Target #256: Ivanovo detstvo / Ivan's Childhood (1962, Andrei Tarkovsky)

TSPDT placing: #538
Directed by: Andrei Tarkovsky, Eduard Abalov (uncredited)
Written by: Vladimir Bogomolov (story) (screenplay), Mikhail Papava (writer), Andrei Konchalovsky (uncredited), Andrei Tarkovsky (uncredited)
Starring: Nikolay Burlyaev, Valentin Zubkov, Yevgeni Zharikov, Stepan Krylov, Nikolai Grinko, Valentina Malyavina

WARNING: Plot and/or ending details may follow!!!

Andrei Tarkovsky landed his first major project {after his diploma film, The Steamroller and the Violin (1961)} when original director Eduard Abalov was fired from the production, his work deemed unsatisfactory and unusable. Given that Ivan's Childhood (1962) was initiated by other artists, one gets the sense that perhaps Tarkovsky's heart wasn't entirely in this one – it feels like a substantially less-personal film than Andrei Rublev (1969) or Stalker (1979), the other two I've seen so far. Nevertheless, I think I loved it even more than both of these. In his ability to establish mood, Tarkovsky was unsurpassed by any except perhaps Kubrick, boundless emotion communicated through a single beautifully-captured shot. The relatively straightforward narrative and themes of Ivan's Childhood remove the nagging ambiguity of which the director was so very fond, allowing the viewer to simply immerse themselves in the overwhelming atmosphere. Perhaps it'll prove the least durable of Tarkovsky's efforts, but, for now, I have to say that I adored every moment.

The loss of childhood innocence is a common motif in war-themed pictures, and seems particularly prevalent in Soviet cinema – for the finest example, look towards than Elem Klimov's harrowing Come and See (1985). In this film, a close forerunner, Nikolay Burlyaev plays Ivan, a twelve-year-old orphan employed as a Russian spy on the Eastern Front. After his bright, idealistic childhood is yanked away by German soldiers, Ivan commits himself to the Soviet cause, refusing to attend school in favour of infiltrating enemy territory to gather strategic information. Stubborn and weary, he tramps cautiously through the clammy river swamps, keeping low to avoid detection. Even back in Russian territory, Ivan no longer bears any traits of the lively youth he once was. He resents the interference of adults, even those who tentatively regard him as an adopted son. The film's title, Ivan's Childhood, notably refers only to the vivid flashbacks of Ivan's earlier years; from the moment his mother fell from a bullet, his childhood was over.

It doesn't need saying that Tarkovsky's film is beautifully-shot – indeed, that would be an understatement. Vadim Yusov's cinematography is crisp, haunting and atmospheric, a truly marvellous effort from a photographer whose only previous experience was also on Tarkovsky's diploma work. Ivan's Childhood contains little of the rampant brutality that made Come and See such a traumatic, visceral experience, but instead achieves success through subtle contemplation, as was the director's style. Ivan's forever-shattered innocence is most startlingly recognised in the shadowy serenity of the river swamp, encroached only intermittently by the silent arc of an enemy flare. Ivan's wistful childhood memories are always basked in a radiant sunlit glow, but his present and future are confined only to the murky gloom of a marshland, or the cold walls of a military bunker. When the Russian base is faced with a German blitz, his only worry stems from the surreal realisation that he's not frightened in the slightest. An irreversibly corrupted mind and soul, Ivan marches onwards to his death.
9/10

Currently my #6 film of 1962:
1) Lawrence of Arabia (David Lean)
2) La Jetée {The Pier} (Chris Marker)
3) Le Procès {The Trial} (Orson Welles)
4) To Kill A Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan)
5) Birdman of Alcatraz (John Frankenheimer)
6) Ivanovo detstvo {Ivan’s Childhood} (Andrei Tarkovsky, Eduard Abalov)
7) The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (John Ford)
8) Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson)
9) Panic in Year Zero! (Ray Milland)
10) The Manchurian Candidate (John Frankenheimer)

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Target #226: Andrey Rublyov / Andrei Rublev (1969, Andrei Tarkovsky)

TSPDT placing: #48

Directed by: Andrei Tarkovsky

Written by: Andrei Tarkovsky, Andrei Konchalovsky

Starring: Anatoli Solonitsyn, Ivan Lapikov, Nikolai Grinko, Nikolai Sergeyev, Irma Raush, Nikolai Burlyayev

Just as Andrei Rublev faced doubt about whether or not, having sinned, he could continue his celebrated iconography, I likewise find myself in two minds about Andrei Tarkovsky's film. My experience with the director's other work is, as usual, limited, but I still couldn't shake that persistent expectation that I would love Andrei Rublev (1969). There is certainly much to love about it, but my appreciation for the film can best be described as admiration rather than affection, and, though I can speak with only the utmost praise for Tarkovsky's achievement, it doesn't occupy that exclusive space close to my heart. The film is a deeply-personal religious work, an examination of faith and moral values, and so perhaps it's inevitable that the film didn't leave such a deep impression, considering my preference towards atheism; one unfortunately cannot discard all personal convictions for the mere purposes of appreciating a work of art. I do, however, like to think that the majesty of cinema, in most cases, is able to transcend religious boundaries.

Andrei Tarkovsky released his first feature-length film, Ivan's Childhood, in 1962. Even prior to its release, the director had already expressed interest in filming the life of great Russian iconographer Andrei Rublev, even though very little is actually known about his life. Working with a screenplay written by himself and Andrei Konchalovsky, Tarkvosky began filming in 1964, and a 205-minute cut was screened for a private audience in Moscow in 1966. The critical response, however, was mixed, and sizeable cuts were made to the film's running time, before a 186-minute version screened out of competition at the Cannes Film Festival in 1969. I'm not entirely sure which version I ended up watching; the time counter indicated somewhere around 165 minutes, though my brief research couldn't uncover any major missing sequences. In hindsight, I should probably have held out for longer and acquired the Criterion Collection DVD, which restores the picture to its four-hour glory. In several years' time, when I inevitably decide to revisit Tarkovsky's film, I'll make certain to do just that.

Andrei Rublev is divided into nine distinct segments, including a colour epilogue displaying Rublev's weathered icons as they exist today. They each explore a facet of the great painter's life, placing particular emphasis on his faith in God and how it relates to his work on frescos and icons. Interestingly, though Rublev (Anatoli Solonitsyn) himself appears in most of the stories, he is often hidden in the background, a passive observer on the behaviour of others, including Kirill (Ivan Lapikov), who is jealous of Rublev's recognition, and young Boriska (Nikolai Burlyayev), who successfully casts a bell using faith rather than knowledge. One consequence of this narrative format is a lack of cohesiveness in Tarkovsky's storytelling. We adequately follow the plot of each segment, but, as the whole, the film doesn't seem to build towards any notable climactic revelation – the completed film is equal to the sum of its parts, which is still very impressive, but pulls it short of being a masterpiece. Once again, however, I must acknowledge that the 205-minute version may potentially correct this problem.

One statement that can not be disputed, however, is that Andrei Rublev really is a beautiful piece of film-making. Vadim Yusov's black-and-white photography captures the exquisite delicateness of nature with almost heartbreaking intricacy; even the raindrops of a midday shower are imbued with the gentle elegance of the Heaven from which they ostensibly fell. Tarkovsky finds simple beauty in the quiver of a tree branch in the breeze, the leisurely flow of a river, herds of livestock fleeing from an aerial balloon. In portraying the complete opposite, the destruction of nature, the director is capable but not quite the master he is otherwise. The raiding of Vladimir by a troop of Tatars was obviously supposed to be the centrepiece of the picture, but Tarkovsky underplays every detail to such an extent that his "chaos" ultimately winds down into a staged conflict. Compare this sequence with Sergei Bondarchuk's burning of Moscow in War and Peace (1967), in which one feels as though he has descended into the fires of Hell, and the contrast is telling.

8/10

Currently my #2 film of 1969:

1) Midnight Cowboy (John Schlesinger)
2) Andrey Rublyov {Andrei Rublev} (Andrei Tarkovsky)
3) Take the Money and Run (Woody Allen)

What others have said:

"The key is that the events in the film illuminate Rublev's state of mind -- or rather they show what Tarkovsky imagines to be Rublev's state of mind, since few facts are known about the painter's actual life story. In that way, Rublev's character here is emblematic of The Artist, particularly one torn between a devotion to the spiritual and the nagging sensation that, perhaps, there is a great hypocrisy behind much of what masquerades as spirituality."

Bryant Frazer

"Lacking the cult credentials of Tarkovsky's later and more immediate sci-fi films Solaris and Stalker, Andrei Rublev delivers something more austere; a story of oblique mysticism that styles the artist as a Christ-like figure crucified by the brutality of the age as he wanders in search of redemption and - what may perhaps be ultimately the same thing - inspiration. Rublev becomes Tarkovsky's own canvas, and it is on him that the filmmaker paints a vision of his belief in art as a means of rediscovering the spiritual."

Jamie Russell

"Based on the life of fifteenth century Russian monk and icon painter Andrei Rublev (Anatoli Solonitzine), this magnificently mounted epic film follows his experiences in a Russia ravaged by Tartar invaders. Rublev is shown during various times of his life--the period is vividly recreated in all its violence. The movie represents that very rare hybrid, an epic that is highly personal, expressing the feeling of an artist who is in inherent and endemic conflict with the surrounding society and its oppressive institutions."

Emanuel Levy

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