User Reviews

This is a wonderful film that works on so many levels. As a farce, it's up there with Charlie Chaplin or Monsieur Hulot. It's really funny. The score is absolutely brilliant. The acting is top-notch. As a satire on corruption and bureaucracy, it hits the nail on the head. The elements of surrealism work tremendously well in acting, sets and scenes: just extreme enough to make the point well without losing touch with the underlying reality. Through all this, key themes are maintained. The director also plays effortlessly with gender, age and hierarchical roles, switching and undermining them relentlessly. Innovative film techniques, too, are used exceptionally well: puppetry, collage, distortion plus many more. One could doubtless see this film a dozen times and still find something new. I unreservedly recommend this film!

"Chemi Bebia" (1929) ( Gradmother ) the first film directed by Herr Kote Miqaberidze, a Georgian, not Russian film director, was one of the most bizarre and unclassifiable silent films ever shown in the humid and dark Schloss theatre during the last Germanic times.

First of all, the most astounding aspect of Chemi Bebia ( the title of the film, grandmother has some subtle references) is that in the U.S.S.R. those Bolsheviks had capitalist customs that mimic the aristocratic habits of centuries. The main character of the film, a factory head, is fired due to his incompetence and laziness. The film becomes a satire of bureaucracy and by extension even a critique of some aspects of the Russian system. The film even ends with proclamations like "Death to the bureaucrats!" and "Death to Red Tape". The film is so bold that it was banned by the soviet regime for nearly fifty years.

But that's not all ( for this German count that was more than enough ) because another astounding aspect of this excellent film is its audacity and eccentricity. Besides those political transgressions, we get a mixture of the most varied film techniques skilfully used: stop-motion, puppetry and classic animation done in a remarkable style and all enveloped in an anarchist atmosphere. This fascinating and surprising oeuvre is a unique example of how to blend avant-garde, social comedy and the newest techniques successfully and in an original, unclassifiable way. And all this was made in the U.S.R.R. … MEIN GOTT!!.

And now, if you'll allow me, I must temporarily take my leave because this German Count must go ask his grandmother when finally will inherit her fortune.

Herr Graf Ferdinand Von Galitzien http://ferdinandvongalitzien.blogspot.com/

CHEMI BEBIA (MY GRANDMOTHER) is a Georgian avant-garde slapstick silent comedy that was banned in the Soviet Union for almost 50 years. And it's pretty easy to see why. Whereas later Georgian filmmakers became rather adept at slipping political criticism under the noses of the Soviet censors, this film ends with a completely unambiguous rallying call for the death of bureaucrats. Lots of the creative techniques one associates with early Soviet cinema are on display here, but they are filtered through a sieve of early American slapstick and used mostly (and most successfully) for comedy. Imagine Harold Lloyd starring in Terry Gilliam's BRAZIL and you'll start to get an idea of what MY GRANDMOTHER is like. It's hilarious, and historically it's interesting to watch in that it's just as politically obvious as any other early Soviet film, but in an entirely different way.

The vagaries of film preservation have been so capricious that the unexpected rediscovery of less than a hundred hitherto obscure silents - if they were the right hundred - could probably completely rewrite film history. The Soviet Union continues to be pilloried as a purely repressive and destructive regime; but a remarkable number of politically incorrect projects got made before only then getting banned. ('My Grandmother' was made in Georgia, and its possible that the sheer size of the Soviet Union made it difficult for Moscow to keep a close eye on all film production in its outer reaches.) After the Soviet Union collapsed it rapidly became apparent that a surprisingly substantial body of pre-communist and communist-era feature films - including those, like this one, that had originally been banned - had nevertheless been preserved; although the majority of them remain largely unseen in the West (or probably even in the former Soviet Union itself).

'My Grandmother' actually resurfaced over forty years ago, and as a passionate lover of Soviet silent films (I always leap at the chance to see more when the opportunities arise) I wouldn't claim it to be the masterpiece that others have declared it, because familiarity with the comedies of directors like Kuleshov and Barnet has already set the bar high for expectations.

The satire in 'My Grandmother' (the title is a slang term for a well-placed sponsor needed when seeking employment) isn't really any more subtle than that to be found in the films of Albania's most beloved import from the West, Norman Wisdom. But like most Soviet silent films it looks wonderful - the similarity in places of its stylised settings to Terry Gilliam's 'Brazil' has already been remarked upon - and the makers plainly had carte blanche to throw in whatever sight gags took their fancy - including both a newspaper caricature and a naked statue coming to life.

Films of this era are usually vague as to when they were actually supposed to be taking place; which enabled the makers to nail the foibles of the current regime while blaming them on the Bad Old Days before the new broom swept all this bureaucracy and corruption aside (rather bizarrely, it's the Junior Communist League that is given credit for rooting out idlers). The censors of the day nevertheless seem to have noticed that it resembled contemporary reality a bit too closely, and 'My Grandmother' soon found itself sitting on the shelf along with other goodies with a long wait ahead of them to be properly enjoyed by posterity.

Aleksandre Takaishvili is a lazy, slovenly, ill-kempt bureaucrat in some sort of organization where nothing ever gets done. When he is fired for "too much access". With no more lagniappe, his wife wants to leave him. While he considers suicide, an acquaintance tells him getting another job is easy: a recommendation from a grandmother, and be a pest.

This being a Georgian production, it's not surprising that there's no respect for anything; while the Academicians were busy praising the regime, directors like Vertov were busy trying to get away with as much satire as possible. This one not only makes fun of the stifling, pointless inert bureaucracy, but Academician film-making, with its weird cuts, odd-looking non-actors and Dutch angles.

The copy I looked at had one of those atonal scores that assault the senses with their senselessness. I didn't enjoy its loud stridency, but have to admit it fit right in.