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Today, in honor of the 124th anniversary of Russian film director Abram Room's birth, I review his 1927 domestic comedy, Bed and Sofa. It's the story of a Moscow married couple, Kolia (Nikolai Batalov) and Liuda (Lyudmila Semyonova), living in their one room apartment with a white-footed cat. They sleep together on a narrow bed. There's also a sofa, a dining table, cabinets, a kitchen space, and street level windows. Shadows of passing legs animate the apartment's walls. Kolia, a construction worker, has a headstrong personality; he's proud of his muscles and grins often. Liuda, worn out from housework and other dull routines, becomes enlivened by the arrival of Volodia (Vladimir Fogel), a printer and war comrade of Kolia, who invites Volodia to stay in the apartment. He sleeps on the sofa and immediately finds Liuda nice to look at.
Kolia gets a one month construction assignment in a different city. It never occurs to him that something might go counter to his marriage. It happens quickly. Soon, Volodia has moved from the sofa to the bed. They begin an idyllic relationship, poignant and enjoyable especially due to the inevitability of its ending. He brings some needed excitement to her life, but when Kolia returns, Volodia, pained with guilt, confesses the truth. Kolia, rather than resorting to violence, just leaves, sleeping at the office used at his worksite.
This doesn't make for harmony and bliss between the cheating couple. Kolia comes back and lives with them as a cuckold, relegated to the sofa, while Volodia fucks his wife ten feet away. It's a silent film, but this implication is made obvious when Kolia, on the sofa, looks pathetically at the offscreen bed, turns away, and jams a pillow down over his ear so the sound of lovemaking is muffled.
The frankness of Bed and Sofa is wonderful to experience. At the same time in Hollywood, such blunt depictions of real life man-woman situations weren't being made, even in pre-code American cinema. Throughout, apart from just the sexual honesty, it's a human story without ideology. There are a few offhand references to the political situation of Soviet society--a few times we see a wall calendar with Stalin's face, plus Kolia in one scene ditches a workers' meeting so he can go home early. Apart from that, it's a lively, beautifully shot and edited film that has a dynamic rhythm all its own. Thoroughly entertaining from start to finish, it doesn't sound a single false note. All three of the main characters are likable and flawed people. The acting is excellent, and Room's direction and storyline pay empathic attention in particular to Liuda. Lyudmila Semyonova's performance is deeply affecting; what's more, the two men realize eventually how their bad behavior has contributed to the overall fucked up situation.
It's a sign of a great film that, even after ninety-one years have passed, it remains vital, fresh, and modern. It's a film that should be seen and brought into contemporary study of cinema, while its director, Abram Room, deserves to be better known.
I saw the film for free on YouTube.
Vic Neptune
Today, in honor of the 124th anniversary of Russian film director Abram Room's birth, I review his 1927 domestic comedy, Bed and Sofa. It's the story of a Moscow married couple, Kolia (Nikolai Batalov) and Liuda (Lyudmila Semyonova), living in their one room apartment with a white-footed cat. They sleep together on a narrow bed. There's also a sofa, a dining table, cabinets, a kitchen space, and street level windows. Shadows of passing legs animate the apartment's walls. Kolia, a construction worker, has a headstrong personality; he's proud of his muscles and grins often. Liuda, worn out from housework and other dull routines, becomes enlivened by the arrival of Volodia (Vladimir Fogel), a printer and war comrade of Kolia, who invites Volodia to stay in the apartment. He sleeps on the sofa and immediately finds Liuda nice to look at.
Kolia gets a one month construction assignment in a different city. It never occurs to him that something might go counter to his marriage. It happens quickly. Soon, Volodia has moved from the sofa to the bed. They begin an idyllic relationship, poignant and enjoyable especially due to the inevitability of its ending. He brings some needed excitement to her life, but when Kolia returns, Volodia, pained with guilt, confesses the truth. Kolia, rather than resorting to violence, just leaves, sleeping at the office used at his worksite.
This doesn't make for harmony and bliss between the cheating couple. Kolia comes back and lives with them as a cuckold, relegated to the sofa, while Volodia fucks his wife ten feet away. It's a silent film, but this implication is made obvious when Kolia, on the sofa, looks pathetically at the offscreen bed, turns away, and jams a pillow down over his ear so the sound of lovemaking is muffled.
The frankness of Bed and Sofa is wonderful to experience. At the same time in Hollywood, such blunt depictions of real life man-woman situations weren't being made, even in pre-code American cinema. Throughout, apart from just the sexual honesty, it's a human story without ideology. There are a few offhand references to the political situation of Soviet society--a few times we see a wall calendar with Stalin's face, plus Kolia in one scene ditches a workers' meeting so he can go home early. Apart from that, it's a lively, beautifully shot and edited film that has a dynamic rhythm all its own. Thoroughly entertaining from start to finish, it doesn't sound a single false note. All three of the main characters are likable and flawed people. The acting is excellent, and Room's direction and storyline pay empathic attention in particular to Liuda. Lyudmila Semyonova's performance is deeply affecting; what's more, the two men realize eventually how their bad behavior has contributed to the overall fucked up situation.
It's a sign of a great film that, even after ninety-one years have passed, it remains vital, fresh, and modern. It's a film that should be seen and brought into contemporary study of cinema, while its director, Abram Room, deserves to be better known.
I saw the film for free on YouTube.
Vic Neptune
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