A film that deconstructs the naive idea that one can distinguish between good and evil, winner and loser, in times of war. It unfolds like a disorienting nightmare. You're given no anchor, no central plot or character. You drift through it, lingering off in the distance and passively watching as nameless men and women are consumed by a seamless tide of destruction. Rarely have I seen a film, even a war film, with such an uncompromisingly dark and cynical view of human nature. Now, waltz.

Most "anti-war" films struggle to hint at what this film plainly lays bare. The brilliant cinematography is both captivating and deliberately alienating; this film makes few concessions to the viewer, and my relatively restrained score reflects the fact that it isn't very pleasant to re-watch -- yet it's definitely on my short list of "must-see" war films.

I get what it's trying to do, show the disorienting, confusing and pointless nature of war by not giving the audience an anchor or much context for what happens. It didn't work for me, and I think it's because the detachment and lack of emotion turns these characters into automatons, removing their humanity and making war seem inevitable. It does have great camerawork, though, and I may give it another shot in a few years.

Dark, disturbing and gorgeous, The Red and the White moves along at a beautifully fluid pace, and character development is jettisoned in favor of mood and aesthetics.

Both conceptually and technically stunning, this is one of the bleakest war films I've ever seen. Both sides commit atrocities, often within the same shot. New characters are rarely named; they'll be dead soon, anyway. The camera winds along the banks of the Volga like death itself, following people until they die, then leeching onto surrounding survivors until they die as well. Everyone is linked in a seamless stream of brutality. War, fuck yeah.

#833

Shit, what did I just see? The closest, most immediate comparisons: An impersonal Idi i Smotri directed by a taciturn Tarkovsky. Anyhow... Incredible.

There are no heroes, no central characters. As soon as you start to recognize someone from an earlier scene, he gets killed. You almost never learn anyone's name. They are simply victims and victimizers, and their roles may switch at any time, without fanfare or celebration. It is even difficult at times to tell who is on what side. Also, the camerawork is stunning, recalling the fluid graceful movement of Tarkovsky and Kalatozishvili. Surreal, disorienting, and powerful stuff.

# 861

Miklos Jansco's film of the 1919 struggle between the Red (Soviet-backed) forces and the White (partisan) forces removes the usual drama and narratives trappings of the war film to fashion something like an absurd field sport, with players constantly lining up and picking teams. The non-identification of characters emphasizes the dehumanizing aspect of war, and Jansco's long takes unearth the tilting moral axis that leaves no party unsullied.

Becomes something much more than its basic subject and period - an indictment on war itself - on the complicity and base nature invoked in all involved. The waltz scene is one of the most unsettling scenes I have ever seen, among many others here. There is no clear reprieve to be found for anyone. No hope.

A pervading sense of detachment lends a chilling air to this incomparably desolate feature. The depth of cruelty at hand leaves no presence for emotion and the end result is a hard, incompassionate marvel.

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