Le Destin d'un homme

the novel by Sholokhov. the performance of Bondarchuk. the wise script. the close-up. and the life of a man who seems be only new Job. a film who impress not only for the drama but for its profound poetry of small details. a confession. and the hope. the war's traces. and the future as new beginning. it is part of a long chain who defines the Soviet cinema as artistic treasure. it is, in same measure, fruit of a political situation. but, more important, it is a fine work. because it reflects human feelings, duties and pain out of ideological circle. because it is an universal story. and one of beautiful examples of high cinema. that could be all. not a great show but useful exercise about the force of art. and, sure, for the Eastern public, a travel in history, against wars, crisis, disasters. and cases of survive.

"Sokolov" (Sergey Bondarchuk) hopes that his warrior days are behind him after the civil war as he settles down with sweetheart "Irina" (Zinaida Kirienko) and starts a family. Sadly for him, the Nazis don't share his desires for a peaceable life and so he is duly conscripted into the Soviet army. Like so many of his counterparts, he waves goodbye to his family promising to return but having no real idea when or if he shall. Things definitely don't get off to a good start when he is captured by the invaders and imprisoned amidst a perilous environment of arbitrary killings regardless of whether you are a prisoner of war, a Russian citizen or a Jew. With the impetus of the war shifting, though, he manages to escape and we follow his attempts to make it back home to his family. Now this is told in retrospective so we do know what the outcome of his searching is going to be and as we near the denouement we find a character that's utterly devoid of hope - until the young lad "Vanya" (a joyous effort from Pavel Boriskin) makes an unpredictably profound impact on the older man now largely bereft of purpose. The wartime photography delivers strongly here illustrating the mayhem and chaos brought by the indiscriminate activities of their enemy and, latterly, their own forces whilst clearly demonstrating the horrors randomly inflicted on the population. Bondarchuk is also expert at portraying a character that is simple, decent and ultimately one who wants merely to be left to the joys of his family and his hard work. That's especially poignant when he is facing death at the hands of the prison camp commandant who sees the killing of his inmates as little different from sport. There's a tiny bit of religiosity in here too, which I thought added an extra human dimension to a story that could just as easily be applied to any of a million foot soldiers fighting in WWII without knowing what was going on at home. If the last scene doesn't bring a lump to your throat...

a Sholokhov adaptation. powerful and honest. a Bondarchuk gem. and map of a war. it is a great Soviet film. not only as artistic work or testimony about elements of a period. not as sign of post Stalin evolution of art. but for silence of images. for the message after decades to its viewer. because the fate of man is, in fact, the fate of East Europe in last period of XX century. sufferance, pain and death. and delicate hope as freedom space. love as only gun against cruelty of a time. camps as metaphor for Nazi and Soviet system. fear, struggle for survive, guilty because innocence is only fiction. and sense of life, again and again, as fruit of battle against yourself. a film about life. pure life. without exception or pink ingredients. cold, bitter, strange but beautiful. if you discover force to remain yourself in middle of each storm.

Sergei Bondarchuk directs the film and plays the lead himself. Thus he dominates the entire film from beginning to the end, and although he is a most qualified actor and director, you lack the smallest shade of polyphony. The story is by Mikhail Sholokhov, the main Soviet nationalist, and his tendencies to glorify Soviet Russia shines through especially in his treatment of the Germans, who are all abominable stereotypes - with the exception of one drunkard and the final general. There is not a shred of the slightest sense of humour in the film and almost no smiles even, except in the last moment when the boy comes in and and lets in some well needed and most comforting sunshine. Thus the dreadful story ends with the victory of humanity. It's a masterpiece, of course, but the whole film is a slow and depressing ordeal.

Sergey Bondarchuk is probably best known for his epic spectacle "War and Peace" (1966), and his outstanding feature debut "The Destiny of Man" (1959) was made in the same tradition of the war genre, though not in a similarly big fashion. Like many other Soviet war films made during the cultural thaw in Eastern Europe caused by the spirit of Geneva such as "The Cranes Are Flying" (1957) and "Ballad of a Soldier" (1959), "The Destiny of Man" focuses on the human experience in the bleak misery of war. It tells the story of an ordinary man who lost everything during a war that meant nothing to him.

The historical legacy and the poignantly present memory of the Second World War played an integral role in almost all of the Soviet films made during the cultural thaw. It is as though life itself was approached from this perspective. An entire generation was left alone with their problems to sink into oblivion in the era of Stalin's cult of personality. Not until the new political waves of the 1950's arrived were these people dealt properly in cinema.

"The Destiny of Man" cuts right to the memory of WWII as it begins from the first spring after the war. A man recalls his experiences during the war and ponders why life has mistreated him so in a long flashback. Bondarchuk's mobile camera fluently shifts to the past -- the memory -- revealing its reality before our eyes. His style is very modern, as is the case with other films from this period, born from dynamic movement, montage and intensity of close-ups. Accompanied by an astonishing soundtrack with nearly surreal tones and a great score by Venyamin Basner, this poetic voyage to the days gone by touches our very core.

The film was made in the same year with Masaki Kobayashi's masterful trilogy "The Human Condition" (1959-1962) which also highlights the experience and moral disappointment of an individual in times of immeasurable brutality. "The Destiny of Man" also includes a sequence taking place in a POW camp where the prisoners are forced to work, thus inevitably triggering an association with the first part of Kobayashi's trilogy. A perceptive spectator (or an obsessive fan of Kobayashi) might even observe a shot bearing a striking resemblance to the iconic image of workers walking up the hill.

What makes "The Destiny of Man" to stand the test of time and lifts it up to the same level with "The Cranes Are Flying" and "Ballad of a Soldier" is its profoundness. It is not a profoundness achieved simply by story, but by form. This can be seen in the film's aesthetics which is tremendously rich of tone and meaning. Bondarchuk truly achieves to depict the complexity of human experience and historical conditions. The cinematic repertoire of the image, the scenes and even entire sequences extends from the brief vibrations of the dramatic surface to the aesthetic profoundness of human existence.