It's hard to resist this headlong story of Zaparoshki cossack Taras Bulba, Yul Brynner, and his son Andry, Tony Curtis, set in the 1600s. Essentially, the plot is that Taras Bulba hates the Poles and is always ready to revolt and fight them, but Curtis falls in love with a Polish princess while studying in Kiev. In the end, Curtis saves his girl, Christine Kaufmann, but only at the expense of his life. To keep Kaufmann from being burned at the stake, Curtis helps the Poles and is executed by Taras Bulba, his own father.
This is the kind of movie that's usually called "epic." They must have used a thousand extras in scenes of hordes of horsemen sweeping across the Russian steppes. All of them wear colorful costumes. Nobody ever rides a horse except at full gallop. The musical score by Franz Waxman soars above all the on screen noise. The three opening notes of the main theme, first up and then down, follow precisely those of the most familiar Japanese folk song in existence, easily YouTubed.
And, man, is there a lot of noise. Cossacks lived in semi-independent communities that were organized along military lines, with regiments and so forth, and they fought hard and played equally hard. Their usual role when allied with other armies was reconnaissance and ambushes.
The Jivaro tribe of the Amazon basin, major headshrinkers, were also fond of ambushes in warfare. I don't know why I'm inserting this datum. I guess since I had to learn it, I don't see why anyone else should have the privilege of not knowing it. Try to think of it this way. There are maybe three or four people on earth that know that the ambush was the Jivaro's favorite tactic in combat -- and you are now one of them. I shake your hand.
Where was I? Yes, a stupendous, colossal movie in every respect but it is dated. If they were to make a modern movie of Gogol's story (and they have, just this year), I don't think Tony Curtis or anyone like him would be chosen to play Andry. Nor would the actor have Curtis's slicked-back and gelled hair do. And every scene wouldn't be shot under the blazing suns of California, Argentina, and Yugoslavia -- especially not Yugoslavia. There would be occasional clouds, rain, and mud. Everything wouldn't be so sterile, so free of lice and pimples. In short, a remake wouldn't look so much like it had been produced and directed by Cecil B. DeMille. The movie belongs to the Old Hollywood, the classical Hollywood of studios and contract players, that was fast disappearing. This may be among the system's last ticks.
I don't know who they might get to play Taras Bulba. Yul Brynner seems to the character born. He was a Russian himself and in this kind of arrogant role, his default setting was the King of Siam. He always stands with his legs spread, his fists on his hips, and he bellows every word.
And I can't be sure about Christine Kaufmann as Princess Natalia either. She's a pretty young woman with a winsome manner. Tony Curtis married her. She's not much of an actress as far as it's possible to tell -- she has so few lines -- but her evident shyness before the camera may add the proper touch to her character. It's conceivable that a young cossack might fall for her tiny voice and gracile figure after all the muscular and hairy cossack women he's gotten used to. It's also conceivable that the romance will bore your cuirass off.
These cossacks lead one hell of a life, by the way. If it's worth doing, it's worth doing to excess. They don't talk; they shout. They only have two interactional modes into which they can toggle. They either argue or play grab ass. Each cossack man drinks enough vodka to topple a rhinoceros, and THEN he walks across a plank balanced over a pit of enraged bears. A man stakes everything on his personal honor. A cross word must lead to death during a particularly tense and grueling ritual, at the end of which the loser takes his horse with him, a dirty trick on an innocent animal.
The penalty for opposing the will of the majority is death. The penalty of accusing someone of cowardice is death. The penalty for falling in love with the wrong Polish princess is death. The penalty for everything is death. In one version of Gogol's story, Taras Bulba is nailed to a tree and set on fire. But -- this being Hollywood and not the banks of the Dniper -- in this movie Brynner survives, sadder perhaps about slaughtering his own son, happier perhaps because the cossack way of life is preserved, but no wiser.
This is the kind of movie that's usually called "epic." They must have used a thousand extras in scenes of hordes of horsemen sweeping across the Russian steppes. All of them wear colorful costumes. Nobody ever rides a horse except at full gallop. The musical score by Franz Waxman soars above all the on screen noise. The three opening notes of the main theme, first up and then down, follow precisely those of the most familiar Japanese folk song in existence, easily YouTubed.
And, man, is there a lot of noise. Cossacks lived in semi-independent communities that were organized along military lines, with regiments and so forth, and they fought hard and played equally hard. Their usual role when allied with other armies was reconnaissance and ambushes.
The Jivaro tribe of the Amazon basin, major headshrinkers, were also fond of ambushes in warfare. I don't know why I'm inserting this datum. I guess since I had to learn it, I don't see why anyone else should have the privilege of not knowing it. Try to think of it this way. There are maybe three or four people on earth that know that the ambush was the Jivaro's favorite tactic in combat -- and you are now one of them. I shake your hand.
Where was I? Yes, a stupendous, colossal movie in every respect but it is dated. If they were to make a modern movie of Gogol's story (and they have, just this year), I don't think Tony Curtis or anyone like him would be chosen to play Andry. Nor would the actor have Curtis's slicked-back and gelled hair do. And every scene wouldn't be shot under the blazing suns of California, Argentina, and Yugoslavia -- especially not Yugoslavia. There would be occasional clouds, rain, and mud. Everything wouldn't be so sterile, so free of lice and pimples. In short, a remake wouldn't look so much like it had been produced and directed by Cecil B. DeMille. The movie belongs to the Old Hollywood, the classical Hollywood of studios and contract players, that was fast disappearing. This may be among the system's last ticks.
I don't know who they might get to play Taras Bulba. Yul Brynner seems to the character born. He was a Russian himself and in this kind of arrogant role, his default setting was the King of Siam. He always stands with his legs spread, his fists on his hips, and he bellows every word.
And I can't be sure about Christine Kaufmann as Princess Natalia either. She's a pretty young woman with a winsome manner. Tony Curtis married her. She's not much of an actress as far as it's possible to tell -- she has so few lines -- but her evident shyness before the camera may add the proper touch to her character. It's conceivable that a young cossack might fall for her tiny voice and gracile figure after all the muscular and hairy cossack women he's gotten used to. It's also conceivable that the romance will bore your cuirass off.
These cossacks lead one hell of a life, by the way. If it's worth doing, it's worth doing to excess. They don't talk; they shout. They only have two interactional modes into which they can toggle. They either argue or play grab ass. Each cossack man drinks enough vodka to topple a rhinoceros, and THEN he walks across a plank balanced over a pit of enraged bears. A man stakes everything on his personal honor. A cross word must lead to death during a particularly tense and grueling ritual, at the end of which the loser takes his horse with him, a dirty trick on an innocent animal.
The penalty for opposing the will of the majority is death. The penalty of accusing someone of cowardice is death. The penalty for falling in love with the wrong Polish princess is death. The penalty for everything is death. In one version of Gogol's story, Taras Bulba is nailed to a tree and set on fire. But -- this being Hollywood and not the banks of the Dniper -- in this movie Brynner survives, sadder perhaps about slaughtering his own son, happier perhaps because the cossack way of life is preserved, but no wiser.