Dama s sobachkoy

This movie ranks among the masterpieces of Soviet film art.

Really everything is good here: the acting, the shots, the timing, the scenery and its tale. Taken from a very famous short story by Chekhov, one of Russia's greatest writers. 'Dama s sobachkoj' reflects its very Russian character well: infinite boredom, caused by life in an endlessly large country with a harsh climate and a very monotonuous landscape.

The plot of this movie is timed at the end of the 19th century, an era when in Europe divorce was socially disastrous for your life, status and career. For this reason the lovers Sergueevna and Gourov cannot get together, thus being forced to consider in full the fate of their unhappy marriages and their missed chances in life.

It will not surprise you that the pace of this movie is slow. Maybe too slow for Western taste, even back in 1960. Anyway, its slowness provides you with plenty of opportunity to enjoy the magnificent shots from this very Russian movie.

They don't make films like this any more. In film you either make it in the best time honoured classical tradition: logical sequence, irony, exquisite painstaking set-ups with perfect lighting, costumes, extras, everything pleasing to the eye and the heart and you find others watching it with a smile on their faces; or you make it so fast, jump edits, ramping, so wild that only you know the rules. Well you can do it the Clint Eastwood way which is the perfectly oiled machine: film them during the rehearsal. He really belongs to the classical genre. The problem with the second way is that you can't sit easily through two hours of a movie made like that. A pop video of two minutes fine, otherwise you emerge from the cinema with your brain fried and the stupid expression you get after sitting through three hours of watching ad commercial festivals. I've done it many times, and it's unnatural, and not good for you. THE LADY WITH THE LITTLE DOG is a perfect little story, superbly acted, observed, costumed, directed, lit, everything. A masterpiece of black and white. It cannot be faulted in any way. It must have taken ages to do the set-ups, something no one can afford to do these days; but then with the state paying the salaries, who was counting? So it was made during the Soviet era: but what is perfect, is perfect, for all time.

This film was made for the 100th anniversart of Anton Tchekhov, and like almost all Russian films made on their literature it is extremely faithful to the original. Anton Tchekhov is all there from beginning to end, and although the film mainly consists of only trivialities, like David Lean's "Brief Encounter", it is only the more exciting and spellbinding for its attention to the smallest details and the pettiest characters showing up on the way. Alexey Batalov and Iya Savvina are more than perfect in their leading roles, her melancholy frailty shines throughout the film with absolute truthfulness, and his resigned broodings, you actually get nothing to know about him until long after you learned everything about her, adds to the very romantic nature of this adorable cinematic poetry, unique and unsurpassed in its kind. Another important support and enhancement of this extreme romanticism in all its very restrained discipline - there is not one superfuous detail in the whole film - is the mesmerizing and unforgettable music by Nadezhda Simonyan. The tune will haunt you forever, and although this is a story without end, nothing is resolved, there are only question marks and incertitude in the end, that is actually where the film and story starts. You'll never know how it continues, but somehow it will continue forever.

The first classic trait of the film which captures the senses, is the outstanding cinematography - as one viewer notes, in the best traditions of silent film. Indeed, too much is left unspoken by the characters. Everything's a delicate and delightful play of fine sensations - a feast for the intelligent viewer whose thread through the labyrinth of characters' feelings is often a glimpse, a twitch, and a seemingly inconsequent line in Chekhov's text. A great burden lies on the shoulder's of the two main actors, Batalov and Savina. While the former does a brilliant job, the latter, in my opinion, is classes underneath. She is fit to play a typical Soviet-era character, not Chekhov's.

In my opinion, there are at least two kinds of melancholia. One has to do with a low level of passion and few, muddled emotions. Melancholia could, however, also be about truly passionate emotions of sadness and longing. There is a huge difference between the two, and they often seem to be confused. This movie is definitely about the passionate sadness and longing - at least it communicates some of the most outrageously passionate longing I've ever witnessed on film. Whoever thought "fast" automatically means "more passionate" was apparently dead wrong. There's also something realistic and very human about the characters. If you've lived for a while you've met people like these, and you may yourself have experienced (or even dreamt) similar situations. I felt immense pity for the characters, in my opinion a great achievement for any movie. Even if it's a film with "love" playing an important part, I felt it was innovative - this is simply unique stuff. I'll not give away too much of the story - go see this outstanding movie for yourself!