The Lady with the Dog

I admired the fact that the director paid such close attention to local detail that he included several scenes to point out the Moslem presence in Yalta (some 20% of the people are Tartars). There is a scene in which two touristy looking males order drinks in the hotel and then stick a pinkie into their glasses. This is a custom among westernized Turks who wish to follow the Koran's admonition that "the first drop of alcohol shall not pass your lips." So the first drop is removed. Then the coachman does his prayers while waiting for the lovers. And a mother is shown wearing a birka as the children are drilled in their Russian declensions. My fedora is tipped for him.

They don't make films like this any more. In film you either make it in the best time honoured classical tradition: logical sequence, irony, exquisite painstaking set-ups with perfect lighting, costumes, extras, everything pleasing to the eye and the heart and you find others watching it with a smile on their faces; or you make it so fast, jump edits, ramping, so wild that only you know the rules. Well you can do it the Clint Eastwood way which is the perfectly oiled machine: film them during the rehearsal. He really belongs to the classical genre. The problem with the second way is that you can't sit easily through two hours of a movie made like that. A pop video of two minutes fine, otherwise you emerge from the cinema with your brain fried and the stupid expression you get after sitting through three hours of watching ad commercial festivals. I've done it many times, and it's unnatural, and not good for you. THE LADY WITH THE LITTLE DOG is a perfect little story, superbly acted, observed, costumed, directed, lit, everything. A masterpiece of black and white. It cannot be faulted in any way. It must have taken ages to do the set-ups, something no one can afford to do these days; but then with the state paying the salaries, who was counting? So it was made during the Soviet era: but what is perfect, is perfect, for all time.

In my opinion, there are at least two kinds of melancholia. One has to do with a low level of passion and few, muddled emotions. Melancholia could, however, also be about truly passionate emotions of sadness and longing. There is a huge difference between the two, and they often seem to be confused. This movie is definitely about the passionate sadness and longing - at least it communicates some of the most outrageously passionate longing I've ever witnessed on film. Whoever thought "fast" automatically means "more passionate" was apparently dead wrong. There's also something realistic and very human about the characters. If you've lived for a while you've met people like these, and you may yourself have experienced (or even dreamt) similar situations. I felt immense pity for the characters, in my opinion a great achievement for any movie. Even if it's a film with "love" playing an important part, I felt it was innovative - this is simply unique stuff. I'll not give away too much of the story - go see this outstanding movie for yourself!

The first classic trait of the film which captures the senses, is the outstanding cinematography - as one viewer notes, in the best traditions of silent film. Indeed, too much is left unspoken by the characters. Everything's a delicate and delightful play of fine sensations - a feast for the intelligent viewer whose thread through the labyrinth of characters' feelings is often a glimpse, a twitch, and a seemingly inconsequent line in Chekhov's text. A great burden lies on the shoulder's of the two main actors, Batalov and Savina. While the former does a brilliant job, the latter, in my opinion, is classes underneath. She is fit to play a typical Soviet-era character, not Chekhov's.

gentle, fragile, delicate. Tchekov spirit in an impressive adaptation of a very well short story. a show of nuances in which Iya Savvina is fabulous. for the measure of gestures, for the force of words, for the translation of a profound drama without any cure or limit. a film of nuances about shadow of happiness. a man, a woman, a husband, a wife, Ialta. and few walks. entire flavor of a time is recreated. entire charm of a great writer creation is exposed in magnificent mode. like an old song," Dama s sobachkoj " is a kind of time travel. in heart of lost world. in middle of bitter circle. in fact, only continuous present far from every mask.