Montage

That Definitive and Weighty Work, Collectivisl Cinema, by S. L. Polichev, Hero of Culture, is going into a new revised edition. The revision will consist of a deletion. The deletion will be the name, and all mention, of a certain persona now decidedly non grata.

The sudden decision to publish a new edition was made after the recent premiere of Robespierre at the People's Cinema. But perhaps that is not the best place to start. Perhaps the best place to start is the cluttered apartment of an Honored Artist and three-time recipient of the Vashilov Award, one week before the premiere.

It is nine of a crisp morning. A powdering of snow is in the air. The Honored Artist can see it through his window as he sips his breakfast tea. Though the apartment is chilly (there is not much left to the heat by the time it reaches the fourth floor) there is a coziness to it, the ingenuous charm of disorganization. The riot of photographs and drawings on the walls, the file cabinets piled high with old magazines, the books lying open on tables, on chairs, (continued on page 66) Montage (continued from page 59) on the floor – it all adds up to a pleasant little nook from which to watch the fat snowflakes wander sluggishly to the ground. I must do something beautiful with snow sometime, he tells himself. But when? By this time next week I will be in disgrace. I may even be dead.

He sighs. On the floor near him is an old copy of the Cultural Review. He picks it up and flips the thin pages of closely printed criticism until he comes upon an article signed by Mikhail Borisov, recipient of the Tchevkin Medal. His eyes skim several paragraphs, then stop upon his own name:

"…Alexei Gorodin, on the other hand, continues to follow the dictates of his own caprice. This might be laudable if his caprice were in any way considerate of the people's welfare. Your reviewer begs leave to ask, Is it? His latest film,Heliogabalus, seemed (to your reviewer at least) to portray that Roman emperor as the sole cause of the Empire's partial disintegration under his reign. If this interpretation was not stated in so many words, it was strongly implied by the emphasis on this profligate's personal life. Was there in this film a single hint that the Roman Empire was the victim not of one man but of its own decadent structure? Was there any feeling at all of social consciousness? Was there, in short,anything in this film but a useless introspective portrait of a degenerate mind?"

Gorodin skips a good deal of the article – because he has read it many times before, because it is pompous and stupid, because the print is small and his eyes are old — and concentrates on the last lethal paragraph:

"We expect such overly personal films from the capitalist directors. We have a right to expect from our own directors a greater sense of collective realism. There was a time when Gorodin made films of meaning to the people: films depicting the achievements of such notables as:. Vasilyev, the great builder of roads; Murochenko, the biophysiologist; Churovkin, the inventor of the incandescent lamp. And only ingrates will ever forget his brilliant version of The Scarlet Pimpernel, wherein he threw new light on that royalist 'hero' who smuggled justly-condemned aristocrats out of revolutionary France: Gorodin made him stand unveiled, in full relief, as an obstructor of the people's justice, a villainous counter-revolutionary cynic. But of.recent years, Gorodin's art becomes more and more removed from our interests and our problems, more and more formalistic – and, hence, less and less constructive, less and less a contribution to the ideological vitality of our society. Far be it from your reviewer to accuse Honored Artist Alexei Gorodin of counter-revolutionary tendencies, but surely the time has come when we can at least ask the question, Is there a need for such a worker in our society? Your reviewer begs leave to doubt it."

Mikhail, Mikhail, drones Gorodin to himself, what are you doing? Do you know what you are doing? His eyes turn upward: the photographs of old friends, old colleagues, old students look down upon him from the wall. One of the faces – dark-eyed, tight of mouth – is that of a young student of directing who had once been a pupil of Gorodin's and who had displayed a certain amount of talent. Talent enough to make a couple of rather interesting, if derivative, films. To the master, the photograph's inscription reads, with reverence and esteem. Your pupil, Mikhail Borisov.

Mikhail, says Gorodin, you do know what you're doing, don't you? You cannot bear to work in my shadow, to be thought of as a minor talent, an echo of your master. That is why you sulk and seethe; that is why you scratch away with a pen, making words when you should be making film. Oh Mikhail, why should you hate me? I am an old man, with maybe one more film left in me, if that. Let nature take its inexorable course and before long I will not be here to cast that shadow.

Gorodin, of later years, had begun talking aloud to himself when alone – talking in a strangled mumble and throwing his arms about in sudden emphatic gestures. Now, he slides into this without quite knowing it. "Mikhail," he says to the picture, "you are a terrible fellow. You know you marked me for extinction in this article!" Gorodin waves the magazine under the photographic Mikhail's nose. "In your next one, you intend to finish off the job, eh? Why, Mikhail, if a harmless biography like Heliogabalus could inspire you to write such a relentless condemnation of your old teacher, how will you receive my new film when it is premiered for you journalists at the People's Cinema next week?" Gorodin smiles sardonically (we must remember he has been an actor in his time): "You know, Mikhail, there are sequences in Robespierre – :well, one at least – : wherein the title character is depicted as anything but the savior of the French people." Gorodin chuckles. "What will you have to say about that, eh? You will howl for my blood. And those who otherwise would not have seen anything dangerous in the film will look upon it with new eyes. Your eyes, dear boy. Then what? Arrest. Interrogation. Public confession. Ignominious death, perhaps. At any rate, a name stricken from the memory of man. That is your plan, is it not?"

Gorodin rises and walks slowly to the window. He no longer sees the snow — only the ghostly reflection of his own face. The face of compromise, he tells himself: am I any better than Mikhail, really? Mikhail is an invidious party mouthpiece …

"…And what am I? A sitter on fences; a maker of equivocal films that are neither flesh nor fowl; a frightened old man hanging on to life by suffocating his work in a blanket of 'collective realism.' Another kind of mouthpiece, no more …" He presses his forehead to the cool glass. "…And a fool, in the bargain. A fool not to have created my masterpiece before this. A fool not to have made one grand, denunciating film before my death."

His dream of a film on Galileo mold-ers in his files – : thick folders, bulging with notes, sketches, even dialog for the great project. What a film it could bel And what a part for Mischa (his eyes travel to a portrait of a heroically hewn actor), what opportunities for Nikki (he looks with affection at his favorite cameraman's self-portrait). Then he sees once more the photograph between these – To the master – and his eyes cloud. Because of Mikhail Borisov, he has been afraid to attempt the Galileo film, afraid the powers, prodded by Borisov, would see beneath its thin anti-clerical veneer and find a story all too familiar to them – the story of a man forced under threat of torture to deny his beliefs, a story centuries old that was being repeated every day in the sealed chambers of the secret police. Such a film would be something to set the minds of the audience working …

"Something to die for. Not Robespierre. There is nothing truly incendiary in Robespierre. Only a bloodhound like Mikhail is capable of sniffing out the few kernels of truth in that mass of pap. To die because of Robespierre – :that would be a useless death. But to die for a film that could stir sluggish minds …"

Gorodin passes his hand over his face. To die for the Galileo. That would have meaning. "But I will die for Robespierre and my death will be as hollow a mockery as my life."

"He looks again at the portrait of Borisov. How easy things would be, Mikhail, without your interference. Not only would Robespierre go unsuspected, but perhaps even the Galileo would have enough showings to do some good before it was found out. But there will be no Galileo. And all because of you.

"It is either you or I, Mikhail," says Gorodin sadly. "It comes to that."

To enter the projection booth at thePeople's Cinema is forbidden to all but the projectionist, the theatre manager, (continued on page 79) Montage (continued from page 66)the cleaning woman and Alexei Goro-din. Gorodin, make no mistake, is not officially permitted to enter, but there is something about Gorodin most people find difficult to resist. A man, after all, who can calm the tantrum of a beaiitiful leading actress one minute and coax something resembling a performance from a simple Turkmenian peasant the next minute; such a man has, as they say, a way with him. Gorodin has charm, he has persuasiveness. Gorodin has, too, three Vashilov Awards pinned prominently to his lapel, and these carry much weight with people like projectionists; immeasurably more weight than, say, Tchevkin Medals, which everyone knows are passed out like coasters at a party.

When an Honored Artist like Comrade Gorodin comes up to a girl's projection booth, well, you know, there's something a little special in that. It doesn't happen every day. And when he smiles, and makes a hearty joke that is only slightly seditious, and pinches your cheek, and calls you pretty, and offers you a cigarette which you must decline because of fire regulations, what are you going to do – toss him out on his rump? And when a man like that, who is a great man in his field (they say such men are proud and haught – this may have been true before the glorious people's revolution, but I do not think it is true these days; it is certainly not true of Comrade Gorodin), when a man like that becomes suddenly very humble and he looks you right in the eye and his voice gets very low and level and soft and he tells you that it is not really the directors, not the actors, not the writers or cameramen or scenic designers or cutters that make films possible for the masses, but, rather, the projectionists, that army of unseen, unsung workers who keep the reels turning and the arcs burning…well…what harm does it do to let him stay in the booth? It's not as if it were a regular showing – the premiere proper is tomorrow night – tonight is only the press showing, a run-through,for that small scattering of critics down there on the main floor, Vuljashvily, Borisov, and so on. The theatre is empty otherwise. Who will know? And it i.s his film, after all. A good film, too. And it helps one's appreciation of it to have the director who made it right there with one, pointing out little things. Those mob scenes that look so spontaneous – : did you know they are planned and rehearsed again and again, choreographed like a ballet at the Bolshoi? And montage – do you know about that? Montage is – : what did he call it? – that phenomenon which occurs when previously unrelated shots are joined together. Themontage inthis film is flawlessly timed, the transitions knife-like, the relationships meaningful, the contrasts dramatic. That's what he said. This film is called Robespierre and there is this wonderful scene where he (Robespierre) is arguing with this heavy-set man named Danton.

Danton says:"So even Camille Desmoulins must go to the guillotine, despot! For what crime? Do you know what I think of you? This!" He spits right into the other man's lace and there is a sudden close-up of Robespierre, spittle hanging on his cheek.

I"am the law in France," Robespierre says calmly."Not you. Not Desmoulins."

"And not llie French people?" asks Danton.

Robespierre answers him as the camera stays motionless, studying Danton's rage-rigid face while Robespierre speaks expressionlessly:"The people are ignorant sheep. You ask Desmoulins' crime? He is guilt – that is his crime; guilty of incurring my displeasure. It suits my convenience to say 'He is an enemy of the people and must die.' If you thought to upbraid me, make me repentant, behold me weep for him – then I am sorry to disappoint you. Please go now. I am busy." There is another close-up of Robespierre, wiping the spittle from his face. Fade-out. It's a wonderful scene.

Comrade Gorodin must have thought so, too, because he leaned forward and watched it very closely. He didn't say a word. He seemed to be following every movement of the characters, every syllable they spoke. He seemed very intent upon studying it; almost worried; but when it was over he leaned back and smiled and winked at me and offered me a cigarette and…well…why should I refuse a man like that and maybe risk offending him? So I take one and we both smoke and it is a very good cigarette.

Soon the film is over. The critics downstairs leave to write their reviews. I get ready to lock up. But Comrade Gorodin looks worried again and I ask him if anything is wrong. He says that one scene between Robespierre and Danton disturbs him. It is not quite right, he says. Then he sighs. The premiere is tomorrow and there is no time to correct it. And yet, he says, it is a shame because all the scene needs is a little cutting. The equipment he needs is right in the booth. Perhaps...? Here, of course, I must be firm. It is time to lock up. I must go home. I have a family. He smiles, and asks me the name of my husband and the names and ages of my children, and he makes a little joke about marital relations that is only slightly naughty, and he offers me another cigarette and he says I should take the whole pack and he says he has almost a full carton of them at his apart-merit and if I will be so kind as to give him my address he will be happy to send them to me since the doctor has told him to cut down on his smoking and they will only go stale anyway. Well, before you know it, Comrade Gorodin has his coat off and his sleeves rolled up and he is cutting the film.

What are you going to do with a man like that?

"If any doubts have been entertained regarding Alexei Gorodin's beliefs, such doubts may now be replaced with solid certainty. One scene in his new film opening tonight at the People's Cinema is especially shocking. It is a conversation between Robespierre and Danton concerning the impending execution of the counter-revolutionary deputy, Des-moulins. Robespierre's attitude as it is depicted in this scene is atrocious, his motives despicable. The Gorodin interpretation of this personage is a diabolical perversion of his true character …"

Gorodin folds the newest issue of the Cultural Revieiu and puts it in his pocket. What a fortunate choice of words, Mikhail, he says to himself: fortunate for me – I could not have chosen them better myself. There is a smile on his lips as he ambles into the People's Cinema and watches his film from the back row. In the boxes, the highest powers sit in official uniform. Gorodin waits for the big scene between Robespierre and Danton.

"So even Camille Desmoulins must go to the guillotine," Danton says but does not spit.

"He is guilty.He is an enemy of the people and must die. Behold me weep for him." With his hand, Robespierre wipes away what seems to be a tear.

Gorodin leaves the theatre, goes home and sleeps soundly.

The next morning, after a late breakfast, he picks up his telephone and calls the offices of the Cultural Review.

"Comrade Borisov, please."

"Who?" asks the switchboard operator.

"Mikhail Borisov. If he is not there, perhaps you can tell me where I may reach—"

"I am sorry, Comrade. That name is not familiar to me. You must have the wrong number." Immediately, she breaks the connection.

Gorodin hangs up for a moment, then calls another number. Soon he is saying, "Nikki? I wonder if we could get together soon, perhaps this afternoon? I'd like to get started on something. Well, it's a big project and we really should begin mapping it out as soon as possible... Fine... Yes, but I left early; were you there? It went well, I think... No, I never bother to read reviews – what did he have to say this time?"