Brighter Picture Seen by Makers of Soviet Films : Cinema: The state of the Soviet arts has changed since <i> perestroika. </i> Film makers and critics will discuss the new and challenging freedoms in a Saturday symposium.

The morning after discovering the joys and pitfalls of the unique regional delicacy known as the margarita, Georgian film maker Aleksandr Rekhviashvili sat in a delicatessen eagerly chomping pickles, a well-known hangover cure.

This prompted his compatriot, Georgi Shengelaya, to tell a Soviet film joke:

A machine is developed to translate people’s thoughts directly to the screen. When it is hooked up to a Frenchman, the screen is full of beautiful women. When it is attached to a Russian, the screen is blank. Then, someone tells the Russian to drink some vodka. It works.

There is a small dot on the screen. It grows larger and larger, and is finally revealed to be . . . a pickle.

Rekhviashvili and Shengelaya are in San Diego, along with Georgian film critic Natia Amirejibi, for a Georgian film festival at the La Jolla Museum of Contemporary Art, part of the Soviet Arts Festival. They will take part in a symposium on the current state of the Soviet cinema at 2:30 p.m., Saturday, in the museum’s Sherwood Auditorium.

The three took time out from their whirlwind tour of San Diego--with the museum’s film curator, Greg Kahn, serving as guide--to meet in the delicatessen and discuss their art, produced in the often harsh realities of the Soviet system.

Afterward, they were going to experience the wonders of a fully stocked supermarket, a rarity in the Soviet Union. They were also looking forward to a trip to Julian, where several early Westerns were filmed.

Sitting around the table, they laughed heartily at Shengelaya’s joke, not only because it speaks of the alcohol problems in the Soviet Union but because it also says something about the blank mind set of the Soviet film industry, which they say has changed dramatically in the age of perestroika.

Rekhviashvili’s film “The Way Home,” which will screen today at the museum, was banned by the Soviet government until 1987. Focusing on the poems of Bella Akhmadulina, the film was blacklisted for its sub-text of Georgian nationalism, Rekhviashvili said through local interpreter Elena Serebryakova.

All three Soviet visitors said they preferred to be labeled Georgians, as long as people understand they are not from Atlanta. Each of the 15 republics in the Soviet Union has its own film studio, which produces distinct regional styles. Nationalism is a predominant underlying theme in many films produced in Georgia. The use of parables is a common technique to express a viewpoint.

“Films take shape in between the lines,” Rekhviashvili said. “A good, real Georgian film is one leaving the idea of the dream of freedom.”

When he received word that the government was not going to release “The Way Home” to a broad audience, Rekhviashvili said he reacted with “absolute indifference.” He made the same amount of money regardless of the ban, which is something of a badge of honor in the Soviet Union. Through black market cassettes and illegal screenings in “clubs,” banned films still find an audience.

“When a film is prohibited, the industry interest is raised,” he explained.

All Soviet films are produced either directly or indirectly through the government. Money for the government-operated film studios is budgeted like any other government item, and the government usually keeps all profits.

“It’s a very profitable part of the budget for the state, in the same way they earn money by selling vodka,” Shengelaya said.

Under the system, directors such as Shengelaya and Rekhviashvili are paid a straight salary, about 300 rubles a month (about $40 after the recent devaluation of the ruble), plus an honorarium for each completed film.

But, like every other aspect of Soviet society, the film industry is changing. There is a move away from direct government control, as creative power shifts to the regional studios. The film makers now believe they can make movies about any subject, a sharp contrast to recent times. Some film makers now even share in a film’s profits.

“We’re getting gradually into the flow of capitalism,” Shengelaya said, noting that, in at least one sense, the old way was better. At least the film makers were not facing any commercial pressures.

Certainly what Soviets are seeing on screens is vastly different than in the past. Along with a new emphasis on commercial success, there is a new preponderance of sex and violence in some Soviet films. A Soviet film maker recently made a two-hour, 40-minute version of “Madame Bovary” with more than an hour of sex scenes, Shengelaya noted with disdain.

They all smirked at mention of “Little Vera,” the first Soviet film to be imported that included frank sexual scenes.

“I’m against a lot of sex on screen,” said Amirejibi, a critic for several Georgian film publications.

All three were familiar enough with Western films to recognize pictures of Errol Flynn and Marilyn Monroe on the wall of the restaurant. They saw classic American films when they attended the film institute, the Soviet equivalent of college, said Shengelaya, whose mother was a well-known Soviet actress.

Shengelaya has visited the United States on several occasions and was well-acquainted with modern U.S. American film makers. Also, American films are smuggled into the Soviet Union and screened illegally at cinema clubs. A black market cassette of an American movie may sell for 200 rubles, almost a month’s salary for a director.

On Tuesday night, the trio went to a screening of Woody Allen’s new release, “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” huddled in the back of the theater with Serebryakova whispering the translation.

Shengelaya hopes to work with Western artists and producers soon. He is developing a script from Leo Tolstoy’s turn-of-the-century short novel, “Hadji Murad,” the story of a Caucasian chief who deserts to the Russians only to be killed when he tries to visit his son. Shengelaya envisions Robert de Niro in the lead, and he hopes to enlist Western financing to defray the heavy production costs.

Rekhviashvili recently completed a film called “Approaching,” which he described as a complicated black-and-white feature about self-alienation. As usual, the film also touches on political topics.

“I never would have been permitted to make a film like this” a few years ago, he said.

For now, though, the film makers are concentrating on enjoying their stay in San Diego. At the end of the meeting, which was taped by a museum crew for a documentary on their visit, they tried on masks for Halloween. Then they headed to the supermarket.