Ivan (Nikolay Burlyaev) may be a tad less naive, but there's undeniably something of Come and See's Florya in his anger and his resourcefulness. Like Elem Klimov's devastating classic, there's a mouldy, naturalistic bleakness about Ivan's Childhood that does nothing to brighten the horror of World War II. Using a fractured narrative structure, Andrei Tarkovsky's first feature film concerns the titular orphan and his experiences as a scout on the Soviet Eastern Front.
The film sidesteps the potential sentimentality of its premise (a definite risk given the presence of prominent father and brother figures) by using the situation to ask greater questions about the nature of war. When Ivan throws a tantrum when he's told by his commander that he's going to military school instead of the Front, we naturally question the boy's moral maturity, and his limited understanding of the hypocrisies and complexities of why men fight. And yet, by observing events unfold from Ivan's perspective, aren't we being made to ask such questions of ourselves? Do we really know better than him? With his family gone, and with his youthful eagerness and wanderlust, and his simple smallness, Ivan is more than qualified for his desired role. Hasn't he earned it?
Fans of Solaris will instantly recognise Tarkovsky's ability to find the image that best depicts his characters' psychological state, without recourse to melodrama. "Actors" need not apply. Tarkovsky's eye is so exacting, so demanding, that it's like we're looking through some kind of x-ray vision, trained on the soul. And what soul there is to Tarkovsky: the last frames are the equal of those which close his elegiac science-fiction masterpiece.
If ever one needs convincing of the difference between film as art and film as entertainment, perhaps Tarkovsky should be the first port of call. Not simply because a film like Ivan's Childhood (a perfect title, by the way) is so multi-layered, metaphorical, psychologically complex, eerie, strange and moving – but because all those ARTISTIC elements combine to form a highly ENTERTAINING film, thus making a nonsense of the notion that European "art" film exists to be admired but not enjoyed. Few film-makers can claim to have exploded such distinctions.
The film sidesteps the potential sentimentality of its premise (a definite risk given the presence of prominent father and brother figures) by using the situation to ask greater questions about the nature of war. When Ivan throws a tantrum when he's told by his commander that he's going to military school instead of the Front, we naturally question the boy's moral maturity, and his limited understanding of the hypocrisies and complexities of why men fight. And yet, by observing events unfold from Ivan's perspective, aren't we being made to ask such questions of ourselves? Do we really know better than him? With his family gone, and with his youthful eagerness and wanderlust, and his simple smallness, Ivan is more than qualified for his desired role. Hasn't he earned it?
Fans of Solaris will instantly recognise Tarkovsky's ability to find the image that best depicts his characters' psychological state, without recourse to melodrama. "Actors" need not apply. Tarkovsky's eye is so exacting, so demanding, that it's like we're looking through some kind of x-ray vision, trained on the soul. And what soul there is to Tarkovsky: the last frames are the equal of those which close his elegiac science-fiction masterpiece.
If ever one needs convincing of the difference between film as art and film as entertainment, perhaps Tarkovsky should be the first port of call. Not simply because a film like Ivan's Childhood (a perfect title, by the way) is so multi-layered, metaphorical, psychologically complex, eerie, strange and moving – but because all those ARTISTIC elements combine to form a highly ENTERTAINING film, thus making a nonsense of the notion that European "art" film exists to be admired but not enjoyed. Few film-makers can claim to have exploded such distinctions.