The Color of Pomegranates

How do you go from rich cinematic intuition to stifled ceremonial posing? I don't get it. Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors is one of the most enthralling films I have seen, it's just an endlessly spinning dance between the camera and a mystical world of song and suffering, spun and diffused into air. It rested on a profound realization that life is both real and has the mechanism of dreams.

It was a multifaceted world of many allusions but all of it was deftly integrated into the experience, you didn't need separate keys. This on the other hand is a notoriously difficult work, for a simple reason; you need a bunch of keys, and most of those are outside the film (it suffered at the hands of Soviet censors, no doubt, my guess however is that Parajanov's authorial version would operate on the same principles).

It is everything that grates at me as outmoded and needless obfuscation in cinematic narrative. Allegory. Symbolism (the nagging notion that the pomegranates ought to 'stand for something'). Cryptic dealings.

Instead of opening up our gaze to a world, it reduces to a set of paintings, supposedly that you have to decode. It is very much a presentation of cultural history, but at the expense of all the distinctly cinematic advantages of the medium.

This mode survives in a way in Peter Greenaway. But Greenaway works from Hamlet as his main reference, so all you need to know about the play is usually inside the play-within. This has no framework. It isn't the stuff that life is made from - it's only the stuff that art is.

One of the great films in all cinema, virtually incomprehensible to anyone not familiar with Armenian or Georgian history and culture. Whatever the dubious politics in enjoying a subversive political work as an aesthetic spectacle, there is much to astonish. The nominal story concerns an 18th century Armenian poet/national hero/martyr, but Paradjanov rejects biographical narrative in favour of a montage stream of religious, political, cultural, sexual imagery, composition and allegory unparalelled in the history of the medium, although fans of Von Sternberg will not be bemused.

Almost everybody talks about the film's beauty and the difficulty of its understanding. It's true. But the difficulty is not from the director's pretension or other shortcomings.

When this film was first released in Soviet Union, it was shown in third-rated theaters and with limited number of prints. It was not an original version of Sergo Parajanov, because it was re-edited by another director(director's version is said to have been lost for ever, after frequent showing in professionals' circle).

The film's title was also changed--"The Color of Pomegranates" was the title which the administrators of USSR's cinema policy selected to deny "biographical" character of the film. In fact, we can see at the very first title that says "This film is not a biographical film about Sayat Nova...". In short, they didn't admit such an extraordinary approach in making a film about historical important persons.

Parajanov's artistic intention apparently went too far, ahead of his time. He wanted to identify the classic poet with himself through the magical play of cinematography, multi-layered mirror-like structure made of image and sound. "Sayat Nova"--it's me", wrote the director in his screenplay by his own hand.

Soviet censorship may have cut some shots or shortened some episodes, to make meanings and intention,which originally were clear,remain ambiguous. For example, Sayat Nova's anxiety for his Christian homeland threatened by Islamic enemies(this theme is clearly developed in the film's scenario recently published in Russian).Parajanv, an artist indifferent to politic issues, didn't think that religious theme, as well as aesthetic "anomaly", might be very dangerous for Soviet directors after the end of "time of thaw". Thus the film could'n be a full realization of authors's original scenario.

Nevertheless,the difficult situation didn't distort the film's concept and vision as a whole. "Sayat Nova" is still brilliant art of work,and, as many masterpieces of Cinema, will overcome Time by its beauty.

This is a Soviet arthouse film from writer-director Sergei Parajanov. Ostensibly about the life of medieval Armenian poet and troubadour Sayat Nova (which was the film's original title), this is instead a series of tableaux meant to visualize the "mood and feeling" behind the artist's work, as well as the Armenian people and their cultural heritage. It's a series of brief, carefully framed shots, with some movement within the shot but none by the camera, that look like paintings come to vibrantly-colored life. There is no narrative at all, and nothing in the way of a traditional biopic. It's unusual, a continuation of the style Parajanov demonstrated with his earlier Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1964). If you know what you're in store for, then this can be enjoyed as an artistic experience, but anyone put off by non-traditional filmmaking will have very little tolerance for this. Its rather brief 79-minute runtime helps soften the experience, as well.

This film also features several sheep getting butchered, and a half dozen or so chickens beheaded and their flailing bodies cast upon the floor around the main character.

A beautiful, moving, lyrical movie. This allegorical tale is visually stunning and at times terrifying. Each scene is like a painting and the colors and costumes alone are worth the viewing. The movie may be abstract but the payoff for anyone with a decent attention span is wonderful. The soundtrack is equally gorgeous, and the movie is utterly captivating.