उपयोगकर्ता समीक्षाएं

I have seen the film a few days back on a video tape and even though it was hard to swallow it at one take (because of its length and story), I liked it very much. I was impressed first, by the script and then, by the realization of this script. The film takes you on a ride, but that is not an easy, joyful ride; it goes through time and different political regimes and shows the influence of them to ordinary people's lives. What I loved was the inner logic the film followed; logic, which just like logic in life, was rather illogical and confusing at times but in the end, when I thought about it, all the events and twists made sense. It makes no sense though to try to re-tell the story as it spreads in more than 50 years of time. I also liked very much Nikita Mikhalkov's character Aleksei and the way he played it, as some critics would saw, with restless abandon. What I didn't like about it, was that I think he later played characters that remind me of Aleksei in films like "Cruel Romance" (Zhestokij romans, which I actually love) and to some extent in "The Insulted and the Injured" ("Unizhennye i oskorblyonnye"). "Sibiriada" shows, I think, what a great film-maker Andrei Konchalovski was before he went to Hollywood and made forgettable films like "Tango and Cash" and less forgettable like "Runaway train". I would prefer "Kurochka Ryaba" to them...

Siberiade is a magnificent epic. The story takes place mostly in the Siberian village Yelan, near which large deposits of oil lie. Two generations of villagers get caught up in turbulent times, when there was expansion in the Orthodox Civilization. The 1979 film is all about the characters. Well-known Soviet actors were cast in the leading roles, including Oscar winner Nikita Mikhalkov, Natalya Andrejchenko and Vitaly Solomin. Their losses are truly emotional yet they also go through periods of exaltation. The revolution brought hope but difficult struggles followed too. The cinematography by Levan Paatashvili captures the beauty of Siberia's wilderness in a simple but well done manner. Black & white footage of heroic periods in Russia's 20th century history bridge the eras in the characters' lives. Director Andrei Konchalovsky wasn't afraid to show a few uneasy scenes, and there's even a bit of female nudity. Yet his direction is effective and he succeeded in telling an absorbing epic of an interesting time in Russia's history. The film is known for Eduard Artemyev's memorable electronic score. The score was even released internationally, and I heard a piece of it in CNN's Cold War (1998) documentary. Siberiade won the Special Grand Jury Prize at the 1979 Cannes Film Festival, and I highly recommend seeing it.

Huge swaths of Russian history represented as a sprawling, moving canvas. The scale of which can't be properly appreciated until you've stepped back to observe the full picture on display. A history of revolution, disillusionment, national pride, and hardship. Men cutting through a dense Siberian forest to build a road with no discernable end in sight. Holding out hope for the unforeseen future of their homeland. With each decade chronicled, a rebellious spirit is continuously fostered, inherited from one generation to the next. Whether it's on the battlefield, in the workforce, or on the political stage, this is no place for the weak-willed.

And as the past dies to allow the future a chance to live, so too does this multi-generational tale continues to evolve itself. We see the idealogical rift that slowly separates fathers from their sons; coexistence made tentative at best. Each must forge their own way forward. And yet the ghosts of their forefathers lingers, a fog hovering over the fields, engulfing the personalities of those that carry the bloodline. All of it is witnessed through the eyes of remote villagers. Individuals with their interconnected relationships simultaneously serving as a microcosm for the Soviet Union's state of being, reflecting the turmoil it takes to build a nation. Changes occurring in the outside world that seeps in, altering the course of all those involved. From small-village superstition to post-war industrialization; it's all here on display.

Siberiade is a moving, monumental piece of work. From minute one to its credit role, it never lets up. A crowning achievement in a year that birthed several classics and a must-watch for fans of Soviet cinema. Don't let this one pass you by.

I was young film student in 1979 when the Union of the Soviet Filmmakers came to Sofia Bulgaria and premiered Konchalovsky's "Siberiade"; Tarkosvky's "Stalker" and Danelia'a "Autumn marathon". I was stunned by the cosmopolitan dimension of the art form. Then and only then, I saw "Siberiade" 4 and 1/2 hours epic and was speechless. Way better then Bertolucci's "1900". By far!

Hope Andron will somehow get to the negative and make "director's restored version full lenght " someday! On DVD of course! Also I fiercely fought in defense of this Cinema against most of my colleagues who were equating Soviet film with bad taste! Time is on my side.

Konchalovsky's towering poem to Siberia doesn't steamroll ahead, though it's 4,5 hours long. It holds back for space, takes time in roundabout exploration of childhood memories in a turn-of-the-century backwoods village, yet it picks up steam doing this, builds in emotional resonance as though even the sounds and images which compose it become imbued by sheer association with their subject matter with that quality of fierce tireless quiet dignity that characterizes the Soviet working spirit. Konchalovsky celebrates Soviet collectivity but in an almost revisionist way to paeans like Soy Cuba and Invincible the mood turns somber and reflective.

So eventually the Revolution, the one thought to matter. News of it reach the secluded Siberian village only through the grapevine. Worse with the fruits of its labor, these reach the village only when a world war calls for the young men to enlist.

But although the scope appears huge and daunting, Konchalovksy zeroes in on the individual, the face behind the history; with care and affection to examine the bitter longing and regret of the woman who waited 6 years after the war for a fiancé who never came back, waited long enough to go out and become a barmaid in a ship with velvet couches and which she quit years later to come back to her village to care for an aging uncle who killed the fiancé's father with an axe, the irreverent folly of the fiancé who came back from the war a hero 20 years too late, came back not for the sake of the girl he left behind but to drill oil for the motherland, the despair and resignation of the middle-aged Regional Party Leader who comes back to his small Siberian village with the sole purpose of blotting it out of the map to build a power plant.

The movie segues from decade to decade from the 10's to the 80's with amazing newsreel footage trailing Soviet history from the revolution to war famine and the titanic technological achievements of an empire (terrific visuals here! pure futurism of kinetic violence and skewed angles and flickering cramped shots of crowds and faces) but the actual movie focuses on the individual, on triumphs and follies small and big. By the second half a sense of bittersweet fatalism creeps in; of broken lives that never reached fulfillment choking with regret and yearning. "It can't matter", seems like the world is saying, to which Konchalovksy answers "it must matter" because the protagonists keep on trying for redemption.

Yet behind this saga of 'man against landscape' something seems to hover, shadowy, almost substanceless, like the Eternal Old Man hermit who appears in every segment to guide or repudiate the protagonists, sometimes a mere spectactor, sometimes the enigmatic sage; a little behind and above all the other straightforward and logical incomprehensible ultimatums challenges and affirmations of the human characters, something invisible seems to lurk. Ghosts of the fathers appearing in sepia dreams, repeated shots of a star gleaming in the nightsky, a curious bear, indeed the Eternal Old Man himself; Konchalovksy calls for awe and reverence before a mystical land of some other order.

In its treatment of a small backwoods community struggling against nature progress and time and in the ways it learns to deal with them, often funny bizarre and tragic at the same time, and in how the director never allows cynicism to override his humanism, it reminds me of Shohei Imamura's The Profound Desires of the Gods. When, in a dream scene, Alexei tears through the planks of a door on which is plastered a propaganda poster of Stalin to reach out at his (dead) father as he vanishes in the fog, the movie hints at the betrayal of the Soviet Dream, or better yet, at all the things lost in the revolution, this betrayal made more explicit in the film's fiery denouement.

The amazing visuals, elegiac and somber with a raw naturalist edge, help seal the deal. By the end of it, an oil derric erupts in flames and the movie erupts in a wild explosion of pure cinema.

Siberiade, is considered by many to be Konchalovsky's masterpiece. A truly epic, grandiose, and colorful film, which follows 3 generations of two rival families in the remote Siberian logging village of Elan. The Solomins are the wealthy masters of this place, while the Ustyuzhanins are the poor unappreciated workers with no future, nothing to look forward to except hard work and an early death...That is, until the Bolshevik revolution comes and alters the power structure. While the young Nikolai Ustyuzhanin looks towards the future with dreams of a socialist paradise brought about by the glorious revolution going underway, the Solomins feel their own world dying and look towards the past, trying to hold on to what they have. Oil-rich Siberia will take on a new importance for the fledgling Soviet Union. Unchecked hope and progress collides with despair and reactive conservatism. In life, what we hope for is not what we get. Life comes with compromise. Trees fall to the ground stirring sadness in the soul for the woods that will be sacrificed for progress. Bombs explode and kill people stirring despair for we know the West will not allow a workers' socialist paradise to be created, because profits are what's important in a capitalist system. Revolution, war, famine, love and romance all combine here and are interwoven like the fibers of a fine tapestry. It's a spectacular, sweeping epic film not to be missed.

It is a story of Siberian village people from the beginning of 20th century till the 60ties. It is about passion and feelings, about Russian soul, and very romantic. This movie IS NOT action packed, it flowes slowely. In second part one can find great songs - Russian romances. It is much more better than Doctor Zhivago. The director of this movie moved to America and made Runaway Train for example.

The story about a very small god-forgotten village in Siberia reflects the history of Russia from the beginning of the century till early 80s. Three generations try to find the land of happiness and to give it to the people. One builds the road through taiga to the star over horizon, the second 'build communism' and the third searches for oil.

There are many great epics out there. For Americans, many might say "Gone With the Wind" is the definitive epic. I have never cared for it personally, but I understand the appeal. This film may be the best epic to come out of Russia, as it covers so much time and really gets to the heart of humanity.

The film is not only strong as a whole, but in its sections. Even if it were treated as vignettes or short films, there are plenty of powerful images. Early on, viewers will be struck by the boy fighting with a dog for his pants. We might be horrified by this, but what is it saying?

Konchalovsky made tremendous films at the beginning of his career (Ivan's Childhood, Andrei Rublev etc.), then again very recently (Paradise, Sin, Dear Comrades). Both his Russian and Holllywood/international projects in between those poles were very uneven, and even at their best seemed less personal. Having caught up with some of his earliest and latest work recently, I was eager to finally see this very long (4 1/2 hours) film from the end of his original Soviet period.

But "Siberiade's" episodic tapestry of successive generations over the course of the 20th century is sort of like a very Russian version of those three-hour Claude Lelouch extravaganzas--you know, the ones where he just throws together a bunch of archetypal characters and historical incidents sprawling over decades, hoping the "sweep" of it all will carry you along. This, too, is the kind of epic that's all width and not much depth. In fact it feels more like one of the robust, broad, somewhat pandering directorial movies of his brother Nikita Mikhalkov, who plays a leading character in this movie's 2nd half.

Similarly to his sibling's films, the female characters are all sexpots, there's a lot of broad comedy, and the visuals are often pretty without any true lyricism, just as there's sentimentality but no spirituality. It feels like a movie that well-connected Muscovites would make about Siberia, rather than Siberians themselves, as if we're in a 20th-century version of Chekhov's seriocomic provincial Russian life--particularly since after the beginning, almost nothing takes place in snowy weather. (But then, maybe that outsider perspective IS the point, that a far-flung region with its own distinct character became simply a source of natural-resources extraction wealth for a distant central government.)

The characters behave colorfully yet all sort of blur together, drifting in and out of the anecdotal storytelling, played at different ages by different actors. There's no sense of a grand narrative arc, or overarching themes that are treated with any real seriousness--at least not until the second half, when despoiling of the land becomes the major thesis. (But it's not really established in the first half that the characters feel terribly connected to the land--indeed, it seems more of an adversary to them.)

Which is not to say that "Siberiade" isn't entertaining and flavorful, with some memorable passages. (Though the rather arbitrary shifts to tinted B&W don't particularly help.) It's just that I want something more for my 4.5 hours' time, particularly from a director who's made considerably shorter films that nonetheless seemed far more substantial, even more ambitious.

A sprawling, multi-generational saga that beautifully captures the complexities of life in Siberia. Spanning several decades, the film intricately weaves the personal stories of a family against the backdrop of sweeping changes in Soviet society. It chronicles love, loss, and the impact of industrialization on the harsh yet stunning Siberian landscape. The cinematography is absolutely breathtaking; the vast, icy landscapes are both mesmerizing and imposing. The film's pacing is leisurely, allowing viewers to really soak in the details of both the environment and the characters' emotional journeys. The music, a blend of traditional Russian themes and orchestral compositions, perfectly complements the visual storytelling. While it's a bit of a time commitment at nearly four hours long, Siberiade offers a rich and immersive experience for those willing to dive in. It's not just a film; it's an exploration of culture, environment, and the human condition.

This is one of the films I most regret having set my interest on to decide to watch it. Four and a half hours of a story running through several generations of a small Siberian village, which just can't be less interesting, moving and appealing no matter the point of view you want to look at it: epic, sentimental, historical, or all at once, which seems to have been the pretension of the director, failing completely and pitifully in his vain attempt. A loose thread of familiar and personal stories intermingled with historical events which are unable during more than four painful hours to drag your attention into them just for five minutes. Not a single character is developed in a way that you can feel any emotion or at least some interest in his/her whereabouts. But there is some epic in the film: the number of senseless, histrionic scenes which make you plead "please stop this once and for all!!!".

The reason why I watched this film was that other film by director Konchalovsky is actually among my all time favorites: Runaway Train. After having watched Sibiriada now I wonder if they are the same person or I mixed up names or something.

This is just one of these rare cinema experiences. I've seen this film twice in cinema about 15 years ago. The first time in a stonecold auditorium (they ran out of heating oil) we all just sat there with gloves, jackets and other stuff to keep you warm. The film made such an impact with its beautifull images and its rare story. Russian cinema has a couple of these slow and long movies. Siberiade is a long (over 4 and a half hour) and slow movie. Long shots of man wading through cold swamps in search of oil. I like it!!!! It is a shame there was no videorelease in Europe, and now lets wait for the DVD!! Martin

With this mesmerizing, beautiful Soviet epic from 1979, writer-director Andrey Konchalovskiy shows proof of his brilliance as a filmmaker. Despite its immense running time, it's truly captivating, thanks in part to Levan Paatashvili's photo.

A wild lynx is cruelly tied up, struggling, within the first 15 minutes of this minutes. It is brutal, shocking, horrendous, to see a majestic animal abused by Konchalovksy. Disgusted, I shut it off. Such things should never be done for entertainment, not now, not then. Pure trash.

This is going to cause me to reevaluate all of his work for other signs of cruelty. There is something seriously wrong here. Yes I know this stuff has always happened in real life and continues to happen, but it turns my stomach to see it done for the purpose of filming, just like dancing bears, circus elephants and such.

Inexplicably this is compared to "Doctor Zhivago," I suppose because there are Russian revolutionaries. Egad. The films couldn't be more different.

This is inspired by "2001." Equally inexplicably, "Solaris" is called the Russian 2001 because. Heck, because it has space hardware. Jees.

The structure of "2001" is its reason to be, a fight among three narrative perspectives. We never know who wins: the human, machine or divine. Each is presented in a way that could be interpreted to subsume the others, and we are never grounded. Its sublime, each level above the other in a sort of Escher narrative.

This is the same, very deliberately so. We have the same three: we have the human story of sex, love community and how that embraces everything, Miss Marplewise. We have the "machine" or the revolution and its apparatus, some figurative and some literal. And we have the mystical energy and laws of nature, which are deliberate, clear, pervasive here.

(If there is something particularly skillful in this project cinematically, it is how this mystical mist pervades.)

Its not at all as deft in the balance as Kubric's masterpiece. But you can see the three climbing over each other, and the standoff presented at the end.

Its a long slog, and you'll have to wade through overly optimistic celebrations of revolutionary purpose. But its rewarding in a sort of Polish (meaning dreamy) way.

On a second viewing, I have to remark on how the fundamental nature of this is different from most else that I watch.

I'm particularly sensitive to the fact that most every element that I see in every film project is a matter of market forces. An artist can modulate within that pull, but never really escape the sender-receiver dynamic. This film differs in the way that some monumental architecture does from what surrounds it.

In the soviet system, you pay your dues and prove that you are a worthy artist. That means of course that you have to satisfy the artistic bureaucracy, the nature of which one can only imagine. But once you achieve some level of power, you become a dilettante, with amazing reach. Everything we see here is because it was envisioned to be so, quite apart from what we normally have to deal with in the "free" world.

Its the inversion that is striking. This film really is perfect in many ways. You can see that every frame and nuance is the way the filmmaker wants it regardless of whether he thinks people care. I didn't care much, because the thing is as soulless as most other Soviet art. But its very clean, and big and sentimental.

And its different, and that's a welcome shower.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.