Pikovaya dama

The supremely stylish yet chilling 1949 British adaptation of Aleksandr Pushkin's supernatural tale is not only the best-regarded version of this particular source, but among the finest genre outings to emerge from that country; with this in mind, I do not expect it to be surpassed by any other rendition I may care to check out! The film under review (snippets from which, found on the RusCiCo/Image DVD of another popular Russian horror story i.e. THE VIY {1967}, had first intrigued me some years back!), in fact, is one of two I intend including in the current Halloween challenge – the other, even less well-known, emanating from France in 1965. This Russian production, then, dates from the early days of cinema, so that the camera remains static throughout and the cast tends to gesticulate (apart from being heavily made-up, especially around the eyes, in order for their facial expression to better register on-screen!). Still, the end result is not ineffective for all that – after all, leading man Ivan Mozzhukhin (whom I was familiar with so far via THE LATE MATHIAS PASCAL {1926}) was a genuine star, comparable in his handsome looks and thespian skills to John Barrymore – where a sudden transition, within the same shot, between the past and the present proves its single most creative touch. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the devilish pact sealing the card-playing trick is absent here, relegating the fantasy elements to the Countess' ghostly visitation at the very end!; for the record, director Protazanov would later helm the seminal Sci-Fi epic AELITA, QUEEN OF MARS (1924) – which I do own a copy of but have yet to watch…

Described by Dostoevsky as 'the pinnacle of the art of the fantastic' Pushkin's short story of 1834 has never ceased to cast its spell and here we have the version directed by and starring the formidable duo of Yakov Protazanov and Ivan Mozzhukhin.

Although Yvgeny Slavinski's camera is static we are treated to dissolves, split screen and flashbacks whilst the sets are stupendous, courtesy of no less than three art directors graciously supplied by the king of designers Alexander Benois.

Pushkin describes his leading character Hermann as 'having the profile of Napoleon and the soul of Mephistopheles'. As luck would have it Mozzhukhin resembles the former and being a simply superlative actor, depicts the latter admirably. His is a performance of immense psychological depth. Also very taking is Vera Orlova as Lizaveta who is used shamelessly by Hermann to gain admittance to the home of the aged Countess so that he might learn the secret of the cards.

The eternal question is whether the image of the dead Countess we see in the closing scenes of the film is a ghost wreaking revenge or a figment of imagination in the mind of a man who has sown the seed of his own destruction. That of course is down to the individual viewer.

Despite an initially slow pace which tests one patience the film gradually gains momentum and becomes utterly gripping. It not only gives us in the person of Hermann a morality tale of the curse of obsessive greed but also depicts a hedonistic and privileged way of life that would soon be swept away by the tidal wave of revolution.

Here's an interesting film from the days before tireless proles dominated the Russian screens; army officers in impeccable attire gamble and drink and tell stories, pampered aristocrats stroll and saunter about in upscale establishments in Paris, and the only hint of poverty is that the poor young maid is dissatisfied by having to serve the old countess.

It is important to appreciate the significance of this apart from the screen, I feel. These characters and their decadent, opulent world are months away from actually being swept away from life, as are the filmmakers and actors seen here. Both the people who inspired the characters and actors portraying them, a lot of them at least, would be forced to go on the trail and into exile in France or Germany, and for a lot of the same reasons.

And this is what our film is partially about. A complacent upper class who gambles away its fortunes because there is nothing else to pass the time with, whose biggest worry is how to keep the husband count from getting to find out, or how to steal the secret way of quickly making easy money. Of course, how a countess can be in the position to have so much money to idly lose on the turn of a card is strategically absent from the film.

The games of cards as fate left to chance, transient life where playing your cards in certain order does not ensure control of the outcome, and karmic retribution on the closing end of this cycle.

For the most part, this is ordinary stuff right down to the supernatural visitation of guilt, except perhaps for two things.

Ordinarily, the young army officer eager to learn the secret of the cards would be portrayed in ways that immediately signalled to the audience the right distance to keep from him and a karmic downfall in the works. Mozzhukhin portrays him instead as a blank slate of pensive introversion, a folded card waiting its turn and perhaps bluffing. Kuleshov would make a lot of this once Mozzhukhin had been swept away to France and Soviets had taken control of images to build reality - including Mozzhukhin's.

The other is that this is not theatric, even though it seems so at first glance. Tchaikovksy had adapted the same story for the opera, and we may presume this derives from that stage. The camera is static, yes, but notice some very cinematic framing going on - a shot of the secret being whispered in flashback cuts to match the present time telling of the story among the officers. Also notice a second-hand narrator of the story and later an unreliable mind with unsure footing in the world, both these we encounter again in the films of Epstein - who, no doubt, would have come into contact with the Russian emigres in Paris, himself one.

This is far from Proletkult's radical space for the eye, but as with Bauer, it has a certain stately finesse.which, no doubt, comes from a foot in the complacent life shown here.

I watched two films by Yakov Protazanov (1881 - 1945): "Queen of spades" (1916) and "Aelita" (1924). The last one was made in the Soviet Union but the first in Tsarist Russia.

"Queen of spades" fully breathes the atmosphere of Tsarist Russia, adapted after a short story by Alexander Pushkin that was earlier adapted into an opera by Tchaikovsky.

The story is situated in aristocratic circles where partying and gambling is a virtue as long as the strict codes of honor are obeyed.

The film has three main characters.

Hermann (Ivan Mozzhukhin) is a German officer who gambles not according to the code and is terribly punished by fate. His character represents the moral of the story.

The Countess has lived by the code of honor all her live. When she was young she was well known in Paris (called "La Venus Moscovite"). The Countess as a young woman is played by Tamara Duvan. She looks very much like Jean Harlow. In her old days (played by Yelizaveta Shebueva) the Countess still likes party's and she still dresses up for them. All the guests pay her respect at the beginning of the evening, and the rest of the evening she just sits lonely in a corner. The Countess in her old days acts very much like Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) in "Sunset boulevard" (1950, Billy Wilder), she is unable to see that her glory days are over.

The character of Liza (Vera Orlova) is unfortunately not explored enough in this film. She is the nurse of the Countess and in this capacity obliged to stay with her in her corner while the party is going on. It is therefore no wonder that this young girl is all too susceptible when a man finally gives her some attention.

This film was a happy surprise for me - I had not realized how ambitious early Russian silent film-making was. This movie has a large cast, elaborate sets and even some tricky camera-work. It's also the earliest performance I've seen so far by Ivan Mosjoukine, and it is interesting to compare to his more mature work later in France. At this point, he is clearly learning how to play down to the camera; many scenes are just perfect in tone, mostly the ones that involve Germann (not Herman, as listed in the credits) alone and reflective. Some of the more dramatic moments still carry the traces of stage performance, and come across as a bit over-the-top, but these moments are rare. Mosjoukine is already showing some of the characteristic traits of his later film acting - his hands are particularly beautiful and expressive. He also has those light, birdlike movements, especially of the head, that come across so well on film, but would have been invisible on the live stage. He was clearly giving a great deal of thought to how to bring out the best in this new technology. 'The Queen of Spades' has some nice double-exposure effects, particularly at the end, as an unshaven, ragged Germann plays with invisible cards in his cell in the insane asylum. The ghost of the Countess is very effective here, unlike in its first appearance, where it was so clearly solid it cast shadows. I imagine doing a long scene in double exposure with the two performers so close together would have been rather difficult at the time. On the other hand, the trick photography of Germann caught in a spider web as he sinks into insanity is very effective and gripping. This is a very good movie, far more than just a footnote of early Russian film-making.