67892294-Lev-Kuleshov-Writings-on-Film.pdf

KULESHOV ON FILM WRITINGS BY LEV KULESHOV

Selected, translated and edited, with an introduction by

RONALD LEVACO Film Department San Francisco State University

U N I V E R S I T Y O F C A L I F O R N I A PRESS BERKELEY • LOS ANGELES • LONDON

FOR ROZLYN

University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England Copyright © 1974, by The Regents of the University of California ISBN 0-520-02659-4 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 73-90666 Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS INTRODUCTION

ix 1

ART OF THE CINEMA S E L E C T E D ESSAYS

41 125

Americanitis

127

T h e Question of the Film Repertory

131

Handiwork

135

Will . . . Tenacity . . . E y e

137

W h y I Am N o t Working

141

D a v i d Griffith a n d C h a r l i e C h a p l i n

144

The Rehearsal Method

146

Our First Experiences

159

A d d r e s s t o t h e U n i o n o f Soviet F i l m W o r k e r s

178

T h e Principles of M o n t a g e

183

In Maloi Gnezdnikovsky Lane

196

On the R e d Front

208

BIBLIOGRAPHY IILMOGRAPHY INDEX

of W o r k s by Lev Kuleshov of F i l m s b y L e v K u l e s h o v

211 216 219

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

is literally the result of a gift. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say a series of gifts. Every writer who shares his life with other people—even if he is a scholar—knows about such gifts and generosity. Over the several years this project has been part of my life, I have been incalculably indebted to many generous people. I am only able to accord my thanks to some of them and, limited by space, unable fully enough to express my deepest gratitude to each of them.

THE PRESENT WORK

In the beginning several people were crucial. My warmest thanks to Professor Peter Dart, University of Kansas, for turning over to me, his then graduate assistant, the single-copy photostats he had made of Lev Kuleshov's first book, so that, as he simply put it to me, "the thing could get d o n e , " while unflaggingly cheering me toward that end ever since. And, likewise, my special gratitude must go to Professor Steven Hill, University of Illinois, for his unhesitant bestowal on me of the most substantial Kuleshov materials and papers in his possession, which he had begun collating before I knew precisely why Kuleshov was significant. Subsequently, there was a time during which the affectionate, unwavering confidence in my capabilities and efforts of two extraordinary teachers who became my friends, Professors John Fell, San Francisco State University, and Arthur Benavie, University of N o r t h Carolina at Chapel Hill, meant more to me than they know, because it ix

exceeded my own confidence and because it showed me pleasure in my work. For my introduction to phenomenology, structuralism, a n d semiology I have to thank especially Professor Thomas Pace, Southern Illinois University, and my then colleague and present friend, Professor Richard Lanigan, Chicago State University, with both of whom I sought to clarify the meaning a n d direction of my work. The unpretentious sharing of our work and their warmest comradeship became an indelible a n d compassionate example in pedagogical collectivism. Clearly, in terms of my particular tutorial in Soviet studies and the Soviet cinema, I must express my deepest gratitude to Professor H. P. J. Marshall, Director, Center for Soviet Studies in the Performing Arts, Southern Illinois University, under whose unique auspices and remarkable tutelage my research was unfettered, supported, a n d directed. Abroad, a number of research institutions and their representatives assisted me in my research. N o t the least of these are the Inter-University Committee on Travel Grants and the International Research and Exchanges Board, indispensable past and present organizations that award and administer grants to American scholars n a m e d to the U.S.A.-U.S.S.R. exchange. Additionally, I must extend my gratitude to Marie Merson, Cinematheque Francaise; Penelope Houston and Sam Rohdie, editors of Sight and Sound and Screen, respectively, at the British Film Institute; and in the Soviet Union, Isabella Epshtein at the Union of Soviet Cinematographers, Professor Ilya Vaisfeld, Lilya Mamantova, Yuri Slavich, and Professor Vladimir Utilov, all at V G I K , The All-Union State Institute of Cinematography, Moscow—and, of course, most particularly, the inimitable Alexandra Sergeevna Khokhlova. I should also like to accord special thanks to Professor Jay Leyda and Mr. Ernest Callenbach, both of whom read the manuscript with patience and thoroughness and offered precise and clarifying criticism that turned my writing and translation in the direction of lucidity and

INTRODUCTION

/ mi DISTINGUISHED a n d enduring fifty-year career of Lev Kuleshov virtually spans the history of the Russian and Soviet film. L a n d m a r k theoretician, director, professor at V G I K , Moscow's All-Union Instiluic of Cinematography, the successes and failures of Kuleshov's life reflect the very ethos of the Soviet cinema. Yet, with few of his films ihowi) in the West, and his several books a n d scores of articles Untranslated into English until this work, Kuleshov remains for us a ihftdowy background figure, an early experimenter trapped somewhere in the first chapters of film history. 1 n fact, Kuleshov was the first aesthetic theorist of the cinema. In the introduction to his first book Art of the Cinema, published in 1929, a group of his disciples—among them Vsevolod Pudovkin—had wniien no less a tribute than: " W e make films—Kuleshov made 1'inematography." Indeed, Kuleshov estimated that over half the Soviet directors since 1920 h a d been his pupils, including most BOtably Pudovkin, Eisenstein, Barnet, Kalotozov, and, more recently, I'arajanov. Thus, Kuleshov's influental, many-sided career invites ili wider attention and closer examination. When I arrived in Moscow in late March of 1970 to complete my research on Kuleshov, the city's streets still bore the traces of a hard and icy winter. Mild, spring-like weather was spreading northward

over Central Europe, but here there were still gusts of the penetrating winter wind that I remembered was especially difficult for Kuleshov to endure. In letters to America (to Professor Steven Hill) Kuleshov had sadly written about his susceptibility to the piercing draughts in the halls of V G I K , where he h a d lectured now for some twenty-five years. I knew that each of the last successive winters Kuleshov had suffered from what appeared to be a chronic respiratory illness. W h a t I did not know was that Kuleshov, seventy-one, a n d a heavy smoker, had also been suffering for some time from lung cancer, a n d that at the age of seventy-one he had died the day before my arrival. For me, the trip to Moscow to meet Kuleshov was to have been the culmination of my research into his theories and my translation of his writings. The subsequent few days were a somber and unreal flurry of events: witnessing a most moving ceremony at D o m Kino, h o m e of the Union of Soviet Cinematographers; attendance at Kuleshov's funeral; a warm meeting, first with his students and colleagues at V G I K and then with his widow, Alexandra Khokhlova. Khokhlova, possibly a few years Kuleshov's senior, had been not only his constant companion throughout his career but also the principal actress in most of his films, as well as his production assistant. In the main hall of D o m Kino, Kuleshov lay in state in an open coffin on a bier overlaid with flowers, while for several hours hundreds of people filed by. I was later told that the mourners consisted of virtually the entire membership of the Soviet film world. I remember a rare appearance by Lily Brik (Mayakovsky's mistress and the widow of Osip Brik, the literary critic a n d member of the Formalist circle, who h a d co-written one of Kuleshov's screenplays), a pale, ephemeral figure, starkly clad in black caftan and slacks, whose vividly red-dyed hair gave her a resemblance to Khokhlova. At Khokhlva's side much of the time was Pyotr Galadzhev, one of the last survivors of the original Kuleshov Workshop. (The other, Leonid Obolensky, had been unable to travel from the Urals where he is a television director.) It was mentioned to me that Viktor Shklovsky, considered by m a n y the doyen of Soviet literary critics, an early Formalist, a n d coauthor with Kuleshov of two screenplays, was at D o m Kino that afternoon.

Kuleshov was buried toward evening on M a r c h 31, 1970, at Nnvodevicha Cemetery in a grave alongside Vladimir Mayakovsky. Novodevicha is the cemetery where Turgenev, Chekhov, a n d Gogol in buried, along with Russia's most distinguished artists, scientists, .mil statesmen. Here, after the last memorial tributes were spoken by Kuleshov's colleagues from V G I K , among them R o m m and GerasiI U O V , the cover of the coffin was p u t into place. It remains difficult to forget the tall, gaunt figure of Khokhlova, so composed until that moment, suddenly straining towards some last something. T h e most palpable sensation was that, in a very large sense, the death of Kuleshov m a r k e d the end of the major epoch of Soviet cinematogi.ipliy. I cv Vladimirovich Kuleshov was born on J a n u a r y 1, 1899, in l.iinhov, southeast of Moscow. T h e son of an artist, he became absorbed by drawing as a child. If childhood dreams a n d obsessions IIif ever indicative of the turns one's life takes, it may be significant 111.11 Kuleshov's artistic leanings were combined with a succession of •.urh dreams of jobs, all of which involved an almost sensual luscination with machines. Though a child's fascination with machiny his mother, a n d at fifteen enrolled in the School of Painting, \H lutccture and Sculpture, his intention being to become a painter. While at the school (where Mayakovsky also trained), his interests turned toward theater design; but by chance he secured a j o b instead HI the Khanzhonkov film studio as a set designer for the then noted director, Evgeni Bauer. This was in 1916, a n d although the cinema in Russia was nourishing a n d Kuleshov recalled his enjoyment in watching such .i.iis as Asta Nielsen and M a x Linder, he remembered feeling no abiding fascination with the film at first. Still, that year a n d the next I "i 11 HI him designing settings for Bauer's King of Paris and nine other

features, as well as starring in Bauer's After Happiness. Kuleshov's disastrous, unschooled experience with acting may well have influenced the theories he was later to evolve, for his attempt at a "naturalistic" performance seemed painfully ludicrous to him when he watched it on the screen. While working with Bauer, Kuleshov was introduced to a n d became impressed by what was then called "American montage"—the rapid cutting, frequent close-ups and parallel lines of action of American films, particularly Griffith's. When Bauer, to whom Kuleshov had grown devoted, died while shooting After Happiness, it fell to Kuleshov to complete the film; and afterward, though he recalled that work without Bauer became unfulfilling, he nonetheless pressed for a directorial assignment with the Khanzhonkov studio. There, in 1917, he completed his first film, m a d e in the style of short-shot, "American m o n t a g e " (later to become the basis of what became internationally known as "Russian montage"), Engineer Prite's Project. Apparently shot just after the Revolution, Prite was a semi-detective, semi-propaganda film with an industrial theme. The plot was thin, but the surviving two reels reveal Kuleshov's early predilection for outdoor environments and his eye for composition and architecture. Kuleshov himself described Prite as the first Soviet film to be "constructed dynamically a n d editorially, with the use of close-ups." It was while shooting Prite that Kuleshov became aware of the first of several unique properties of montage which he was to describe in a succession of theoretical articles a n d books, beginning in 1917. W h a t Kuleshov discovered was that it was possible to create, solely through montage, a cinematic terrain that existed nowhere in reality. As is often the case, the discovery came about quite accidentally when, missing some shots of his actors looking at electrical cables strung on poles, Kuleshov conjectured that the same effect could be achieved by splicing shots of actors looking off-camera with sepa1

1

Steven P. Hill, "Kuleshov—Prophet without Honor?" Film Culture, No. 44 (Spring, 1967), p. 6.

lately taken shots of the row of poles. As the poles a n d the actors were in 11 liferent parts of Moscow, Kuleshov decided to term the effect the "artificial landscape" (also known as "creative geography"); a n d .illhough concepts such as these may seem ingenuous in retrospect, it ll important to note that they h a d not yet been articulated, so far as is known, by anyone else. The most diverse cross-currents characterized this period of Kuleshov's apprenticeship. T h e dynamism, eclecticism, and radicali.iii of the times were embodied in polemically combative avant-garde Cliques such as the Constructivists, Futurists, a n d Formalists. At the .11in- time, supporters of the Provisional Government sensed apocalypse hanging heavy in the air. In a culture that traditionally vibrated wiih occultism, the spirit of mediums like Mme Blavatsky, who h a d died some twenty years before, in part prefigured the mysticial