Serfs come to see Count Leo Tolstoy. They ask for the land they dwell on and work. He explains it all belongs to his wife, and she won't give it to them. When he tells a widow she may gather brushwood on the land, his wife's foresters drive her away. He writes a will, leaving the royalties to his books to the peasants, turns in his last manuscript, and tries to kill himself. Unsuccessful, he goes wandering, and finally dies.
Yakov Protazanov's film paints a kind and pitiable portrait of the great novelist, even as I cynically note how convenient the portrait of the Count notes that he lives a pretty good life, collects the rent, and gets to blame everything on his wife. Still, the attitude by the film makers is sincere, holding in awe the view of the man.
It's often forgotten that there was a livelu film industry in Russia before the Academics began to make films in the 1920s. Although certainly primitive by contemporary standards, it is startlingly radical by Russian standards of the era.
Yakov Protazanov's film paints a kind and pitiable portrait of the great novelist, even as I cynically note how convenient the portrait of the Count notes that he lives a pretty good life, collects the rent, and gets to blame everything on his wife. Still, the attitude by the film makers is sincere, holding in awe the view of the man.
It's often forgotten that there was a livelu film industry in Russia before the Academics began to make films in the 1920s. Although certainly primitive by contemporary standards, it is startlingly radical by Russian standards of the era.