The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2018: Aelita (1924), directed by Yakov Protazanov

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: "Going to Mars (!)", by Judah & the Lion

       In the book HitchcockTruffaut, a thoroughly entertaining read on the art of filmmaking, there is a section in which legendary director Alfred Hitchcock laments the end of the silent age of film in the wake of ‘talkies’, in spite of his greatest work being in the latter category. Reason being, and I’m paraphrasing here, that by the end of their lifespan silent films had transcended their rough origins and achieved what was more or less a perfected state. This was cinema, visual storytelling in a way that no other medium at the time could match, and when speech was added the entire rules of the game changed. Suddenly movies were centered more around people talking to each other than it was about creating cinema, and many of the great silent film directors and actors weren’t able to adapt to the change. About the only one who did, at least in the mind of pop culture, was Alfred Hitchcock himself, whose experience in that foundational era of filmmaking no doubt contributed greatly to the development of what would become known as his distinctive directing style.

       I find myself agreeing with him, or at least the paraphrased version of him. Taking a look back on the silent films we’ve covered on this blog, Metropolis, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Haxan (although the version I covered wasn’t technically silent), all of them ended up grabbing an easy recommendation. There is an artistry to these films, a primitive, otherworldly beauty that sets them apart from everything that came afterwards. Sure, there are plenty of great visually-oriented directors, but they just don’t have the same vibe, nor can you really expect them to considering the post-sound film world. Maybe that’s why things just didn’t feel right until I added a silent movie to the Marathon, because I was itching to return to that quiet place once again. John Krasinski not included.

       Released in 1924 and based on the work of Alexei Tolstoy, Aelita (also known as Aelita: Queen of Mars) begins quite matter-of-factly: On December 4, 1921, 6:27 Central European time, a mysterious message was picked up my radio stations all over the Earth: Anta Odeli Uta. No one is able to decipher the meaning of the words, but the radio station in Moscow theorizes that it came from Mars, an idea which intrigues Loss, the chief engineer. It’s so intriguing in fact that he starts dedicating all his time towards constructing a spacecraft in order to travel to Mars, neglecting certain aspects of his life like his wife Natasha. What Loss doesn’t know is that Mars is actually inhabited, a brutal society reigned over by the self-serving Queen Alieta and ruled over by Tuskub and his council of Elders, and that he’s happened to become a particular point of interest to the Queen. These two are destined by fate to collide, but the path to get there is even wilder than he might think.

       In classic science-fiction film tradition, although they introduce the idea of Aelita and the Mars society quite early, Aelita: Queen of Mars has far less in the way of sci-fi than the name would imply. In fact Mars and even Aelita herself don’t really come into play until this last 20 minutes or so, and even when it does the movie sort of runs through it pretty quickly. Instead most of this movie is taken up with Loss and Natasha’s unfolding domestic drama, and all the characters that are wrapped up in it. I’ve said it before in other entries, it’s the kind of thing that modern sci-fi fans likely aren’t used to, and might balk at given a runtime that leans towards the 2 hour mark, but if they were able to get through Westworld (the film) then they shouldn’t have an issue.

       It helps that the Earth-based story ends up proving to be pretty interesting, a winding series of incidents that seems akin to a Greek tragedy, with characters that are easily recognized and clearly defined (sometimes helped by certain actors playing dual roles). It makes it pretty easy to get invested in the goings-on, and you end up growing attached to the characters. Bumbling wannabe detective Kravtsov, stout-hearted veteran Gussev, poor Natasha, and of course the melancholic Loss (Nikolai Tsereteli cuts a very striking figure by the way), it almost feels like Protazanov was consciously trying to pack in as many people and as much action as he could without feeling it overwhelming. Reminds one a bit of Metropolis, another film that had no qualms about working with large groups of people.

       Speaking of Metropolis, although the Martian society is not featured as prominently as that futuristic city, it serves the same purpose as the artistic highlight of the film. Unlike the German Expressionist films of the time, with their bizarre perspectives and surrealistic architecture, the sleek stone palace of Mars is all straight lines and sharp angles, grand open rooms that seem to dwarf the people there. It’s as if the entire thing were sculpted from one gargantuan block of marble. The design of the Martians (specifically their clothing) by contrast is a little bit busy for my tastes, chiefly Romanesque in its design, but things like Ihoske the handmaid's wire-frame skirt is an nice touch of artistic continuity.

       My main issues with the film are twofold, although they could probably be better described as personal problems rather than film problems. The first is in regards to the music used in the version I saw, a piano accompaniment that seem ill suited for the emotional nuance that was being presented, although with this being a silent film presumably you could substitute it with a much more appropriate soundtrack. The second, more bothersome issue is the abundance of title cards. This is a plot and dialogue heavy film, and so naturally there are a lot of title cards to explain what’s going on.
As I’ve said my passion for the silent era stems from it being a much more visually-oriented style of filmmaking than it would later become, and it becomes a difficult to get immersed in the film’s world when there are constant cutaways from the action. It’s not as if they had much choice, this being 1924 and all, but despite knowing that it’s still slightly annoying. A pet peeve, perhaps.

       Aelita is not quite the titanic visual marvel that Metropolis is, nor the surrealist pioneer like Caligari, but nevertheless it gets a solid recommendation by me. Certainly worth a watch, as an entertaining experience and as a historically and artistically significant work of art. Even if you’ve grown up your whole life watching movies with people talking in them and you can’t imagine a world where they don’t, Halloween is the time of year to take a chance and try new things. Who knows? You might end up liking peace & quiet almost as much as I do.