Boris Barnet Belatedly Gets His Due on the Lower East Side

An anonymous scribe at the Metrograph describes the Russian director, Boris Barnet (1902-1965), whose works they are presently showing as part of a retrospective, as “major yet still inconspicuous.” If that turn-of-phrase doesn’t pique a cinema-goer’s interest, then how about a comparison to John Ford? Like the American director, we are told, Barnet was a “quintessential studio filmmaker . . . an unofficial poet laureate hiding in plain sight.”The laconic Ford didn’t suffer fools gladly; Barnet wasn’t fond of them either. Working under the diktats of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) was a challenge. When asked to explain what it was that made being a Soviet director a “very special profession,” Barnet’s response was somewhat elliptical yet plain in meaning: “If you ever manage to become honest . . . you can remove the word ‘Soviet’.”Barnet’s droll aside connotes not only a dissatisfaction with his cultural overlords, but a mordant sense of humor typical of a land that brought us Nikolai Gogol, Anton Chekhov and Mikhail Bulgakov. The Metrograph, the Lower East Side repertory cinema, is mounting a series of twelve films that sets out to establish that the director is, in fact, major, and does so in the hopes of elevating his historical standing. Given the quality of the pictures, the former seems do-able. But the latter? You might as well ask if propaganda and poetry are commensurate. There is irony, then, in positing Barnet as a “Soviet Poet,” not least of which is how a kaleidoscopic aesthetic found its voice without altogether capitulating to repressive circumstances. Barnet is a tough circle to square — maybe too tough. The circumstances surrounding his suicide at age 62 may be related to his frustrations as, yes, a Soviet director.Barnet was born in Moscow to a Russian mother and an English father Barnet fils worked as a printer in his adopted homeland. Young Boris would go on to study art, serve in the army, and teach gym. All the while he attended workshops held by the filmmaker and critic Lev Kuleshov, eventually landing a role as a cowboy in his teacher’s farce, “The Extraordinary Adventures of Mr. West in the Land of the Bolsheviks” (1924).Kuleshov’s film was popular with audiences, and Barnet proved a deft talent in front of the camera, but his interest in directing increasingly took precedence. Two years later he co-directed and co-starred in the 3-part espionage series, “Miss Mend” (1926), and fully took the helm on “The Girl With a Hatbox” (1928). The increase in cinematic fluency between the films is striking: Barnet was quick on the uptake. “Hatbox” is a nimble piece of work.The picture was commissioned by the powers-that-were as a means of promoting government bonds, but Barnet makes a swift hash of its messaging by concentrating on the commingled vagaries of love and commerce. Anna Sten plays a hat maker who takes pity on a student who is as hapless as he is poor, Ilya (Ivan Koval-Samborsky). They enter into a marriage of convenience upon which hijinks of a fairly high order ensue. “Hatbox” is a fizzy, eminently likable confection, a comedy on par with all but the best of Chaplin, Keaton and Lloyd.A scene from ‘Outskirts.’ The MetrographLess fizzy, though not without its comedic moments, is “Outskirts” (1933), a film many observers hail as Barnet’s masterpiece. It’s an ambitious movie, as the director and co-screenwriter Konstantin Finn tackle a range of subjects that encompass workers rights, World War I, and the fall of the Tsar. These events play out on the ragamuffin citizenry of a rural village. A dreamy ambiance wheedles its way through the proceedings, though the war scenes still rattle the bones. Barnet holds it together with little hint of strain.“By the Bluest of Seas” (1936) may be the easiest entry point for getting to know Barnet’s oeuvre as it is short–the picture clocks in at just over an hour —and is imbued with a whimsical strain of fantasy. The story is straightforward: Alyosha (a bleach blonde Nikolai Kryuchkov) and Yussuf (Lev Sverdlin) fall in love with the same woman, Mariya (a winsome Yelena Kuzmina). Romantic contretemps ensue in a quasi-musical setting that is disarmingly catch–as-catch-can. Mickhail Kirillov’s cinematography imbues all of the above with a windswept gravity.Comparisons to the early sound efforts of René Clair, Jean Vigo, and Jean Renoir are in order. Should you be in the mood to judge just how well Barnet sustains them, a trip to the Lower East Side is likely to come as a revelation.

Boris Barnet Belatedly Gets His Due on the Lower East Side

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