request accommodation. They are served by an aging monk (Tore Svennberg), whom visitors ask about the monastery, and its founder. He, without much enthusiasm, and more for good host, agrees to tell the story. He begins to relate, the monastery was founded by Count Starschensky, wealthy nobleman, who apparently was blessed by God, full of happiness with his wife Elga (Tora Teje), and with the little son they just had together. But the happiness ends when Oginsky (Richard Lund), his steward, confesses that another man comes frequently visiting his wife secretly, that all the servants know it, he can not keep ignoring that. Incredulous at the beginning, the Count pretends to leave home, and discovers his wife's lover. She deftly convinces him that it was the maid, Dortka (Renée Björling), who had the affair, but Starschensky then finds a photograph of the lover, and no longer doubts about adultery. Following the advice of Oginsky, he manages to kidnap the lover, cousin of her, confronts them, has a duel with him, who cowardly escapes, and has a final test for his wife, who fails. The story has ended, and the monk reveals the identity of the unfortunate Count.

Sjöström already had a large production by the time this movie was made, numerous feature films, and short films as well, and in this opportunity, this medium-length film of just over fifty minutes is a good example of the solemn formation, the author's origin, it is none other than the theater, a theatrical actor by profession, but that particular topic will be addressed at the time. Poetic start has the picture, the stage is presented as the night, full of stillness and drowsiness, the night and its silver veils, we are already going into the nature of the film, because those will be many of the characteristics of the story, the mental numbness that seems to have the obtunded Count, the nobleman who does not detect an adultery that everyone knows, thinks first that his wife's lover was actually his maid's. One of the first frames shows us the exterior of the castle, a conformation of the natural space that, although not abundant during the footage, starts remembering us the director who is behind the camera, and the films that just had produce. This, because as it was said, someone has considered that there is a trilogy at this time of the career of Sjöström, trilogy started with The Outlaw and His Wife (1918), continued with the work now discussed, and finalized with the thaumaturgica The Phantom Carriage (1921); certainly the point or link between the works would not be the treatment and annexation of the natural element to the film, probably that link would be mostly in terms of the drama portrayed, the nature of the characters, their tribulations, their cursed destinies, sometimes with paranormal dyes.

In this way, when the circumstance allows it, the exterior images enter the film, and let us see how well the filmmaker captured images of that nature, we will observe a long path in the horizon, a great passage framed symmetrically by tall trees, the natural element is manifested, a nice composition of those frames. Of course in this film that element is completely relegated, this both by the story itself, the treatment that is given, and, above all, by the final length of the footage, which does not allow greater exaltation in major details unrelated to the central plot. In this opportunity we are in another scenario, of course, it is no longer the full nature, the exteriors reflected with prodigy in The Outlaw and His Wife, it is no longer the field, now it is the shady monastery, there is not a link or nexus so common in that sense, but of course, and as far as possible, we will find common edges in the treatment of these sequences, certain echoes of the previous film, the initiator of this trilogy. And inside we have a remarkable architecture typical of the time, characteristic with those sober spaces, rooms that are often exemplarily photographed, with some framings that make the work of its author perfectly recognizable. There is also a very good atmosphere of these spaces, the interiors at times stand out in details, a meticulous wealth for the generation of those interiors, there is equal mastery for both situations, interior or exterior in the film. That good work of photography continues to flow, in a film where there are contrasts of colors -obviously black and white being the most powerful-, there are certain sequences on exteriors where this is particularly noticeable, where powerful backlighting is reflected between the darkness of the figures in movement and the luminosity of the sky, very remarkable segments, although they are ephemeral. This reinforces a general darkness in the film, cemented in the night, where the terrible tessituras occur, a gloom that has its epitome in the shady monastery, where the shadows find complement in the clothing of the loyal and somber Oginsky.

As for the narrative and flow of the story, a linear narrative is immediately broken, with the memory, introduced with a variation mode of a flashback -for there is no resource or sequence that connects (or cuts, rather) a moment, a time, with another-, that constitutes the heart of the picture, the core of everything that happens and interests us. The temporal and narrative linearity is broken, there is a history within the history of which we are participants, the narrative is dynamized in a great way, and this narration is enriched, with this positive resource that has its final explosion in that outcome. Everything then comes to be reminiscent of the monk, radically changing the course of the narrative, who ends up being witness of the very first hand finally of everything shared. And of course, we have that end, unexpected, something almost playful, important and indispensable part of the work, impacts with the power of a resource that currently may be somewhat predictable, but then it was much more novel, and it is still a good final. Sjöström is encouraged in this film to a brief, risky production, a decision that I do not know if it has its cause in a shortage of budget, some other external factor, or simply the intentions of the author (possibility that, knowing the many short films that the director always produced, seems the most viable), or some concomitance of these factors. Thus, in this, what we could call a medium-length film, there is economy in its development, we will find few elements, but very well disposed, in that economy the experience and sufficiency of the director is noticed, the conciseness and seriousness in the staging give faith of an author already practically accomplished, in the office and in the art of cinema. That necessary economy requires a quick narration, a representation that however does not suffer, you can see the hand of the filmmaker, in that solid representation. And of course, a feature for which the film becomes as recognizable as the work of its author, and at the same time a example of the talent of its creator, is the aforementioned theatrical heritage. The dramatic load of the theater runs through his veins, in the film there are few characters and few environments, almost only one, in the story there are elements that certainly made feasible and even necessary a shooting of these characteristics, and Sjöström was the ideal director, with a warm theatrical halo, and leaving aside gadgets or technical tricks. Of course, always present that artistic legacy is, the location of the camera is remarkable in that aspect, complements the physical distribution of the elements in the monastery, finishes generating the theatrical compositions of many frames, and feeds that powerful dramatic, theatrical conception, according to the novel, and of course, consistent with the style of the master. We observe then the domine in action, at times more theatrical than cinematographic weight is noticed, in less than a year he would produce his greatest contribution to the seventh art, the wonderful The Phantom Carriage, the film that Ingmar Bergman defined as the best film of the history of cinema; but in this film his primal élan was manifested, he was a theater man making movies, and he did it very well. The camera, static of course, according to the time and the inclination of the film, also decisively collaborates with that nature full of Swedish theater aura that has the feature. As mentioned, if a common factor, if a link could be found in the so-called trilogy that some appreciator has seen, it would be by the nature of the protagonists, now a humiliated individual, the individual who loses the pride, and the head before the betrayal; there is a low humanity that flows in the figure of the adulterous wife, a sort of dark parable we observe, a story that tells a disturbing ending with darkness. Again, as in The Outlaw and His Wife, and as he would repeat in The Phantom Carriage, an unhappy fellow is the axis of everything, a tormented character, exposed to situations that exceed him, that overflow him, to levels that sometimes end up destroying him; that could be the element of union between the three films. Particularly noteworthy is that gloomy finale, that closing sequence of the film, dark and shadowy monks abound and swarm in the frame, again, the filmmaker's religiosity manifests, but in disturbing ways, that final sequence almost lives by itself, the huge Christ crowns the unfortunate, who kneels, succumbs, an insanity that, humbly, to the writer made recall the outcome of Him (1953), by good Buñuel. Notable work of the master Sjöström, his versatility, his wide spectrum of artistic possibilities, the Swedish spirit, and his solemn heritage flow in him, this work is a worthy member of that immortal filmography.