A Montanha do Tesouro

Zvenigora is, in terms of narrative and content, one of the most remarkable avant-garde films of an exuberantly experimental period. The film uses the central construct of a legend regarding treasure buried in Mount Zvenigora to build a montage of scenes praising Ukrainian industrialisation, attacking the European bourgeoisie, celebrating the beauty of the Ukrainian steppe and re-telling ancient myths.

The narrative is built upon Modernist lines, disregarding the traditional, novelistic storytelling techniques and instead using abrupt shifts in time and using the constructive devices of avant-garde poets such as Blok, Bely and Mayakovsky to create a picture of modern Ukraine that pushes in several directions at once.

There are some incredibly striking tableaux that require the viewers to create a structure for themselves (such as the Bolshevik soldier directing his own execution) although the climax does draw the preceding events together, combining the dialectical threads of modern industry and the old man's myth together in two exhilarating scenes.

The cinematography is fascinating - elements of the style of Eisenstein, Pudovkin, Protazanov and Kuleshov are recognisable, yet Zvenigora seems completely different to any of them. The juxtaposition of rapid montages, swift city tours and slow, poetic journeys around the countryside is powerful, and the mythical scenes, although winding, are beautifully realised with a dreamlike quality to them.

Zvenigora is not Dovzhenko's masterpiece, if only because his Earth (1930) is one of the greatest Russian films ever made. However, it is highly recommended, although if you are new to Russian film of the period it is probably not the best place to start.

The first part of Aleksandr Dovzhenko's trilogy (followed by "Arsenal" and "Earth") focuses on a man's hunt for treasure buried somewhere in a mountain, thereby showing a millennium of Ukrainian history. Beyond that, "Zvenigora" is about the relationship between humans and nature. Apparently, Dovzhenko was of the opinion that humanity's full submission to nature kept humans backwards, and that understanding and control of nature is required to advance (which they were supposed to have achieved with the October Revolution). When the movie got released, the Soviet magazine Kino (Cinema) called it bourgeois and nationalistic, although Dovzhenko was allowed to keep working after that.

Anyway, worth seeing.

For the record, Zvenigora is the Russian rendering of the name. In Ukrainian it's Zvenyhora, since in Ukrainian the Cyrillic G has a sound that's halfway between G and H.

Dovzhenko is certainly a controversial figure, especially during the 1930s and 1940s, for his ability to subjugate his Ukrainian identity to his sentiments as a staunch Stalinist. His behavior is at least suspicious, even considering the pressures he was subjected to.

Zvenigora is one of his most clearly political films, which does not exclude ambiguities in the treatment of propaganda content. Obviously it could be uncomfortable for the director, among other things, to narrate the Ukrainian civil war from the side of the red army... when he had fought in the ranks of the whites.

Dovzhenko did not hesitate to modify a script by Mikhail Johansen and Yurtyk (Yuriy) Yosipovich Tyutyunnik to suit Soviet tastes. The truth is that originally the text had to have clearly anti-Soviet overtones: written by two Ukrainians a poet and a militar who, seeing the turn that the story took in the hands of Dovzhenko, rejected any authorship of the result. It is especially cruel that Dovzhenko boasted in his autobiography that he had found a bourgeois and nationalist script, and adapted its content to Soviet doctrine, given that the two writers were shot shortly after, victims of the Stalinist purge. That Dovzhenko wrote his autobiography in 1939, obviously conditioned by the extreme political pressure of the time, is possibly no justification.

The positioning of the film is very clear considering that in 1928 a decade of the Ukrainian cultural and linguistic revival came to an end, a movement that the Bolsheviks saw as dangerous and that they were quick to repress.

The result is that Zvenigora has a clear Stalinist program, chanting industrialization, collectivization, the Sovietization of Ukraine.

An old peasant who represents traditional and outdated values, tries to unearth the trasure of Ukraine, considered in the film as a symbol of the culture and history of the country, but associated at the same time with traditional and reactionary values.

The old man has two grandchildren: the soviet hero of the day, played by the almost always disagreeable Semyon Svashenko, a hieratic, authoritanian, almost inhuman figurehead, but inevitably with the reason on his side; and a second grandson with a somewhat stupid appearance, attached to superstitions, representing the survival of Ukranian values and traditions in the young generation.

The grandfather of course trusts the foolish grandson, and tells him stories about the buried treasure, about the origin of this treasure, which is in the stories of his country's past, which are narrated in the film.

But the treasure must not be unearthed, and so a monk with a gloomy expressionist aesthetic watches over it.

Civil war breaks out and the Bolshevik hero triumphs while the nationalist son flees to the West.

The hero ends up discovering what Ukraine's real treasure is: its mineral wealth, a source of industrialization, and which the Soviet regime plundered for decades.

The nationalist son emigrates to Prague, image of the excesses of the decadent Westerners, where he tries to seek funds from reactionary governments to unearth the treasure and free Ukraine from the Soviet yoke.

The film ends with the grandfather trying to unearth the treasure again, prevented not by the gloomy monk, but by the train of modernity and industrialization. He is then won over to the cause, condescendingly accepted and forgiven in honor of his gray hair. Only the reactionary son, despicable enemy of progress, is insurmountable.

The artistic value of the film is amazing. Zvenigora is Dovzhenko's most avant-garde and complex film, with an apparently chaotic but actually carefully planned structure, with images of ashtounding beauty and expressiveness and the brilliant editing characteristic of Soviet cinema of the time. Its noteworthy too because of the allegorical tone and symbolism, because of the disconcerting changes in style, because of an ambiguity clearly the result of the director's discomfort in the suffocating framework in which the government reduced him.

Zvenigora is a clear reflection of the moral dilemma Dovzhenko faced, of his own contradictions, and the clash between his love for Ukraine and his Bolshevik allegiance.

Still, or precisely because of this, the authorities did not like the film, basically because of its complexity, its intellectualism and its defiantly avant-garde character. If Dovzhenko believed that by sticking thematically to the regime's program he would get out of trouble, he was mistaken.

It is not an easy film to watch: first of all it tells us about a social and political reality that requires familiarity with the topic, as well as about the personal situation of the director; on the other hand, the scenes may seem disjointed at first glance, the changes in style and rhythm are extraordinarily drastic, and in general there is a narrative far removed from a classic narrative. But it's no doubt a masterpiece, which rewards all efforts.

Looking at the few reviews I've read, I'd like to strike a balance. I'd just bought the recently issued 3 film boxed set of Dovzhenko's War Trilogy, of which, this is the start. I bought the set as it was an absolute bargain, making it little more than the fairly well-known 'Earth' that I'd heard about and wanted to see.

Firstly, I took 'cinematic poetry' to be just that, images and scenes that evoked a story rather than simply reciting it in the usual way. Thus heavy symbolism plays a huge part and I have to disagree with those that say one has to know the subject to appreciate it. I use that word, 'appreciate' rather than 'understand' and it is the very nature of the genre here, known as 'avant-garde' that further takes into realms of fantasy, or, pretentious waffle, if that's how you take it.

Avant-garde is not my favourite genre either but when you consider that this is still the Silent Era - normality would be having a fixed camera, on a studio set and the actors moving around in front of it, in all but the most expensive and adventurous productions. The Russians, at this point, as well some notable German film-makers were doing much more and experimenting with double exposures, cutting, fading, all-sorts, simply to extend both the boundaries of their imagination and cinematic technology.

Of course, film has moved on an awfully long way and so has people's entertainment. These moving images are both historical; a recreated scenario now wouldn't anywhere near the same authenticity - and human. As in stills photography of those days, it is capturing people and their lives that would have seemed so special and fascinating, marrying that up with story-telling would take longer as both film-makers and the public got used to this exciting, new medium. Marx unashamedly exploited artists of all kinds for propaganda purposes and these have, understandably, been seen in a bad light in the West, but thank goodness now, we are finally seeing them for what they are, not were - pioneering and hugely influential.

I'm no historian or film expert and in effect, I haven't really reviewed the title itself but hopefully cast a light on it as a subject. However, I would say that the Mr Bongo reproduction, from the restored print is very good, with hardly a blemish and features a new(?) stereo orchestral score.

With Eisenstein - scientist of film, scholar - it was about synthesized image that opened eyes with conflict of the individual parts. It was a studied thing, architectural. This, on the other hand, is what they were fond of calling back then a 'cinematic poem'. So, yes, the stanza is evocative of soul, the rhythm seductive with earthly lyricism; you can see how all this is later revitalized again into poetry with Tarkovsky.

Yet even though the heart is old world, dwelled by spiritual yearnings about the past and rural pageantry - the protagonist is an old man who escorts us through legend or memory - the eye is unerringly modern; it sees in ways that, now with hindsight, we can recognize as distinctly cinematic and only possible with the camera.

So an old battle is diffused with dreamlike ambiance, reconstructed mechanically by actors moving like tinker-toys, but modern life is dazzling where shown; dynamic, disorienting. There are some amazing shots of electric city night humming with motion that I will keep with me. It is ultimately about these two worlds briefly coexisting in the same frame, one rushing against the other, clashing or making way for the locomotion forwards.

Oh, there is the brief forray into civil war, and the brave, statuesque Red officer who must order his own firing squad. But elsewhere the Reds are shown to flee a village in defeat. The politics are ambivalent, mere footnote in the larger flow and pull.