Des monstres et des hommes

In an era in which the video shop shelves and TV schedules are dominated by formula-pap, it is refreshing to find a film that stimulates thought for days afterwards. The question is: what's it all about? Is the film commenting on life in pre-revolutionary Russia, on the exploitation of 'freaks', on the corrupting power of pornography, or perhaps none or all of these? I came away from it thinking that the film was primarily about the ways in which film-making can be misused; that it examined the role of those drawn into 'the pornography industry' whether exploiter, exploited, or idealistic artist more interested in technique than subject matter. In thinking about that interpretation I found myself pondering the role of Putilov, seemingly an idealist; would it not be more accurate to describe him as amoral, as the artist determined to remain aloof from the degradation and humiliation required for completion of his projects?

I think the film raises questions about the extent to which the film-maker can remain untarnished by the moral issues that he purports to examine objectively and from a detached perspective. If Putilov agrees to co-operate in the filming or photography of the naked, frightened Siamese twins or of the whipping of a young woman can he really escape responsibility for their plight? Is he really entitled to walk away with his reputation intact? The immoral Johann is easier to condemn: he is a sadist who will kill at the drop of a hat to preserve his way of life and business. A jury would take much longer to decide its verdict on Putilov.

A friend lent me the DVD of this strangely compelling film. I was vaguely aware of its "arthouse" cinema release here in England a couple of years ago and thought that I had remembered it as having been well-reviewed. I don't know about you, but I love it when a film takes me by surprise, confounds my expectations and gives me the impression that I am being treated to a film-makers unique vision. "Of Freaks and Men" is a remarkable vision of exploitation amongst the middle classes of (what I presume to be) turn of the century Russia. Photographed in black and white and exquisite sepia tones it playfully uses Freudian imagery - trains, funnels, tunnels, stairways and doors - to create a dreamlike evocation of an apparently cultured and respectable society whose parlours may be used for the creation of titillating sado-masochistic pornography. The repression of sexual fantasies is mirrored by the subdued emotions that all the characters display when confronted by their trials. If you bring your own emotions to your viewing of this film you may, like me, find it occasionally heart-rending. The image of the beautiful siamese twins naked and cowering in terror from Viktor the leering, abusing pornographer is an image which I think will haunt me for a long time. All in all a richly poetic nightmare. To be viewed with an open mind and compassion.

remarkable as portrait of survive of a world. for the images. for the inspired cast. and for the courage. a film about freaks and sins, about appearances and profit, about victims as reflections of cruelty against them. and the perfect music as respiration of story. a puzzle of characters. and the links who defines each. traces of absurd and pornography. and a new era.at first sigh, a Russian Salo. in fact, only sketch of a society after Communism.cold, direct, without masks. or, maybe, a parable. its sense seems be not very important. because it could be a film about viewer. a puzzle for self definition. or a testimony about the secret rooms of few lives.

Every so often one has the pleasure of discovering a film so unusual that it seems that nothing has influenced it in its creation of a world all its own. One such was David Lynch's "Eraserhead", another, Charles Laughton's "Night of the Hunter" and now to join the august company is Alexsei Balabanov's "Of Freaks and Men". By dressing up a most scurrilous plot in images of extraodinary elegance and beauty the director has created an astonishingly original entertainment. Turn of the century St. Petersburg is hauntingly captured in beautiful sepia visuals of waterways and bridges, classical exteriors and upper class salons. But behind this facade the very devil is at work in the form of a gang of pornographic photographers who insinuate themselves into the lives of two respectable families whom they summarily proceed to corrupt. In due course the daughter of a highly respected engineer is enjoying having her naked buttocks spanked by an old crone in front of the camera, while the blind wife of a doctor in the other household becomes infatuated with another member of the gang who is only there to satisfy his paedophiliac fascination with the adolescent boy Siamese twins she and her husband have adopted. And this only for starters! As things go from bad to worse and goings on become more depraved - although admittedly we see no more than the odd spanking - the visuals become ever more beautiful particularly when the twins travel to the snowbound east and the girl travels west to wander a townscape of blowing autumn leaves. I think Balabanov is trying to say something about the voyeuristic nature of the camera and the progress of photography from still to moving pictures. To probe for deeper meanings wound not be very fruitful from a film whose raison d'etre, I suspect, is simply to intrigue and delight.

One of the disadvantages of being an Englishman living in Amsterdam, of course, is that the linguistic barriers impose some pretty severe limitations on ones cinematic diet. However, given that the choice between watching films like this and the likes of the 'The Phantom Menace' would have yielded the same conclusion whatever language it was to be viewed in, I am pleased to say that my embryonic graspings of the Dutch language were sufficient to cope in this particular case. Whether this can be put down to simplistic subtitling, the succinct approach to dialogue of Russian films, or director Alexei Balabanov's grasp of the fact that in the hypothetically visual culture of cinema, actions speak louder than words, is debatable. Whatever; I came, I saw, and I enjoyed.

Director Alexei Balabanov, whose 1997 debut was 'Brother' ('Brat'), has here created a fascinating tale around the subject of pornography in turn of the century St Petersberg. Johann (Sergei Makovetsky), a purveyor of salacious erotic autochromes of staged flagellation scenes, along with assistant Victor, worms his way into the lives of two noble families, drawing adopted Mongolian conjoined twins Kolja and Tolja and the delicately beautiful Lisa (Dinara Drukarova) into his enterprise as subjects for his short erotic films.

From the early blue-tinted scenes detailing the birth and background of the twins, set to a soundtrack all but silent save for the presence of hisses and scratches, to the vivid invocation of a feverish preoccupation with all things sexual welling beneath the austere trappings of the Russian bourgeoisie, Balabanov lyrically invokes the spirit of the times. 'Of Freaks and Men' is nothing if it is not beautiful and evocative, crisply photographed in monochrome by cinematographer Sergei Astakhov. There is dark quirky humour here, and a host of eccentric periphery characters, from the lustily compliant serving maid, to a blind wife, and Johann's snaggle-toothed henchman. Visually the film is consistently rich and fascinating.

The premise, of course, is guaranteed to offend the more conservative of viewers. The numerous whipping scenes as well as the portrayal of Johann's treatment of the twins are sure to prove distasteful to those approaching with a more polically correct viewpoint, though the studied art direction and period stylistic veneer distances the viewer to some extent. This, after all is a film about the origins of pornography, and it is not really pornographic in itself. It also touches on a fear of technology (in this case, the emerging medium of cinema), and how that new technology can either empower or enslave. Despite the rather flaccid denouement, and at times seeming slightly overblown in its characterisation of Johann (whose dominance is more usually manifested by means of a handgun rather than a camera), the intriguingly original premise and stunning sepia-toned cinematography should prove ample reward for the curious viewer. After all, there are not a lot of Russian films getting shown over here at the moment.