THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, October 30, 1996 TAG: 9610300040
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY CRAIG SHAPIRO, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 122 lines
COMICS AND QUARTERBACKS aren't the only ones versed in the value of timing. Music directors place a premium on it, too.
This weekend, JoAnn Falletta will stay on her toes. She's steering the Virginia Symphony through ``Alexander Nevsky,'' the 1938 collaboration between the great Russian film pioneer Sergei Eisenstein and the great Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev.
While the heroics of the 13th century prince and his peasant army unreel on a wide screen at Chrysler Hall, the orchestra plays a starring role in the drama - a fusion of sight and sound, just as the project was conceived.
File it under ``Easier Said Than Done.''
``I don't know of any conditions where you have to be so totally focused,'' Falletta said. ``It's really nerve-racking. In other programs, the orchestra takes a break after the first half. There's no break in `Nevsky'; you have to concentrate every single minute. There's no chance to correct yourself; if you miss a cue, it's lost.
``The film calls for unbelievable virtuoso tempos. The orchestra has to be there, they have to be quick on their feet - ready to go, speed up, slow down. I think for them it will be an unusual experience.''
For the conductor, ``Alexander Nevsky'' is unusual in that it doesn't allow a lot of flexibility in interpreting the score. The producers of this concert version of the film devised a system of flashing lights - red, yellow and green - to cue each passage. The score is annotated in minutes and seconds, so Falletta, who must keep an eye on the music and orchestra, as well as watch the screen for cues, knows precisely how long she has to hit her marks.
She also has the luxury of experience: In 1992, she led a performance by the Long Beach (Calif.) Symphony Orchestra - and swore during rehearsals that she'd never tackle it again. But the response convinced her to give it a go in Norfolk.
``It's one of those rare marriages where the film and music are superb,'' Falletta said. ``The film is ground-breaking and the music is some of the greatest written for the cinema. It's an unbeatable combination that becomes more powerful in context.''
That's not an exaggeration.
When the soundtrack was originally recorded, it was with tinny equipment by 30 studio musicians of dubious talent. Andre Previn, who premiered the concert version in 1987 with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, said at the time that it ``sounded as if they were recording in a phone booth.''
``We'll never yield our Russian land. We'll crush every invader. Rise up, oh, mighty Russia!'' couldn't have been as rousing sung by a 12-member chorus.
Prokofiev himself provided a transcription for a full symphony orchestra, chorus and mezzo in his 1939 ``Alexander Nevsky Cantata,'' but in doing so cut 20 minutes from the original one-hour score. Using the cantata as reference, the producers reworked the score - painstakingly because of the quality of the soundtrack and poor performances - and added parts that were missing.
Finally, after lengthy negotiations, Moscow film archivists agreed to let a new print be struck from Eisenstein's original nitrate negative.
Shared vision, however, wasn't what brought Eisenstein and Prokofiev together. The motivation came from far outside any artistic sphere.
In 1938, Joseph Stalin was fully aware of the threat posed to Russia and the newly established proletariat by Nazi Germany. The Communist Party's general secretary approached Eisenstein about making a film about Nevsky, who in 1242, with the help of an army of peasants, defeated the invading Teutonic knights on frozen Lake Peipus.
An army of the working class. A warrior prince - ``a man with a stronger arm, and a clearer mind'' - who rallies them. One line of dialogue holds that ``it's better to die for your country than leave it.'' The rich are warned that if they resist and try to bargain for peace, the peasants will break every bone in their bodies.
Eisenstein, age 40 in May of 1938, and Prokofiev, then 47, were not unknowns when they met.
Following his success with ``The Battleship Potemkin'' (1925) and ``Ten Days That Shook the World'' (1927), Eisenstein asked for permission to travel outside Russia. He worked in Hollywood and Mexico for two years; upon his return in 1932, he found that the film industry was run by the state and that he, tainted by the West, was considered an outcast.
Prokofiev's situation was the more dire. He immigrated to the United States in 1918, determined to stay; America, though, was not attuned to his radical concept of Modernism. While Paris gave him a broader reception, after 18 years of self-imposed exile, he longed for the inspiration of the Motherland. The Central Committee welcomed him with less than open arms.
According to Falletta, Nikolai Cherkassov, the actor playing the saintly Nevsky, was an important party member who kept an eye on the two during the project.
All things considered, she added, it's remarkable that Eisenstein and Prokofiev were able to put propaganda aside and focus on ``Alexander Nevsky's'' many artistic merits.
Though traditional in structure, Prokofiev's score hints at the skewed harmonic progressions of his early Classical Symphony and the merry ``Troika'' in ``Lieutenant Kije,'' his first film score.
Eisenstein had the Russian army at his command for the climactic battle on Lake Peipus. Elsewhere, he uses stark landscapes to telling effect. And the images of naked children being thrown into the fires during the sacking of Pskov, the Teutons peering through Latin crosses forged in their helmets, are among the most gripping.
Sometimes, Eisenstein edited the film to fit the pace of Prokofiev's music; other times, the composer wrote to suit the action. Both instances cemented the director's theory of ``vertical montage,'' that is to create ``an organic cinematographic fusion of sound and image.''
``One reason it's so powerful is you're dealing with two geniuses who had great respect for each other,'' Falletta said. ``Usually, it's a very uncomfortable marriage (between director and composer). They had this mutual vision of the work and it shows.''
Eisenstein, his career restored, was named head of Mosfilm Studios. Prokofiev wrote some of his greatest music after returning to Russia.
``He grew up in tsarist Russia then lived in the West,'' Falletta said. ``He was watched by the government as someone who might not toe the party line. It's amazing that he could create this truly great score.
``Somehow, Prokofiev managed to speak with his own voice in what must have been an unbelievably terrible situation. He was never forgiven for leaving and staying away so long. The collaboration with Eisenstein was one of the truly bright artistic moments he had.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photos by IMG Artiists [sic]
Russian composer Sergei Prokoflev, top left, and film pioneer Sergei
Eisenstein, bottom right, with scenes from their 1938 collaboration
"Alexander Nevsky."
Graphic
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