Black and white: cloaks, rain, wet pavements. Urban thaw. Another five kopecks in the treasury of the Soviet new wave.
Tragicomedy on the industrial-intellectual theme of the moral choice of the weak-willed menaes, living in discord with himself, but hungry for inadequacy.
Buzykin of the “Autumn Marathon” clearly comes from here, up to direct quotation tortures like not giving a hand to a scoundrel-chief going to meet with a panicked concealment of himself in the institute toilet. But a decade and a half earlier.
Instead of Basilashvili, Vladimir Recepter is also from BDT. He began, was actively filmed, then forever abandoned in the theater. Perhaps with the end of the thaw, the nervous type was considered worked out.
However, the red ribbon is not only by the Receptor, the actors in it are generally more trumped. Armored here, to all the Mullers. The role is quite nothing, not episodic, just second plan.
Derzhavin, Eibozhenko, Penkov, Durov, Satanovsky, Kakhi Kavsadze and even a young, plump still, Natalia Rudnaya, who then broke out in Smirnov’s “Autumn” and, who would have thought, became Chubais’ mother-in-law in her old age.
But the most interesting director. Chevalier of the Order of the Patriotic War II degree, a Jewish pilot, a radio shooter who lost an eye near Odessa two weeks before its liberation - shot down there by the Germans, cured in a German (!) hospital, and on recovery escaped from captivity. If you believe the tabloid monitors.
Then, already in the early 70s, he again fled with his wife, Sergei Martinson’s daughter, now from creative unfreedom, to Israel, seemingly even refusing there the post of Minister of National Cinematography, annoyingly proposed by Golda Meir herself, and the next year fleeing for the third and last time to America, where at the beginning of the zero and rested, and did not remove anything, except, according to rumors, one film about “our” immigrants there, the existence of which, however, is not confirmed by any popular filmography.
The sense of uncertainty is perhaps the only certainty in all this dubious story, gathered from someone else’s words. And also a black pirate bandage on a bright, Semitic beautiful face, which is not possible to give to non-Semitic. However, maybe he was in the Romanian hospital, Odessa still.
In short, a carnival factoid, an Indian operetta, a fabulous adventurous image. The mysterious person is Heinrich Saulovich. Whatever I find about him on the Internet, it gives everything by a mile to rampant fantasy.