Last weekend, Debbie and I watched a DVD of Andrei Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev, which is ostensibly about Russia's greatest painter of icons. Neither of us had ever seen a Tarkovsky film, though I have certainly heard a good deal about how highly they are thought of.
I was prepared for a movie that was long and slowly paced, with long takes and an elliptical narrative. Much of the film proved impressive - notably, the cinematography. And the acting.
But overall, both Debbie and I found the film did not live up to its reputation.
Length and a slow pace do not generally bother me if they are appropriate and done with economy. Anna Karenina, for instance, is certainly long, but its length seem proportionate and necessary. It never drags.
But I think Andrei Rublev would have benefited from tighter editing. The scene when the bell is about to be rung seems to be done in real time: It takes as long for the bell to actually be struck as it would in real life. But art is not a transcription of life. The suspense could have been achieved without duplicating how long it would actually have taken for the bell to be struck. As a result, instead of a feeling of supense, you get a feeling of impatience.
I also thought there was something gratuitous about the scenes of torture and cruelty. I realize that the Middle Ages were a harsh time, and were probably especially so in Russia. I can also understand the impersonality of the depictions (it is not always clear who is being tormented or why), that it demonstrates how routine and matter-of-fact such things must have been at the time. Still, there seemed to be something almost pornographic about the attention paid to the details of inflicting pain. It cannot be an accident that so much of the imagery that stays with one from this film is cruel - Kiril's beating to death the dog that runs after him after he leaves the monastery; the cow on fire during the raid; the horse falling down the steps; the man being tortured and then tied to a horse and dragged to his (by then merciful) death.
I suppose it is theoretically possible to make a film about a painter without ever showing him painting anything. But I can't see how it can be done without providing some insight into the painter's personality. Andrei Rublev is a peripheral character in this film. In fact, all the characters are peripheral, though it hard to say what it is they are peripheral to - the time, the place, history in general?
That is why - at least for Debbie and me - the final scene, when Andrei Rublev's dazzling icons are displayed on the screen in vibrant color (the rest of the film having been in black and white), pulls the rug out from under the film. I get the point - transcendent beauty emerging from a stark and cruel setting, but what we would most like to know - how it emerged - is precisely what the film does not address.
I was reminded of Ken Russell's film Savage Messiah, which purports to be a biography of the modernist sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska. It mostly portrays the artist as leading a wild Bohemian existence. Then he enlists when World War I breaks out and is soon killed. His friends mount a retrospective in his honor and the film ends with a display of his work, effectively undercutting all that has gone before. Gaudier-Brzeska was 23 when he died. The works on display are both numerous and accomplished. He could not possibly have spent most of his time partying. He must have been working like hell.
Andrei Rublev is a much better film than Savage Messiah. But it sabotages itself in exactly the same way. So, while I find much to admire about the film, I am at a loss as to why it is so highly thought of. What am I missing?
I was prepared for a movie that was long and slowly paced, with long takes and an elliptical narrative. Much of the film proved impressive - notably, the cinematography. And the acting.
But overall, both Debbie and I found the film did not live up to its reputation.
Length and a slow pace do not generally bother me if they are appropriate and done with economy. Anna Karenina, for instance, is certainly long, but its length seem proportionate and necessary. It never drags.
But I think Andrei Rublev would have benefited from tighter editing. The scene when the bell is about to be rung seems to be done in real time: It takes as long for the bell to actually be struck as it would in real life. But art is not a transcription of life. The suspense could have been achieved without duplicating how long it would actually have taken for the bell to be struck. As a result, instead of a feeling of supense, you get a feeling of impatience.
I also thought there was something gratuitous about the scenes of torture and cruelty. I realize that the Middle Ages were a harsh time, and were probably especially so in Russia. I can also understand the impersonality of the depictions (it is not always clear who is being tormented or why), that it demonstrates how routine and matter-of-fact such things must have been at the time. Still, there seemed to be something almost pornographic about the attention paid to the details of inflicting pain. It cannot be an accident that so much of the imagery that stays with one from this film is cruel - Kiril's beating to death the dog that runs after him after he leaves the monastery; the cow on fire during the raid; the horse falling down the steps; the man being tortured and then tied to a horse and dragged to his (by then merciful) death.
I suppose it is theoretically possible to make a film about a painter without ever showing him painting anything. But I can't see how it can be done without providing some insight into the painter's personality. Andrei Rublev is a peripheral character in this film. In fact, all the characters are peripheral, though it hard to say what it is they are peripheral to - the time, the place, history in general?
That is why - at least for Debbie and me - the final scene, when Andrei Rublev's dazzling icons are displayed on the screen in vibrant color (the rest of the film having been in black and white), pulls the rug out from under the film. I get the point - transcendent beauty emerging from a stark and cruel setting, but what we would most like to know - how it emerged - is precisely what the film does not address.
I was reminded of Ken Russell's film Savage Messiah, which purports to be a biography of the modernist sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska. It mostly portrays the artist as leading a wild Bohemian existence. Then he enlists when World War I breaks out and is soon killed. His friends mount a retrospective in his honor and the film ends with a display of his work, effectively undercutting all that has gone before. Gaudier-Brzeska was 23 when he died. The works on display are both numerous and accomplished. He could not possibly have spent most of his time partying. He must have been working like hell.
Andrei Rublev is a much better film than Savage Messiah. But it sabotages itself in exactly the same way. So, while I find much to admire about the film, I am at a loss as to why it is so highly thought of. What am I missing?
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