A country reunion of old acquaintances evolves in all things falling apart. The central characters are all shaky, despairing people. This movie has the strength of an epic. It is the only Chekhovian epic that I'm aware of. And, incidentally, here cinema also reaches its highest peak. It reminded me of XIU—XIU.
The masterpiece authored by Mihalkov (an author loathed by the philistines, read more about him) begins with topography, smallness, lingering and affective death, Tereshciuk in Sizran and mordant, deathly satire, tearing, unbearable sadness and a handful of banal, unmistakable characters damaged by their lives; like every masterpiece, it discusses and takes up the ultimate things. Chekhovian themes are made to function like Chekhovian theater, which is the opposite of the Chekhovian short—stories craftsmanship.
Movies like this one, uncompromising, shockingly sad, are meant to hurt and scare. How scary is life, say these movies.
It begins with an overlong, violently sad and _uncompassionate scene. By scene, I mean one in a dramatic cut; otherwise, the whole script is a thing in one piece.
Mikhail Vasilievici Platonov and Sophie; her husband, Serghei, is Platonov's reversed double, he makes mock tirades out of Platonov's values, out of the values that are Platonov's: love, friendship and sincerity. And Gherasim Kuzmici: what a character! This Gherasim is not at all like Platonov; he's not the same kind of failure, I mean, but what an interesting character. Platonov is respected, the guests call him 'Michel', he's envied; Gherasim is a decent man who provides for the guests. A narcissistic personality, the director Mihalkov isn't a self—serving actor. As Triletzky, the lazy physician, Mihalkov does a very fine role, of a country blasé.
The roles are organized as reversed doubles: I have mentioned Platonov and Serghei, I will add Gherasim (the host) and his guest Shcherbuk, the dandy Triletzky and Porfiri Semionovici, the autumnal courter, with his ideal of an easy—going, low—profile, serenading and _hedonic life, his sentimentalism reversing the physician's cynicism. So, face and reverse. Each male 'positive character' has his negative reflection. The face is given with its obvious reverse. One of the characters says that Platonov's story itself mirrors Gleb Uspensky or Leskov's literature.
In his viscous, disgusting way, the husband Serghei apes his rival M V Platonov.
In the climactic scene, Platonov asks Sophia why did she chose Serghei, of all; the answer is implied in this aping relation.
The feminine characters are arranged a bit differently, as a triangle—the insipid, boring wife of Platonov; Sophia; and Gherasim's wife (Serghei's mother) who lusts for Platonov and is the amorous rival of her daughter—in—law.
And there is one thing I would like to take up: when, in the morning light, Platonov says his famous (well, at least for Mihalkov's aficionados) monologue about 'how little it takes somebody to be happy', that is understood as sarcasm, as a statement of piercing despair—not as Chekhov's wisdom and _hedonic ideal. Because Platonov utters his cowardice and his readiness to getaway, to runaway. The viewers aren't meant to take what he says at that moment as the true happiness—happiness in betraying and running away. The intention is to show that what Platonov pretends is happiness, isn't happiness at all.
Then, he evades in his nonsense about Lermontov and Napoleon. This is a movie with wavering, elusive, steaming characters.
Well, to some, Mihalkov's direction might seem a bit illustrative, a bit didactic; it is only an appearance, as most of those illustrative devices serve as ironic counterpoint.
M V Platonov is played by Alexandr Kalygin, Elena Solovei is Sophia, Evghenia Glushenko is Alexandra, Oleg Tabakov is Shcherbuk, Porfiri is Nikolai Pastuhov. These are giants. And they are, as a team, one of the most tremendous casts ever.
The best thing Mihalkov's movie can do for you is to heal you from watching crap.
Objectionable is the use of a quite obtrusive score to underline what Mihalkov felt were the most dramatic moments. The directing is assured, confident, yet the cutting lacks a bit of smoothness. The dreamy moments are very enjoyable.
Mihalkov; Kurosawa, Bergman, Antonioni and Truffaut were, perhaps, as good as him. Certainly Heifitz. Mihalkov works as in a Chekhovian play; Heifitz, on the contrary, as in the Chekhovian short—stories, which some might find more appealing. The cinema exists for people like them.
Take another litmus test: you can recognize an imbecile by his resolute denial of Mihalkov's genius (the same goes for the geniuses of Bergman, Tarkovsky and Antonioni; the mediocrities, provincials like Teachout, will deny even them
).
I am a Russian/ Soviet cinema aficionado.
10 out of 13 found this helpful.
Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink
