The Cranes are Flying (1957)

The Cranes are Flying is a pretty good slice of Russian melodrama, set during World War II. It focuses on a young couple, blissfully in love. They're torn apart when he volunteers to fight, leaving her home, trying to fend off the romantic advances of his cousin. The plot is a little bit cliched, in spots, but it really delivers, and at the very end, I was tearing up a tiny bit.

There's a great moment about 5 minutes into the film. Boris drops Veronica off at her apartment building, but follows her inside and up the stairs. They finally agree on a meeting place and he starts back down the stairs. Suddenly, he calls for her once more and runs up towards her apartment. The camera is focused on him, as he's front and center. The audience waits to see if she'll hear him and walk back into frame from the left. It's only a few seconds of the film, but it really involves the viewer as he waits with bated breath for Veronica to reappear from the left. We feel the same as Boris does, hoping she'll reappear, which is probably meant to mirror later in the film, when Veronica waits at home, for word from Boris.

Cinematographer Sergei Urusevsky seems to be very fond of low angles in this film, although not as extreme as Wajda was in Ashes and Diamonds. I spent a good while trying to figure out what it could signify, if anything, but I was at a loss. Though, there are some other great visual moments in the film. When Veronica rides the trolley to go see Boris as he's leaving, the camera is inside with her, and suddenly whips around as she gets off. It follows her outside, trailing her through the crowd as she makes her mad dash. Then, still in one continuous shot, it pans up to reveal the tanks rolling down the street, tossing steam everywhere, with Veronica in the middle of it all, such a tiny figure, engulfed in the smoke. The tanks, probably serving as a metaphor for war, their waste enveloping Veronica, just as the war itself will soon do.

It seems to be a film of parallels and comparisons. We're shown the same shots before the war, the idyllic streets, so peaceful and warm. Then, after war breaks out, we're shown the same angles, with metal girders crowding the landscape, rain and fog devouring the light. Veronica's life at home and Boris' out on the front lines are both echoed in one another. During Boris' death, the trees swirl around him in a dizzying frenzy. After being unknowingly accused at the hospital, Veronica runs away in a frantic dash, the trees whizzing by her in the same way that they swirled around Boris as he died.

The aforementioned accusation scene was great, a real highlight of the film. Close ups really showed the pain on Veronica's face, thanks in no small part to the wonderful performance. It goes a long way to show the emptiness and silent pain at the heart of the film.