Reviews

Abel Gance's masterpiece, Napoleon, was made in 1927 - towards the end of the silent film era. It is over five hours long, and some sections require three synchronized projectors and three screens for theatrical presentation. I saw it many years ago in the last San Francisco theater equipped to show it as intended, with Paul Honegger's original score played on a giant theater organ which could simulate the sounds of an entire orchestra (including drums). The only videotape edition (which I have), released by Coppola in 1989 with a score by his father, is long out of print, and a DVD issue is reportedly prevented by legal complications. But Gance's 1934 re-edit would make a perfect DVD. It would easily fit on one disk, is designed for a single screen, and has voices dubbed in by the original actors. The lip synch is perfect, because Gance made the actors in the silent version speak their lines (perhaps anticipating the advent of sound). While we can hope that the 1927 version eventually makes it to DVD, the 1934 film stands on its own as one of the greatest historical films ever made.

Kozintsev was one of the great Russian directors, whose career started in the silent era. His star, Nikolai Cherkasov, played a hero who used brains as well as brawn in Eisenstein's Alexander Nevsky, and a politician who becomes almost demoniacally subtle and unscrupulous in Ivan the Terrible. As Don Quixote, he plays the would-be knight-errant with such quiet dignity that his delusions begin to seem preferable to the reality around him. Sancho Panza, as solid and earthy as his master is gaunt and unworldly, shows up the nobles who amuse themselves by playing along with Don Quixote's delusions as even more deluded and out of touch with reality. One can't help seeing a reference to Soviet society, perhaps too subtle for the censors to catch. This film, as well as Kozintsev's Hamlet and King Lear, are overdue for release on DVD in the United States.

Eisenstein describes his collaboration with Prokeviev as an equal partnership, where they worked together to match image and music, scene by scene. Unfortunately, the sound recording was a disaster, so for once the devotion to authenticity in Criterion DVD's backfires. Fortunately, there is at least one restored version of the film on VHS (BMG Classics) with an excellent re-recording of the music (by the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus).

It is interesting to compare this film with contemporary propaganda films in England, Germany, and the United States. Eisenstein's film was made in 1938, in response to the fear of a German invasion; and Olivier's in 1943, when a German invasion of England was still expected. Both films are stagey, but in different ways. Olivier begins by showing a staged performance of the play in the Globe Theater by Shakespeare's own company, then takes us out of the theater to a more cinematic (though still stylized) setting. Eisenstein's film is cinematic from the beginning, but the dialog and speeches are still influenced by the melodramatic acting conventions of the old Russian theater. This works very well for Cerkassov's speeches as Alexander, because part of his job as a prince and military leader was to play a role in public.

In Nazi Germany, the first major propaganda film was Leni Riefenstahl's tedious Triumph of the Will, which recorded a huge political spectacle - massed crowds cheering Hitler's ranting speeches. The propaganda in her masterpiece, the film of the 1936 Berlin Olympics, is much subtler, with its worship of the athletic male body carrying disturbing undertones of the Aryan superiority myth. But wartime German propaganda films could also be subtle. Karl Ritter's Urlaub auf Ehrenwort (Furlough on Word of Honor) is typical. It shows a young lieutenant letting the men in his company go on a 24-hour leave before returning to the WWI trenches (and almost certain death). Against the advice of veterans, he accepts their word of honor to return, though he will be courtmartialed and shot if they don't. Naturally, they all return, (though some of them berate themselves for it), presumably inspiring the audiences to similar displays of duty to their country.

In the United States, one of the better WWII propaganda films was Howard Hawks' Air Force. In it, we follow the mismatched crew of a bomber as they bond to each other with the experience of battle, and overcome obstacles to continue their part in the war. Typically for Hawks' films, however, their real loyalty is more to each other than to their country.

Eisenstein has to reach far back in history to find any Russian military triumphs. Ironically, Alexander (like the other Russian princes) is descended from the Vikings who sailed up the Russian rivers to conquer and rule their own fiefdoms. So he is a conquerer repelling another would-be conquerer. Physically, they are not that different (though the actors portraying the German princes were obviously chosen for their ugliness and smirking stupidity). But the real contrast is between the common soldiers. The Russian peasants are as tall and strong as the nobles; whereas the German peasants who scuttle out of the shield wall to kill wounded Russians are a foot shorter than their masters. There is some historical truth in this contrast. Russian serfs in the Middle Ages were much better off than their European counterparts, because they could always escape into the wilderness and clear their own land.

Eisenstein's film also cleverly gives us our first sight of Alexander as a fisherman. In the battle with the Germans, he uses his fisherman's knowledge of the ice as well as his knowledge of their military tactics to defeat them. When Gavrilo breaks the shield wall, they are forced to regroup and mass on the West side of the lake, where the ice is thinner.

One of the other pleasures of Eisenstein's film (which most audiences miss) is the historically accurate way that he portrays the politics of medieval Russia. Cities like Pskov and Novgorod owed their growing wealth and prominence largely to trade, which put the merchants into power, and sidelined the princes until their military expertise and feudal levies were needed to repel invaders. In the film, Alexander is shown not only as a military leader, but also as a master politician, who knows how to wait for his time, and how to make the most of his popularity after the victory.

It is a dark and stormy night when a mysterious woman arrives at an island in a magical boat. Is she a witch? A seductress? A liberator? All or none of the above? Or just a refugee from the storm? Don't expect any answers, because Serbs and Croatians have learned to distrust answers. During WWII, they fought each other when they were not fighting (or allying themselves with) the Germans, and Tito cobbled Yugoslavia together under the Soviet Union by flaunting its independent thinking, whether that independence was real or imaginary.

Serbo-Croatia is also the place where Milman Parry discovered a living tradition of oral epic poetry, improvised by illiterate bards, and showed that ancient epics like the Iliad and the Odyssey also grew out of an oral tradition before they were written down. Modern Serbo-Croatian poetry, though it is composed for publication by individual poets, has a stark and deceptive simplicity that echoes and ironically comments on a long epic tradition. Where else would you find titles like SOMEWHERE AMONG US A STONE IS TAKING NOTES, or DISMANTLING THE SILENCE (two books by Charles Simic)? In the film, a mismatched group of people vent their frustrations by gathering to drink and repeat the same jokes, until the storm and the mysterious woman stir up fantasies of what their lives could have been, or buried animosities. Any attempt to express themselves publicly, with song or speech, is greeted by a shower of cobblestones from the island's respectable women, all clad in black from head to toe. Yet the characters and their situation are portrayed so matter-of-factly that all of this seems quite natural.

None of the director's films appear to have made it to video or DVD, and since this film is in Eastmancolor, it may be too faded to reproduce without serious restoration. But it should be on any archive's list of films worth saving from oblivion.

The key to Olivier's performance is also the key to the play. Lear has been an absolute monarch for so long that he thinks of his royal status as a personal attribute. He therefore takes for granted that he will still be treated as a king (without the burden of royal responsibilities) when he has given up the land and authority that are the basis of his power. His attitude recalls the words of Shakespeare's Richard II: "Not all the waters of the rough rude sea can wash the balm from an anointed king." Events in that play prove how wrong he was.

Lear's position has also isolated him from the realities of everyday life and genuine human emotion. His tragedy is the price he pays for rediscovering those realities. His nobility is shown by his willingness to acknowledge his error and pay the price: "Oh I have ta'en too little care of this..." Olivier's performance, more than any other on film, shows this process of coming to terms with the realities of human life, and the falsity of court life; and being driven insane by the shock until his recognition of Cordelia brings him back. Olivier shows us what Lear is going through with hundreds of small gestures, movements, inflections of voice, and facial expressions. By comparison, he makes other actors in the role seem wooden, and he reveals how an "old fart" can regain his nobility by facing the truth.

Still not available on DVD? This film (and it's sequel) are unique for Satyajit Ray, who (except for some tongue-in-cheek detective films)spent his cinematic career portraying the conflicts and contradictions of modern Indian society in films that are both realistic and poetic (like the films of his mentor, Jean Renoir). Many of them feature characters trying to make the transition from traditional, village-based life to modern urban life (e.g. the Apu trilogy, Mahanaghar), or trying to preserve traditions in a world that no longer has a place for them (e.g. Jalsaghar). This is one of the main themes of African literature and cinema as well.

Many of Ray's films also show women trapped by tradition (Devi, Charulata) or using their education and ingenuity to escape from it (Mahanagar). But in the fairy tale world of Goopy and Bagha, both talent and opportunity are given them by divine intervention, because their desire to make music attracts the deity's attention. And when one of them is betrothed to a princess (leaving the other empty-handed) a local king obligingly asks if they need another princess. Contrast this with the plight of Apu in the real India, looking for a job after graduating from college. A prospective employer shows him a large room full of people who spend all day, every day, sorting old buttons into trays.

As other reviewers have mentioned, Ray's fantasy is beautifully photographed, and full of realistic psychological detail (as well as sly humor) which draw us effortlessly into the story. How long will it be before this, and Ray's other films, are available on DVD?

The first scene of an old man composing a poem, as he looks out the window of his decaying villa at the timeless Indian landscape, establishes that he is a great poet. The rest of the film shows us the price that he has willingly paid for his poetry, and the tragedy of writing in a dying language. The comic efforts of the school teacher to record the old man reading his poetry highlight the tragedy, and as the teacher becomes more and more entangled in the poet's life, he comes to understand (as we do) that none of the poet's sacrifices have diminished him, and that he has no regrets. Perhaps the most poignant scene is the teacher's interview with the poet's young second wife, who (unable to create poetry) performs his poems to music and passes them off as her own. Her response to his charge of plagiarism leaves him speechless, and reveals more about the position of women in Indian society than a dozen feminist studies. Perhaps the reason why this film received poor reviews is that everyone is looking for Hollywood (or Bollywood) stereotypes, and missing a very moving story that is told in a quiet and unpretentious way.

I have seen almost all of Guney's films, and this is one of the best. Unfortunately, only two of them made it to VHS (Yol and The Wall), and none to DVD. They are important not only because of their quality as films, but also because they show us life in a country that few Westerners know anything about. Turkey is really two countries: one urbanized and industrialized, the other backward and agricultural. And both parts of the country have more than their share of conflicts, which Guney portrays with unrelenting realism. In "Baba" the father goes to jail for the crime of his landlord's son, and in return the landlord agrees to support his children. Then for much of the film, we see his life in prison - no torture or solitary confinement, just a walled-in community whose hierarchy reflects the world outside, and where the protagonist is called "Baba" (Father) in recognition of what he did. Then he is released and we learn the results of his sacrifice.

I saw this film many years ago when the directors brought it to the Pacific Film Archive. I have yet to see another film that can compare with it. There have been quite a few African films set in precolonial times, but the world they portray is no longer simple. Africans developed great civilizations of their own in the Middle Ages, and had early contacts with both Arabs and Europeans.

The actors in the Brazilian film are Indians - some urbanized, some still living in the jungle. The story takes place before the arrival of Europeans, and is both realistic and mythic. A young man sets out from his village to test himself. There is almost no dialog - the story is told with images: the journey (by dugout canoe and on foot); the challenge; the ritual combat; the courtship; and the conflict. Many directors could learn by studying this film, and if it were available on DVD, perhaps it would inspire similar films based on North American Indians. The obvious source material would be the novels of Robert Conley, a Cherokee Indian who writes stories about The Real People both before and during European incursions. War Woman, for example, could make a great film.

After decades of phony Hollywood Vikings, you can finally see the real thing if this film ever makes it to video or DVD. It is made in Iceland, with Icelandic dialog, and captures the authentic speech and flavor of the sagas: the understatement, occasional grim humor, and slow nursing of grudges over the long winters until they flower into blood feuds. The film also shows the strong bonds of loyalty and affection that held families and clans together, and the painfully developed methods of negotiating settlements that prevented the medieval Icelanders from wiping each other out completely. Indispensible for those who love the Icelandic sagas.

The Shadow of the Raven is bigger in scope and conception than the only other Icelandic film of its kind (Outlaw: Gisli's Saga). It portrays not only a feud between two families, but the conflict in medieval Iceland between the ancient pagan religion and encroaching Christianity. Naturally, the advocates of Christianity use it for their own political purposes. The other big themes of medieval literature are there as well: conflict of loyalties, treachery by trusted friends, romantic attraction between enemies, and revenge against all odds. The film makes some concessions to modern cinematic conventions - the dialog is not always as terse and ironic as you find in the sagas. But the film is still very authentic, and the action (though it flows from the characters and situations) is not easily predictable.

I saw this film in its restored original form, with 3 projectors for the triptych scenes, and with the original Arthur Honegger score played on one of the few surviving giant theater organs. It is still an unforgettable cinematic experience. Eisenstein and other Russian filmmakers were dazzled by Gance's technique when a print of the film found its way to Moscow. Gance re-edited Napoleon as a sound film in 1934, using the original actors to dub in the voices and adding some new scenes. The lip synch is perfect, because Gance (unlike most silent film directors)made his actors speak all their lines. The DVD (which is long overdue)should include both the silent and the sound versions of the film, and use Honegger's score. He was a major 20th Century composer, contemporary with Gance, who spent most of his career in France; so his music really belongs with the film.

I saw this film over 20 years ago in a small art cinema, and would pay almost any price to have it on DVD. After 4 hours, it left me wanting to see more. The story, direction, photography and soundtrack are all outstanding, and (as other reviewers have remarked) many of the images are unforgettable. As a French theater director, Mnouchkine has an unsurpassed insight into both Moliere and the life of the theater. She also gives us a gripping (and historically accurate) portrayal of the precarious position of actors in Moliere's France, especially when they dared to satirize powerful people or institutions. The only other film remotely comparable is Carne's Children of Paradise, which (unlike Mnouchkine's Moliere) subordinates its portrayal of the theater world to the romantic plot. Mikhail Bulgakov, by the way, wrote a wonderful play about Moliere which is similar in tone to Mnouchkine's film.