The Cranes Are Flying (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1957)

Aleksey Batalov and Tatyana Samoylova in The Cranes Are Flying

Cast: Tatyana Samoylova, Aleksey Batalov, Vasiliy Merkurev, Aleksandr Shvorin, Svetlana Kharitonova, Konstantin Kadochnikov, Valentin Zubkov, Antonina Bogdanova, Boris Kokovkin, Ekaterina Kupriyanova. Screenplay: Viktor Rozov, based on his play. Cinematography: Sergey Urusevskiy. Production design: Evgeniy Svidetelev. Film editing: Mariya Timofeevna. Music: Moisey Vaynberg.

The Cranes Are Flying was received enthusiastically on its international release in 1957, partly as a sign of a thaw between the Soviet Union and the West. Among other things, it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes. Today, I think it's more likely to be judged for its visuals and its almost formalist construction than for the well-worn theme of its narrative, a romantic drama set against the backdrop of war. From the beginning I was struck by the compositions of cinematographer Sergey Urusefskiy, an evocative use of diagonals, framing the lovers Veronika (the extraordinary Tatyana Samoylova) and Boris (Aleksey Batalov) within the angles made by bridges and causeways, roads and ramps and staircases, all of which echo the image evoked in the title: the V-shaped flight of migrating cranes. Director Mikhail Kalatozov uses the image of flying cranes at the beginning of the film, almost as a harbinger of the coming war, and again at the end of the film, this time precisely as an image of returning peace. The V of the flying cranes at the beginning is soon mocked by the X of anti-tank barriers set up in the wartime street. But his entire film is structured of such echoes, including the crowds that weep at the departure of soldiers and at the end weep at their return -- or failure to do so. The film is full of beautifully staged moments, such as the return of Veronika to her home after a bombing raid. She has taken shelter in the subway but her family hasn't, and she rushes into the bombed-out building, climbs the burning stairs, and opens a door to nothingness, with only a dangling lampshade to recall the scene that had taken place in the apartment before. There are striking cuts, such as the one of feet walking across broken glass in a bombed apartment that's followed immediately by a soldier's feet slogging through mud. This particular cut also serves to link two key moments in the film: Veronika's rape by Boris's cousin Mark (Aleksandr Shvorin) and Boris's death from a sniper's bullet. The Cranes Are Flying can be faulted for melodramatic excesses: Veronika's decision to marry her rapist doesn't come out any perceptible necessity, and the failure to report Boris as dead rather than missing seems there only to heighten her futile hope that he will return to her. But if you're going to be melodramatic, you should embrace it as whole-heartedly as Kalatazov does.

Ballad of a Soldier (Grigoriy Chukhray, 1959)

Before the collapse of the Soviet Union there used to be jokes about how Russians claimed to have invented everything from the light bulb to baseball. During a thaw in the Cold War that led to an exchange of films between the Soviets and the Americans, American audiences learned that the Russians had at least improved on a familiar Hollywood genre: the glossy, sentimental wartime romance. Even Hollywood was impressed, giving director Grigoriy Chukhray and his co-screenwriter Valentin Ezhov an Oscar nomination for best original screenplay. Ballad of a Soldier was a substantial hit, thanks in large part to its appealing leads, Vladimir Ivashov and Zhanna Prokhorenko. Ivashov plays Alyosha, a private serving at the Front who single-handedly cripples two German tanks and is rewarded with a leave to return home and see his mother. But it's not easy making it cross-country in Russia during wartime, and he is forced to bribe his way onto a freight car carrying bales of hay. At a stop, he is joined by another stowaway, a young girl named Shura (Prokhorenko). She initially takes fright at discovering she has a traveling companion, but they eventually begin to fall in love, only to face an inevitable separation. The two young leads -- they were both untried actors still in their teens when they were cast -- are touchingly fresh and innocent, making the contrast with the harshness that surrounds them more poignant. It's a road movie as well as a love story, with some fine character bits by people they meet along the way, especially Evgeniy Urbanskiy as a soldier embittered by the loss of a leg and fearful of how he will be received by his wife. Although the core of the film focuses on Alyosha and Shura, their story is framed by some spectacularly filmed battle scenes at the beginning and Alyosha's painfully brief return home at the end, sequences that surround the love story with scenes of urgency. Chukray has a real gift for pacing and rhythm, aided by his editor, Mariya Timofeeva, though he sometimes allows his cinematographers, Vladimir Nikolayev and Era Savalyeva, to indulge in camera tricks: At one point when Alyosha is being pursued by a tank, the camera does a head-over-heels rollover shot that ends with Alyosha and the tank upside-down on the screen, a giddy, gratuitous bit of fancy photography. Ballad of a Soldier certainly didn't break any new ground, but it managed to make its genre clichés feel fresh.