Russian film enjoys a reputation among fans of silent cinema that is on par with the best works of France and Germany. Casual fans would be forgiven for thinking the Russian film industry did not exist at all before the Revolution since most of the famous films were created after the rise of the Soviet Union.

Nothing could be further from the truth. For a full decade before the collapse of the monarchy, Russian actors and directors were creating films of intelligence and beauty. And while some of them learned their craft in France, others were self-taught in Russia.

Russian cinema of the pre-Revolution era covers every imaginable genre, from the astonishing animation of Starewicz to the melancholy romances of Bauer to the crowd-pleasing films of Protazanov; this was a vibrant world of limitless imagination.

If you want a taste of what this early cinema was like, I recommend trying out two extremes: First, Ladislas Starevich, who created astonishing stop motion animations with, among other things, insects. The Cameraman's Revenge is a Lubitsch-esque tale of insect infidelity. It's just as surreal as it sounds. Second, try Evgeni Bauer's morbid tales of love, death and obsession. Bauer is one of the few pre-Revolution talents enjoying a revival. Take a look at his sophisticated films and you will soon see why this is the case.

These films are also valuable because they allow us to see a world on the brink of destruction. Drawing room romances and comedies would soon be replaced by more proletarian fare, and the languid universe of Bauer would be hidden away for decades.

The First World War proved to be the push needed to send the fragile Romanov dynasty toppling. When the revolution came to Russia, most of the film industry fled to Yalta and then headed for France. In addition to a longstanding cultural affinity, Russia and France also cooperated in matters of film. Settling in Paris was the obvious choice.

Exiled and having to start afresh, the Russians had something to prove. Prove it they did with features and serials that took Europe by storm. Leading man Ivan Mosjoukine had been a top star in Russia but now he was the toast of the entire continent.

Financial troubles and language barriers would eventually end the triumphant run but what fun it was while it lasted!

(There is very little overlap between the famous stars and directors of the pre-Revolution industry and the Soviet studio system. This is partially due to the sheer number of film personnel who fled the country, but it can also be explained by the tragic early deaths of such early luminaries as Evgeni Bauer and Vasily Goncharov. Yakov Protazanov was one of very few exiles who returned to Soviet Russia and resumed making films under the new regime.)

The House of Mystery (1921-23)

An early hit for the Russian-run Albatros studio, The House of Mystery is a serial with a brain. Ivan Mosjoukine plays a man framed for murder and sentenced to hard labor in a penal colony. The rest of the serial is concerned with his exploits as he escapes and attempts to clear his name. There is blackmail, detective work and much scheming. However, don't think it is all doom and gloom; the serial contains plenty of comedy and romance to keep things from getting too dark.


The House of Mystery demonstrates what makes these Russo-French collaborations so intoxicating. While it boasts the trappings of a serial, with chases, escapes and a literal cliffhanger, at its heart, this is a character-driven story. We are invested in Mosjoukine's fate because we get to know him as a man. The swing between crowd-pleasing serial and contemplative character study is another enjoyable aspect of the story. You never really know where it is going next, and even if you do guess, getting there is all the fun.

The serial also boasts technical virtuosity. The hero's marriage is suggested by silhouette figures that look like they were animated by Lotte Reiniger. The action set pieces are fast-paced and exciting (there is a splendid bit of action with a train) and Charles Vanel's villain is as hiss-worthy a baddie as has ever oozed across the screen. (You probably know Vanel from Diabolique, To Catch a Thief and The Wages of Fear. He enjoyed a 78-year career in the movies.) It is truly an ensemble production. The two leading ladies of the film, Helene Darly and Francine Mussey, are smart, bold and just as likable as the hero.

Alexander Volkoff directed the film and collaborated with Mosjoukine on the script. The deft blending of comedy, melodrama, suspense and adventure proved to be hit both critically and commercially.

The whole thing comes wrapped in a tidy ten episode package (about seven hours in all) and makes for a very satisfying viewing experience. Even if you think you don't like serials, give this one a try. It managed to win over the most hard-hearted French critic when it was first released over ninety years ago. It still has the power to charm and impress.

The House of Mystery was unseen for decades, forgotten by everyone except film scholars and Mosjoukine fanatics. A restored version is finally being released on DVD (much to the delight of serials fans everywhere) and it should do much to increase appreciation for this fascinating period of film history.

Bigger Things

While many of Ivan Mosjoukine's films are still locked away in vaults, three of his French films were released on DVD and Blu-ray. The Burning Crucible, Kean and The Late Mathias Pascal have enjoyed much praise from the movie fans that have seen them. These movies prove the promise of The House of Mystery was not an idle boast. All three films boast the same technical wizardry and astonishing acting.

The Burning Crucible is a particularly quirky film and one of Mosjoukine's few forays into directing. It's the mad tale of a jealous husband, an eccentric detective and an independent wife trying to get her way. Kean contains a winning combination of electrifying performances and artistic innovations. Its famous drinking party scene is an early example of artistic editing. (It predates Battleship Potemkin by nearly two years.) The Late Mathias Pascal is another character story, this time about a man who finds himself declared dead and what he does with this mixed blessing.

As stated before, financial woes and the coming of sound closed the door on this exciting period in film history. While silent film allowed the Russians to play every nationality under the sun, talkies limited them to just a few roles, if any. Of course, the directors and production personnel had an easier time adapting than the actors, but it was a challenge for all concerned. And so the story of the Russian emigres in Paris ends.

While the Soviet film industry gets the lion's share of the attention, we must not forget the pioneers who came before and were able to revive their careers in a new country. Both pre-Soviet cinema and the exiles in Paris contributed immeasurably to the richness of world cinema and it's time to give them their moment in the spotlight once again.

Fritzi Kramer is the chief cook and bottle washer at Movies Silently, where she opines on all things related to silent film. She lives in central California, which is the part without the palm trees.