I honestly like this scene better than the trench kiss. His open arms and eager face! She's afraid to take the plunge; isn't it futile to fall in love with a soldier? Everyone's bound to die.
Immediately after our viewing of Soy Cuba, my viewing companion started reading about the director, Mikhail Kalatozov, and discovered that he had also previously directed Letyat zhuravli (The Cranes are Flying), and that it had won the Palme d’Or at Cannes in 1958. We checked to see if it was on the Criterion streaming service and discovered that it was, and immediately made plans to watch it as…
🎬 “LA INFANCIA DE IVÁN” [Ivanovo detstvo / Ivan's Childhood]
🔎 Género: Drama / Bélico / II Guerra Mundial / Espionaje / Infancia / Nazismo
⌛️ Duración: 95 minutos
✍️ Guión: Vladimir Bogomolov y Mikhail Papava
🎵Música: Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov
📷 Fotografía: Vadim Yusov
🗯 Argumento: Segunda Guerra Mundial (1939-1945) Frente Oriental; Iván, un niño ruso de doce años, cuyos padres murieron durante la invasión nazi, trabaja espiando a los alemanes.
👥 Reparto: Valentin Zubkov (Kholin), Nikolái Burliáyev (Ivan), Andréi Konchalovski (Soldado con anteojos), Nikolai Grinko (Gryaznov), Irma Raush (Madre de Ivan), Yevgeny Zharikov (Galtsev), Stepan Krylov (Katasonov), Valentina Malyavina (Masha) y Dmitri Milyutenko (Anciano).
Cast: Nikolay Burlyaev, Valentin Zubkov, Evgeniy Zharikov, Stepan Krylov, Nikolay Grinko, Dmitri Milyutenko, Valentina Malyavina, Irina Tarkovskaya, Andrey Konchalovskiy. Screenplay: Vladimir Bogomolov, Mikhail Papava, based on a story by Vladimir Bogomolov. Vadim Yusov. Production design: Evgeniy Chernyaev. Film editing: Lyudmila Feyginova. Music: Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov.
There are scenes in Ivan's Childhood that would work in the hands of only Andrei Tarkovsky. The famous scene in the birch forest, in which Kholin (Valentin Zubkov) straddles a trench and kisses Masha (Valentina Malyavina) while dangling her over it is completely extraneous to Ivan's story, as are almost all the scenes in which Masha, the physician's assistant, appears. And Tarkovsky never falls into the trap of sentimentality in the dream sequences, including the film's ending. In fact, I think it's a mistake to call them "dream sequences" -- they mostly avoid the conventions of movie dreams like odd angles or camera tricks or surreal elements. They're really memory pieces, explorations of the other side of Ivan's childhood, the innocent years of peace, poetically interpolated into the harshness of war. In fact, the "real" sequences are often more dreamlike than the memories: the dizzying ghostlike trunks of the birch trees, the flares falling silently like meteorites, the spiky war ruins that threaten to impale. It's a heartbreaking film because Tarkovsky refuses to pull out all the melodramatic stops but lets his images speak for themselves and because Nikolay Burlyaev performs with such conviction as Ivan, in one of the greatest performances by a child ever captured on film. It's probably the most poetic war film ever made because the war recedes into the background as a thing remembered.
Aleksey Batalov and Tatyana Samoylova in The Cranes Are Flying (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1957)
Cast: Tatyana Samoylova, Aleksey Batalov, Vasiliy Merkurev, Aleksandr Shvorin, Svetlana Kharitonova, Konstantin Kadochnikov, Valentin Zubkov, Antonina Bogdanova, Boris Kokovkin, Ekaterina Kupriyanova. Screenplay: Viktor Rozov, based on his play. Cinematography: Sergey Urusevskiy. Production design: Evgeniy Svidetelev. Film editing: Mariya Timofeevna. Music: Moisey Vaynberg.
The Cranes Are Flying was received enthusiastically on its international release in 1957, partly as a sign of a thaw between the Soviet Union and the West. Among other things, it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes. Today, I think it's more likely to be judged for its visuals and its almost formalist construction than for the well-worn theme of its narrative, a romantic drama set against the backdrop of war. From the beginning I was struck by the compositions of cinematographer Sergey Urusefskiy, an evocative use of diagonals, framing the lovers Veronika (the extraordinary Tatyana Samoylova) and Boris (Aleksey Batalov) within the angles made by bridges and causeways, roads and ramps and staircases, all of which echo the image evoked in the title: the V-shaped flight of migrating cranes. Director Mikhail Kalatozov uses the image of flying cranes at the beginning of the film, almost as a harbinger of the coming war, and again at the end of the film, this time precisely as an image of returning peace. The V of the flying cranes at the beginning is soon mocked by the X of anti-tank barriers set up in the wartime street. But his entire film is structured of such echoes, including the crowds that weep at the departure of soldiers and at the end weep at their return -- or failure to do so. The film is full of beautifully staged moments, such as the return of Veronika to her home after a bombing raid. She has taken shelter in the subway but her family hasn't, and she rushes into the bombed-out building, climbs the burning stairs, and opens a door to nothingness, with only a dangling lampshade to recall the scene that had taken place in the apartment before. There are striking cuts, such as the one of feet walking across broken glass in a bombed apartment that's followed immediately by a soldier's feet slogging through mud. This particular cut also serves to link two key moments in the film: Veronika's rape by Boris's cousin Mark (Aleksandr Shvorin) and Boris's death from a sniper's bullet. The Cranes Are Flying can be faulted for melodramatic excesses: Veronika's decision to marry her rapist doesn't come out of any perceptible necessity, and the failure to report Boris as dead rather than missing seems there only to heighten her futile hope that he will return to her. But if you're going to be melodramatic, you should embrace it as whole-heartedly as Kalatazov does.