Page 181 - Inside the Film Factory New Approaches to Russian and Soviet Cinema
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162 INSIDE THE FILM FACTORY
              ‘Because if you ever manage to become honest, which would surprise me,
              you can remove the word “Soviet”. Now I am a “Soviet director”, although I
              only became one recently.’
                Then we had a drink and he told me: ‘Above all, don’t watch my films
              twice.’  ‘Why?’  I enquired. ‘Because they are made for one viewing and
              afterwards, when  you go for a walk  and remember  them, they  become
              better. I am not’, he told me, ‘a chemist like Eisenstein, who poisons slowly.’
                I fell in love with him the first time I saw By the Bluest of Seas. It was in
              the editing class given by Felonov, an excellent teacher, who told us: ‘There
              is no logic to this film, none at all, and no measurement, but it is very well
              filmed.’ (He  was  used to measuring everything and thought  that all films
              were calculated.) ‘It is very well made. I am not teaching you the craft in order
              to follow this example. I noticed how much you liked it’ (I had badgered him
              to let me see it again on the editing table) ‘so here it is, but don’t take it as an
              example. Even though it is better made than, say, Ivan the Terrible.’
                He  was  a  poet at  a time when  cinema had thrown out all its
              simple, unmannered poets, in order to  implant mannerism.  Dovzhenko’s
              poetry is really mannerism, with those apples around the old man dying….
              Barnet’s films like The Girl with a Hatbox and Trubnaya were very much
              influenced  by their  epoch. They were light-hearted and  very funny. They
              were ironic and even carried their propaganda well: ‘Things are bad,’ they said,
              ‘but they will improve and this will only be temporary.’
                Ideologically, he belonged to that company of film-makers, but morally he
              didn’t take part in their games. Why do I say that? Because a director who
              had gone through it all and been broken by the demands of the time, who
              had started to make films about the kolkhozes, said of him that he was an
              enemy. Just like that. Indeed he was distrusted by all his colleagues, for what
              he had done? What did By the Bluest of Seas amount to? In our epoch of
              construction, with all its serious and weighty problems, what’s all this about a
              wave which sweeps a woman into the  cabin  of a  boat?  This  really has
              nothing to do with reality!
                I have the impression that professionals, the same ordinary technicians
              who still work at Mosfilm who had contact with him, adored him as a person.
              This was in contrast to those directors who exemplified what a film-maker
              should be. Happy, straightforward, generous, a drinker and a child, all at
              once. He had no anxiety about being humiliated; he could say, ‘I don’t know
              how that’s done.’
                This is a craft which should be plied happily if at all possible. But you
              never get good results if, as in France, you try to please the producer. Barnet
              made a charming, silly film, Lyana. He was dead-drunk and surrounded by
              gypsies singing and dancing through the shoot. He had a wonderful time.
              Rather than conform, if one has to film something stupid, better not to take
              part in the shooting. Just opt out. 22
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