wikipedia wrote:
The Second World War. The crew of an American aircraft falls into the German camp. Three members of the crew decide to sacrifice their lives to let the other prisoners to escape. The film’s protagonist – the fourth member of the crew (He) – wants to join them, but the commander and fellow soldiers denied him, as for the implementation of planned to only three, and four people suspected Nazi cause and make an escape plan unfeasible. Saying goodbye to departing for the death of friends, the protagonist says:

– In truth, Dick (the name of the commander of a flying fortress), I will be ashamed to live.
– Live in a way that you will not be ashamed.

The pilots are killed, but many prisoners, including the protagonist fleeing from the camp. It takes fifteen years and a former prisoner is known successful American journalist. Before going to Europe for the NATO session hero learns about the criminal plans of the U.S. reconnaissance – in fact we are talking about the coming military conflict is inevitable between the USSR and the USA. Before the hero of the film’s dilemma: to make a statement by publishing what he knew details of a planned provocation, having lost with all the good things of life, or keep silent.

On the eve of departure from the U.S. hero visits his ex-wife, where he spent the night, remembering his life (including a betrayal of the ideals for which had to fight during the Second World War and in Spain, betrayal of his friends, members of the postwar American Communist Party) and makes for a difficult a choice.

In the early sixties, the play “Fourth,” performed by many theater groups of the country, for example such as BDT and “Contemporary”. Unfortunately, the film adaptation of the play, launched a decade later, has failed, despite years of cooperation with Stolper Simonov. [1] In this connection it may be considered as the sunset of creative activity of one or the other. (Simonov, incidentally, has always considered himself a weak playwright).

The film does not have the popularity and now: the participation of Vladimir Vysotsky in the title role has not made it attractive as well as the participation of other “stars.” The artists, who starred in this film, without exception, are masters of cinema and theater for their shoulders, having played leading roles in famous films. [2] For example, playing a small part of the Mourning Widow, Zinaida Slavin, Vysotsky called her his favorite actress. The situation did not save the movie and the long dance number by Maris Liepa. In contrast to the actor’s monologue Petrenko, largely determine the impact of the film “Twenty Days Without War,” this piece, the inclusion in the film is artificial, and drops out of the plot, although considered the most expressive staging ballet miniature by Liepa. Its duration is less than four minutes, but in terms of screen time it seems protracted.
The gloom film phenomenon gives the dead: the protagonist, trying to deal with his conscience, causing the spirits of their comrades killed in the war. In the film, little action, there is no clear chronology of events. The play takes us back to the Cold War.

Chetvertiy_DVDRip.1972.avi

General
Container:  	AVI
Runtime: 	1 h 7 min
Size: 	1.09 GiB
Video
Codec: 	DivX
Resolution: 	720x304 
Aspect ratio:  	2.35:1
Frame rate: 	25.000 fps
Bit rate: 	1 933 kb/s
BPP: 	0.353
Audio
#1:  	2.0ch AC-3 @ 384 kb/s

https://nitro.download/view/B527EE01905C275/Chetvertiy_DVDRip.1972.avi
https://nitro.download/view/6D9A5018885A03C/Chetvertiy_1972.ENG.3.srt

Language(s):Russian
Subtitles:English

The post Aleksandr Stolper – Chetvyortyy AKA The Fourth (1972) first appeared on Cinema of the World.

Quote:
RASPAD is a hard-hitting Ukrainian film that details the horrors and aftermath of the Russian Chernobyl nuclear-reactor incident.

In April 1986, Soviet journalist Alexander Zhuralev (Sergei Shakurov) returns from assignment in Greece to his home in Kiev, only to discover, via an anonymous note, that his wife Ludmilla (Tatiana Kochesmasova) has been having an affair with his bureaucrat friend Shurik (Alexii Gorbunov). To consol himself, Alexander plans a visit with his friend Anatoli Stepanovich (Georgi Drozd), but before they can meet, a fiery explosion rips through one of the Chernobyl reactors, where Anatoli works, and he is one of the first victims. However, no announcements are made by the government, and life continues normally.

The New York Times wrote:

History galloped through Mikhail Belikov’s country last year. It gave Ukraine new life and trampled the detritus of the old totalitarian regime, which had brought it Chernobyl.

That was the good news.

The more problematic news, for a film maker like Mr. Belikov, is that the rush of history completely changed the landscape that was the setting for his art. He is one of the creative artists who rejoice in the triumph of democracy in the former Soviet Union but are unsure what political victory will do for art defined by defiance. What is a truth teller without a lie to confront? What is a dissenter without an Establishment to oppose?

The best testament to the awkwardness of the moment is Mr. Belikov’s 1990 film “Raspad,” about the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. Leaning on the known facts of the tragedy, Mr. Belikov traces out fictional accounts of victims and bystanders from just before the explosion to a period about six months later.

“Raspad” — literally “falling apart,” colloquially “collapse” or “disintegration” — is a classically Slavic, symbolic chronicle of moral betrayal. The film, which made its American debut last week in time for the sixth anniversary of the catastrophe, was described by Vincent Canby of The Times as “awkward but nearly always riveting.”

With angry scenes showing hypocrisies large and small, “Raspad” renders both the cataclysm of the explosion at the reactor and the conspiracy of silence that followed. While the inferno spewed poison across the land, Kiev television showed a bicycle race and the May Day parade. Sixty miles southeast of the nuclear volcano, beribboned children marched down Kiev’s central street under radioactive skies to honor Communism.

“It was my biggest fear that we might stray from the truth, that we might make a false film, so that a Chernobylite, seeing it, would say, ‘Aren’t you ashamed to show things that never happened?’ ” Mr. Belikov said. “But nobody who has seen it has said, ‘It’s not true.’ “

It is enough, Mr. Belikov said, to tell the truth. To do so, he said, underscores the official cover-up. And that cover-up, which increased the number of victims, also led to a heightened national consciousness among Ukrainians and Byelorussians. The film doesn’t join the current debate over how many have died as a result of Chernobyl — the official 32, or thousands more, as health authorities in the newly independent Ukraine now maintain. It is content to show a slaughter of innocents; it doesn’t feel the need to count.

What mattered more than any count, he said, was the deception itself. The fury over being lied to about poison that could kill them, he said, helped turn Ukrainians and Byelorussians, those most affected by the fallout, against the Soviet Government and engineer its collapse.

But that collapse makes “Raspad” already a period piece.

In 1989, when it was filmed, truth was hard to come by; most other commodities were cheap. Ukrainians were so disgusted by the stonewalling of the Soviet ministries of health and atomic energy — which still kept secret the maps of contaminated areas — that Mr. Belikov was allotted a million rubles (about $625,000 at the then artificially inflated exchange rate) by the Ukrainian Government film studio at a time when the ruble had some value within the country. He also had no trouble recruiting hundreds of bus drivers for one of the most powerful scenes, the evacuation of the high-rise town of Pripyat, four miles from the reactor.

In 1992, four months after the collapse of the Soviet Union, truth is cheap, and everything else is dear. The most anachronistic scenes in the movie show Aleksandr Zhuravlev, the journalist protagonist played by Sergei Shakurov, and his unfaithful wife, Lyudmila (Tatyana Kochemasova), entertaining friends with a lavish spread of caviar, fish and meat — products unobtainable or prohibitively expensive these days.

The changes in the former Soviet Union go beyond the current scarcity of food. Movie theaters in Kiev, Lvov and Kharkov — and much of the rest of the formerly prudish, formerly Soviet Union — are full of American-made sexploitation films, Mr. Belikov said. Local film producers are happy to follow suit. “Your movies are nothing compared to ours these days. It’s all rapes and shootings. Nobody would go to see a movie unless there are a couple of rapes and shootings.

“For me, it would be impossible to shoot ‘Raspad’ now. That’s why I’m not doing anything now.” In the first place, there would not be enough money. The rapid devaluation of the ruble has made the current 250-million-ruble budget (perhaps $250,000) of the Ukrainian state studio a pittance and low-budget ventures a must. While producers would now be free to seek investors wherever they can find them, the central studio is still the first resort for funding. In addition, the distribution network that brings films to theaters in Ukraine, Russia and Belarus (the country that emerged from the Byelorussian republic) is tightly controlled by an Azerbaijani entrepreneur; serious movies, not terribly popular now, are not very welcome.

Even Ukrainian audiences were not enthusiastic about “Raspad.” Mr. Belikov said. “It’s difficult to see the movie. Those who lived through that don’t want to experience it again.”

Long before its release, the film was adopted by a group of Americans, including the independent producer Peter O. Almond, who met Mr. Belikov in Kiev in 1989. Mr. Almond helped him get the film to the Skywalker Ranch, a sophisticated sound-mixing facility that the film maker George Lucas has established in Marin County, Calif.

“Raspad” is now a joint venture, the Ukrainian rights owned by a charity called Chernobyl Aid and the American rights owned by Mr. Belikov, Mr. Almond and a group of investors known as the Pacific Film Fund.

Although not one of the best-known directors in the former Soviet Union, the 52-year-old Mr. Belikov, who was born in Ukraine and lives in Kiev, won a top prize for his earlier feature film “How Young We Were.” He himself lived through part of the Chernobyl nightmare — not the actual explosion of April 26, 1986, which occurred when he was in Spain showing “How Young We Were” at an international festival — but the days of deceit that followed.

“I came back on the 29th. My friends greeted me and congratulated me on the success of ‘How Young We Were.’ Everybody was smiling and laughing, and somewhere in the middle of it someone said, ‘Something happened at Chernobyl, and all the foreigners are leaving Kiev.’ Just that — an aside. Like Kafka.

“I understood the scope of the accident after about three days,” Mr. Belikov added. Around May 2, the smoldering reactor core, covered with tons of sand and boron, began to reheat alarmingly; radiation levels shot upward. “We knew that another explosion was possible, and if there was another explosion, there would be no more Kiev. There was panic in the city.” A scene in the movie of hysterical crowds at the railway station, which was filmed with volunteers from a circus audience, was a re-creation of what Mr. Belikov said he witnessed — and what Kiev television never showed.

Ukrainian audiences may not want to relive those days, but Mr. Belikov and his American collaborators are hoping the film will be more welcome here — particularly now that its metaphor of collapse applies not just to the moral decay of the former Soviet Union but to its political disintegration as well.

Those looking for a strong antinuclear diatribe, however, are unlikely to find it. For Mr. Belikov, the blame for what he calls Chernobyl’s “inevitability” goes back to an arrogant, “pathologically secretive” system that Stalin designed to keep control of military technology in as few hands as possible. Marrying that system to nuclear technology, he said, “was like putting a child on an unbroken horse. He can’t control it. Sooner or later he’ll be thrown.”

1.71GB | 1h 36min | 768×576 | mkv

https://nitro.download/view/9883A77AA3AA002/Raspad.AKA.Decay.1990.mkv
http://nitroflare.com/view/DB7E9CA4A2D7FED/Raspad.zip

Language:Russian
Subtitles:English

The post Mikhail Belikov – Raspad AKA Decay (1990) first appeared on Cinema of the World.

Quote:
Looking for the money for a drink, an alcoholic gets a Newfoundland dog as a present from a stranger at a bird fair. He’ll soon find out that the animal is not only able to speak, but to get him to give up drinking as well. Now he’s determined to get rid of the dog, but that won’t be an easy task. Written by Mario.

1.32GB | 1h 18mn | 742×572 | mkv

https://nitro.download/view/4EB7096A12274E1/Drug.AKA.Friend.1987.DVDRip-AVC.mkv
https://nitro.download/view/28784C2495507F7/Drug.AKA.Friend.1987.DVDRip-AVC.English.srt

Language(s):Russian
Subtitles:English

The post Leonid Kvinikhidze – Drug aka Friend (1987) first appeared on Cinema of the World.

Amazon.com—
This ambitious 1979 Russian film attempts no less a feat than the encapsulation of the tumultuous history of Russia in the 20th century. Written and directed by Andrei Konchalovsky (Runaway Train, Tango and Cash), the film weaves an engrossing tale of three generations of two Russian families in the remote region of Siberia, each trying in their own way to find fulfillment in their lives as they seek to reconcile themselves with the ever-changing landscape of their homeland. Sandwiched between the chaotic events of the First and Second World Wars, as well as the Russian Revolution of 1917, the people of the small village find themselves at the cusp of great changes, from communications to the expanding infrastructure and the changes that brings, to the discovery of oil and the riches and perils that come with it. Konchalovsky juxtaposes archival footage with stunning cinematography and contrasts the assaultive changes of the modern world with the timeless impulses of family and the enduring need to adapt and survive. Reminiscent of such great films as Giant and 1900, Siberiade is a visually adept and stunningly effective epic about the price of a country’s history on its people. —Robert Lane

The Russians are coming! The Russians are coming! Once the paranoiac’s rallying call to make known his fear of communism, now a sign of Kino’s efforts to bring to video some of the greatest monuments in Soviet cinema from the Cold War. First out of the gate is the very finest, Andrei Konchalovsky’s Siberiade, winner of two awards at Cannes in 1979, the same year laurels went to other works about war and resistance, from Apocalypse Now to Norma Rae, and one year before Konchalovsky’s frequent collaborator Andrei Tarkovsky stalked La Promenade de la Croissete. A sign of things to come, and walls to fall down, American and Russian film artists seemed to be working in tandem to sort through the rubble of their respective collective pasts and terrifying current states of affair.

Konchalovsky’s 260-minute totem to the Soviet spirit must have been rattling, a precursor of sorts to Elem Klimov’s Come and See (even Emir Kusturica’s Underground), prone to poetic abstraction and exuding a magical-realist’s reverence for history. Each part of the film is a decade-link in the Russian chain of history as seen and experienced by the people of a remote Siberian village, beginning in near-medieval dignity during the Russian Revolution and sprawling tragically toward the industrial present. Each segment of the film is a mini-masterpiece that gets to the core of the Yelan people’s obsessions, romances, and loyalties, set against and around sacred woods everlastingly skulked by a cute grizzly and eternal grandfather and above which geese dart and mark the skies and a northern star flickers with a haunting sense of majesty and fear.

Trees fall to the ground with great sadness, symbols of nightmare encroachments to come; people thrash their way toward boats, down misty rivers when human confrontation becomes impossible to bear; acidic swamps explode in flashes of fire during wartime; and a village gate is casually and callously bulldozed by men sent to siphon the Yelan people’s oil. Equally voluptuous is Konchalovsky’s filmmaking, which adopts the madness of his characters, never settling for complacency, sometimes collapsing into golden monochrome like a person trying to peer at the world through a hand across the face, trying to shield the painful red that spills from the guts of soldiers. Filling the gaps are brilliantly disconcerting transitions of Soviet history in motion, told in images that engage silent-film idiom but set to a thoroughly modern score by Eduard Artemyev. This is filmmaking of the rarest kind, greatly tugging on our heart and moral and political consciousness. —Ed Gonzalez, Slant Magazine

http://www.nitroflare.com/view/87E224308C7F4F5/siberiade.i-ii.avi
http://www.nitroflare.com/view/FD219AE0A679844/siberiade.i-ii.srt
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http://www.nitroflare.com/view/2132B6EC49400CA/siberiade.iii-iv.srt

Language(s):Russian
Subtitles:English (.srt)

The post Andrei Konchalovsky – Sibiriada aka Siberiade (1979) first appeared on Cinema of the World.