Nikolai Cherkasov in Ivan Groznyi, pervoi serii
In this series about Kazakhstani cinema that I’ve been doing, from epic revenge sagas to quirky romantic comedies, it may seem a trifle perverse of me to include Ivan Groznyi, Part I, the Soviet film by Sergei Eisenstein. But it is the case, however ironic it might be, that this film, shot and released during the Second World War, would jump-start the entire Kazakhstani film industry, after the Moscow-based film companies had been relocated to Almaty (then Alma-Ata). And, of course, it would be a historical melodrama about that most ruthless and commanding of Moscow’s rulers, the very first of them who threatened the borders of the Kazakh khanate: Ivan IV ‘the Fearsome’, the first of the Russian Tsars. But these truly are the sorts of historical ironies I delight in.
This was, after all, a film shot at the height of the Great Patriotic War, after the film industry along with a number of other Soviet heavy industries had been relocated to the interior to protect them from the advance of Nazi Germany. Qaraǵandy became a hub of industrial activity; Almaty – cultural. Eisenstein’s epic of Ivan takes place against this historical backdrop, and also speaks to that generation and its struggles. Not for nothing does Ivan in Part I face off against the Livonians, the Crimean Khanate and the Hanseatic League as his main external enemies – or regard Queen Elizabeth of England as his primary overseas ally! The parallels between Ivan’s struggle for the salvation of Russia, and that of the leadership during the Great Patriotic War, are drawn perhaps a little too bluntly.
Ivan Groznyi, pervoi serii is not a particularly subtle film. Eisenstein shows a peculiar preference for exaggerated theatrical mannerisms, bold looks, masque-like expressions that remind one of nothing so much as a Chinese kunqu or a Japanese kabuki. (Indeed, Eisenstein was deeply influenced by the Asiatic opera tradition.) He also uses costume and lighting to achieve bold dramatic effects. For example, Ivan’s bride Anastasia Romanovna (Lyudmila Tselikovskaya) is portrayed only in white, light colours, metallic fabrics. The evil Efrosinia (Serafima Birman) is usually garbed entirely – or at least from head to shoulders – in black, giving her a menacing and shadowy aspect.
The faces of the characters are lit to an extraordinary degree from beneath, giving us the impression that we are looking up at statues. Or else shadows are deliberately cast upon vast surfaces in the background. Likewise, actors and sets are deliberately framed; long, low-angle shots portray Ivan as larger-than-life – even as they dwell upon his tormented and, to some degree, wholly-human inner life. The result is a film that is imposing, majestic, full of bombast and importance. It’s easy to see how this would be an acquired taste, but from a purely artistic perspective I found it exhilarating – a work of genius.
As for Ivan (Nikolai Cherkasov) himself, even in the first part, his mannerisms reflect the ambiguous position that Eisenstein had in mind for him. Stalin apparently approved deeply of the first part of Ivan Groznyi and the way it portrays Tsar Ivan as a hero. This part is indeed there for him. But Eisenstein directs Tsar Ivan, and Cherkasov performs him, in the mode of the Cao Cao of Chinese opera and the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. His costuming alternates between bright and dark, as do his facial expressions and aspect. We can already see traces of the ambition and paranoia that come from straining after power, and suspecting everyone around him. To be fair: he had good reason to be paranoid. Every single one of the boyars around him is a scoundrel who wants to see his downfall – including, as it turns out, his close ‘friend’ Prince Andrei Kurbskyi (Mikhail Nazvanov) who has designs on Anastasia.
The main conflict of the story, though, really surrounds the establishment of Russia as a state: the transition from a divided kingdom torn apart between the boyars and their petty squabbles, into a modern power with a regular army. As with controversial Chinese monarchs like Cao Cao or Wu Zetian, portrayals of Russian rulers as divisive as Ivan Groznyi are, by necessity, also political commentaries reflecting contemporary concerns. This portrayal of Ivan IV is no exception. Ivan is shown as a progressive ruler, a visionary; but he is one who must govern by force or the threat of force.
As an Orthodox Christian, I also feel it is necessary to pass some comment on the treatment of the Church in this film. I’m very much not a fan of how the patriarch and the monks in the film are essentially portrayed in the same light as the boyars – materialistic, greedy, self-interested and eager to curry political favour. I can’t argue that this has, on occasion, been the case in the Church – and of course I acknowledge that this exaggeration was part-and-parcel of the entire Soviet ‘case’ against the Church, which naturally this film reflects ideologically. At the same time, I appreciate that the film takes care to get the music of the Orthodox Church correct, and also some of the sacraments and outward life of the Church. Also, Ivan is shown to be a sincere Orthodox believer, someone who truly believes in God and struggles with that belief in the face of his wife’s death. In some ways, despite the operatic theatricality of the moment, the scene where Ivan grieves over his wife’s body is perhaps the most poignant part of an incredibly poignant film.
Speaking of music, this film would not have been complete without Sergei Prokofiev having done the score! Whereas it occasionally seemed in Pervyi eshelon that the artistic merits of the film did not quite match up to the sheer depth of talent shown by the composer of its soundtrack, here the pairing of Prokofiev to the artistic vision of Eisenstein and the historical subject matter aligns perfectly. Prokofiev knows precisely what note to strike to produce the stirring effect, whether that is in the sweeping majesty of the coronation or in the sinister plotting of the boyars.
It’s not controversial at all to say that Ivan Groznyi deserves its place among the all-time classics of cinema. But allow me to step, a bit perversely perhaps, a little into controversial waters here. Ivan Groznyi tells the tale of the first Russian Tsar. It appeals to Russian sensibilities. It plays to Great Russian patriotism. And it indisputably belongs to a pan-Soviet cinematic canon. But it is also very much, materially, a Kazakhstani film. The scenery surrounding the battles and the outdoor procession belonged to the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic. The great bulk of Eisenstein’s work on Ivan Groznyi, the set pieces, equipment, institutional support – this was the technical foundation for an Alma-Ata based film industry that would go on to produce Pervyi eshelon in the post-war period, and also the more ‘national’-oriented films of Sháken Aımanov (on whose work, a blog post to follow), Majit Begalin, Abdulla Qarsaqbaev and Sultanahmet Qojyqov. Kazakhstani cinema – particularly that funded by state organs like Kazakhfilm – took, in many senses, Ivan Groznyi as a foundational work. Ermek Shynarbaev’s 1989 Mest’ can be seen to mirror Ivan Groznyi’s emphasis on light and shadow, even if the soft-focus lighting produces an entirely different effect. It also uses many of the same techniques that Eisenstein used in its acting direction, producing an operatic experience. Ardak Ámirqulov’s 1991 Otyrardyń kúıreyi explores, albeit from a very different angle in relation to a very different set of characters to Ivan Groznyi, the psychology of power and those who cling to it – and also cinematographically plays with light and shadow in many of the same ways.
No comments:
Post a Comment