Grigory Chukhrai’s Ballad of a Soldier

Ballad of a Soldier, released in 1959, is one of the key cinematic works of the Khrushchev Thaw. After the death of Stalin and the ascension of Khrushchev, the Soviet Union went through a period of cultural revitalization. Film production increased dramatically, and restrictions on the content of productions were slackened. Films no longer had to unanimously praise the Soviet Union and its leaders.

It is within this milieu that Ballad of a Soldier was made. The film tells the story of Alyosha, a soldier during the Great Patriotic War who manages to single-handedly defeat two enemy tanks. As a reward, he is granted six days leave to return home to visit his mother. Along the way he meets a large number of different characters, including Shura, a young girl whom he falls in love with.

The film presents a different view of Soviet military life than other pre-Thaw films. Alyosha is depicted as very much an individual, not merely a Soviet soldier. In another departure from pre-Thaw films, the internal sufferings of the other soldiers Alyosha encounters are shown.

Ballad of a Soldier is a good movie. After leaving Shura, Chukhrai shows a series of superimpositions of Alyosha’s thoughts over the passing trees. His memories, as well as his dreams, are shown as fleeting images. This is the strongest part of the film, as it opens Alyosha up the most for the viewer. Despite this, I could not shake the feeling that Ballad of a Soldier is today largely remembered for the context of its creation as opposed to its content. While it is a decidedly good movie, it was not as good as other movies it gets compared to, such as Tarkovksy’s Ivan’s Childhood (1962) (see my post here). The film is tender and honest, yet does not offer enough for me to consider it one of the great works of Soviet film, as it is sometimes called today.

Sidney Lumet’s Fail-Safe

Sidney Lumet’s Fail-Safe (1964) is a movie that largely gets overlooked despite its quality and critical acclaim. This is because it was released the same year and adapted from the same source material as Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964), Peter George’s novel Red Alert

I’m going to be blunt. Dr. Strangelove is a better movie. But that is hardly surprising. I think that Dr. Strangelove is one of the greatest movies of all time. Fail-Safe serves as an interesting comparison piece, however. No, scratch that, Fail-Safe stands on its own as a great movie. Most will only see it though to compare it to Kubrick’s film. The differences between the two works are interesting – most obviously, Fail-Safe is not a comedy. However, there is a far subtler distinction that renders Fail-Safe more interesting in some ways. In Kubrick’s film, the situation arose from human incompetence – a general goes insane and brings us past the point of no return. In Fail-Safe, however, the problem arises completely from a mechanical error. A technician in the film points out that mechanical problems, however improbable, are still possible. The problem, and most interesting point, comes from the fact that the bombers are instructed to continue their mission after a certain point, no matter what. This includes vocal instructions to abort. During the film, the President of the United States (brilliantly played by Henry Fonda) contacts the pilots and gives them a direct order to abort their mission and leave Soviet airspace. However, being good soldiers, they refuse to not follow through on their orders. In the film, our society has reached a point where humanity is totally eliminated from the picture, technology has total reign. This power we have given to technology ultimately leads to the nuking of Moscow which then leads to the nuking of New York City.

Despite the reputation of its director, Fail-Safe is largely ignored today. While definitely not better than Kubrick’s Dr. StrangeloveFail-Safe is able to stand on its own, while simultaneously being a great companion piece to Kubrick’s film.

Andrei Tarkovksky’s Ivan’s Childhood

Andrei Tarkovsky released his debut film, Ivan’s Childhood, in 1962 after graduating from the Soviet film school VGIK.

The film tells the story of Ivan, a 12-year old boy embroiled in the Soviet’s war against the Nazis during WWII. Ivan is first seen frolicking in a lush woods before beginning to fly. Ivan then meets with his mother who presents him with a bucket of water. As he begins to talk with his mother, an abrasive screech disturbs the scene, and Ivan bolts awake in a dark barn.

Tarkovksy continues to use this format through the rest of the film. When he is amongst others, Ivan is tight-lipped and secretive. Instead of conveying Ivan’s past through dialogue, Tarkovsky prefers to rely on dream sequences, which allow for a more expressive retelling of Ivan’s life. In his text Sculpting in Time, Tarkovksy outlines his belief that there are several truths in the world that do not lend themselves easily to dialogue. We are also able to see the two sides of Ivan: on the outside, he is determined and collected. Through his dream sequences, however, Ivan is revealed as a troubled boy whose life has been ripped apart by the horrors of war. It is shown that both of Ivan’s parents, as well as his sister, were killed by the Nazis, leaving Ivan with an overwhelming need for revenge.

From the beginning, it is clear that this is not a film concerned with how the world actually is, but how Ivan sees the world. As such, Tarkovksy places Ivan in very expressive environments, showcasing Ivan’s impression of the world around him. One famous image from the film shows Ivan surrounded by broken, jagged wood jutting out towards him. As Ivan steps towards the splinters, the wood surrounds him, and takes on a menacing feeling. The impression is created that the world itself is reaching out to threaten Ivan.

WIth his debut film, Tarkovsky set himself an impressive backing for his future career. Today Ivan’s Childhood is remembered as one of the best films of the post-Kruschev thaw Soviet Union.

Richard Linklater’s Waking Life

Released in 2001, Richard Linklater‘s Waking Life defies easy categorization. It is not quite a narrative film, not quite a documentary. The film shows (through its unique and enjoyable rotoscoping animation) an unnamed 20-something male listening to a wide range of different thinkers as they muse on different philosophical topics, including reality, free will, and countless other ideas. Sometimes it appears as though the main character is intentionally meeting with these people to hold a discussion, sometimes it appears as though they just started talking to him in public.

The film also shows different groups of people holding conversations in the same fashion; these differ in the fact that the previously omnipresent character is absent. Whereas he was the consistent thread holding the movie together, his conspicuous absence negates any real plot. WIthout considering those sections missing the character, the film could be seen as the man’s journey to experience as many eye-opening philosophical viewpoints as possible. With this main character missing, it is no longer his journey, but the viewers.

Through the use of rotoscoping, Linklater allows the form to mirror the content of his work. The visuals, which are extremely nebulous and fluid, do not allow the viewer to attain a concrete grasp of the film’s reality. This is fitting, as many of the film’s discussions center around the difficult in determining what is or is not real.

Waking Life has received high acclaim from critics, but is very decidedly not for everyone. If you need a plot and a hook, this is not the movie for you. If, however, you are interested in sitting down for a work that will stick with you afterwards, perhaps even change the way you view the world, Waking Life may be the movie for you.

Here is a clip showcasing the film’s idiosyncratic visual style and subject matter:

Waking Life clip

Stuart Cooper’s Overlord

Stuart Cooper’s Overlord (1975) is defined by fluctuations. The story concerns Thomas, a young boy who signs up with a British army regiment and takes part in the storm on Normandy Beach on D-Day. The film fluctuates between time periods, flitting between Thomas’ past, present, and future, to create an artistic impression of the life of a soldier.

The film is also notable for the fluctuations between visuals. Shot by cinematographer John Alcott (who made his name doing cinematography for Stanley Kubrick, starting with A Clockwork Orange (1971), Barry Lyndon (1975), and The Shining (1980), also taking over as lighting camerman during the filming of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)), the film skips effortlessly between images of Thomas and those around him as they prepare for war and  actual documentary footage from the Second World War. This contrast adds a sense of realism to the film, and illustrates the hugeness of the situation surrounding our protagonist.

A major concern of the film is man’s size in the huge machine of the military. During one notable scene, Thomas writes a letter to his parents where he feels like he is shrinking in size until he will ultimately disappear; as the letter is dictated in his head, the camera pulls back until he is a tiny figure in the shot, before ultimately fading to more documentary footage where Thomas is no longer seen, nor are any people particularly recognizable.

Overlord is a tremendous film that is helped along by superb visuals and a phenomenal acting job by its lead, Brian Stimer, playing Thomas. Despite winning the Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival upon its release, the film has faded into relative obscurity since then. Perhaps this is because it is not as immediate and arresting as many of the other war films from the time (of which there are plenty). It has also been suggested that perhaps its message isn’t as blatant and pigeonholable as other movies from the time period and as such was forgotten. Whatever the reason, Overlord is a truly fabulous example of war cinema and deserves significantly more recognition than it receives.

An Impassioned Plea for James Cameron

James Cameron holding a bunch of awards, as he usually is.James Cameron recently went to the bottom of the Marianas Trench, the deepest part of the ocean. He was the first person to make this trip solo and spent his three-hour time at the bottom doing scientific research.

I know I will be alienating myself from my fellow film snobs with this, but I love James Cameron. Titanic (1997) is one of my favorite movies. A bit of a guilty pleasure, admittedly, but I still believe it is a good movie. But I would like to defend here James Cameron as a director.

Without adjusting for inflation, the two highest-grossing movies of all-time are Titanic and Avatar (2009). These two facts are enough to immediately cause people to write him off and mock him. It’s easy to look like you know what you are talking about, simply mock popular things. I feel that Cameron has ended up on the bottom of this fact.

James Cameron knows what he is doing. He knows how to make a good science-fiction movie. No, he knows how to make a great science-fiction movie. Let us begin with one of his early hits, Aliens (1986). With this film, Cameron accomplished the almost impossible feat of directing a good sequel to a film where he did not direct the original. This is not unheard of – it was done with the Star Wars trilogy. However, apart from those films it is almost unheard of. That film alone ought to prove that Cameron knows how to make a science-fiction film.

But apart from that, Cameron also directed not only The Terminator (1984), but Terminator II: Judgement Day (1991). It is debatable whether or not those are great works of cinema; however, it is undeniable that those are great spectacles. If you do not like Aliens or either Terminator movie, I won’t be able to convince you of Cameron’s talents. If you can see the merit in those films, you can at least say that you respect James Cameron as a director.I know I’m ranting, but I feel that Titanic is often written off because of its success, and it deserves a closer watching.

Jack and Rose