The Forty-First

Much can be said about the range of emotions found in today's movies. They've certainly become better at promoting a cool atmosphere, adrenaline rushes, making plots that are cleverly built up to a climax, and fitting in as many square centimetres of skin as possible into the film. Some emotions are, however, totally, and I mean totally, disregarded. Intense melancholy, an intense sense of longing and sensations of intense pity for the characters are now nowhere to be found. This movie has all of that in spades, making it radically different from today's European and American movies. It is more "theatrical" than today's more "realistic" films, but for God's sake, don't let that put you off. An incessantly beautiful soundtrack sweeps through the entire film, and the pictures are stunningly beautiful, though in a Russian way that can simply be labelled "different". This film was an eye-opener to the fact that I've seen so many movies that ultimately have left me nearly indifferent to the fate of the characters, and to some loose theory that melancholy and pity are closely related. Everyone should hunt this movie down. The ending will haunt you forever. Anything you watch afterwards will seem like ridiculous attempts to give you cheap thrills.

What a beautiful film. And the music score is unforgettable. I watch the film maybe 25 years ago; rewatched it today. Not only I remembered the plot, I also remembered the music. There are not many films of which I can say the same.

like many films from the same period, the poetry of image saves it from the ideological web. because the basic aesthetic virtues are only parts of a splendid love story in the time of war. because the story is just support for seductive images. a film about borders and feelings. honest, fresh, melancholic, bitter. but useful for discover the spirit of a slice of history and the art of a great director. for discover the nuances who are only fruits of each detail. and to meet two interesting actors. a film about war, hate, love and strange form of peace. and, sure, about the duty. as piece who defines the characters. the last scene remains a long time in memory. not only for the drama but for the profound poetry who transforms the political command in seed of a story after the film's story. a film about the most precious emotion. made in one of the most inspired manners.

Watching this I was reminded of Hollywood Westerns of the mid-1950s, with the saturated color and framing of faces for psychological effect. The constant orchestral score was sometimes unnecessary and somewhat annoying; but as an interview with the director points out, the idea wasn't a grim war story, or even a political screed, but a love story, where sweeping music isn't out of place; and this is a love story.

The scenes with the nomads are striking and unforgettable; the desert sequences are also memorable, as is most of the film.

Much of the acting could be considered somewhat overwrought, with people flinging themselves down on the ground and making exaggerated gestures, so much so it almost seemed a modernized film with silent movie performances.

For those unfamiliar with the original novella, it may not matter, but the movie stays quite close to the story.

Honestly, this movie does seem dated, but is well worth the time for several scenes of honest beauty and some decent-enough acting performances. And, I have to admit, while I watched the majority of the film with more or less dispassionate interest, I was unprepared for the rifle shot at the end. It's much, MUCH more shocking than I expected, and if only for that reason, this movie sticks in my head.

This is a very nice story, love and war story. This is a war movie without violence. In all the movie you see only three shoots. A great end for a great movie. It shows that war films can be done without blood everywhere.