Bratya Karamazovy

This overwhelmingly beautiful and true to the original rendering of one of the greatest novels ever written, if not the greatest, leaves nothing else to wish for, and yet it is worth while comparing it to Richard Brooks' version of 1958. Maria Schell and Lee J. Cobb remain supreme in their interpretations of Grushenka and the monstrously self-indulgent father, while all the brothers are more convincing and true in this ultimate Russian version. It is nine hours long, and yet you willingly sacrifice all the time it takes and afterwards look forward to seeing it once again in a later future. The colouring is not as expressionistic as in the Richard Brooks version, the drama is not overstressed by intensity and outbursts but much more contained, the colour imagery is on the contrary rather Spartan and not far from a black-and- white impression, only contrasted by some beautiful sweeps into nature, especially the very last scene, which is more Tolstoyan than Dostoievskian. But the main triumph of the film, which underlines its character of infinite and bottomless and yet triumphant tragedy, is the music, very modest and simple but strikes the heart immediately, by Henri Lolashvili. Just the introductory scene, which presents each of the twelve episodes except the last, strikes such a true chord of the story that any heart could melt immediately. This is a regular triumph of classical Russian realism. Enough said. It's a self-evident full score without reservations.