Tarakanova (1930)
Directed by Raymond Bernard

Film Review

For all its superior design work and some breathtaking visuals worthy of D.W. Griffith, Raymond Bernard's 1930 production of Tarakanova still manages to look like an obvious attempt to cash in on the success of previous films set in imperial Russia, most notably Viktor Tourjansky's Michel Strogoff (1926).  There had been a previous silent version of the same story - a short made in 1910 by Pathé's Russian subsidiary - and Fyodor Otsep and Mario Soldati would later direct a sound version in 1938, but Bernard's film alone has the epic quality that the rambling story of frustrated ambition and desire deserves.  Even though it is a minor work in his filmography, Bernard always maintained that it was his personal favourite.  It's a bizarre choice given that the two films the director made prior to this - Le Miracle des loups (1924) and Le Joueur d'échecs (1927) - are superior in just about every respect and are still highly thought of, whereas Tarakanova, a bloated melodrama, is virtually forgotten.

Raymond Bernard is not only one of French cinema's most eclectic directors, he is also one of the most inconsistent, and his career is pretty well defined by a continual seesawing between outright masterpieces (Les Croix de bois, Les Misérables, Les Otages) and mediocre crowdpleasers (Marthe Richard, au service de la France, La Belle de Cadix).  Bernard's undying fondness for Tarakanova can be taken as evidence of a poor faculty for self-criticism but it is equally testament to his affection for his lead actress, Édith Jéhanne, who appeared in four of his films, this being her most substantial role.  Bernard first met Jéhanne when she showed up whilst he was shooting Le Secret de Rosette Lambert (1920), to visit her sister Sylvia Grey.  The director was so taken with the 18 year old that he gave her a part in his comedy Triplepatte (1922) and later cast her as the female lead in Le Joueur d'échecs.   The same year, Jéhanne took her most famous role as the lead heroine of G.W. Pabst's Die Liebe der Jeanne Ney (1927).  Nothing more is known about Jéhanne after she appeared in Léonce Perret's Quand nous étions deux (1930), her eighth film, although she is believed to have died not long afterwards.

In Tarakanova, Édith Jéhanne takes on a challenging double role in which she plays a princess who has renounced the crown of Russia and a gypsy girl whose head is completely turned when she falls for the lie that she will be the next Empress of Russia.  Not only does Jéhanne succeed in delineating the two characters (they look identical but have completely different personalities), she also has such a potent screen presence that she eclipses every other member of the cast (even actors who have considerably greater experience). There is a Garbo-like allure to Jéhanne, innocence laced with a raw sensuality, which, along with the surprising modernity of her performance, makes her instantly engaging.  Her tangible presence and air of mystique is the one thing that holds Tarakanova together, preventing it from being just a succession of grand set-pieces with barely enough narrative glue to keep it from falling apart.

The one member of the cast not to be completely outshone by the divine Jéhanne is Paule Andral, a superb choice for the part of Catherine the Great.  Andral's charisma and imposing physique make her a convincing despot, and whilst her character's ruthlessness is shocking in a few scenes, these reveal as much female vulnerability as paranoia in what is a fascinating character portrayal.  Let down by an inadequate script, the male characters fair pretty badly, and there's little to distinguish the two male leads, even though they are played by two leading lights of the silent era. Olaf Fjord (cast as the romantic Count Orlof) was one of the biggest stars of Scandinavian cinema (despite being of Austrian origin) but he is wasted here in a role that is poorly developed and pretty unconvincing.  The other principal male character Count Chouvalof also fails to have much impact, despite being played by the legendary German actor Rudolf Klein-Rogge, who is best known for his frequent collaborations with Fritz Lang - most famously as the inventor Rotwang in Metropolis (1927) and the criminal mastermind in Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler (1922).

One area where the film cannot be faulted is its production design, which showcases French cinema of the late 1920s at its most pictorially extravagant, with production values that could rival any Hollywood superproductions of the time.  Jean Perrier's cavernous and highly detailed sets positively reek with the excessive grandeur of Imperial Russia, as do the costumes supplied by Boris Bilinsky, a prominent costume designer of the period who was most closely associated with Albatros, a company that specialised in prestigious productions such as Jean Epstein's Le Lion des Mogols (1924).  Tarakanova may suffer from a tatty plot, but the design is anything but tatty.  From the first shot to the last, the film looks stunning, helped by Jules Kruger's artful cinematography, which more than plays its part in transporting us to Russia in the mid-18th century.

The abrupt incursion of sound into cinema in the late 1920s had a fairly disastrous impact on several films, and Tarakanova was one notable casualty.  By 1929, silent cinema was pretty well dead in the water, so to minimise the likelihood of Tarakanova being an expensive flop its producers took the decision to delay its release by a year, to give time for a sound track to be created and bolted onto the film.  A complete dub was out of the question, so the soundtrack consists only of crude sound effects, extracts of classical music and a specially written song for the heroine.  This song, la Chanson de la bohémienne, was composed by André Roubard with lyrics by Bernard - the two would work closely together on the director's next film (his first sound feature) Faubourg Montmartre (1931). Tarakanova had its premiere at the Théâtre Pigalle on 3rd June 1930, and was released in September of that year, to a decidedly lukewarm reception.

Marred by a mediocre script, uneven pacing and a general lack of coherence, Tarakanova is definitely a step down from Raymond Bernard's previous two historical films.  However, its director's flair for visual drama, whilst not sustained, does have an impact in the film's grandest set pieces.  The highpoint of the film's first half is a battle sequence that is ferocious in its intensity and proximity.  Bernard doesn't show us the conflict from a distance, he violently thrusts us bodily into the heart of the battle, using the constantly moving subjective camera to make us feel we are actually caught up in the fighting.  In the second part of the film there are some dazzling poetic interludes which show the influence of Bernard's more artistically minded contemporaries (Abel Gance, Jean Epstein, Marcel Lherbier).  The impressionistic device of superimposition is used to great effect to draw us into the elated mood of the heroine as she contemplates her accession to the throne of Russia via a spectacular montage sequence.  Flawed though it is, Tarakanova has its moments of brilliance and with its bravura design it exemplifies the exalted ambitions of French filmmakers just before silent cinema was violently usurped by its talkie cousin.

Film Synopsis

In 1764, the Russian Empress Catherine II is conflicted when she hears the news that her rival Ivan VI is dead and buried.  The threat of her being deposed may have lessened but it is still possible that her political opponents may blame her for Ivan's death to stir up trouble.  The Empress's faithful Count Orlof comes to her aid, assuring her that if he were to lead a successful attack on the Turks public sentiment would be on her side.  As Orlof readies his armies for combat, Count Chouvalof, one of the Empress's most dangerous adversaries, attempts to persuade the Princess Dosithée, daughter of the former Empress Elizabeth, to make her claim for the crown, but in vain.  Dosithée has no thoughts of personal ambition and intends spending the rest of her life in a convent.  A short while later, Chouvalof is astonished to encounter Dosithée's exact double in a young gypsy girl, Tarakanova.  As the latter has no recollection of her mother, Chouvalof easily convinces her that she is the long lost daughter of the Empress Elizabeth.  When the news reaches her that there is a new claimant to the throne, Catherine II instantly despatches Orlof to court Tarakanova and arrange her capture.  When he meets the royal pretender, Orlof is shocked to discover that she is the gypsy girl he lost his heart to on the eve of the battle against the Turks...