Honorable Discharge for ‘Commissar’--at Last

The Soviet terms perestroika for “restructuring” and glasnost for “openness” are not merely slogans to film maker Alexander Askoldov, whose first and only film, “Commissar,” has been released after more than 20 years in government captivity. The fact that his film is being seen internationally and that he had come to the United States to promote it, has been proof to him that the words aren’t mere promises by Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev.

“Commissar,” which Askoldov made in 1967 shortly after he completed his film studies, was quickly shelved by Goskino, the official Soviet film agency.

Goskino never provided an official explanation for the film’s removal from distribution. But its sympathetic portrayal of a Jewish family shepherding a tough Red Army commissar as she gives birth and its depiction of a Soviet-style Holocaust pushed the film over the state-approved line of acceptable subject matter.

Askoldov doggedly appealed the decision. The more he appealed, not receiving any specific criticisms, the further he unwittingly sealed his fate. He was even barred from viewing the film. Soon, he was barred from Gorky Studio, where the film was in post-production.

Then, he was deemed “professionally incompetent”--essentially a court-martial in the regime of Soviet cinema. Out in the cultural wilderness, he made two television documentaries, only one of which was broadcast. He worked in the theater where he directed numerous “political musicals,” as he termed them.

They had the same fate as “Commissar”: shut down.

“I was going too far,” he said. “People began to mutter, ‘What is the matter with Askoldov?’ ”

Meanwhile, all but one print of “Commissar” had been destroyed. He was reduced to managing a concert hall, “but my wife really supported me,” he said, during an interview in Los Angeles. And with a wearied sigh, he paused to look at his guest and translator.

It was a startling moment. This large-framed man (he played basketball in his school days), with his naturally droopy eyes and hang-dog expression, could send out an amused, crackling laugh at will. But now, he was finding it hard to summon any comedy from his internal imprisonment.

Last year, the Soviet Filmmakers’ Union was restructured: the acclaimed, once renegade director, Elem Klimov (“Come and See”) was elected first secretary. Goskino lost full authority, autonomy was given to the several dozen regional studios, and artists became freer in picking their subjects.

Most important for Askoldov and “Commissar,” a Conflict Commission was established to review and release banned films. In the last year, the entire opus of Andrei Tarkovsky has screened in public cinemas. Out of the shadows have come such films from the ‘60s and ‘70s as Klimov’s “Agony,” Gleb Panfilov’s “Theme,” and Andrei Smirnow’s “The Angel.”

Finally, the process created the opening for “Commissar.” The last remaining print was found. “I have no idea who had it,” Askoldov said, “or who allowed it released from its cell.”

It received a sudden, unscheduled premiere at last year’s Moscow Film Festival and subsequently took the special jury prize at this year’s Berlin Film Festival. It’s playing at the Beverly Center Cineplex and the AMC 14 in Century City.

At a screening in April at the AFI Festival in Century City, Askoldov, 50, stood before an applauding audience full of Soviet emigres. Clearly moved by the outpouring of support, the director thanked them, stoically adding that he was pleased to be part of the growing East-West cultural exchange.

Back in his post-graduate days, Askoldov wrote two scripts--one partly based on his war hero father’s sufferings under Stalin’s dictatorship (“I call it ‘my 1937 script’ ”) and “Commissar,” based on Vasily Grossman’s story, “In the Town of Berdichev.”

As recently as 18 months ago, Askoldov said, noted director Sergei Bondarchuk (“They Fought For Their Motherland”) branded “Commissar” as “Zionist,” reiterating a charge brought against it in the Brezhnev era. As soon as the film traveled West, it received very different reviews.

Many critics remarked how “Commissar” recalls the great silent era of Soviet film, from the rhythmic montage of Sergei Eisenstein to the humanist drama of Vsevolod Pudovkin. The director acknowledged the influence of the earlier generation, while lobbing another criticism at his colleagues: “The new generation has forgotten their roots. With all the suffering our artists have recently endured--and suffering usually gives life to art--there haven’t been any results. In the last three years, not a single interesting work has been done.”

Askoldov now seems to look upon the reviews and applause as small consolation. What he stresses in conversation is that the sheer struggle of making the film was emblematic of Soviet political problems.

“Every stage of a film had to be approved. You wrote the (script) outline. Then the treatment. Then the script. If each was approved, then you submitted production plans, which, of course,” Askoldov said, “had to be approved.”

It didn’t stop there. “You had to screen each sequence for the film ministry. Then the rough cut. Then the final cut. And the censorship process had its own bureaucracy: literary agents from the film ministry, political figures assessing ideological content.”

(He said that he isn’t aware if this process is still in place, since he hasn’t made a second feature film, but said that he faced no interference during the final editing he did last year before the film went on the festival circuit.)

The darkest twist to Askoldov’s story is that after the authorities’ endless review, the film and its sympathetic account of Jewish life was nearly complete before it was sequestered. The director frankly offered two key reasons for its 11th-hour fate.

Many fellow directors wished only the worst to this film maker, who had stepped outside of acceptable limits. “It’s not true that all the troubles in Soviet film stem from bureaucrats. They would never be able to do all the terrible things done to our artists. They’re supported by moral strikebreakers: other Russian movie makers who take great pleasure in criticizing colleagues’ work and pointing it out to the bureaucrats.”

Referring to Bondarchuk and his allies who dominated the industry before Gorbachev as wavers of “the banner of Salierism” (Antonio Salieri was the mediocre, envy-ridden rival to Mozart), Askoldov said that they “were not capable of making good movies but were willing to destroy other artists.”

Perhaps out of fear of sounding too bitter, Askoldov pointed a finger at himself. “I have a bad temper, and it has gotten me into trouble again and again. But if I change that, I may not be able to make movies.”

Still, he knows he is a man with enemies, and sounds like it. “Many of the people who condemned ‘Commissar’ are pretty well off now. Some of them come to America and sing praises of the new thinking ( perestroika ). They were kicked out of their comfortable seats in first class, but they’re still riding--in second class.”

“I knew I had to do this movie,” he said, recalling his sense of a personal mission. “Every day during shooting something was objected to. I had only one assignment for myself: to live through this day of shooting, because tomorrow it may be shut down.”

Beyond that, Askoldov planned some shots, such as a dream sequence with marathon tracking shots following a stampede of horses, that his technicians told him were impossible.

The rookie director was undeterred. On one hand, he had a reluctant crew. On the other, “the studio management, trying to hinder my work, told the horse master we had recruited from a local circus not to go to the location. So we had a huge number of horses, and no horse master. I started training them, but I broke a leg. The doctors told me it would have to be amputated. I refused. Somehow, it healed itself.”

He said quietly: “God helped me. God helped me many times during that period. Otherwise, I can’t explain how I survived.

“I thought it was a moral necessity to make it. I believe it’s a movie that can serve to unite people, and bring different groups together.”

He then paused, considering the political realities, which begin with Gorbachev.

“He’s an adventurous man. So am I, which is why I trust him. Let me use one metaphor. ‘Commissar’ released Gorbachev’s course from prison, showing what freedoms are possible. And Gorbachev made it possible for the film to be released.”

Then, he recalled his, and by extension, Gorbachev’s enemies: “I want people to understand that, with all the improvements, the struggle is still going on.”