This first Soviet musical comedy on film still shows signs of silent era mentality, mainly because the sound is so poorly coordinated with the picture, as if it were an afterthought, but also because the gags are predominantly visual. You'll wince at many of the shots too, especially those close-ups of the actors delivering each single line -- it's hard to be subtle when the camera's 18 inches from your face. Also obvious is the political subtext -- a jolly peasant demolishes the upper crust's airs and way of life. It's interesting that, in this as in many Soviet films that try to be light-hearted, food and drink fairly tumble off the screen, as if to feed those in abject poverty who have come to watch it.
For all that, the director, Grigori Aleksandrov, challenged himself and his crew with some awesomely complex shoots. The opening scene of the shepherd marching his animals out of the pen and through the farmland, past peasants and workers, is quite lengthy, but only involves four takes spliced subtly together. (Oh, but would the sound have matched better!) Similarly, the would-be female singer strolls down the beach past a cornucopia of beach activity, some in the extreme foreground, some mid-field, some in the back behind her. It's one long take, and yet it manages to be interesting and funny at times, and it even manages to set up a later gag while it's at it.
And the music: It's jazz from the acoustic era, with tubas providing the bass line, pretty quaint and good-timey. But about half of the music in the soundtrack is full orchestral material composed by Isaak Dunayevsky, with a rousing salute to the simple peasant life getting a full-blown treatment both at the beginning and the end of the picture, the equivalent of Socialist Realism for music. It's a great little melody you can whistle on the way home as you wonder where your next meal will come from.
