Trois dans un sous-sol

"Tretya meshchanskaya" (called "Bed and Sofa" in English) is what I would consider the Soviet Union's version of "Some Like It Hot": what it portrays was no doubt really mind-blowing when it was first released, even if it doesn't seem so much nowadays.

The movie portrays Kolya (Nikolay Batalov) and Lyuda (Lyudmila Semyonova) living in a Moscow apartment. Kolya is a mild goof-ball whose proudest feature seems to be his hairy chest, while Lyuda is clearly unfulfilled in life and looks stern all the time. One day, Kolya's war buddy Volodya (Vladimir Fogel) arrives and asks if he can live with them. They agree, but then Volodya does more than eat up his welcome mat! One interesting scene is early in the movie when Volodya kicks a rock into the river. When the rock hits the water, it naturally creates ripples. This may mean that everything's about to get upset. All in all, worth seeing.

This is a silent film made relatively early in the history of the Soviet Union. A construction worker allows his unemployed friend to stay at home with his young beautiful wife and whoops! This is actually a pretty good movie, although like many silent Soviet films, the score, while nice, is way too dramatic.

It definitely doesn't hold true across the board, yet it can be the mark of a great film that nearly from the moment it begins it makes an impression and sweeps one up in its craftsmanship. With outstanding, sharp, vibrant shot composition, cinematography, and editing, and low-key and plainspoken but true and artful depictions of a city, a home, and their inhabitants, this 1927 film is immediately, inescapably charming and even entrancing before any semblance of a story has even begun to take shape. 'Bed and sofa' is so plainly beautiful just to look at that it carries a certain whimsical quality to it, a trait that extends to the outstanding performances of prominent principals Nikolai Batalov, Lyudmila Semyonova, and Vladimir Fogel - acting of tightly controlled but natural spirit and nuance. In no time at all this 1927 feature inspires as a masterful classic, and that notion will only be affirmed as the length draws on. This is phenomenal, and direly underappreciated!

The keen vision of director Abram Room and cinematographer Grigorii Giber allows the ordinary to feel extraordinary, revitalized, and refreshing. Incidentally, whether it was intentional or not, this quite dovetails into the primary thrust of the narrative penned between Room and Viktor Shklovsky - the excitement and rejuvenation brought into the lives one way or another of housewife Liuda, and her husband Kolia, by the arrival of companion Volodia. Tremendously smart scene writing adjoins the shrewd aforementioned direction, cinematography, editing, and acting in molding the picture with magnificent, clever subtlety and suggestion; no detail of any kind is too small to escape the attention and wit of the creative minds who brought the title to vivid life. When the feature does present story beats and ideas more starkly, they ring out all the clearer for the supreme tact with which this is otherwise conjured and constructed. Truly, I can't overstate how stupendous this is.

The excellence of 'Bed and sofa' very much extends to the lovely production design and art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup. Everything about this looks fantastic, nevermind the strength of the storytelling at large as fraught, shifting dynamics emerge in a love triangle between husband, wife, and visitor. Why, even in that very premise this movie broaches thoughts that were otherwise rather pointedly avoided in cinema up this time, and beyond, or at least delicately danced around. This is to say nothing of other emphatic plot points, equally if not even more taboo and treated just as unreservedly, nor the general portraiture served up of the working class in the Soviet Union. Take these considerations together with the emotional undercurrents, the especial drama and themes of the last minutes, and the exquisite, expert splendor that the film represents in every capacity, and the result is nothing less than an incredible exemplar, a neglected treasure of the medium.

For every conceivable reason I assumed I would enjoy this, but to speak frankly, I was wrong: I love it. In every single way this is one of the most engrossing, striking, satisfying, and downright rewarding movies that I've seen. Other comparisons due come to mind in terms of the level on which this operates, but they are very, very few. From the very beginning to the very end I was absolutely hooked, and there is no aspect of this picture that is anything less than terrific. There are few perfect movies in the world, but Abram Room made one of them. It's sad that this isn't more widely well known, because even almost one hundred years later it still stands wonderfully tall, and as far as I'm concerned this is a must-see. 'Bed and sofa' is a superb masterpiece of early cinema, and is not to be missed - this is one title that's well worth seeking out! My highest recommendation!

Early on, The Extraordinary Adventures of Mr. West in the Land of the Bolsheviks is a comedy and meant to be understood as such. Magazines showing how barbaric Russia is alleged to be are exaggerated, but so is the Americanness of Mr. West; no one just carries around an American flag and spangled socks. Kuleshov's work in this film is not as serious as his contemporaries Eisenstein or Vertov, and perhaps as such there appears to be less esoteric uses of montage. It's present in small snatches like cuts to a shot of West's briefcase or a tea kettle boiling, but the technique is subtler than other films of the experimental left at the time. That doesn't mean it lacks technicality, though. The chase scene is masterful and clear despite rapid changes of perspective from horseback to automobile, and Jeddy's stunts are impressive. The directorial choice to include a backdrop of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior was surely no accident, and it places the film in a setting that is distinctly Moscow. And although it was added after, the music accompaniment often drives an otherwise dragging plot. The inclusion of Yankee Doodle Dandy is particularly amusing and fits the goofy mood. One has to wonder, however, if it sat well with Bolshevik ideology. Besides showing what Russians thought of Americans and vice versa, the only inclusion of real Bolshevik society was a tour by a police officer at the end; additionally, the depiction of the poverty and moral depravity of the con-artists provide a not-so-flattering view of Russia. Through the lens of comedy, however, it might be excused. Mr. West, in sum, is a comedy with sequences reminiscent of the Three Stooges, and such an over the top production would surely not have been handled as competently in the hands of a lesser director than Lev Kuleshov.

If this film was not explicitly the inspiration for Truffaut's Jules and Jim then he and Room certainly had the same muse singing on their shoulders. A fascinating silent film, very influential and far ahead of its time.