I heartily recommend this little gem, and I am sure that my brothers will enjoy it when they receive the copy I’m sending them. Long-time readers of the series will love it, and first-timers will enjoy it, although I certainly recommend that they read the series from the beginning, starting with Another Fine Myth, if they can.
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Paul Schumacher is treasurer and a copy editor for Strange Horizons.
Fantastika!
The Films of Russian Fantasy Master Alexander Ptushko.
A retrospective screening at the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theater, New York City, Fri Dec 28, 2001—Tue Jan 1, 2002.
Reviewed by Amy Harlib
1/21/02
I can’t imagine a better way for fantasy film buffs like me to ring out the old year and ring in the new than attending the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s retrospective screenings at the Walter Reade Theater, from Friday the 28th of December through Tuesday the 1st of January, of five seminal works by the Soviet auteur Alexander Ptushko. The American Cinematheque and Seagull Films co-sponsored the new 35mm prints of these features. Rarely seen and largely unavailable on video in the USA, this master cinematographer, undeservedly obscure outside his homeland, pioneered and perfected visual effects blending animation and live action, and his works transformed forever the way tales of the fantastic would be told in motion pictures.
Ptushko (1900-1973), born in the Ukraine, graduated from Moscow’s Institute of Economics and held jobs teaching school, in journalism, acting, and stage designing prior to going to work at the Soviet Union’s most renowned studio, Mosfilm. At first assisting in stop-motion model making for the short films of other directors, Ptushko soon advanced to directing his own silent animated pictures (most following the expected political, pro-Soviet line), experiments that basically rediscovered stop-motion photography along with his new methods of combining live-action with puppets and special effects. This culminated in Ptushko’s first full-length (black and white) animated film antedating Disney’s Snow White by four years—The New Gulliver (1935) which politically updates Swift’s classic yarn.
In Ptushko’s version, Petya (Vladimir Konstantinov), a young Soviet pioneer, falls asleep while reading Gulliver’s Travels and dreams of being in a surreal Lilliput which, along with the 17th century style fashions and hair-dos, is home to tiny folk with high-pitched, chattering voices; jazz bands; mechanized vehicles and tractors; and (in true revolutionary spirit) a suppressed underground proletariat of factory workers who, with the help of giant Petya, revolt against the hypocritical, narcoleptic king! This labor-intensive hybrid of over 3000 puppets and live-action, while technically impressive—the three-inch high miniatures bear individuated, distinct features and movements—fails to be emotionally involving, for the extreme stylization of the figure design prevails over characterization. Even the human protagonist somehow fails to ignite that certain something. And yet, much talent and potential can be seen in The New Gulliver, adumbrating greatness to come.
Next, after World War II, experimenting with confiscated German three-color film stock, Ptushko in 1946 made Russia’s first full-color feature, The Stone Flower. The film is based upon a native folktale from The Malachite Box (also known as The Malachite Casket), a collection by Pavel Bazhov. Set in the Ural Mountains in the 19th century, this visually ravishing fable concerns a young stone carver (Vladimir Drushnikov) who gets seduced away from his fiancee by the mystical Queen of Copper Hill (Tamara Makarova) and enticed into her fabulous underground world where he sculpts an enormous flower out of shimmering stone. The Stone Flower’s hypnotic, almost religious intensity, and inventive use of color effects that portray a magical realm emanating fluidly out of the equally vivid natural world, made this film Ptushko’s first great artistic and popular success. It is also noteworthy for starting a characteristic Ptushko trend—the refreshing, presciently feminist use of resourceful and intelligent female characters who shine with personality despite their traditional “womanly” roles.
The last three offerings in the retrospective, continue the development of color film technique. They contain dazzling set pieces; gorgeous sets, scenery, and costumes; symphonic scores; song and dance interludes involving famous bravura physical feats; and remarkable special effects that include ingenious make-up designs.
Sadko (1953), set in medieval Novgorod, follows the eponymous protagonist, a wandering minstrel, who, in his quest to bring happiness to his people, sails away on a Sinbad-like voyage. He travels far and wide, visiting the land of the Vikings, India, and even the underwater kingdom of the Tsar of the Ocean, but finds that true joy can only be found at home, with Lyubava, the girl he left behind. The scenes in India show off Ptushko’s opulent creativity, while those in the undersea realm provide wondrous and memorable examples of his whimsical wit. What a privilege to view this film in its meant-to-be-seen form rather than the butchered, re-edited, dubbed version released under the title The Magic Voyage of Sinbad by Roger Corman in 1962, during the height of the Cold War.
Viy (1967), set in a pastoral 19th century Russian countryside and based on a short story by Nikolai Gogol, can be considered Russia’s first horror movie. It tells the tale of an awkward novice priest (Leonid Kuravlyov) who resists the advances of a demonic old hag, provoking her wrath. Seeking revenge, the witch disguises herself as the beautiful corpse of a young woman whose last wish was for the priest to pray over her for three nights. Having trapped the hapless protagonist in the church with the erstwhile deceased, she summons her allies to torment him. These comprise an astonishingly grotesque parade of gargoyles and demons that seem to literally ooze from the walls, their twisted root-like faces mirroring the muddy natural landscape outside while inside, the gorgeous witch whirls around the church in a flying coffin! Viy uses fantasy allegory to confront the age-old patriarchal fear of female sexuality promulgated in extreme forms by the Judaeo-Christian belief system and exemplified in Tsarist Russian attitudes.
Based on a poem by Pushkin, Ptushko’s last picture, his epic 2-part masterpiece, Ruslan i Lyudmilla (1972), features a 13th century Kiev setting for the adventures of the titular hero (Valery Kosints) who struggles to recover his feisty, resourceful bride (Natasha Petrova) kidnapped on their wedding night by the impish sorcerer Tchernovor. This fantasy comes packed with bizarre, surreal characters—the flying dwarf villain with a 50 foot beard, his eccentric witch henchwoman, Ruslan’s three jealous rivals, and the antagonist’s weird, capering servants. In addition, awesome set pieces back the action and provide more wonderment. These notably include the midget’s sparkling crystal palace, tormented statue-like male figures chained in a cavern, and a decapitated giant’s head looming up from the ground like an Easter Island statue.
With imaginative vision and technical skill equal to the revered, contemporaneous Hollywood masters Ray Harryhausen and George Pal, Alexander Ptushko, with his career spanning some four decades, deserves recognition for his genius. How criminal that he remains uncelebrated in the West! Communist-era Ptushko’s revolutionary work can favorably compare with that of modern cinematic wizards such as Terry Gilliam and Jeneut and Caro. Lincoln Center should be heartily thanked for bringing these wondrous movie treats to the New York metropolitan area public.
But New Yorkers need not be the only ones exposed to Ptushko’s talent. If you’d like to see his work for yourself, seek out a local film library or film society, or just start searching the web. One quick search revealed that the University of Illinois has some of Ptushko’s work, including Ruslan y Lyudmilla. Any large university with both a film library and a Russian department is likely to have one or two Ptushko films on file. In New York there is, of course, the Film Society of Lincoln Center, sponsor of this festival. In the San Francisco area, the Pacific Film Archive is next to the UC Berkeley campus, a short walk from public transit. In Los Angeles the American Cinematheque’s Egyptian Theater has screened these films before, and might do so again if interested members of the public were to suggest it. These examples are cited because I and my editor happen to be aware of them, but there are similar establishments across the country. A little effort could turn up the one near you, and along with it, a Ptushko prize to share with your friends. Let this outstanding oeuvre be distributed far and wide to enchant and delight audiences everywhere!
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Amy Harlib is a lifelong, avid reader of SF & F literature, retired with plenty of time to indulge in her passion for reading. She lives in NYC and welcomes intelligent feedback and discussion about the genre. Other enthusiasms: cats, archeology/anthropology/paleontology, folklore and mythology, genre films, science for intelligent laypersons, and memoirs/narratives as literature. Her previous work at Strange Horizons can be found in our archive.
Wild Life by Molly Gloss: Speculative Fiction in the Wilderness
Reviewed by Christopher Cobb
1/28/02
Strange Horizons’ review of Molly Gloss’s exquisite Wild Life isn’t as timely as it might be (the book came into print in 2000), but I don’t know that the book has yet received the attention it deserves in speculative fiction circles, even though it recently won the Tiptree award. I myself was only led to read it when I ran across it this past December while I was browsing for holiday reading. My local independent bookseller had placed a copy of it with the science fiction and fantasy, despite the fact that the book is clearly being marketed as mainstream fiction. She has my gratitude. Wild Life inhabits the boundaries of speculative fiction—it’s about speculative fiction as much as it is an example of the genre—and it inhabits those boundaries with such a combination of panâche and tenderness that I was immediately drawn in to explore this strange boundary country.