The Mysterious Wall (1967 Soviet science fiction film)

Picking up where I left off in my exploration of Soviet science fiction movies, 'The Mysterious Wall' is a 1967 effort, directed by Irina Povolotskaya and Mikhail Sadkovich.

The story centres on the appearance and evolution of a 'wall' which has appeared, and which appears to possess a considerable electrostatic potency. The film explores the efforts to understand this phenomenon, the discussions between the scientists at the research station adjacent to the 'wall', and how they interpret the 'visions' and hallucinations which it appears to engender.

I really enjoyed the debates among the scientists concerning the wall's properties and its meaning and significance, with some seeing it as a message from extra-terrestrial beings, and others suggesting alternative explanations. 

As is generally the case when viewing Soviet science fiction, there is a temptation, understandable perhaps, to read some overt ideological or political meaning into every image, or every snippet of dialogue, and it is important not to allow this compulsion to hinder one's enjoyment of the films for their own sakes.

Having stated the above, it is intriguing to note that a film focusing on a 'wall' was made in the Eastern bloc during the 1960s. Presumably the powers-that-be thought that the movie's overall philosophical orientation outweighed the importance of any perceived critique of 'walls' as a concept.

More broadly 'The Mysterious Wall' appears to concern itself with questions of the possibility of there being intelligent extra-terrestrial life, and what the effects and implications of discovering such life would be. Also, I sensed that the the makers were posing questions about possible centralized attempts to control the scientific agenda and keep 'mavericks' under control, and about the attendant struggles between various factions within the system. 

One interesting question which appeared to me due to this picture was whether the Soviet authorities would have found the appearance of alien beings desirable, and how it would have fitted into their worldview, and their sense of their own primacy or supremacy.  

I liked the film, all in all, as it has a pleasingly organic flavour, and it is not marred by a compulsion to 'do special effects'. The plot and the atmosphere are enough.  There is an interesting insinuation, to begin with, that the scientists already 'in situ' at the research base adopt a 'space station mentality', evincing a separateness. I would have liked this element of the plot to be developed more fully.  The hallucination or 'dream' sequences are nicely done, and are arguably more polished than the rest of the film.

So, this is not a startlingly original film, and the subjects which it explores are by and large standard science fiction fare, but the dialogue comes across as sincere, rather than corny or patronising.

A well made and interesting science fiction movie.

Revisiting Agatha Christie's "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'

Some time ago, after consulting various reviews and analyses, I read Agatha Christie's renowned novel 'The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd', and was left feeling slightly underwhelmed. It had been described as one of the greatest novels ever published in the crime-fiction genre, but it did not leave any great impression with me. At the same time I sensed that my understanding and appreciation of the book might be altered if I read it again when I was subject to a different mood or changed personal circumstances.

My literary inclinations, in fiction, tend towards philosophical novels and realism, with richness of characterisations, and plentiful socio-economic context embroidered around them. As alluded to in the previous paragraph, my attitude towards more 'far-fetched' stories, and those which appear less 'literary' than my usual choices, even those with some psychological complexity, seems to vary according to my state of mind and environment at the time of reading. 

As I rather suspected, when I recently revisited this novel, my antennae and my senses were more receptive than when I first journeyed through its pages. A stark picture of the human condition emerged on this occasion, the unpalatable spectre of those travails, traumas and temptations which few, if any, of us are spared. The 'sparsity' of the writing only accentuates this feeling, and imbues the story with a modern, 'out-of-time' immediacy. 

In 2020, the book has had a pointed and vivid effect on me, the realisation of the foibles of human behaviour being more oppressive and acute when one's own personal situation and horizons are undergoing a period of uncertainty. The world can seem an unfriendly and daunting place when the harsh realities of life jump from the page and find their mark. The format of a novel can sometimes bring home disagreeable truths more cogently and trenchantly than any amount of unfocused ruminating.

As has been observed my some people, 'The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd' makes its impact on more than one level. The 'resolution', and the unmasking of the culprit, startle us on the first reading, but its other dimensions emerge on subsequent visits, when the reader indulges in a touch of 'reverse engineering', and is animated by realisation of the truth about the narrator. Being in possession of additional understanding and perspective strengthens our grasp of, and curiosity about, the motivations and outlook of the participants in the story.

The relative lack of historical and contextual 'padding' helps to strip away some preconceptions, and brings into enhanced focus the central human tragedies of the case. The tautness and 'minimalism' of the text, with its dearth of detailed characterisations and settings, leaves the reader to draw his or her own conclusions concerning the social factors which informed events in a broader sense, if indeed such factors can be said to have weighed onerously here, and how far we can empathise with the people involved. It is perhaps the case that the absence of context, and the 'universality' of the forces apparently at work, lead us to feel that we could ourselves be afflicted by similar weaknesses and insecurities to the character who perpetrates terrible deeds.

One thing which is difficult to overlook is my ambivalence about the Hercule Poirot character. On the one hand, certain of his traits I find irritating, such as his occasionally mildly condescending attitude towards others. Equally, his observational skills and powers of logic and analysis are things which we should admire and aspire to. The make-up of his personality certainly gives this novel some additional bite, and Poirot is impossible to ignore.

So this novel's 'glories' loomed larger on this second occasion, and the legacy, the 'after-taste', so to speak, will I suspect linger longer. That said, I now have a yearning to once more immerse myself in realism and practicality!  I might equally reflect on the possibility that imagination and psychology are important after all.