The Bronze Horseman

Many cities have developed (either deliberately or by happenstance) an internationally recognized ‘logo’ – the Eiffel Tower, the Brandenburg Gate, a routemaster on Westminster Bridge (preferably to the accompaniment of Big Ben’s chimes, though increasingly, it’s an image of the Eye), etc. Moscow’s is clearly Red Square – or more precisely St Basil’s, but what of St Petersburg? The raised bridges appear frequently, or the Winter Palace complex. Palace Square and the Alexander Monument?

At home there’s only one contender – the Bronze Horseman in Decembrists’ Square. Unveiled in 1782, it had been commissioned by Catherine the Great with a dedication to her predecessor Peter. But the ambiguity of the phrase "From Catherine II to Peter the Great" meant that it wasn't simply a metaphorical gift, but a statement of linearity which, given Catherine's somewhat tenuous claim to the throne was an astonishing piece of chutzpah.

Be that as it may, it was soon taken to the city's heart and in 1833 Pushkin was inspired to write his ghoulish story about the statue's retribution on a man who cursed Peter's decision to build the city on a swamp. As an aside it's interesting that three years earlier he'd written The Stone Guest, a take on Don Giovanni that also climaxes with a statue coming to life. Though The Bronze Horseman (read it here) seems quite ambivalent about the city it was hailed as a masterpiece and became very popular (possibly for its embedded anti-Polish sentiments) so that its title (actually, literally The Copper Horseman [Медный всадник] was then retrofitted to the statue.

It's worth pointing to a couple of paintings: Vasily Surikov's benign view [left] and, more famous, Benois' illustrations for a 1904 edition of Pushkin's poem. Pushkin and/or Benois also inspired composers Glière and Myaskovsky but I'll leave them for another post.

Because of the myth that the city would stand as long as the statue, during the Siege of Leningrad it was – perhaps superstitiously - completely covered with sandbags. In much the same way, Britain only survives because the ravens at the Tower of London have their wings clipped.

I'll finish by mentioning a film appearance: Chiaureli’s jaw-dropping 1950 Stalin hagiography The Unforgettable Year 1919 (Незабываемый 1919 год). To the marvelously inappropriate accompaniment of Shostakovich’s Attack on the Red Hill – a miniature Rachmaninovian piano concertino (previously mistranslated as Assault on the Beautiful City of Gorky), Stalin, like a night-watchman, patrols the city, pausing only to strike a pose in front of the statue: as Peter had founded the city, so Stalin would defend it.

Actually Chiaureli wisely allows Stalin a couple of seconds of noble profile on his own before cutting to the money shot. After that, we catch up with some soldiers and, as their patrol is brought to a halt Shostakovich’s music is unceremoniously faded down.

Chiaureli’s need for, and appreciation of, music certainly seemed to come and go: perhaps he had difficulty in deciding what he wanted – or in explaining it to the benighted composer. Certainly 1919 and his previous collaboration with Shostakovich – the notorious The Fall of Berlin (1950) – feature some of the most ham-fisted music-editing ever to besmirch a film. I wonder if the shocking edits and fades up and down were a slap in the face or helped the composer cope with being forced to do such work.

Russian Diary (1)

I gave a series of lectures on Russian music on a cruise from St Petersburg to Moscow. Actually I did the first leg as well (Moscow to St P), but blogging both ways would have been a bit boring. Initially, I thought that technology (wi-fi on the Volga isn’t great) would force me to forego illustrations (there are a few pix – musical, cinematic or general - that are worth posting), but that I’d rectify it when I got home. Actually, the connection’s so slow that I’m writing the whole thing as a Word document and so am posting it all retrospectively (and possibly in a slightly random order)

So: St Petersburg, starting with initial impressions.

The first thing that surprised me since I was here last, was the explosion in traffic. Not only are Peter’s weekday streets jam-packed, but in the suburbs every third business seems to be  0А0 втосервис (which implies that not all the Ladas have been replaced with BMW

s and Mercs). Parking is virtually non-existent and, of course, for a city built on a swamp, underground parking presents certain problems.

Another third of businesses are строительные материалы – building materials. Clearly lots of people are updating their dachas: saunas and bath-houses are on the up, while the trip out to Peterhof is spattered with new-build would-be Romanov micro-palaces.

The women, too, seem changed. 

Many young women wear belt-sized skirts and crucifyingly high heels: we even saw traffic wardens in heels, which made me wonder how they’d cope if someone did a runner – till we saw a couple of beheeled women tottering along very efficiently.

Also, some of them endlessly get their friends or boyfriends to photograph them, in extremis, in pseudo-model poses: chest out, shoulders back head thrown back, tossing their long hair

 and smiling dazzlingly in homage to fashion magazines. (Thanks to Melissa for the pic!)

Clearly, despite the popularity of Putin’s Slavophilia, the Westernisers have been making hay. Hoardings advertising Биг Макс and Heinz кетчуп are old hat, but you're increasingly likely to see shops that cause a double take,  like Рив Гош. Even weirder, more and more signs are bilingual – even hopping between Russian and English in mid-sentence. 

Moscow Film Festival

A very quick post after an absence in Russia - of which more in due course - pointing to the Moscow Film Festival. Though it's international, obviously here I'm looking mostly at the Russian/Soviet stuff. There are a couple of potentially interesting strands.

The opening film is Pavel Lungin's The Tsar (Царь) starring, as Metropolitan Philip, Oleg Yankovsky, who died about a month ago.

Last year's Socialist avant-gardism continues with part 2, including a couple of things I'll be sad to miss, notably Kozintsev's quite rare wartime propaganda shorts. Medvedkin's Miracle Woman (Чудесница, 1936) I remember as a typically enjoyable bit of knockabout. Sadly the MIFF blurbs generally give little indication of what is avant-garde about the films but I'd be interested to see an early foray into that territory by Ivan Pyriev, director of the notorious Cossacks of the Kuban (1949), a musical comedy that celebrated the way that Soviet farmers regularly exceeded their wheat quotas, or Sergei Yutkevich who, after his early wildness, interleaved most workaday productions with under-the-radar criticisms. They've chosen his last film, Lenin in Paris (Ленин в Париже, 1981), which, from the still seems a bit more promising though the published script that I have gives no indications of it being anything other than you would expect.
Last year there was a rather odd collection of films marking the centenary of the first film showing in Russia (Stenka Razin an obvious choice but, for all its popularity, Vainshtok's 1938 Treasure Island?!) This year three films mark the seventieth anniversary of the start of the war - interesting that they take it as 1939, rather then 1941, when the USSR was invaded. Given how massive a subject it is for Soviet cinema it would have been a good opportunity to do an archival retrospective (there was something similar in Berlin a few years ago) but they chose a very partial view with three contemporary looks back.

The Georgian strand reminds us just how strong that country's cinema is. There's a neat circularity in From The Vow to Repentance - the first, directed by Mikhail Chiaureli, is an early highpoint in Soviet cinema's hagiography of Stalin, while Abuladze's Repentance (1984) shatteringly dismantles the myth. Sadly, The Vow is the earliest film being shown, so we don't get to see any Georgian silents (the country was a late starter but strong). 

The Chiaurelis (Mikhail, wife Veriko Andzhaparidze and daughter Sofiko) were important in cinema in the Causasus, but even more so were the Shengelayas. Nikoloz (1903-43) was a pioneer (Elisso, 1928 is extraordinarily beautiful), and his two sons Eldar  (b.1933) and Georgi (b.1937) respectively directed the hilarious comedy Blue Mountains, or an Unbelievable Story (1983) and the blissful portrait of the naive painter Pirosmani (1969). When

Sofiko C and Georgi S married, the two dynasties were linked and had a massive impact on Soviet cinema, with a welter of relations, including their director-son, another Nikoloz. Andzhaparidze was also aunt to Georgi Daneliya, linking to another whole strand. I tried working out a family tree but ran out of paper. Apart from returning to the Stalin myth, Repentance neatly brings things full circle as Andzhaparidze (whose family, despite the Chiaureli connection, were not immune from the Terror) appears in it. In fact, it's a bit of a family affair as various clan members were involved.

Elsewhere, there's documentary about Prokofiev (which I'll be reviewing at greater length later in the year) as well as tributes to Pavel Lungin, Armenian documentarian Harutyun Khachatryan, some of Karen Shakhnazarov's favourite films (good to see Some Like it Hot in there) and a massive animation programme

Beyond Russia and the former USSR, as Britain finally gets the release of Wajda's Katyn Moscow is showing his new film Sweet Rush (Tatarak), dedicated to the cinematographer Edward Kłosiński and narrated in parts by his widow Krystyna Janda.

Finally, it's worth noting that the Skolimowski tribute includes both Le Départ and Deep End. Skolimowski's first western film has been available on DVD in the past (though he thinks another, more widely available one may be in the offing) but hopefully this is a sign that Deep End's long unavailability in some infuriating rights nightmare has been resolved.

New Europe Film Festival

A quick note about the New Europe Film Festival which runs at the Barbican from May 4th to 6th: six films from new EU member states, concentrating on 20-30 year-olds whose lives crossed from socialism into capitalism.

The Polish contribution is Andrzej Jakimowski's second feature Tricks (Sztuczki), a gently touching story of how two children maintain hope in the face of family breakdown.

In Vladimir Michálek's Of Parents and Children (O rodicích a detech) a father and son take their monthly walk around the back streets of Prague, revisiting and coming to terms with past wounds.

Overnight from Hungarian director Ferenc Török follows 24 hours in the hectic life of Peter a broker who is soon to be a father but faces a collapsing love life.

Estonia and Finland collaborated to produce René Vilbre's I Was Here (Mina Olin Siin), a violent, fast-paced story about Rass, who tries to balance his aspirations to be a doctor with his part-time petty crime and drug pushing.

Music (Musika) is another co-production - this time Germany and Slovakia. Living in a cramped flat, part-time jazz saxophonist Martin has to practice at the water plant where he works. But his life changes when he meets Hruskovic, a more dynamic musician, and the nymphomaniac Anca, and they decide to form a band.

Though we do get to hear the 'title song', Cristian Nemescu's Cannes and LFF award-winning California Dreamin' is called, in Romanian, Nesfarsit, literally endless. Since Nemescu died before making the last tweaks to the edit, in tribute, it was released just as he had left it, and in that sense is endless. But more bleakly it reflects on NATO and the west's interventions in the Balkans, the ongoing collaborations and misunderstandings between the two and the sometimes less than enlightened views of the locals.

Altogether the fest gives a capsule view of the struggles of a generation coming to terms with a completely new world.

From Nova Scotia...

Nothing to do with film or music, but perhaps a little bit avant-garde - a heads up for From Nova Scotia to London, a new blog, belonging to an artist who works in photography and print-making.     

Charity concert

A friend has asked me to alert you to a charity concert. Coincidentally I've seen Marina play a couple of times and can vouch that this will be not only a contribution to a worthy cause, but an enjoyable evening. It will also be a rare chance to hear some music by Boris Pasternak, who, before embarking on the literary career that would bring him the Nobel Prize (had he been allowed to collect it) was a composition student at the Moscow Conservatory

The Jimmy Knapp Cancer Fund presents a fundraising piano recital of works by Chopin, Pasternak and Schumann by Marina Primachenko.

The Regent Hall, 275 Oxford Street, London, W1C 2DJ
7:30pm

Tickets are £15 each, to book please send a cheque made payable to "Jimmy Knapp Cancer Fund" and forward to: Laurie Bell, Unity Trust Bank Plc, Congress House, 23-28 Great Russell Street, London, WC1B 3UB. Please state how many tickets you require.

33 Scenes from Life (33 Sceny z Życia)

Małgorzata Szumowska’s latest film, 33 Scenes from Life (IMDb entry here), made an impressive, if claustrophobic opener for the seventh Kinoteka Film Festival.

It begins with a family meal including Jerzy, a journalist, his author-wife Barbara, their artist-daughter Julia and Piotr, her composer-husband. They gently rib each other though there’s a serious undertow and we might think we know where the story’s going. But we’re blindsided when Barbara gets cancer and dies. Shortly afterwards, Jerzy has a fatal heart attack and Julia, having lost both parents, is forced to reappraise her life and work with her husband, her sister, and artistic collaborator Adrian.

33 Scenes is impressively photographed, using a muted palette and, mostly in medium shots. Going for a documentary style meant no blocking – the actors improvise and the camera follows them: hence no close-ups, though the initial idea to shot each scene, Woyzeck-like, in a single take was soon abandoned. One great shot sums up the gradual clarification of the emotional maze. Half-obscured by the doorframe, Julia sits on the bathroom floor talking to Adrian on the phone, but when Piotr enters the scene we gradually work out that what we're actually seeing is partially reflected in a mirror, with the doorways and reflections slightly confused. It adds to the oppressive atmosphere, which is lightened (if that’s the word), by touches of the darkest imaginable comedy.

But most formally surprising are several long musical interludes by Paweł Mykietyn. Acting the part of Piotr’s new orchestra piece, they make one of most impressive and uncompromising film scores I’ve heard for a long time. Though it begins with a semi-impressionistic falling theme dominated by the harp – perhaps inspired by Julia (Peter reveals it in the bedroom during a tenderly comic bedroom scene) – we soon get a Schonbergian variation, and the music continues to intensify: dark, grinding, dissonant, roaring and occasionally rearing up terrifyingly, like something from the 1960s Polish avant-garde. Against such music, shots of the orchestral rehearsals seemed banal and so, pending another idea, they were removed and replaced by black leader. When one of the German producers saw it, he thought they should remain. And so they do, like operatic interludes, bleeding slightly into the surrounding scenes, or even the diegetic, as when the obsessive xylophone is taken over by a bleak oscilloscope. The combination of music and blank screen allow us to contemplate what we’ve just seen and prepares us for the continuation.

As for the title: yes the script originally had 33 scenes but during editing that changed and Szumowska now doesn’t know how many there are. It began as an autobiographical sketch – her father was journalist/film-maker Maciej Szumowska about whom she made the documentary Mój tata Maciej (2005) and her mother the children’s writer Dorota Terakowska. This all proved controversial in Poland, though Szumowska insists that there isn’t a strict 1-to-1 relationship between reality and the film. Perhaps the original idea of doing the film in English would have helped the separation (or perhaps made it more controversial as her parents were quite well known) but in the event she decided that it was a very Polish film that would only work in that language.

Casting Julia was problematic: Polish actresses recognized the autobiographical elements and assumed that they would be playing some form of the director – exactly what she didn’t want! Eventually she saw what she wanted in the German actress Julia Jentsch in Sophie Scholl. Not speaking Polish, she learned the role phonetically and was dubbed, as was the Dane Peter Gantzler as Adrian. But, demanding more direction, Jentsch clashed with Szumowska several times on set, even threatening to leave the film. Fortunately she stuck it out, though they parted on very bad terms. Happily, when she saw the final edit Jentsch was delighted with the result and the two are reconciled.

I won't bother embedding the trailer that's on Youtube as it completely misrepresents the film, so here's part one of Paweł Mykietyn's Cello Sonata instead - you can click through to part two afterwards. Not as dense as 33 Scenes' score and there's not much to see, but enough to make me want to hear more.



Finally, with many East European films, it’s violently pro-smoking: as Szumowska says; “if I want to commit suicide by smoking, that’s my business.”