Translated material
Russian tune
New film by Pavel Chukhrai on Russian screens
The script for the film “Russian Game” is based on “The Players” by Gogol, but radically altered. A short, fast-paced, gambling theatrical play about how some rogues deceive another rogue has been turned into a rather large-scale film about an Italian sharper who wanted to take advantage of Russian gullibility, but was left without pants. Gypsies were also added - for greater effect, as well as several lackeys, a drunken coachman, tavern visitors, visiting Saratov swindlers - in general, the extras necessary for a full-fledged film.I remember that in the television play staged by Pyotr Fomenko, the director also introduced an additional person - the charming Margarita Terekhova smiled from the screen with a sly squint, embodying Adelaida Ivanovna, a marked deck of cards that the main character Ikharev lovingly made, intending to hit the big jackpot. In that performance, Ikharev (played by Alexander Kalyagin) appeared as a kind of poet, a dreamy romantic, a virtuoso of deception, who encounters even greater virtuosos, a troupe of brilliant deceivers led by Ushetelny (Valentin Gaft). Of course, sometimes memory does a disservice, and the present, which otherwise might seem more interesting and brighter, fades in front of the images of the past. But replacing Ikharev with the Italian scoundrel Lukino Forza (and Adelaide Ivanovna, respectively, with Adelia) seemed to me a simplification and schematization. And I was completely confused by the ending, where the hero curses Russia in general and the reckless drivers who deceived him, in particular, and a beggar woman pityingly hands him a small, short green apple... This is not at all like Gogol, but somehow very Soviet. , or what...
This film also reminded me of Nikita Mikhalkov’s “Dark Eyes” - perhaps my least favorite movie of this director: either because of the artificial atmosphere of the Mosfilm pavilions, or the notorious gypsies, or some general ambiguity associated with an inaccurate address. In short, the very idea of transferring the action to international spheres did not seem successful, especially now, when there is something suspicious in the air, and national pride, bursting from the depths of notorious organisms, is ready to be buried under the dignity of great powers and dishonest swindlers (ours are the most swindlers!! !).
But I’m ready to give in - you never know what associations I have, but the ordinary viewer hasn’t read the play at all, and what does he care about artistry and theatricality, he needs intrigue, and with a foreign consultant it comes out better... But that’s where it goes What is more important is the general chorus of praise for the acting that rang out after the first festival screenings. At this point it’s already becoming a shame for the state...
This fuss, playing, excessive gestures and screams - is this the Russian acting school? Do you think this is a Russian game? Is this how they play these days in Stanislavsky’s homeland - with an exit, with knees, with twists? No one will say a word in simplicity, but everything with character , with pressure, with the desire to entertain and cause applause. With such a deliberate bulge that you can close your eyes. Most likely, the director gave the actors - Sergei Garmash, Sergei Makovetsky and Andrei Merzlikin the task of playing such demons, jumping and fidgety, curly and restless, involuntarily making faces behind their backs. It is possible that the image of these swarming creatures should be heartbreaking, but rather it seems like a strained evocation of laughter, which, alas, does not exist - neither through tears invisible to the world, nor just like that.
The actors work hard, earn their fees so that no one suspects them of laziness, but inside they are empty. What are they playing about, what are they bringing into the world, where behind the external antics is not just an image, character, personality type, recognition? There is an actor's story about how a good actor differs from a bad one in the number of cliches - a good one has an order of magnitude more of them, while a bad one gets by with a couple or three. It seems that the artists involved in the “Russian Game” took this statement literally.
Today, in the acting cinematic world at all levels - from TV series to, as it turns out, film adaptations of Russian classics - the skill of natural, organic existence seems to have been lost. I have a guess that the reason for this general playing is distrust of the viewer. Actors, like directors, feel that they will not be understood, will not be heard, if they do not bulge their eyes and do not give in to emotions. And the loss of meaning does not frighten anyone, because you can still hope to be heard, but everyone has happily forgotten about “being understood .”