TRIAL ON THE ROAD (Proverka na
dorogakh)
A
Russia (96 mi) 1971 ‘Scope d:
Aleksei German
Set during the Battle of Stalingrad, one of the bloodiest
battles in history leaving nearly two million dead, this is an uncommonly bleak
war film, but one which perfectly captures the mood of Russian starvation and
deprivation during the 3-year Nazi occupation of Belarus, exactly the same
region portrayed in Elem Klimov's Come and See (Idi i smotri) (1985), where the German Army
devoted 50,000 troops to rounding up and killing Jews, where somewhere between
one and two million Soviet Jews were killed, also many thousands of Soviet
civilians were executed, while millions died of starvation. As they
retreated from Ukraine and Belarus, the German occupiers applied a scorched
earth policy, burning Belarusian villages to the ground, slaughtering all the
inhabitants, literally attempting to wipe Russians off the face of the earth,
leaving whatever civilians that survived to starve or die of exposure to the
cold. The maltreatment of the local population from this sadistically
planned death march contributed to rising factions allied against the Nazi’s,
including many non-Russian nationalists and anti-communists who allied with the
Soviet partisans. This film reflects some of that torn allegiance, based
on a story Operation Happy New Year!
inspired by real events documented by the director’s father Yuri, a friend of
Gorky, also a playwright and war reporter, where the main character is a Junior
Sergeant in the Red Army, Lazarev (Vladimir Zamanskiy), who in the early stages
of World War II defects to the Nazi’s under mysterious circumstances, claiming
he was forced along with many others, but by the winter of 1942 he turns
himself back over to the Russian partisans, where he remains under intense
scrutiny. So long as he’s useful and can perform under duress, he’s
welcomed by the more benevolent commander Lieutenant Lokotkov (Rolan Bykov),
who may have a special assignment for him, while the more disciplined Party
enforcer and most likely member of the secret police, is Major Petushkov,
played by Tarkovsky favorite Anatoliy Solonitsyn, an intolerant and overly
strict officer that repeatedly places him under arrest, continually testing his
psychological fortitude.
The film was banned for 15 years due to the morally
conflicted lead Russian character whose actions are paramount to wartime
treason, hardly a fit example according to the teachings of the Party,
remaining shelved until Party Chairman Mikhail Gorbachev released the film
under the more lenient terms of glasnost. The film joins the ranks of
several other major Russian war masterpieces, Kalatozov’s eye-opening The Cranes Are Flying (Letyat zhuravli) (1957) or Larisa Shepitko’s (Elem Klimov’s wife)
psychologically disturbing The Ascent (Voskhozhdeniye) (1977), each one challenging the
Stalinist conception of what constitutes a Russian hero during wartime.
Perhaps the only character that fills the traditional role of Soviet hero is
Petushkov, a Stalinist seen wearing a Chekist cap, the insignia of the secret
police, but in the film, he comes across as severely intolerant and narrow
minded, refusing to even consider the possibility that Lazarev is anything but
a traitor to his country and deserves to be shot. His view is reflected
after the war, where the routine prison sentence for those who fought for the
other side was 10 to 25 years, no questions asked, even when guns were pointed
at their heads to force compliance. This strict adherence to order (when
there was no order) is more reminiscent of German ideology, refusing to
consider the madness of war, where often decisions are made at the barrel of a
gun, or perhaps to save someone else’s life, where a refusal to even look at
the underlying psychological implications of changing sides seems to be
incompatible with bravery or true heroism. More likely the film takes
notice of the small pleasures of Lokotkov, the everyday, ordinary man, often
seen soaking his feet in hot water after a day spent marching through the snow,
or enjoying a joke with his fellow soldiers, where he was a local policeman
before the war, a man used to sizing up people during interrogations, where
despite his previous errant behavior, he doesn’t view Lazarev as a threat to
his men, but keeps a close eye on him. His way of dealing with the
situation is assigning the man hard work, where his performance will be duly
noted. The conflict between the two Russian officers is a major theme of
the film, constantly probing for the existence of humanity during wartime.
The film opens in a downpour of rain, where the austere realism
couldn’t be more downbeat, reflecting the grim weariness of war, as soldiers
are forced to move tanks and heavy artillery through oceans of mud, where they
never dry off, leading to a deplorable mental state while also succumbing to a
kind of battle rot that literally inhabits their bodies. This is
one of the better films highlighting the extreme conditions of battle,
including the paralyzing Soviet winter that precipitated massive fatalities on
both sides due to starvation and freezing, literally taking the viewer into the
heart of a small group of Russian partisans knee deep in the forest snows,
occasionally making ambushes on the road, stealing whatever guns or provisions
they can find, often surrounded by heavy woods, where they make their
camp among the birch trees. What follows afterwards is another isolated shot of a rural
farmhouse where a woman (Maya Bulgakova) lives with two small children with no
food or livestock, all stolen long ago, where her deteriorating state of mind
leaves her in a paralyzed state of near madness, cursing the soldiers before
following after them, as they are her only choice for survival. From out
of the woods, a lone soldier in a German uniform overpowers a young Russian
partisan, but then hands him his rifle and turns himself in. Thus begins
a snowy and often bewildering journey of whether or not a man can clear his
conscience and redeem the mistakes he’s made in his life. Initially set
for the firing squad, they have to move camp instantly due to an unexpected
emergency, expressed in an eerie morning scene in the fog when marching German
soldiers appear out of the fog, seen as silhouettes lining the entire
landscape.
Given a second chance, Lazarev has an opportunity to prove
himself on the road, assassinating two Germans by himself, but when one gets a
shot off before he dies, killing one of his Russian compatriots, Petushkov is
sure the bullet was Lazarev’s, implicating him in murder even after risking his
life, sending him into a tailspin of depression where he literally attempts
suicide. It is Lokotkov that slowly brings him back to life, giving him a
chance to erase his disloyalty, but under no illusions about having betrayed
his nation, where by now the terms hero and traitor have little significant
meaning any more, where in the moral ambiguity of war it’s hard enough just to
survive, sending him out on a still more dangerous mission, as they need to
re-route a German supply train that can help feed his starving troops.
The film is interspersed with an absolutely haunting use of Russian music from
Isaak Shvarts, who composed music for nearly 100 films, where one of the most
unforgettable shots is seeing a barge packed with Russian POW’s as they float
effortlessly down the river while the German guards play Russian music, where
Lokotkov is perched overhead, set to blow up a German train crossing the bridge
over the river, but he refuses to do so if it means killing so many Russian
POW’s directly below when the train passes, where his refusal to act is in
itself an act of courage. The extended finale is a dazzling set piece in
the snow, much of it seen from the vantage point of a watch tower, featuring
tracking shots in and around the trains, also plenty of handheld camerawork
from Lev Kolganov, B. Aleksandrovsky, and Yakov Skylansky, creating what is
easily the most dramatic action sequence in the director’s career. The
film is considered the greatest Soviet feature film debut since Tarkovsky’s
harrowing first film Ivan's Childhood (1962).
