Directed by Mikhail Kalatozov
Viewed June 22, 2020
A film that encapsulated the grief and hope of the Soviets after years of subjugation and slaughter
The camera in The Cranes Are Flying is so free that it creates hope, acting in opposition to the great tragedy contained within its frames. In a single sequence, the camera displays what love feels like as the camera follows young Boris as he ascends a twisting and turning staircase, spinning dizzily upwards as he rushes towards his true love. I want you to imagine holding a string with an object at its end: you twist the string tightly and let go, watching the object spin in controlled yet frantic revolutions. The cinematography beyond this singular scene is equally as alluring, the camera capturing the madness of war and the vile results of mankind’s need to destroy itself.
Watching the film was absolutely remarkable because the work seemed so free of propaganda or editorializing – The Cranes Are Flying presents a young couple torn apart by the war and they become symbolic of the millions of Soviets, both military and civilian, who lost their lives to the greatest conflict the human race has ever known. There is no commentary on the glory and/or evils of Stalinism – the film simply exists to put to the record the immense pain that the Soviet people had been holding in for years and hopefully to allow them to grieve for their own loved ones through the characters on the screen. The film is simple in its construction: the misunderstandings that occur are reasonable and realistic, which makes them all the more tragic; the actors ennoble their characters and endear themselves to the viewer and that roving camera portrays everything in the film from serenity to utter chaos.
The Cranes Are Flying does not communicate its message heavy-handedly; rather, the film becomes a vessel for universal grief, an example of why art is a vital endeavor in inspiring its viewers to become better and more empathetic humans in this rather cold and dark world.
