THE CINEMA
Volga-Volga." At the Tatler.—" Pieges." At Studio One.—"La Grande Illusion." At the Academy. — "National Velvet." Generally Released.
Volga-Volga is one of the most successful of the lighter Soviet films, and its re-emergence in an English-speaking version is there- fore of considerable interest. The Anglicizing consists in a substi- tuting of English words for the original Russian, the translation being influenced by the need to achieve some measure of synchronisa- tion between the new words recorded in London and the lip-move- ments of the original picture photographed in Russia. The distri- bution of foreign films in this country meets sufficient resistance to justify drastic measures, and it is true that the normal method of adaptation, the simple superimposition of written title designed to summarise the dialogue, has not resulted in a wide distribution of foreign tongue films. Yet if one compares the English version of Volga-Volga with Pieges and La Grand Illusion, two sub-titled French films currently re-issued, there can be little doubt that the dubbing of new voices represents a serious weakening of the in- tegrity of the original film. Volga-Volga is a gay, colourful comedy
of the lighter aspects of Soviet endeavour, remarkable for satire as well as wit, and memorable for beautiful scenes of towns and villages on the banks of the great Russian river. The music and humour is sufficiently pictorial to need little literary interpretation. To substitute' English words inevitably leaves us with a hybrid result, and the obvious loss of verbal smoothness and spontaneity is a real deprivation. Look, by contrast, at the two French films. The dialogue, however little understood, is a vital part of the whole production. Indeed, a non-French-speaking audience, gathering the sense from the sub-titles, can enjoy an almost full appreciation of the picture from the mood, tone and inflection of the dialogue.
Pieges, which was shown in London just before the war, is a comedy thriller about a suspected white slave traffic which leads a glamorous young girl detective into a number of adventures, grave with Eric von Stroheim and gay with Maurice Chevalier. It is not a major French production, but good (though perhaps sometimes unedifying) entertainment. La Grande Illusion, directed by Jean Renoir, was made in 1937 and explores the rich psychological field of a prisoner-of-war camp of the last war. it shows the bonds of class between a French and a German aristocrat defying the boundaries of nationality ; it shows the common French people beginning to dream about a new world to follow the last war, a world built by ordinary men moving towards a new appreciation of the demands of citizenship. But running parallel with the hope sym- bolised by the relationship between a German war widow and an escaping French prisoner is an undercurrent of hopelessness which seems today muddled and indecisive. Let us hope that the fault lies with the film and not with our own current of thinking. In any case, this is a provocative film well worthy of revival at this time, and I believe that a more courageous policy on the part of film exhibitors could lead to the wide acceptance of such foreign films in their sub- titled form.
Enid Bagiiold's novel National Velvet was a delightfully exciting little tale, and the film recaptures most of the story's quality. Such criticisms as one is tempted to make of the Americanisation of the scene are driven out of mind by Ihe breath-taking excitement of the climax at Aintree. Rarely have I seen a cinema audience in such a state of delight as when the girl jockey brought her home-trained
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