Page 184 - Inside the Film Factory New Approaches to Russian and Soviet Cinema
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INTERVIEW WITH ALEXANDER MEDVEDKIN 165
                out, ‘He’s sitting here in the audience.’ ‘Where?…Stand up!’ So he stood
                up: ‘I won’t do it again. That’s the last time.’ People laughed so much.
                    Another horse went to the rostrum. His head was tied up as though
                he had toothache and he complained that his rider had left him out in the
                cold wind. The rider had gone to see his girlfriend and had left his horse
                outside in  the cold wind all night  while he  made love. ‘No,’ the
                commander shouted, ‘I didn’t.’ So it was a very jolly, very impassioned
                and a very effective method of satire. It worked like a good whip, lashing
                whatever harm was done to horses, making it unthinkable. They were
                all afraid that they’d be a target so they had to kiss their horses’ heads–
                or else they’d be exposed on stage. That’s how it all began, that’s an
                example.
                    Often there were no examples to follow, but that was one. We had
                all sorts of interesting scenes, like a lubok. The Russian lubok was a kind
                of painting on a panel, like a cartoon in a newspaper. They pasted up the
                newspapers, made a panel, and painted a man’s face on it. That was a
                lubok. It had a special text and every two or three days we had a very
                funny special show that served as an experimental laboratory for me,
                where  I  learned to master comedy.  That was more or less the
                inspiration that determined my  work in  cinema. It  had enormous
                consequences too for the rest of the division and ultimately the whole
                army.
                    The experiment was written up in the newspapers. I suddenly rose
                through the ranks, moving higher and higher, and in the end, two years
                later, I was summoned to Moscow and that’s where I came into contact
                with the cinema organisation Gosvoyenkino, the  military studio for
                military films. I had such a  wealth of experience in comedy, in what
                made people laugh, that it was easy for me to start with comedy. So I
                started working on comedy films. In 1931 I released five experimental
                comedies that were just as trenchant as that whip of a play. They were
                comedies that provoked anger, laughter and anger…. They really got up
                your nose! There was protest and everything else in them. They weren’t
                comedies just to make people laugh. The times were so very difficult: our
                first Five Year Plan had only just begun.
                    There are not many of us left who lived through that first Five Year
                Plan. But it marked a break, a turning-point, a kind of cataclysm when
                everything was  re-examined,  everything was rejected,  while here  and
                there new shoots appeared unexpectedly. They were  still tender, still
                unsure of themselves, but they did appear. Yet in cinemas you’d still
                hear the  pianist accompanying pictures  with titles like  Sadness, Be
                Silent, Fireside Blues, I Love You and suchlike.
                    As a warrior, a soldier in a victorious army and a political activist who
                was used to dealing with the education of Red Army soldiers, I entered
                cinema in order to attack this kind of film, to defeat it and to arm cinema
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