The Cine Technician (1953-1956)

104 THE CINE-TECHNICIAN August, 1953 V. I. PUDOVKIN Two British film technicians pay tribute to the world famous Russian film director who died last month. Among Pudovkin's best remembered films are his film version of Gorky's MOTHER, STORM OVER ASIA, and THE END OF ST. PETERSBURG. His last film, THE RETURN OF VASILI BORTNIKOV, in colour, was released in March. IT was in the mid-twenties that I first met Pudovkin. I knew his work well, for the editing firm of Brunei & Montagu were then importing all the major Russian films, in co-operation with the Film Society, for whom we edited these and other pictures from all over the world. Indeed, all of us at B. & M. — Ivor Montagu, Ian Dalrymple, Frank Wells, Angus MacPhail, Michael Hankinson, Sergei Nolbandov, Tod Rich, Jock Orton, myself and others — saw Pudovkin's films and most of us worked on what editing and titling as was necessary. Of the Russian films, Pudovkin's interested me most, because of the friendly, thoughtful, human personality behind them. Then we had him over here to talk to the Film Society about his films and my assessment of the man from his work was confirmed, and I am glad to remember how he was moved by the British appreciation of his productions. My next contact with Pudovkin was with his written work, " Film Technique," which Ivor translated and Gollancz first published here. I am glad to remember, also, that it was through me that this work was re-issued in a bigger edition in the " Filmcraft " series which I initiated for Newnes. Finally, I met Pudovkin when he visited London again a couple of years ago. I was grieved to see the change in the man. Basically he was the same, no doubt; he was stil! a friendly, courteous and kindly person, but so tired — tired of politics, 1 reckon, though this interpretation of his fatigue may be derived from my own feelings in this respect. I grieve for the loss of this truly great pioneer, who could have helped the cinema in its present plight. Adrian Brunei THE other day I was on an aeroplane somewhere in Europe and my seat-mate noticed my passport. "Are you Ivor Montagu?" he asked and, revealing himself as a Hollywood producer who had just finished a big colour production destined to be the show-piece of the festival to which he was proceeding, related in some excitement that it was my translation of Pudovkin's writings on film technique which had first lit his youthful imagination and set him on the path to film. I tell this anecdote that the present generation may glimpse the world-wide influence of the great and noble friend who has just died. It was through him, not through Eisenstein, that we first learnt the word " montage " and to understand, philosophically and aesthetically, what exactly it is that we are doing to and with reality when we make a film. It was through his film Mother — hated by censors — that we first learned, that cinema could touch the soul as deeply, and fire man's longing as hotly, as poetry. He was big, strong, rugged, simple and spontaneous. He spoke English, having learnt it from fellow detainees in an Allied Officer P.o.W. camp in Germany during the first world war. 1 wish there were room here to share all the memories that come flooding to mind. In the Home Office, where we had gone to get a prolongation of his visa, suddenly gripping my shoulder as in a vice and forcing my gaze on some gesture of the official writing in his passport that illustrated exactly an English mannerism depicted in Storm over Asia that somebody in a Film Society debate had declared " exaggerated " the day before. In Berlin, where I had been criticising some aspect of his not altogether successful film Deserter, and quoting, in explanation of why it was wrong, some principle he himself had recommended years ago and which had been meat and drink and bible to us youngsters. " Did I write that?" he exclaimed, turning on me wide eyes of astonishment and eagerly accepting the idea as a valid novelty. In Wroclaw, at a peace conference, where we could not agree, and he interrupted suddenly our stubborn argument. " Let's run," he said, and down we put our briefcases, and off we pounded together round the great pond near which we were walking, 400 metres at least. When we finished in dead-heat, we were so out of breath we could spare none for more quarrelling and scon the draft was settled. Or, near Moscow, on location, the last time I saw him at work. The season was rainy, a rare touch of sun came from behind the clouds, as he strode, gaitered and jerseyed out from his tent, to greet and embrace me. At once, followed by the shooting-collective horde, we crossed the damp, marshy field to resume the set-up. A primitive aeroplane had to land and again take-off, pursued in the distance by gendarmes on horse-back. The work was complicated, interrupted by showers, involving much shouting and busying. Through it all, unmoved and mutually rapt, a boy and a girl behind us sheltered from the raindrops beneath an umbrella. " Isn't it charming," beamed Pudovkin, suddenly noticing where I was looking. " That's 3rd Assistant Camera and Continuity. They've just got engaged. We don't like to disturb them." Of all creative artists, film directors leave most behind them, perhaps even more than painters and sculptors. Future generations will still see his films. His simple thoughts on theory are now part of the unconscious grammar of all film-making;. The world will come to appreciate what it owes, through these last years, to himself and other maligned heroes of earnest peace-making. Alas that only we who knew him personally can store the full treasure of his rich humanity. Ivor Montagu