Stalinism and Soviet Cinema marks the first attempt to confront systematically the role and influence of Stalin and Stalinism in the history and development of Soviet cinema. The collection provides comprehensive coverage of the antecedents, role and consequences of Stalinism and Soviet cinema, how Stalinism emerged, what the relationship was between the political leadership, the cinema administrators, the film-makers and their films and audiences, and how Soviet cinema is coming to terms with the disintegration of established structures and mythologies. Contributors from Britain, America and the Soviet Union address themselves to the importance of the Stalinist legacy, not only to the history of Soviet cinema but to Soviet history as a whole.

Examines the 'New Soviet Man' not only as an ideal of masculinity presented to Soviet cinemagoers, but also, precisely, as a man in his specific, and hotly debated social, cultural and political context

This book explores how Soviet film worked with time, the past, and memory. It looks at Stalinist cinema and its role in the production of history. Cinema's role in the legitimization of Stalinism and the production of a new Soviet identity was enormous. Both Lenin and Stalin saw in this 'most important of arts' the most effective form of propaganda and 'organisation of the masses'. By examining the works of the greatest Soviet filmmakers of the Stalin era--Sergei Eisenstein, Vsevolod Pudovkin, Grigorii Kozintsev, Leonid Trauberg, Fridrikh Ermler--the author explores the role of the cinema in the formation of the Soviet political imagination.

Essay from the year 2013 in the subject Russian / Slavic Languages, grade: 1,3, University of Dalarna, language: English, abstract: The history of the Soviet Union has shown that the light heartedness, the insouciance and the naive optimism, which distinguishes children and adolescents from their parents and grandparents, can disappear easily in times of war and oppression. With the takeover of Josef Stalin in the late 1920s, the beginning of one of the darkest periods of the Soviet Union was announced. Stalin’s totalitarian regime was marked by a rigid authoritarianism and a widespread use of terror in form of the so-called purges, which would not end until his death in March 1953.1 In addition to the Stalinist regime, Soviet Union suffered under the consequences of the Eastern Front War (World War II), in which Soviet Union lost thousands and thousands of men, and the ensuing Cold War. This more than twenty years of terror, purges and war was a time in which children rarely had time to be children, and adolescents very seldom had time for leisure and jauntily dreaming, in short to be young. Nor was it a time in which their personal suffering, like the suffering of their parents and grandparents, appeared on screen. Nevertheless was youth represented in Stalinist movies, a lot of young people were showed riding tractors and starred the popular Stalinist musicals. “Youth was the natural supporter of the new regime“ and the older generations “could be treated with circumspection” (Gillenspie, 2003, p. 164). Though it was never one person only the starred a Stalinist movie, the hero was the collective and individual miseries and fates never played a role in Stalinist cinema. Problems of the youth were hushed up, like all other form of social malaise (Gillespie, 2003, p. 157). Pain and suffering did barely exist officially and were not represented in the movies of the Stalin era, which were meant to serve as an instrument of the communist ideology. [...]

Cinema has long been recognised as the privileged bridge between Soviet ideologies and their mass public. Recent feminist-oriented work has drawn out the symbolic role of women in Soviet culture, but, not surprisingly, men too were expected to play their part. In this first full-length study of masculinity in Stalinist Soviet cinema, John Haynes examines the ‘New Soviet Man’ not only as an ideal of masculinity presented to Soviet cinemagoers, but also, precisely, as a man in his specific, and hotly debated social, cultural and political context. A detailed analysis of Stalinist discourse sets the stage for an examination of the imagined relationship between the patriarch Stalin and his ‘model sons’ in the key genre cycles of the era: from the capital to the collective farms, and ultimately to the very borders of the Soviet state. Informed by contemporary and present day debates over the social and cultural significance of cinema and masculinity, New Soviet Man draws on a range of theoretical and comparative material to produce engaging and accessible readings accounting for both the appeal of, and the inherent potential for subversion within, films produced by the Stalinist culture industry. New Soviet Man will be widely read by students and specialists in the fields of film studies, Russian and Soviet studies, gender and modern European history.

When the Bolsheviks seized power in the Soviet Union during 1917, they were suffering from a substantial political legitimacy deficit. Uneasy political foundations meant that cinema became a key part of the strategy to protect the existence of the USSR. Based on extensive archival research, this welcome book examines the interaction between politics and the Soviet cinema industry during the period between Stalin's rise to power and the beginning of the Great Patriotic War. It reveals that film had a central function during those years as an important means of convincing the masses that the regime was legitimate and a bearer of historical truth. Miller analyses key films, from the classic musical 'Circus' to the political epic "The Great Citizen", and examines the Bolsheviks', ultimately failed, attempts to develop a 'cinema for the millions'. As Denise Youngblood writes, 'this work is indispensable reading not only for specialists in Soviet film and culture, but also for anyone interested in the dynamics of cultural production in an authoritarian society'.

This wide-ranging cultural history explores the expression of Bolshevik Party ideology through the lens of landscape, or, more broadly, space. Portrayed in visual images and words, the landscape played a vital role in expressing and promoting ideology in the former Soviet Union during the Stalin years, especially in the 1930s. At the time, the iconoclasm of the immediate postrevolutionary years had given way to nation building and a conscious attempt to create a new Soviet �culture.� In painting, architecture, literature, cinema, and song, images of landscape were enlisted to help mold the masses into joyful, hardworking citizens of a state with a radiant, utopian future -- all under the fatherly guidance of Joseph Stalin. From backgrounds in history, art history, literary studies, and philosophy, the contributors show how Soviet space was sanctified, coded, and �sold� as an ideological product. They explore the ways in which producers of various art forms used space to express what Katerina Clark calls �a cartography of power� -- an organization of the entire country into �a hierarchy of spheres of relative sacredness,� with Moscow at the center. The theme of center versus periphery figures prominently in many of the essays, and the periphery is shown often to be paradoxically central. Examining representations of space in objects as diverse as postage stamps, a hikers� magazine, advertisements, and the Soviet musical, the authors show how cultural producers attempted to naturalize ideological space, to make it an unquestioned part of the worldview. Whether focusing on the new or the centuries-old, whether exploring a built cityscape, a film documentary, or the painting Stalin and Voroshilov in the Kremlin, the authors offer a consistently fascinating journey through the landscape of the Soviet ideological imagination. Not all features of Soviet space were entirely novel, and several of the essayists assert continuities with the prerevolutionary past. One example is the importance of the mother image in mass songs of the Stalin period; another is the "boundless longing" inspired in the Russian character by the burden of living amid vast empty spaces. But whether focusing on the new or the centuries-old, whether exploring a built cityscape, a film documentary, or the painting Stalin and Voroshilov in the Kremlin, the authors offer a consistently fascinating journey through the landscape of the Soviet ideological imagination.