Whatever evil can be justly spoken of
the former Soviet Union, it cannot be
said that it successfully suppressed
the composition of stirring film music
and may even have encouraged it. This
is perhaps a strange reflection on which
to open a review, but surely appropriate
to some degree. The last eighteen months
have seen releases of the complete scores
of Shostakovich’s Hamlet (Naxos
8.557446),
Prokofiev’s path-breaking Alexander
Nevsky (RCA Victor Red Seal 60867),
along with the Chandos Shostakovich
film music series (CHAN 10183
and CHAN 10023).
Joining this already impressive cache
of Cold War treasures is Capriccio’s
new presentation of selections from
two scores by Alfred Schnittke (1934-1998)
under the able baton of Frank Strobel
conducting the Berlin Radio Symphony
Orchestra.
Though he was throughout
the 1960s and 1970s one of the most
prolific voices in Soviet film music
composition, this is my first exposure
to Schnittke’s work and what an introduction!
These two scores nicely balance an incredibly
poignant romantic voice in composition
with a flair for experimental manipulation
of orchestral acoustics.
Story of an Unknown
Actor is occasion for the former.
The 1976 film, directed by Aleksandr
Zarkhy, told the story of a young playwright
who wrote a script specifically for
a relatively unknown actor in his twilight
years. The role to be played was a homage
to the actor’s life, incorporating many
personal experiences and the range of
his performances throughout his career.
Sadly, the role is ultimately given
to a younger less experienced actor
before the play is performed, and the
unknown actor retires in anonymity.
I’ve not seen this
film, but after hearing Schnittke’s
music, I don’t think I need to, so clear
is the narrative of this six part suite
arranged by Frank Strobel. ‘Thema –
Tittelmusik’ opens with the main theme
descending in the strings with piano
accompaniment. The theme, instantly
recognisable as a romantic Russian work
but more intimate, is passed to the
oboe and finally to the piano. It speaks
of a man’s twilight years. Out of this
melancholy arises a secondary theme
in the flute representing the late-in-life
performance opportunity presented to
the unknown actor. The strings joyously
take this up. But the opportunity is
fleeting and ultimately unfruitful.
Continuous reprisal of a piano ostinato
throughout leads to a reprise of the
main theme in piano, followed by the
strings and oboe.
This wonderfully descriptive
thematic scoring continues throughout
the suite. A strident string melody
(an adaptation of the main theme) opens
‘Agitato I – Schlitten’, a warlike but
classical piece in 7/8 time that passes
through strings, trumpet and piano.
An ostinato in the strings, later carried
by percussion and harpsichord counterpoints
the main theme throughout. The same
motif is given a more sombre interpretation
in ‘Agitato II – Reise’, with flute
and oboe readings. Playful pizzicato,
harpsichord and flute adaptations add
a distinctly baroque feel to the second
half of this track, before a full orchestral
climax in 4/4 with piano accompaniment.
Marimba, celesta and woodwinds delicately
close the piece.
A classic waltz opens
the fourth part of the suite, ‘Walser
(Abschied)’. The main theme appears
in snatches throughout, opening in delicate
percussion with pizzicato before flute
and strings take up the waltz with light
horn accompaniment. The main theme takes
centre-stage in the strings again in
‘Thema und Marsch’, the different sections
counterpointing each other as the theme
falls away to nothing. This subdued
track unexpectedly closes with a march
in the brass and percussion – Schnittke’s
flute writing is again commendable here.
‘Epilog – Finale’ closes the disc with
a reprise of the main theme. No longer
does the flute come in with a reprieve,
the piano disappearing to nothing. When
one thinks its over, the final statement
counterpoints the main theme with the
optimism of the first track in the strings.
Overall, this score
as represented and recorded on this
Capriccio release is magnificent. Schnittke’s
adeptness at passing melodies and their
variations around his augmented orchestra
is magnificent. The mixing serves the
piece as well. Even in the most epic
moments, we never lose track of the
intimacy of the solo parts.
The other score represented
here, for the 1967 banned Alexander
Askoldov film The Commissar, is
less in the classical romantic tradition.
It was a strange film by all accounts
– the titular commissar actually a take-no-prisoner
Bolshevik commander who falls pregnant
after an amorous encounter with a fellow
officer. Despite not wanting the baby,
she is forced to live-in with a Jewish
family for the course of her pregnancy,
setting the stage for a study of anti-Semitism
in Bolshevik Russia.
The music seems to
match this fascinating film concept
perfectly. For the violence of the time,
the arbitrary but deliberate orchestral
meanderings of ‘Attacke’ bring to mind
the contemporary work of Jerry Goldsmith
and Ennio Morricone – the acoustic experimentation
of ‘The Searchers’ from Planet of
the Apes or ‘The Transgression’
from Once Upon a Time in the West.
Icy piano rumblings stab into percussion
solos. Brass fanfares enter at strange
intervals, the piece closing with a
striking woodwind solo. ‘Liebe’ and
‘Einzug in die Stadt’ are also written
in this style, the latter closing with
a Shostakovich-like march fanfare. The
percussion solos in ‘Traum’, as the
Holocaust draws nigh for the characters,
are violent and raw.
The Commissar herself
is given a surprisingly gentle theme.
The Russian folk melody passes between
strings, brass, oboe, clarinet and organ
in ‘Spaziergange d. Wawilowa durch die
Stadt’, each commenting on an aspect
of Russian culture. The brass is the
military, the organ is the religiosity
of the Bolshevik cause, the clarinet,
oboe and strings the softening effect
of .her child on her attitude towards
the Jewish family. This theme develops
throughout the score to a choral, organ
and brass apotheosis in ‘Einsicht’ as
the transformed Commissar returns to
the battlefront.
The Jewish family is
represented through Schnittke’s deft
handling of klezmer styles. Their use
to represent the Jewish family is clichéd,
but Schnittke’s more experimental devices
always undercut this simplicity, commenting
on the danger of stereotypes. The opening
piece closes with a slow clarinet and
flute theme in this style. The scrape
of the violins in ‘Hochzeit’ suggests
a rustic country dance, ominous brass
motifs foreshadowing the dark fate of
the Jewish father who dances in the
morning. ‘Spiel’ runs the full gamut
of intensity – going from a agitated
clarinet dance to klezmer march of death
with percussion and brass racing to
catch up with each other. I assume this
is an intended effect, and not a blemish
on an otherwise commendable performance
by the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra.
In ‘Wanderung der Verdammten’, the death
warrant of being Jewish is incredibly
depicted by Schnittke as a grinding
machine with fragments of klezmer flitting
in and out of the piece.
There is much more
in The Commissar that could be
commented on. Schnittke’s impressive
flute writing comes to the fore again
in the latter half of the penultimate
track and in ‘Regen’. It’s an incredible
score rich in stylistic diversity. While
not as immediately accessible as Story
of an Unknown Actor, the coupling
here makes this disc an essential purchase
for appreciators of Russian film music.
The only thing that could be asked of
this new release is more attention to
the relationship between Schnittke’s
music and the narrative of the films
in the liner notes. But that is a minor
quibble when the music is this good.
Michael McLennan
see review
of Volume 2
Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra/Frank Strobel
CAPRICCIO hybrid CD/SACD–CC71041 [66:09.]
for
details 
