Le batelier de la Volga

DeMille's tendency to overstate is unbridled, making this a little overdrawn even for a silent epic. Every scene is an epic unto itself and staged as such. It unfolds coherently with DeMille's relentlessly chronological epic momentum, but it drags in many places for lack of editing. Boyd is definitely charismatic in the role that launched his career as a silent matinee idol. His blue eyes rivet the camera even in black-and-white. The pure idealism that he brought to bear in over 50 subsequent stints as Hopalong Cassidy radiates from his Wagnerian portrayal of this bolshevik boatman who cannot betray what he knows in his heart--the universal cowboy hero of every Saturday morning in any get-up. The electricity is there between Boyd and his soon-to-be bride in real life, Elinor Fair, as the princess-in-love-with-the-noble-peasant. Julia Faye adds needed sensuous energy with her tawdry portrayal of the Tartar peasant girl (who also lusts after Boyd, of course). All the elements of human emotion against an epic backdrop are here, and DeMille develops them all as thoroughly as the themes in any of Bach's "Two and Three-Part Inventions". Great piano score from the original cue notes, too, b/t/w.

Even in his early days, DeMille was a technological wizard who applied the credo "more is better" to his movies. In his silent epic, The Volga Boatman, he certainly employed all the cinematic devices available to him to paint a picture of the Bolshevik revolution, not so much on a sweeping political scale, as on a personal level, that of a peasant and a princess.

The imagery in this movie is DeMille at his most visually expressive: the Volga boatmen, the human mules of Russia, in their rags contrasting with the richly dressed aristocrats, particularly Princess Vera whose gowns were designed by Adrian; the clock in the background inexorably ticking away the minutes of Vera's life as she plays the brave aristocrat, defying Feodor, the steely-eyed boatman/Bolshevik leader, not to love her; and the grand ballroom scene where the cream of Russian society dances while Mother Russia convulses in political upheaval.

Imagery conveys meaning in silent movies more so than the dialog, however, the dialog in The Volga Boatman is studded with acerbic lines emphasizing the disparity between classes and adding to the overall atmosphere of cultural inequality. Unfortunately, we only read one of the best lines of dialog ever written. Despite the fact that Bill Boyd's (Feodor's) rich baritone voice was a generous mixture of northern Oklahoma and north Hollywood accents, I enjoy imagining what he could have done with the line: "We've waited 500 years for freedom, you can wait five minutes to die."

As a devoted fan of the movies, particularly movies having some historical content, The Volga Boatman remains a highly appealing and "watchable" film for me because it focuses on timeless human relationships and not the stale political tracts which can be supplanted. In addition, DeMille's technical craftsmanship is most ably demonstrated in the beautiful composition of each scene. Mr. DeMille went on to direct Technicolor extravaganza's but this hand-tinted, silent classic is one that stands out as an example of DeMille at his cinematic best.

I thought Volga boatmen were workers on boats that traveled on the Volga river. I was shocked and pained to see they were human beasts of burden. C.B. DeMille got his message through to me - loud & clear. He set a very high production & story telling standard for his contemporaries and all those who would follow him. William Boyd's eyes pierce your soul. He is very exotic looking. He did an excellent job portraying an idealistic Bolshevik leader. It was interesting viewing to watch him struggle with the challenges he encountered while battling for freedom. (If I were Princess Vera, I wouldn't be able to give him up either.) The Silent movies you have to sit down, watch and concentrate. This film, its' story and William Boyd are unforgettable.

Cecil B. DeMille was a strange chappy, full of contradictions. A notorious anti-trade unionist and later HUAC stooge, and yet certainly up until the early 1930s he held a bizarre love for Soviet Russia. The Volga Boatman is his only picture that reflects that love, and is among his stranger efforts which, as anyone who has seen Madam Satan or Four Frightened People will know, is really saying something.

The Volga Boatman is one of a number of pictures DeMille made with his own independent production company whilst on a period of absence from Paramount. It was around this period that DeMille began to lean towards the epic as his main area of expertise. Of course, his run of biblical extravaganzas began at Paramount with The Ten Commandments in 1923, and there is the massive Joan of Arc in 1916, but it is in this mid-to-late 1920s phase that the epic became, for him, the norm.

This all made good sense for DeMille. When it came to directing the masses, few directors did it better. His crowd shots are a blend of aesthetic stylisation (check out how he uses the musicians in the foreground to form a circle with the ceiling arch in the Jaroslav ballroom scene) and pure realism. DeMille always humanised the crowd by dropping in close-ups of individuals, such as the children shown in the opening scene. His use of space is also on top form here, with framing and distance showing characters' isolation or their position in the group.

But in all those years of directing small-scale dramas DeMille had also honed his ability to film human relationships. Editing patterns were becoming ever more fluid anyway as silent cinema developed, and DeMille had developed a knack of showing characters' views of each other and of situations without resorting to intertitles. The Volga Boatman has few words, but is full of meaningful glances, moody close-ups and subtle gestures. A good example is the scene where the three leads first meet – all that really happens title-wise is Victor Varconi repeatedly yelling "Wipe it off!", but the various angles and reaction shots between the characters speak volumes and set up their relationships for the entire picture.

This was DeMille's first collaboration with screenwriter Lenore J. Coffee, and his first without any input from Jeanie MacPherson. If you have seen a lot of DeMille's silents, there is quite a noticeable difference. Gone are MacPherson's rambling moralist narratives and ridiculous – albeit poetic – personal philosophies. Coffee, while clearly not as mad as MacPherson, seems rather bland by comparison, and his words lack sparkle.

The acting too is not so special. Elinor Fair appears completely unable to emote realistically, and makes a poor lead. William Boyd is at least able to convincingly look mean (and cunning), but very little else. Villainously handsome Victor Varconi turns in the best performance, but I have seen better from him. Meanwhile Julia Faye and Theodore Kosloff provide cheerfully hammy comic relief, although the parts they have been given aren't very funny.

When you look at the DeMille pictures from the early 1920s, while there is sometimes good drama, something appears to be missing as DeMille strives for something grander, trying to shoehorn in "big" scenes. The Volga Boatman works because DeMille at last strikes his happy medium of showing the intense drama against the backdrop of large-scale action. His direction is on fine form here, and he is only let down by his collaborators. Mind you, in his role as exacting and all-powerful producer, DeMille could perhaps be blamed for accepting such a lifeless screenplay and cast. His poor judgement in these areas in many ways defines the style of his later pictures.

Given what it aimed to do, which is to provide interesting entertainment, Cecil B. DeMille's lavish production of "The Volga Boatman" succeeds pretty well. It makes quite an interesting contrast with the films made on the Russian Revolution by the great Soviet-era film-makers such as Eisenstein, Dovzhenko, and Pudovkin, yet it would be rather unfair to compare it directly with movies that had a much different goal.

DeMille's feature primarily uses the 1917 setting in Hollywood fashion, simply as a fascinating background to the main human-interest story of loyalty and love. Yet the relative lack of bias is quite apparent, with both admirable characters and scoundrels being found both among the Whites and among the Reds. DeMille even unexpectedly tries his hand at comedy on a few occasions, and it usually works well enough.

The two main characters are very interesting, and they are brought to life effectively. As Princess Vera, Elinor Fair believably portrays her aristocratic poise and haughtiness, while successfully showing how she could also sympathize with and admire the boatman Feodor, in spite of her beliefs. As Feodor, William Boyd keeps it simple but convincing, making his Red hero one-dimensional in personality but complex in his sense of right and wrong. The third main character, Prince Dimitri, is much more straightforward, but Victor Varconi does well enough in bringing out the coldness that belies the weaknesses inside him.

Though the story emphasizes the complicated ways that these three are brought together in the course of events, it does provide some interesting glimpses into the historical setting as well. DeMille was in his element in re-creating the Volga setting along the banks of the Sacramento River, and that and all of the settings are used effectively. The constant use of the "boatmen" and their painful lot in life is an effective image for the condition of the majority of Russians under tsarist rule. All in all, as long as you don't compare it with the great Russian film classics about the same era, "The Volga Boatman" is an enjoyable movie to watch.