La nouvelle Babylone

There are some incredibly powerful visuals to be found throughout this Soviet paen to the doomed Communard uprising of 1871 in Paris. From its wildly expressionistic opening to the hardened and doomed faces right off of Soviet worker poster art it powerfully conveys its admiration for the heroic underclass while eviscerating the craven bourgeois. With a music score supplied by Shostakovich its an excellent example of the decade old Soviet Union trying to spread its influence by comrading up with the French of yesteryear.

Devine decadence rules in Paris with its attention to materialism and coarse joie de vivre. The haves are enjoying a grand time while the have nots struggle to survive. When the Prussians march on the city the uppercrusts bolt for Versailles, leaving the beleaguered city's defense to the workers to defend. With the threat dissipated the workers demand more rights, the bourgeois see it otherwise by turning the military on them. A stand-off ensues and a civil war erupts.

Babylon's revolutionary fervor was certainly right for the period with it being released a month after the Stock Market Crash in 1929. Emboldened with Eisenstein montage it shouts out its message with a ham fisted juxtaposition and simplicity that may have stirred the proles in 1917 but comes across dated here with the upper class caricatures no different than Griffith's Union troops in black face in his Civil War whitewash. Both remain triumphs of form over content (racism, totalitarianism) that should be be relegated to the dustbin of history,

The directing duo of Grigoriy Kozintsev and Leonid Trauberg made their most famous silent work with this historical film, set in France during the time of the Paris Commune (spring of 1871). The film mixes together different styles of film-making from D.W. Griffith's historical romanticism to Soviet agitprop with a narrative, that blends philosophy and ideology to a classic story-line about love and war. The film tells the unlikely romance of Louise (Elena Kuzmina) and Jean (Pietr Sobolevsky), who try to find a shared happiness during a time of political turmoil and chaos. Ideology, the spirit of history you could say, is set against their happiness.

The setting itself is a fresh and interesting one, for once an ideological Soviet film is not set during 1917. However, since the depicted time period is that of international mayhem and confusion, the viewer who sits in cold, without first reading a little background, may have trouble understanding the context. Also the first half of this film, which is quasi-episodic in nature, is difficult to follow because of the artistic choices implemented by Kozintsev and Trauberg. The same problem can be found in their earlier adaptation of Gogol's "The Overcoat" called "Shinel" (1926), which also had trouble concentrating on the essential.

However the viewer would be wise to stick with the film, as the second half clarifies much, and as a narrative is much more interesting. Even the editing and cinematography improve during the most distressing sequences. The political message becomes clearer to read, to a point where the film-makers literally spell it out for you. The imagery is very vivid and thought-provoking, and the film that started out as a curiosity with a period setting ends up touching upon several ageless themes and questions.

The New Babylon was recognized as a masterpiece as early as 1929. It was rediscovered at the 1958 Bruxelles Expo but properly presented with the original Shostakovich score only in the eighties. The original Shostakovich score (opus 18) had been synchronized with the film under the personal supervision of its director Leonid Trauberg (1901-1990) and - according to Trauberg - he had never 'seen' his film in that final state before 1981. A valuable estimation of the picture can be found in Jay Leyda's KINO. One should realize that there is only one definite version of the picture: the GOSFILOMOFOND print, running for about 90 minutes at variable speed. There is however an apocryphal print about, a clipping together of the original print and approximately another 33% of out-takes. German film historians are responsible for this horrible mutilation of the original. When this version was shown in Hamburg in 1983 a press bulletin explained that scenes had been added that were once removed by censorship. However, what had been added were only discarded scenes that had been cut because they were too dull; for instance actrice Kuzmina in front of a cupboard of hat boxes or actor Sobolevsky with his wounded arm in a sling as an unlikely cabaret artist in 1871 'Gay Paris'. Director Leonid Trauberg saw this `German' version with the extra footage "that I cut out myself" and has furiously tried to prohibit its screening. A lengthy statement about the original and apocryphal print of The New Babylon was sent to various cinema museums by Trauberg in October 1983. His statement is to be found in `Eisenstein was Great Eater' - In Memory of Leonid Trauberg / Graduate Press, Buren, Netherlands, pp. 107-109 (ISBN 90-72058-07-0). The New Babylon is one of the greatest masterpieces of the Russian cinema. However the German version with its complimentary footage is a disgrace for the profession of film restoration. In fact the best guideline to follow is the original score composed for the picture by Shostakovich in 1929. Its greatest advocate is maestro Mark Fitz-Gerald from Croydon, associated with the Strasbourg Philharmonic Orchestra. If you have any doubts about music or print contact Theodore van Houten, POB 1, Haamstede, 4328 ZG-Netherlands.

It is, I suppose, fair to say that this is a propaganda film because it does deliver a political message. On the other hand, it's not too outlandish of a message. Perhaps there were reasons to oppose the Paris Commune, although none occur to me. However, a discussion of propaganda in films is in itself somewhat redundant: most films might face the same charges. After all, film is an art form that chooses to present a series of images and sounds, usually dialogue but also music (and in this case there is in the best version a stunning score by Shostakovich) in order to manipulate the feelings and the thoughts of the viewer. "Apocalypse Now", for instance, is an examination of war and its component parts that does not shy away from politics or advocacy. It is clear to the viewer that the filmmaker is asking questions about why that war was fought. "Armaggedon" also supports a particular political world view, as does "First Blood", "The Seventh Seal", "Sex in the City" and even "Toy Story".

Despite my sympathies, however, it is not the politics that I love about this film - it is not the message but the artful use of the medium that sells me on this work of art. This is a moving and beautiful film, with fully realised character development and wonderfully magical imagery. After the parasols, the train and the cancan dancers, you should keep an eye out in particular for the shots in the last segments of the film. Kozintsev and Trauberg work little miracles with everyday objects such as lace, shovels and pianos. (Amazingly enough, these artists continued their magic for a long time -Trauberg worked until the early 1960s and Kozintsev directed his last film, which many consider the best "King Lear" for the cinema, in 1971.) "New Babylon" is, in a number of ways, a good companion piece for "The Man with a Movie Camera", the best of the Russian silents that I have seen. While it does indulge the "message" shot - there are a number of those but most are extremely well-done and worth seeing; the milk-for-soldiers is one, the juxtaposed lives are another - it is the realism of this film that elevates it, not its occasional slip into histrionics. The female lead, Yelena Kuzmina, is excellent, an actress who commands your attention and earns your sympathy, but it is in all the secondary roles put together that the city of Paris of 1870 and 1871 truly comes alive. In these earlier films, before sound drew us in, it was the faces that needed to speak, and these do, eloquently. The department store owner, the old soldiers, the contemptuous general, the washerwomen and the journalist with hope for humanity, they are all clamoring to tell you something. Exactly what they say to you may depend on your own world view, but their comments should be interesting to everyone.

I caught this one before it expired on "the silent stream" section of Le Giornate del Cinema Muto website, where they temporarily revive past screenings from the Pordenone Silent Film Festival. Mark it down as one of the classics of Soviet montage and the late silent era. This version, by the way, is the 92-minutes restoration with the original score; reportedly, there's a longer cut that was discovered in Germany in the 1980s, but which co-director Leonid Trauberg disavowed as extra footage that they'd intentionally discarded and not censored material. Regardless, as it is, "The New Babylon" is a spectacular synthesis of Impressionistic images, rapid and rhythmic editing and a score by renowned composer Dmitri Shostakovich, his first for a film, to match the operetta within the film and the operatic presentation of the Paris Commune.

The opening sequence in itself is masterful. With the aid of special portrait lenses, the focus of images is extremely narrow--mostly, only a character in the foreground per shot is seen clearly--while the background is blurred as if each frame were an Impressionist painting--none of which remain on the screen for long. Counts of the film's average shot length (ASL) range from five seconds, according to Barry Salt, to as quick as 3.7 seconds, as claimed by David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson. Seeing several shots pass by in a fraction of a second at its fastest pace, I wasn't about to bring out my own clicker. Suffice to say that the shot succession here is closer to that of a modern action flick than to the contemporary early talkies in Hollywood, which seem to be guaranteed an ASL of more than 10 seconds and upwards of more than 20 seconds. Eventually, the camera will sometimes spin as if in a drunken stupor until hardly anything can be made out. Other imagery, such as when the rich attack the poor in the street, is also obfuscated visually and by quick cutting. Also undercutting what one might otherwise consider an appreciation of French Impressionist paintings is that the footage is of bourgeois debauchery, a grotesque depiction of the sort of leisurely activities one might find in a Manet, Monet, Renoir, or Surat.

Nor is the entirety of the picture photographed in quite the same way; indeed, there are a few striking deep-focus compositions. One features the French flag in the foreground, as a soldier on horseback occupies the distant horizon. The montage, too, slows down at least long enough to establish a relationship between a woman who joins the Commune and a French soldier who winds up being involved in its demise, including sometimes their relatively-long forlorn looks, the plot of which does rather well to ground the grander narrative and hold the spectator's attention with the traditional, character-based identification that's more important to other movies, but rather at odds with this film's socialist and non-individualistic politics. Set during the Franco-Prussian War, the Prussian soldiers, too, only occupy silhouettes in the background of the frame; the center of this picture is occupied by France's own class conflict. It should also be noted that the lighting, including some chiaroscuro effects throughout, is finely done.

While later we see those of the middle or upper classes lounging outside, watching the Commune being defeated by the soldiers as if it were street theatre, in the opening sequence it's an apparent operetta being performed on stage while they eat and drink and generally revel, or, for the more sober, conduct business. If these arts and entertainments are defined as bourgeois, then one might very well wonder what is supposed to be made of film, such as this one. That's where the guns that the proletariat fight for come in. Cinema as mechanical, rapid-fire, revolutionary polemic for mass production and mass appeal. The crosscutting between a new operetta being practiced and the working-class women feeding the soldiers before a struggle over weaponry ensues is an especially stark contrast. Furthermore, there's the piano player on the Commune's side of the barricade and, perhaps anachronistically, "La Marseillaise" being sung as the workers' battle cry, to go along with the rest of Shostakovich's score that's always fighting in unison with the class struggle of the imagery. Sure, it's Soviet propaganda, but it's also great art.