It seems almost -- almost -- unfair to judge "The Fall of Berlin" as a film. It's a piece of Soviet state propaganda that doesn't really try to masquerade as a film. Soviet cinema wasn't always straight propaganda, of course, and most films I've seen from the Soviet era had mostly ambitions that were artistic of entertaining. This is the exception. It's all about Stalin and the Soviet state (as one), and this results in a simply ridiculous film.
Stalin was, it has been said, supposed to be a man that a Soviet citizen both feared and loved with all his heart, and this film bears that out. When our hero-factory-worker-soldier Alexei meets him in an early scene he is petrified for not knowing what to say. And Stalin the all-knowing ends up miraculously solving his love life.
That love life is a wooden and perfunctory set of scenes that are also, of course, as much about Stalin as anything. They theoretically serve to get a blank hero a motivation for going to battle, and then the rest of the film meanders between scenes of battles and heads of the two sides of the war talking.
Stalin appears a lot, but not too much. He's a man-god, and if we see too much of the man-god, the polish wears off. He's played as an infallible (apart from the odd decision of doing his gardening in a bright white jacket) and imperturbable being, and by an actor covered in so much make-up that he seems to be made of wax.
In general, actors who look quite a lot like their real-world (I hesitate to say "historical" since the film was made so soon after the events it describes) counterparts have been found, but they aren't necessarily good or given anything halfway believable to say.
Hitler is given a lot of screen-time, and he's portrayed as a shouting, raving, rabid, loony, nut-ball. It might be the most hilariously hammy, scene-chewing performances I've ever seen. Hitler was certainly no model of reason and rationality in real life, but if he'd actually behaved like this he would have been immediately been thrown in an insane asylum instead of being put in charge of Germany. The idea is to contrast the emotional ravings of Hitler's leadership with the calm inspiration of Stalin's -- and they over-egged the pudding the point where it was mostly just eggs.
In favor of the film, it does look spectacular, and there are some inspired shots and photography. It's clear no expense has been spared, and the scenes in Berlin at the end seem quite convincing. The scenes of Hitler rolling his eyes while taking part in a crazed wedding with Eva as the Wedding March plays and he deliberately orders his own people drowned in the subways (well, he is literally Hitler) does end up being quite dramatic.
The score is by the great Dmitri Shostakovich, and even when in his mode of being sarcastically subservient to the Soviet musical establishment (as here) and writing elaborated fanfares rather than pushing formal and musical limits, his music is always fascinating and worthwhile.
The dialog is mostly unremittingly stupid, but there is a nice moment where Churchill proposes a toast to the King, Stalin professes a distaste for monarchy, and Roosevelt instead proposes one to the heath of Kalinin, the Soviet version of a nominal head of state who was really just a figurehead.
When Khrushchev denounced Stalin's cult of personality after his death, very few hesitated to sigh and denounce it with him. I suspect part of the reason was that it was built on a combination of fear and artifacts like this film, which no thinking person could find even slightly believable.
It's interesting as a historical artifact, amusing for it's woodenness, and admirable basically only for some of its visual elements.
Stalin was, it has been said, supposed to be a man that a Soviet citizen both feared and loved with all his heart, and this film bears that out. When our hero-factory-worker-soldier Alexei meets him in an early scene he is petrified for not knowing what to say. And Stalin the all-knowing ends up miraculously solving his love life.
That love life is a wooden and perfunctory set of scenes that are also, of course, as much about Stalin as anything. They theoretically serve to get a blank hero a motivation for going to battle, and then the rest of the film meanders between scenes of battles and heads of the two sides of the war talking.
Stalin appears a lot, but not too much. He's a man-god, and if we see too much of the man-god, the polish wears off. He's played as an infallible (apart from the odd decision of doing his gardening in a bright white jacket) and imperturbable being, and by an actor covered in so much make-up that he seems to be made of wax.
In general, actors who look quite a lot like their real-world (I hesitate to say "historical" since the film was made so soon after the events it describes) counterparts have been found, but they aren't necessarily good or given anything halfway believable to say.
Hitler is given a lot of screen-time, and he's portrayed as a shouting, raving, rabid, loony, nut-ball. It might be the most hilariously hammy, scene-chewing performances I've ever seen. Hitler was certainly no model of reason and rationality in real life, but if he'd actually behaved like this he would have been immediately been thrown in an insane asylum instead of being put in charge of Germany. The idea is to contrast the emotional ravings of Hitler's leadership with the calm inspiration of Stalin's -- and they over-egged the pudding the point where it was mostly just eggs.
In favor of the film, it does look spectacular, and there are some inspired shots and photography. It's clear no expense has been spared, and the scenes in Berlin at the end seem quite convincing. The scenes of Hitler rolling his eyes while taking part in a crazed wedding with Eva as the Wedding March plays and he deliberately orders his own people drowned in the subways (well, he is literally Hitler) does end up being quite dramatic.
The score is by the great Dmitri Shostakovich, and even when in his mode of being sarcastically subservient to the Soviet musical establishment (as here) and writing elaborated fanfares rather than pushing formal and musical limits, his music is always fascinating and worthwhile.
The dialog is mostly unremittingly stupid, but there is a nice moment where Churchill proposes a toast to the King, Stalin professes a distaste for monarchy, and Roosevelt instead proposes one to the heath of Kalinin, the Soviet version of a nominal head of state who was really just a figurehead.
When Khrushchev denounced Stalin's cult of personality after his death, very few hesitated to sigh and denounce it with him. I suspect part of the reason was that it was built on a combination of fear and artifacts like this film, which no thinking person could find even slightly believable.
It's interesting as a historical artifact, amusing for it's woodenness, and admirable basically only for some of its visual elements.