Documentary News Letter (1942-1943)

DOCUMENTARY NEWS LETTER No. 4 1943 STORY OF A RUSSIAN MOVIE MAN Filming the Battle for Moscow From the diary of Feodor Bunimovich Fr< th< "American Cmematographer" T^or many weeks now we have lived in a car, * listening to the purring of ils engine, occasionally verifying whether the spring and lyres are in good shape. There were three ol us: cameraman Pavel Kasatkin, driver Pavel Shishko, and myself. We trust our old car despite several holes made by mine fragments, a twisted running hoard, smashed headlights, throbbing valves. There was not a single instance when she went back on us. As if subject to the laws of mimicry, she has already changed her colouring three times. Originally black, she became a spotted green. Then, with the arrival of autumn, Shishko smeared her with mud and she became grey and quite invisible on dusty country roads or amid naked trees. When snow fell she changed into a white coat. Such are the requirements of camouflage. After a two-hour ride we reach the first village where we stay for the night. In the morning we proceed into the thick of a forest where we find a well-equipped hospital. Dr. Merkulov, head of the surgical division, meets us with an apology, "I am sorry, but 1 cannot talk to you now. I haven't slept since yesterday and there is still a lot of work to do. Decide for yourselves what you want to him. . . ." At headquarters we were told that a trench mortar battery commanded by Semcnets had tired eighty projectiles during the day, destroying two enemy machine-gun nests, two dugouts and a large number of men. Semcnets was somewhere in tile front detecting the enemy's gun emplacements. The battery was silent. I informed the commander over the telephone that motion picture cameramen were visiting the battery. "Wait a bit," he replied, "we will establish the enemy position in a moment and then we will be ready to welcome you." A little while later the order came for the battery to open lire on two enemy fortifications. One shot was lired, which we filmed. Then the range was somewhat changed and a second l:o tired. The man in charge of the battery told us. "That apparently was adjustment fire. In a moment we will probably open tire from the whole battery. Get ready. . . ." We took up advantageous positions for filming and held the cameras in readiness. Ten minutes passed. . . . fifteen minutes. . . . No order came to open (ire. I again rang up the observation point. The reply was: "Inst two shots fired destroyed both enemy fortifications. There is no need for more lire." .An episode for a nevvsreel was thus quite abbreviated. It was a success scored ioi the mortarmen, but it left us nothing to boast of. . . . The first time we met him was at the front line. I saw a Red Army man running from the side o\' the enemy. Now and then he fell. rose, crawled. He was not wounded why then was he running from the battlefield? Only when he got to the trenches and lay next to me I realised (hat he was a signalman He looked not more than twenty years of age. His big blue eyes were naive and his smile shy. His face and hands were covered with clots of sticky mud. As he lay near me he tried to regain his breath as soon as possible, in order to continue on his way. My questions he answered in monosyllables and obviously unwillingly. Several days later, in conversation with Battalion Commissar Storozh I mentioned the signalman I had seen. "Why, that must be Fedoseyev!" exclaimed Storozh, "he is a wonderful fighter, bold, resourceful, finds his bearings quickly in any situation and under any conditions. There were instances when Fedoseyev made his way toward a tank that had gone far ahead, climbed up from the rear toward the turret, knocked as had been previously arranged. The tank crew then transmitted through him all the necessary information. You and your friends will do the right thing filming him in action." In Action We managed to film Fedoseyev as he was taking a report from the front line. Shell explosions did not deter him. In the most dangerous spots he dropped down and crawled on. His face was all scratches, and on his brow — despite a cold, penetrating wind — were visible large drops of perspiration. We see him running across a field toward a country road, darting into the bushes where his motorcycle is hidden. He starts the machine. His report will be delivered on time. . . . Carrying a white flag of truce a lieutenant of Yarokhin's brigade and an accompanying Red Army man crossed the front line. The lieutenant had a perfect command of German. Explaining to the German patrol that they were bearers of a truce flag, he asked to be taken to Colonel Neudind. "You are surrounded," said the lieutenant, "to avoid unnecessary bloodshed the Red Army command urges you to surrender." Indeed. Klin was then in an iron ring. To the Germans, Klin was an important strategic point— it served as a forwarding centre for supplying the German army which had been assigned the task of enveloping Moscow. After losing 250 tanks, about 1.000 trucks, more than 100 medium and heavy guns and a great number of men, the Germany army was in retreat. However, the Germans disliked the idea of withdrawing from Klin. The negotiations brought no result and Soviet troops launched an assault. Major General Chernyshev's troops attacked from the north, Colonel Lukhtikov's troops from the east and Major General Ivanov's mounted group from the south, hour days later Klin fell. Colonel Neudind lied westward. ' a thousand men killed. We are now proceeding along this road. One or two miles from Klin we came across the first traces of the Germans' "planned" retreat. In ditches lie twelve cars with the wheels turned upward, two heavy guns, one medium sized tank. A car in front— judging by the scattered documents and maps, a staff car — was hit by a shell and blocked the road. The trucks following were stalled. Our artillery in the meantime had continued to shell the column. The frantic Germans threw into the ditches not only the smashed cars, but some that were in perfect working order. All strove to get clear of the fire and abandoned everything. One German soldier, stricken by a bullet, remained petrified in a running attitude. As we proceeded further along the road we came across even larger numbers of dead German soldiers and abandoned cars, guns, tanks. With difficulty we got as far as the village of Petrovskoye before nightfall. A vast field was covered with enemy machines. Kasatkin mounted one of them and filmed this amazing panorama from practically every angle. . . . When we approached Klin our troops were entering the town. Automatic riflemen wearing white robes, cavalry, artillery, advanced past smashed and deserted German trucks and tanks, past demolished buildings, past numerous crosses with German helmets — frightful traces of the "victorious" retreat of the Germans. We filmed the entry of the Red Army troops into Klin from the roof of our car. Then we proceeded toward Tchaikovsky's house where lived and worked the great composer. We found the gates smashed, the fence broken— apparently the place was used as a tank garage. Near the entrance lay a German motor-cycle and alongside it, scattered in the snow, were manuscripts and Tchaikovsky's broken bust. In the rooms where Tchaikovsky had created works of genius, the Germans repaired motor-cycles. The wall panels of Karelian birch were torn off, all wooden objects burned, stage models smashed. "The German soldiers took a special fancy for a model of the ballet stage production. Swan Lake." explained the director of the museum, "the) extracted all the figurines of danseuses and fought over the division." Klin is practically burned to the ground. Before retreating the Germans blew up the bridge and even the town's new polyclinic. Near its iron fence we met a woman in tears — she was the polyclinic's head doctor. Cakes for Red Army The Klin inhabitants rejoiced and gave a rousing welcome to the Red Army, which brought them liberation. Everyone tried to expic-s appreciation bv bringing presents. When a truck with Red Army men halted near Tchai kovsky's house a woman brought out a big plate of cakes for the men. . . . Artillery lire had somewhat subsided, the rumbling receding ever farther into the enemy's positions. from the forest on the right our tanks appear, crushing trees as ihev rush forward. It is a tank regiment going into action — the regiment to which we knew our friend Gureycv has returned The tanks are followed by infantry. Groups of men are scattered all over the battlefield. Shouting. "Hurrah' lor our country, for