The Cinema Of Yakov Protazanov

Best known for Aelita (1924), the classic science-fiction film of the Soviet silent era, Yakov Protazanov directed over a hundred films in a career spanning three decades. Called "the Russian D.W. Griffith" in the 1910s for his formative role in the first movies in the last years of the Russian Empire, he fled the Civil War and maintained a successful career in Europe before making an unusual decision to return to Russia now under Soviet power. There his films continued their remarkable success with audiences undergoing a bewildering and often brutal revolutionary transformation. Rather than treating him as an indistinct, if capable craftsman, The Cinema of Yakov Protazanov argues that his films are suffused with a unique creative vision that reflects both his mindset as a traditional Russian intellectual and his experience of dislocation and migration after 1917. As he adapted his films to revolutionary culture, they intermingled different voices and reinterpreted his past work from a disavowed era. Offering fresh perspectives of Protazanov’s films, the book will give readers a new appreciation of his career. The book offers a uniquely valuable vantage point from which to explore how cinema reflected a society in transformation and a seminal moment in the development of cinematic art.

This dissertation examines the work of Yakov Aleksandrovich Protazanov, who directed over one hundred films in the silent era. He became a leading director in late tsarist Russia, emigrated to Europe after the Russian Revolution, then repatriated to the Soviet Union and adapted to the new regime. He made consistently popular films in a national cinema tradition dominated by narratives of failure and revolutionary rupture. This study analyzes his surviving film works from 1911 to 1930, using archival sources to situate them within transnational norms of filmmaking practice. Its central question is why Protazanov continued to enjoy a stable career despite the volatile politics of the era. I argue that as Protazanov adapted his practice to the moment, he accumulated filmmaking techniques and employed an increasing range of stylistic devices. He attentively borrowed from other successful filmmakers, both within Russia and beyond, yet never abandoned many features of his style in his earliest films. His expansive, eclectic style and consistent output challenges received wisdom about the evolution of cinema in the Russo-Soviet context, which emphasizes the impact of changing ideology and the role of an artistic avant-garde. Soviet political imperatives did indeed encourage filmmakers to innovate new stylistic techniques, but they also encouraged them to reuse, recycle, and reappropriate those techniques they had already mastered in the pre-revolutionary era. Protazanov's career further suggests that the major changes in cinematic style across the revolutionary divide stemmed less from Bolshevik prerogatives and more from films' shifting patterns of transnational circulation and a dialogue among an international community of filmmakers. Divided into three parts corresponding to Protazanov's migrations, seven chapters chronologically trace the expansion of his style. They include analyses of canonical films such as The Queen of Spades (1916), Father Sergius (1917), and Aelita (1924); lesser-known but successful ones such as His Call (1925) and The Case of Three Million (1926); and several that have only recently been rediscovered, including The Convict's Song (1911), The Broken Vase (1913), Child of Another (1919), Towards the Light (1921), and Pilgrimage of Love (1923).

This is the first collection to be inspired and informed by the new films and archival material that glasnost and perestroika have revealed, and the new methodological approaches that are developing in tandem. Film critics and historians from Britain, America, France and the USSR attempt the vital task of scrutinising Soviet film, and re-examining the Cold War assumptions of traditional historiography. Whereas most books on Soviet giants have glorified the directorial giants of the `golden age' of the 1920s, Inside the Film Factory also recognises the achievements of popular cinema from the pre-Revolutionary period through to the 1930s and beyond. It also evaluates the impact of Western cinema on the early experimenters of montage, Russian science fiction's influence on film-making, and the long-suppressed history of Soviet Yiddish productions. Alongside the new perspectives and source material on the much-mythologised figures of Kuleshov and Medvedkin, the book provides the first extended accounts in English of the important but neglected careers of directors Yakov Protazanov and Boris Barnet.

An Introduction to Film Studies has established itself as the leading textbook for students of cinema. This revised and updated third edition guides students through the key issues and concepts in film studies, and introduces some of the world's key national cinemas including British, Indian, Soviet and French. Written by experienced teachers in the field and lavishly illustrated with over 122 film stills and production shots, it will be essential reading for any student of film.Features of the third edition include:*full coverage of all the key topics at undergraduate level*comprehensive and up-to-date information and new case studies on recent films such as Gladiator , Spiderman , The Blair Witch Project, Fight Club , Shrek and The Matrix*annotated key readings, further viewing, website resources, study questions, a comprehensive bibliography and indexes, and a glossary of key terms will help lecturers prepare tutorials and encourage students to undertake independent study.Individual chapters include:*Film form and narrative*Spectator, audience and response*Critical approaches to Hollywood cinema: authorship, genre and stars*Animation: forms and meaning*Gender and film*Lesbian and gay cinema*British cinema*Soviet montage Cinema*French New Wave*Indian Cinema

The book provides an illuminating background of the political history of the Soviet cinema in the twenties.

The Film Factory provides a comprehensive documentary history of Russian and Soviet cinema. It provokes a major reassessment of conventional Western understanding of Soviet cinema. Based on extensive research and in original translation, the documents selected illustrate both the aesthetic and political development of Russian and Soviet cinema, from its beginnings as a fairground novelty in 1896 to its emergence as a mass medium of entertainment and propaganda on the eve of World War II.

War movies have long been the most influential genre in Russian cinema, so much so that in the Soviet Union's militaristic society, "cinema front" was used to describe the film industry itself. Denise J. Youngblood, an internationally recognized authority on Russian and Soviet cinema, provides the first comprehensive guide to this long-neglected genre. In this illuminating study, Youngblood explores more than 160 fiction films on Russian conflicts from World War I to Chechnya. These movies represent a wide range of cinematic styles and critical receptions, with particular emphasis on films little known in the West but popular in the USSR. While not ignoring classic war films like Chapaev and The Cranes Are Flying, Youngblood introduces readers to the films that shaped and reflected Soviet views of war, like the rousing World War II favorite Two Warriors, the Thaw classic The Living and the Dead, and the Brezhnevian extravaganza Liberation. This remarkably humanistic body of work was often at odds with official policies and depicted the futility of war. Youngblood is especially insightful regarding the relationship between Stalinism, Socialist Realism, and filmmakers in creating the war film genre during an era marked by increasing militarization, conformism, and state terror and the importance of cinema in the World War II propaganda effort. Stalin's obsession with movies led to the "revisioning" of his role in the Civil War and the "Great Patriotic War." Yet, Youngblood argues, Soviet filmmakers were not mere puppets of repressive regimes. Indeed, some filmmakers subtly subverted official politics and history in the guise of art or Hollywood-style entertainment. She brings the story to the present by showing how post-Soviet Russian filmmakers have not only turned a critical eye on the recent wars in Afghanistan and Chechnya but are also revisiting the complex realities of World War II. Through her accessible narrative, Youngblood tells a fascinating story that will appeal equally to film aficionados and history buffs. By tracing the evolution of cinema through the twists and turns of both Soviet and post-Soviet society, she helps us the role movies played in 20th century Russia, not only in the making and unmaking of political myths but also in the "writing" of history.