The Gorky Trilogy

Twenty-five years after his death is a difficult time for an author. The itchier of his admirers are demanding such tributes as commemorative stamps, and find the word 'immortal' more and more convenient. Mean-while the cynical are attributing any lasting popularity to some ephemeral 'renaissance,' and the uncommitted are still content to 'wait and see.'.......

Gorky, however, should not be commented on he should be read, and the Gorky Trilogy. (Childhood, My Apprenticeship, and My Universities) serves as a good introduction to the Soviet master's iron words. Though most of the 150 people whom Childhood attracted to M.I.T. Saturday night came to hear spoken Russian, few were left disappointed by a sound track blurred with age. The film's simple tragedy and exaltation more than compensated.

The structure of Gorky's autobiography presented director Mark Donskoy with his greatest problem. A series of anecdotes, characters, observations, and philosophical reminiscences, the three volumes are tautly written though loose in form. In the construction of the films, it has been necessary to compress material, combine events by minor violations of chronology, and to except liberally. This is accomplished with great skill, and almost invariably the characters are presented with Gorky's sympathy and grimy clarity.

In one notable exception though, Donskoy seems to have felt a compulsion to exaggerate the heroism of Tsiganok, a young dyer. The childishness which Gorky ascribes to him is turned by Donskoy to straightforwardness. The director refrains from describing his propensity for stealing, and transfers to Tsiganok's mouth the words of advice which so impressed young Gorky: "You must learn everything."

But a grainy 1938 film, mechanical difficulties, an occasionally over liberal adaptation, and a few ludicrous subtitles are no competition for the beauty with which Gorky's suffering Russia is presented. The anguish and the frustration comes through, along with the love of people and country. Particularly true to the author's style is the affection with which the camera almost caresses the land, the sky, and the waters of the Volga.

In a world where the lives of men serve only to underline the gentleness of mice, the meaning of Gorky (literally "bitter") is understandable. Much of the honesty and hope and struggle of his autobiography is set forth in the film series. When the crippling waste of humanity seems too painful and real, we are left with Gorky's reminder: "the truth is beyond all commiseration."