Father Sergius

                       

I cannot recommend the print of Father Sergius (Otets Sergiy) that is currently streaming on Tubi. It seems to be the product of a Soviet re-release from the 1930s. The quality is murky and the film image seems pared down. The film is certainly truncated in length, eighty minutes of a film that was originally nearly two hours, but options are limited. Mubi ran a print of similarly shortened length a few years back. There are purportedly full length versions circulating on disc, but they are of dodgy provenance.

However, the film is of both artistic and historical value and I could not pry my eyes away. The film was begun during Kerensky regime, but not released until after the Bolsheviks had consolidated their seizure of power in 1918. Tsarist law forbade the depiction of priests onscreen, so this was the first adaptation of a Tolstoi short story that had been published posthumously. There have been subsequent versions, including an adaptation by the Taviani brothers in 1990 which transposed the action to Italy. Father Sergius, the film, adheres fairly closely to the arc of the original story. We watch the title character age from a hot-tempered aristocratic soldier to an aged holy man who embraces abject humility in Siberia. The story is typical of late Tolstoi, a predictable morality play tracing one man's spiritual regeneration; a story akin to that of the Buddha. Prince Kasatsky, the future Father Sergius, is on the eve of his wedding to a well-connected Countess whom he has pined for when he finds out that she has served as the mistress of Tsar Nicholas 1. Before you can say Platon Karataev, the prince has renounced worldly desires and status and donned the robes of a priest. Through the years his devout demeanor attracts followers, as a slew of female temptresses try to snatch him from the straight and narrow. Eventually, he succumbs to the charms of one of them and abandons his church. In order to fully embrace humility, he becomes a wandering beggar which leads to exile in Siberia. Thus endeth the lesson.

Yakov Protazanov was the primary director of the project, but after he fell ill Alexandre Volkoff, who adapted the Tolstoi story for the screenplay, filled in. Whoever was responsible, the direction is sturdy, if not astonishing. Foreground and background are contrasted for some nice contrapuntal effects. Images of Sergius' betrothed are superimposed over his meagre room to show that he has not fully escaped worldly desires. There are a few rickety 45 degree pans, but they seem designed to do little except show off the sets. Whoever did the makeup seems overly fond of kohl.

The primary reason to see the film is the title role performance by Ivan Mosjoukine, the premier film actor of pre-Soviet Russia. He gives a bravura performance in which he ages from sixteen to sixty. Mosjoukine reminds me, in terms of looks and talent, of John Barrymore without the hamminess. Both Mosjoukine and Volkoff headed for exile in the West in 1920. They even collaborated on a few films in France. Mosjoukine had a brief stay in Hollywood, where he was trumpeted as the next Valentino, but the rise of the talkies cut his stay short. He will remain immortal because he was the actor Lev Kuleshov utilized to illustrate his celebrated effect.

1917: The Making of a Revolution

Maxim Gorky

I was taken aback by how much I enjoyed Stan Neumann's documentary 1917: The Making of a Revolution which is currently streaming on Tubi. I am mad keen on the Russian Revolution and will watch even the blandest collection of archival footage and talking heads. However, this doc has no newsreel footage or talking heads. It switches from expertly chosen still photographs to animation and footage of historic sites as they look in present day St. Petersburg. Neumann was born in the Czech Republic and lives in France. The 53 minutes length of this documentary makes me think that it was probably made for French television, but I could not pin this down for a fact.

The French title for the documentary gives a better idea of the scope of this film: Lénine -- Gorki, la révolution à contretemps. The film uses the polemical blasts and op-ed pieces by Lenin and Gorky to portray the dialectical push and pull of revolutionary ferment in 1917. This is not the best approach for an overview of the revolution, Trotsky is barely mentioned, but it serves well the constrictions of a film this length. What is here has great impact. The animated sections are lively, I particularly liked the breakdown of political parties in the style of Malevich's Suprematist Compositions. I also adored the use of Alexander Blok's poem The Twelve. The narrator recites passages as we glimpse Jury Annenkov's illustrations for the original edition which gives as much a flavor of 1917 in Petrograd as any period photo.

The clincher for me was the use of the great Denis Lavant to portray Gorky in his Italian exile. Lavant's passionate yet mellifluous readings of Gorky's Revolutionary era essays are beautiful. History comes alive. 

Blue Moon

Ethan Hawke

Blue Moon is a another winner from Richard Linklater and another testament to his handling of ensemble work from his players. That said, Robert Kaplow's script is centered entirely on Broadway lyricist Lorenz Hart, played by Ethan Hawke, on the most humiliating evening of his life. Kaplow, who wrote the script for Me and Orson Welles, foreshadows Hart's demise in a brief prologue. We then travel back months in time to the night in 1943 when Rodgers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma! is making its New York debut to a rapturous reception. Hart, who had teamed with Rodgers for two decades before becoming increasingly drunken and unreliable, can't stomach sitting through the show. So, he repairs to a lovingly recreated Sardi's where the remainder of the film occurs. Rodgers and Hammerstein eventually arrive to toast their triumph, further nudging Hart towards despair and a relapse.

The downbeat and insular nature of the project is magnified by the closed in nature of the action. Instead of opening up what is essentially filmed theater, Linklater closes the action down as much as he can to reinforce our sense of Hart's claustrophobic debasement. Debasement is the key theme of the film. Even when Hart's muse (Margaret Qualley) confides to him about her deflowering, the story ends not with catharsis, but humiliation. Despite the downbeat nature of this picture, I actively enjoyed it. This is primarily due to Mr. Hawke's outstanding performance. Hawke not only captures the pathos of his character, but also his wit and warmth and that makes all the difference into keeping this flick from falling into morbidity. Hawke has always been a ridiculously talented actor, but this is most soulful effort.

Linklater and his editor, Sandra Adair, masterfully weave the staff of Sardi's around Hawke.  They act as a contrapuntal chorus to the tragic hero in a picture attuned both to Broadway melodies and the music of dialogue. I particularly relished Bobby Cannavale's ripostes and double takes as the bartender. I also enjoyed the contributions of Jonah Lees, Patrick Kennedy, Aisling O'Mara, and Caitríona Ennis. Decades of accumulating evidence has led to this conclusion, but Blue Moon further cements Linklater's reputation as an American master.