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| Mikhail Doronin: Ikkinchi zotin / The Second Wife (SU-UZ 1927) with Ra Messerer (Adoliat). |
Вторая жена (Vtoraia zhena) (RU) [La seconda moglie ] / Две жены (Dve zheny) (RU) [Due mogli / Two Wives] / Ikichi khanum.
SU-Uzbek SSR 1927. Prod: Uzbekgoskino.
Dir: Mikhail Doronin. Scen: Lolakhan Saifullina, Valentina Sobberei, from the story by Lolakhan Saifullina. Photog: Vladimir Dobrzhanskii. Des: Boris Chelli. Asst. dir: A. Dombrovskii. Asst. photog: Boris Makaseev. Cons: Nabi Ganiev.
Cast: Maria Griniova (Khadycha, the first wife), Ra Messerer (Adoliat), Grigol Chechelashvili (Tadzhibai), Mikhail Doronin (Sadiqbai), S. Mukhomedzhanova (Kumry), Nabi Ganiev (Umar), K. Musakhodzhiev (Aloiar), Zhenia Voinova (Saodat), Uktamkhon Mirzabaeva (mother-in-law), Zuhra Iuldashbaeva (Khallia, a neighbour), Shakhida Magzumova (dancer), Ivan Khudoleev.
Rel: 17.4.1927. Copy: DCP, 50' (from 35 m pos. acet., orig. l. 1925 m, 22 fps); titles: RUS (recreated 1950s). Source: National Film Fund of Uzbekistan, Tashkent.
Le Giornate del Cinema Muto (GCM) 2024, Pordenone: Uzbekistan.
Musical commentary: Günter Buchwald, Frank Bockius.
Viewed at Teatro Verdi with e-subtitles in English and Italian, 6 Oct 2024.
Nigora Karimova (GCM 2024): "The Second Wife is based on a story by acclaimed writer Lolakhon Saifullina (1901-1987), born Lidiya Osipovna Sivitskaya, a Polish national who took the Uzbek name Lolakhon upon marrying a Muslim and converting to Islam. Noted for her collections of poems and stories, she was also a staff member at the Sharq Yulduzi studio (the home of Uzbekgoskino) between 1925 and 1928, and wrote scripts distinguished by their sensitivity to Uzbek women’s issues. Her co-writer on The Second Wife, Valentina Sobberey (1891-1978) began at Sharq Yulduzi as a legal consultant."
"The themes they tackled here dwelt on the evils of early marriage and polygamy, which remained common practice in Central Asia despite Soviet campaigns to eradicate the practice. Director Mikhail Doronin (1880-1935), a filmmaker since 1915, avoided the Orientalizing gaze of many other directors tackling “Eastern” themes, discarding exoticism in his depiction of everyday life. Rich in details, the film is distinguished by its striking construction of shots in which one senses a persistent search for the most expressive angles. Especially noteworthy is how cameraman Vladimir Dobrzhanskii uses light, such as when a bunch of grapes, penetrated by the sun’s rays, turn almost transparent and are subsequently plucked by the heroine Adoliat (her name sounds like the Uzbek word for “justice”). As a smile plays on her sun-struck face, the camera pans to reveal that everything is filled with sunshine and beauty, but the girl’s happiness is short-lived."
"Young Adoliat is given in marriage to the merchant Tajibai as his second wife, but his infertile first wife, Khadycha, does everything to turn the newcomer’s life into a living hell. As the youngest of the wives, and from a poor family, Adoliat is burdened with all the household chores, even after giving birth to a daughter, Saodat (the Uzbek word for “happiness”). One day when Tadzhibai is away from home, his paedophile brother Sadiqbai (played by the director) steals money; Adoliat is accused and she runs away to her parents’ house. But Tadzhibai brings his rebellious wife home, where he separates her from Saodat and locks her in the basement. A fire from the hearth engulfs the basement and Adoliat dies in the flames."
"Paralleling this tragic story is a side plot involving Kumry and Umar, representatives of new Soviet youth. This binary of “Soviet = good” and “traditional = bad” is reflected in almost all films of the period, frequently expressed through the juxtaposition of an unhappy Uzbek woman oppressed by her husband and traditions, and, in contrast, a happy emancipated Soviet woman. The latter is educated and financially independent, spending free time visiting museums and clubs and sporting modern clothes and hairstyles. The endings for each film depend on whether the heroine makes the “ideologically correct choice”. Thus The Muslim Woman (Musulmanka, Мусульманка, 1925) and The Jackals of Ravat (Shakaly Ravata, Шакалы Равата, 1927) have happy endings because in each a subjugated woman turns to her Soviet comrades and is saved from her benighted husband’s oppression, whereas the passive Adoliat dies despite her Soviet comrade’s attempts to save her. The propaganda could not be clearer."
"Adoliat is played by Raisa Messerer (Rakhil Mikhailovna Messerer-Plisetskaya, known as Ra Messerer), mother of famed ballerina Maya Plisetskaya and a member of the company at the Sharq Yulduzi studio between 1925 and 1927. (After her husband Mikhail Plisetski was “purged” by Stalin in January 1938, she was arrested that March as the wife of “an enemy of the people”; once released in 1941 her career was at an end, although she lived until 1993.) The actress plays the part with extreme reserve, allowing only her eyes to capture her pain. The film’s best scene comes when Tadzhibai takes Adoliat back, as is his right under Sharia law. As he whips his horse forward, Adoliat runs ahead with her child, her burqa tangled, stumbling from fatigue. Tears roll down her sweaty face yet an indescribable beauty surrounds them: the bright sun, mountain slopes covered with a carpet of greenery, the shiny ribbon of the river beckoning, all contrast with human cruelty."
"Female roles in Uzbek cinema went to Russian and Tatar actresses, but The Second Wife marks the appearance of Uzbek actresses for the first time (Uktamkhon Mirzabaeva and Zuhra Iuldashbaeva, popular folk singers in their day). “More than 300 Uzbeks and Uzbek women took part in the shooting of mass scenes,” reported Pravda Vostoka (11.1.1927). “Many people came, thinking that they would be given some work; after much persuasion, women took off their chachvon [full face covering], revealing their faces, but when they learned they were going to be filmed, and with their faces revealed in front of unfamiliar men, they simply ran away!” Uzbek women still wore the burqa, and appearing unveiled in public places, especially on stage or on screen, could literally be a death sentence, as happened to Nurkhon Iuldasheva and Tursuna Saidazimova, young theatre performers who died at the hands of their relatives after being recognized on stage in the late 1920s."
"“What can the viewer expect from this new movie of Uzbek cinema?” asked Qizil Uzbekiston (20.6.1927). “He will not be captivated by the picture, for its plot is primitive, too familiar, and by the end it fades away. But the clear photography of cameraman V. Dobrzhanskii successfully captured authentic fragments of daily life that will definitely make a great impression. The director Doronin, a new man for Uzbekistan, could not fully penetrate the life of Central Asia, but there is no doubt that he did not distort this life, and created something close to being authentic. The Second Wife is a picture for Uzbekistan. They will understand it. As for those in Europe, the movie will be of ethnographic interest there….”" – Nigora Karimova
AA: Directed by Mikhail Doronin, Ikkinchi xotin / The Second Wife is a remarkable movie in many ways.
It is the tragedy of a young woman, Adoliat (Ra Messerer) in a period of great transformation from tradition to modernity which includes inevitably a promise of women's liberation. In Soviet cinema this seems to have been a major theme. The first movie in which I encountered it was Andrei Konchalovski's The First Teacher (SU 1965) set in Kyrgyzstan and based on a tale by Chinghiz Aitmatov.
The tensions start to emerge early on. The hate between the two wives. The machinations of the husband's brother to undermine Adoliat and frame her for robbery - after having tried to seduce her and frame her for adultery as well. "One should expect tenderness and safety at home", thinks Adoliat and returns to the paternal home, but her father expels her. Adoliat becomes a victim of public humiliation. The community is a den of poisonous gossip. They knew how to do that before the age of "social media". The tensions grow until they reach a boiling point.
Nigora Karimova in her brilliant program note calls Sadiqbai the husband's "paedophile brother" and she must know. Watching the film I did not recognize paedophilia but was surprised by two things. First that there is a love scene between Sadiqbai and his boyfriend. And secondly that the scene is of remarkable tenderness, exposing an appealing side of the villain. The villain is then informed to the authorities because of his sex life, although his crimes are of a quite different kind.
Ikkinchi xotin is fascinating for its vivid use of locations, and what I would presume a quasi documentary authenticity. We witness manners and mores, also the teeming street life (of Tashkent?). To balance the tragedy, we see children's games, the young mother's happiness, local tea houses and public entertainments, including breathtaking acrobatic acts on a high wire.
All this has been captured by deft cinematography, at times with a moving camera and also a beautiful tracking shot taken from a moving tram on the city street. Images like this increase in interest over the years.
The copy of this invaluable film has been processed from sources of difficult quality, sometimes low definition, sometimes high contrast. All in all Ikkinchi xotin is an engrossing experience both visually and storywise. The tragic tale is still topical in huge parts of the world, as seen also in some of this year's greatest films, including Santosh and The Seed of the Sacred Fig.
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