Schwarze Augen

for its wise simplicity. for its touching beauty. and for the high Mkhalkov precision to create the details. a film with an impressive cast - Mastroianni is the first violin but not the one - and example of inspired manner to use the Tchekov spirit and the glamor of a century beginning. a film like a puzzle in which each image, performance or scene is charming like a kind of gem, delicate and illustration of art of a master. a special meeting between art of few great actors and an unique director. and the flavor of a Russia who becomes different in contact with Mastroianni - it is not the only meeting , Sunflower is another , but in this case, far by war or Sophia Loren, the story seems be a precious drink in a crystal glass.for me, one of films who, after its end, proofs than it represents one of movies who you search for without know than it exists.

This Russian-Italian co-production from 1987 finds two older men, one Italian, the other Russian, talking in the empty dining hall of a slow ocean liner. The Italian tells his story in flashback, as we see him fight with his rich wife, which sends him to a health spa to recuperate, where he meets a bored, young and beautiful Russian woman who is herself unhappily married. After many overtures toward a romance, the Russian wife flees back home, and the Italian follows her, ostensibly on business, but truly in hopes of sparking the romance further.

The film is gorgeously photographed, and much attention is paid to costume and set design, as well as delicate color schemes. Marcello Mastroianni received his final of three Best Actor Oscar nominations for this, and he's wonderful as usual. Silvano Mangano plays his wife, and Marthe Keller appears as a family friend. I wasn't familiar with the Russian leads, Elena Safonova and Vsevolod Larionov, but they are fine as well. The story drags a bit in places, and lengthy passages of Russian without subtitles started to detract after a while (I'm not sure if this was the fault of the print I watched, or if it was intentional, to show the language barrier faced by Mastroianni's character).

Based (loosely) on Chekhov's story "The Lady With The Little Dog," Oci Ciornie (Dark Eyes) features some of the most sumptuous photography of recent years. Set in Yalta, a sultry Black Sea spa for stylish Russian idlers, Dark eyes features a memorable tragic-comic performance by Marcello Mastroianni as Romano, foolish, gallant, ultimately trivial, and a superbly innocent, deeply moving performance by Yelena Safonova as the woman whom he utterly, shamefully fails. Mikhalkov's script departs from the Chekhov story in ways that some Chiekhov-loving viewers might balk at. But Chekhov's ending is perhaps too subtle and introspective for cinematic realization, and Mikhalkov's alternative, seems justified, if only as a vehicle for Matroianni's extraordinary performance.

Yes, its story is an old chestnut. There's an excuse for Marcello Mastroianni to tell a story about himself and a Russian woman, and he does it, and there's an aftermath. But the story is so good and so well told (and acted and directed) that the device is like an old friend. This is one of Mikhailkov's best, right up there with Burnt by the Sun. It draws on Heifetz's Lady with a Dog (and Chekhov's short story too, for that matter) and parodies (or pays homage to) Fellini's 8 1/2--both just right for this Italo-Russian piece about Italians and Russians, which I found a pure delight. It revels in both poking fun of and warmly enjoying both Italian and Russian types and moods. For me, there was the additional pleasure of seeing Innokenti Smoktunovsky, who played the title role in Kozintsev's Hamlet, now middle-aged and as fine an actor as ever. Will it ever be released on DVD? It's about time this one is rediscovered.

There's no really much you can say and analyze about this movie. It's not a movie by itself, it's a piece of art lost in the ocean of mundane cinema of the 20-th century. It's like the great literature, the great paintings of history, impregnated with a mystical and hard to define quality in it's texture. For me this is not simply a "movie", i say it again. Like Nostalghia or Andrei Rubliov of Tarkovsky , here the poetics transcends what we usually call cinema, or a film, because it gets a life on it's own, and becomes independent to critical observation. It's like a tiger in the Siberian forest, that you have to simply admire. A tiger is beautiful because it's a tiger, Oci Ciornie it's beautiful because it is Oci Ciornie. Something divine happened to Mihalkov and to the cast when thy made this piece of art. It was the greatest shame and scandal when the jury at Cannes awarded "Sous le Ciel de Satan" the Palme D'or, but who cares...Time is for the art what is for the wine. The good one gets better, the cheap one gets sour and becomes vinegar.