The Orion Loop - Soviet science fiction film (1981)

As part of my exploration of Soviet (and Eastern Bloc) cinema, and more specifically science fiction from those territories, I recently watched The Orion Loop, a 1981 Soviet science fiction movie.

Like many science fiction films from the USSR, The Orion Loop deals with the question of extra-terrestrial life and the potential for its contact with Earth and humans. The plot centres on Earth's efforts to investigation a strong radiation source which has been affecting other spaceships on the edge of the Solar System. The ship which is dispatched on this mission is crewed by a mixture of people and their android 'doubles'. Crew members receive 'visitations' from holograms, which seem to be emissaries from an ancient alien civilization. Some of this activity turns out to be connected to a 'galactic virus' which might affect Earth.

In common with many science fiction works generally (and not just the ones produced in the Communist world), this picture examines some Big Subjects, such as man's attitudes to science, reason, and progress.  International solidarity and co-operation are also shown in a positive light. However, the story (the screenplay was co-written by the famous cosmonaut Alexei Leonov) is quite multi-layered.

One of the central themes of The Orion Loop is how humanity should engage with aliens, and how we should give them a chance and regard their intentions as benign, benevolent and constructive. If we give harmony and conciliation a chance to develop, positive consequences may well ensue. Of course, we may infer that these topics were being employed, at least in part, as a metaphor for how the different peoples of Earth should relate to each other.

Part of the sub-text is that we often mis-read or misunderstand what genuinely threatens our well-being or security, suggesting that we devote excessive resources to tackling 'imagined' threats, when something less obvious or less immediately emotive represents a much more insidious danger. We should stop and ask ourselves what is the real reason behind phenomena which we think are inherently hostile, and we should trust people and Nature more. I interpreted the holograms as being a reference to the desirability of learning from history.

That the crew members of the Soviet spaceship have android doubles allows some exploration of 'humans versus machines' issues, with the insinuation that in certain circumstances human creativity and problem-solving and decision-making capabilities would win out. On the whole, however, I don't think that the film makes as much use of the androids as it could have done. The holograms are very well done, though.

It is interesting that the cybernetician is to some extent cast as the villain, and the irrational one. Perhaps the message is that Mankind's fate is in its own hands?

This one is similar in format and style to other sci-fi movies from the USSR, but this is the early 1980s, so it is more polished technically and contemporary looking, although the special effects and production values are nothing exceptional for the period. 

Maybe I am being my usual over-analytical self, but the 'internationalism' angle of these films intrigues me. Here, as elsewhere, it seems to me that the Soviet Union is portrayed as taking the lead and the initiative for the benefit and welfare of mankind.

In a broader sense the film is observing that there are things about the human mind, and the universe, which we still do not fully understand. We must keep working, methodically and rationally, to unlock and harness the universe's secrets.

I would say that The Orion Loop is a movie which is both enjoyable and cerebral. 

A Dream Come True (1963 Soviet science fiction film)

Continuing my exploration of classic Soviet science-fiction movies, I come to 'A Dream Come True', also known as 'Toward Meeting a Dream' (original title:- Mechte navstrechu), which was originally released in 1963. The film was directed by Mikhail Karyukov and Otar Koberidze.

The premise of the story is reasonably straightforward. A spaceship from a distant planet, journeying towards Earth, encounters difficulties and consequently lands on the planet Mars. The authorities on Earth dispatch spacecraft to render assistance and establish contact.

Although the plot is not that innovative, and in places it flirts with corniness, I found it to be quite an affecting picture. Visually it is lavish, and in its relative slickness it does not necessarily conform to our expectations of science fiction movies from that era. The impression is that the budget was above-average for this type of project, and this is reinforced by the quality of the 'special effects'. There is also some highly effective electronic music, courtesy of Eduard Artemyev.

The 'script' and the narrative explore the standard themes from Soviet films from this genre - faith in science and human progress, peace and international solidarity.  As is often the case, Space is employed as a metaphor for events on Earth. 

If there is an underlying message or philosophical conclusion from the story, it is perhaps one of sacrifice for the greater good, and for the sake of knowledge and progress. Also, that we should not assume the hostile or malign intentions of the inhabitants of other planets. I interpreted the level of political moralizing to be comparatively mild and subtle. To be honest, once one has watched a certain number of old Soviet sci-fi movies, some hard-nosed pragmatism and 'realpolitik' would be welcome as a counterpoint to the unremitting diet of 'idealism' and utopianism. 

A Dream Come True contains more in the way of emotion and 'romance' than your typical sci-fi work, and this might alienate some people who prefer a more 'ascetic' and clinical ambience in such films. The tone and aesthetic of the film are distinctly 'early Sixties' in flavour.

This might not be the most cerebral of science fiction films, but it is quite 'rounded', gripping and satisfying as a watching experience. The conclusion to the film does leave a glimmer of doubt, though.

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.

We'll Live Till Monday - 1968 film

We'll Live Till Monday, directed by Stanislav Rostotsky, is a 1968 Soviet film.  Set in a Moscow school, it examines the relationships and tensions between staff and students in said establishment.

This is another one of those movies which just had to be produced in black-and-white, as the monochrome makes for a certain ascetic quality, as well as offering scope for some effective imagery and symbolism.

The central character in this drama is the history teacher Melnikov. He appears sour, careworn, abrupt and something of an outsider with his colleagues.

A notable feature of this film for me is the irreverence of some of the main players and their dialogue. It is good that we have the chance to see these films. They show a side of the USSR which some people cannot conceive of.  The same dynamics, concerns and conflicts existed in Soviet institutions as they did in their Western equivalents.  It may be that the school was intended as a microcosm of tensions and upheavals in wider Soviet society.  People were striving for means of self-expression and autonomy, testing the boundaries perhaps.

It also occurred to me that the school portrayed here was less rigid and regimented than my own alma mater in England....

Throughout there are subtle commentaries and observations concerning Soviet educational and cultural matters, often delivered with some sarcasm or cynicism.

I liked the sets and the bleak-ish sense of realism in this picture, and in general there is a sense of refinement and elegance which truly appealed to me. No big portentous themes, just an intelligent and endearing piece of film-making, containing fine acting from many of those involved.

Perhaps the most intriguing quote from the film - "Happiness is to be understood"....

Zerograd (1988 film)

Zerograd (also known as Gorod Zero) is a 1988 Soviet film, directed by Karen Shakhnazarov and starring Leonid Filatov.

I stumbled across this movie whilst searching for more Soviet science fiction, and I am glad that I watched it, as it had a distinct, but intangible, effect on me.

The story revolves around an engineer (played by Filatov) who journeys from Moscow to a small town on business. Once there, he is confronted by a series of strange events, many of which take place after he witnesses a suicide.

Zerograd has a surreal and disorientating flavour to it, but it is also quite absorbing. The fact that it was made in 1988 in the Soviet Union will mean that people (including myself) will perhaps look for messages which are not really there.  In fact, the beauty of this picture is that it does not make simplistic or direct social observations, and it works on more than one level.

There is a scene in a museum which is perhaps central to an attempt at understanding this film, and this portion of the film is both philosophically fascinating and technically admirable, as well as being amusing.  Also, there is at one point a monologue by the town prosecutor, and this is also perhaps key to ascertaining what the writers were getting at.

A word of praise too for the performance of Leonid Filatov in the role of Varakin, the engineer.  He endearingly conveys a mixture of confusion, impatience, ennui and bewilderment.

Overall, I found Zerograd to be a powerful, fascinating and absorbing film.  It is one of those films which will probably continue to pose questions and tax the viewer's imagination on repeated viewings;quite a rare feat for any film, I would say.  One just has to watch the picture and draw one's own conclusions.

Per Aspera Ad Astra - (1981 Soviet film)

Continuing my exploration of Soviet science fiction films, I duly moved on to this intriguing work from the early 1980s (also known as Through The Thorns to The Stars), directed by Richard Viktorov, and based on a novel by Kir Bulychov.

To summarize the plot, a space expedition inspects a crippled spaceship, and recovers a beautiful female humanoid (Neeya), bringing her back to Earth for analysis and evaluation. She suffers from some memory loss, but it also emerges that she possesses mysterious and special powers.

Later on, Neeya somehow manages to stow away on a spaceship which is bound for her home planet.  The situation there has become dystopian and brutal, with the landscape ravaged and polluted, and controlled by tyrants.

The earlier portion of the movie which is based on Earth is in places quite unsettling, but it also has a wistful charm. The future which it portrays is rather reassuring, as it appears to be based on scientific research, space exploration and progressive universal values. The visuals here are crisp and alluring, and the overall feel of these sequences betrays self-confidence and quiet authority.

The narrative is strong and compelling, but there is ample room for messages about the need to understand aliens and outsiders, rather than being afraid of them, the dangers of people being manipulated and the misuse of science.

I must admit that I enjoyed the second half of the film a good deal less than the first, though I can appreciate that the Light verses Dark motif is impactful. The sequences on Neeya's home planet are occasionally hackneyed, even if the subject matter which is being explored is important and profound. Topics such as human cloning and environmental destruction come to the fore at this stage, in addition to the favourite Soviet topics such as class oppression and economic exploitation.

The ending is somewhat hysterical and clumsy, unlike the cool and assured nature of the early parts of the film, and I gradually lost interest. A word though for the mesmerizing and sympathetic performance of Yelena Metyolkina as Neeya.

In conclusion, an intriguing, well made, but slightly flawed movie.

Planeta Bur (1962 Soviet movie)

In continuing my exploration of Soviet science fiction, I next moved on to Planeta Bur (also known as Planet Of Storms), directed by Pavel Klushantsev, and first released in 1962.

The film revolves around a voyage by three spaceships to the planet Venus in a Soviet mission, and the subsequent adventures and discoveries which the crews experience.

Overall, the atmosphere of the film is claustrophobic, grim and austere, with a tone of foreboding and unease. Venus I guess was, and is, a more mysterious and nebulous concept than the Moon or Mars, and this angle accentuates the apprehension, as the cosmonauts go outside to brave the surface of the planet.

The special effects and general technical quality of the film are pretty good, considering the likely budget and the time when the film was produced. There are occasional lapses in to near B-movie standards as regards props and sets, but in general it holds up, and in truth the realism of the effects is not the main point here.  What is there is perfectly adequate, and more, in conveying the mood and the direction of the narrative.

Soviet science fiction movies do tend to tackle weighty topics, but I find that they come across as more convincing, and less patronizing, in so doing. There are times when sci-fi tries too hard, and emerges as excessively earnest and preachy, but this picture does not fall victim to that failing.

Planeta Bur examines a few big questions, both scientific matters and also ones concerning humans and their relationship with space and space exploration. There is an interesting sub-plot, not uncommon in science fiction, namely the extent to which "normal" rules and commands, adhered to on Earth, are also applicable or practicable once people are in space. This is seen with the decision to proceed even when one of the three spaceships is destroyed.

There is something about scenarios where people are far from home, and forced to co-exist with others. Temperaments are laid bare, and improvisation is important. This film does pose some questions about the role of the individual when set against the need for team-work, the notion of self-sacrifice and to what degree individuals are expendable in extreme circumstances.

One of the scenes which I found affecting was one where some of the cosmonauts start firing on and killing some of the creatures on Venus. This raised the thorny question of what right humans, in their urge to explore space, have to interfere with other worlds.  After all, Venus had not threatened Earth, and they could argue that they were defending themselves.

Planeta Bur explores some fundamental questions about evolution, ancient civilizations and so forth, but I like the way that the debate amongst the cosmonauts is left largely unresolved, leaving much for the viewer on which to ruminate. The presence of a robot permits the standard agonizing about the relationship between humans and machines and technology.

How scientifically accurate or "valid" all this is must be open to debate, but this is science fiction, and of course in the early 1960s much less was known, or perhaps more correctly more was unknown. Having said all this, this film works well partly because the "science" is kept reasonably within the bounds of plausibility and human comprehension.

I think that the minimalist and understated approach to production values and to the storyline suits this film admirably. Also, the dialogue is intriguing, with plenty of dry humour in there, and not just run-of-the-mill sci-fi fare. Things are kept simple, but the movie is gripping and always interesting.

Oh, and the film's ending is wonderful....

Taming Of The Fire (1972 Soviet film)

I was recently pointed towards this movie and, having greatly enjoyed a couple of Andrei Tarkovsky's pictures, decided to watch another example of Soviet cinema from the Seventies.

Taming Of The Fire chronicles the progress of the Soviet rocket, missile and spaceflight programs, mostly through the lead character, who is quite clearly based on Sergei Korolev.  Names were changed, presumably in the interests of secrecy.

This is quite a long film, but it pretty quickly grabbed my attention.  This was due in part to the way in which the subject matter is handled, and also by the superb, believable and sympathetic performance by Kirill Lavrov in the lead role. 

The visuals are stunning in places, and the atmospheric music also contributes to a welcoming ambience. In addition, the producers evidently had access to real facilities and installations, which tended to augment the realism somewhat!  This meant that the film could contain "real" launches of rockets and missiles.

One thing which did concern me early on was that the movie occasionally jumped forward in time, with little or no explanation. However, my fears were gradually allayed, as the chronology becomes clearer and less confusing, especially in the sequences which follow the end of World War Two.

A dimension of the movie which intrigued me was the way in which disagreements within the Soviet Union were portrayed. Also, there is the odd subtle dig at "the system". My interpretation was that there was comparatively little in the way of Cold War points-scoring going on here, and at times the tone was genuinely of the "progress of mankind in general" variety. An optimistic approach, which some Westerners should perhaps bear in mind.

There are some interesting sub-plots, none of which are that original, but bear consideration. The age-old tensions between scientists and bureaucrats, idealists and pragmatists, the visionary and the practical, are presented in the form of discussions between the lead character and his political and military superiors. 

In parallel with his momentous achievements in his chosen profession, we see the unsteady and awkward course of Bashkirtsev's personal life. I must admit that I found these parts of the film less interesting, but they presumably serve to demonstrate the difficulty which many brilliant people experience in maintaining basic human relationships and handling complex emotions, and balancing professional fulfillment with other aspects of life .  By contrast, the certainties of science must seem straightforward and comforting.

Overall, I found this to be an excellent film, technically very good, and Lavrov adroitly conveys the driven, restless and visionary nature of the character, with the attendant pressures and strains. 

Stalker (1979 film)

Having been gripped by Solaris, I moved on to watch another of Andrei Tarkovsky's most acclaimed works, Stalker, released in 1979.

The storyline revolves around a group of men who undertake an expedition to a region known as The Zone. Within The Zone is a room which supposedly has the capacity to fulfill people's innermost desires. What follows is an absorbing and intense series of ruminations about the room and its implications and meaning, with an emotional and intellectual depth which will tax the viewer's brain, but at the same time will be immensely rewarding.

The early portion of the movie has a bleak and ascetic flavour, and this atmosphere scarcely relents over the full duration. Even more than Solaris, this picture probes the very essence of human nature and its vagaries. Matters of perception, truth, honesty and sincerity are examined. "The Room", and its presence, certainly prompt questions concerning what we truly need or want, and how our consciousness may impact on certainties, and prevent us from ascertaining when we are being manipulated, misled or exploited.

Many thoughts, some less than comforting, emerge from the film's subject matter. We chase our dreams despite the perils and the pitfalls. The existence of  "The Room", or its equivalents, drives us on - the mere thought or notion of being fulfilled. At the same time, could we be happier by neglecting some impulses, and simply live in the present moment, savouring things for their own sake?  In this respect, The Zone may be interpreted as a microcosm for how we live our lives, and what we put ourselves through, the thrill of the chase keeping us going. As The Zone is a hostile and stark place, some might see it as a very apt metaphor for the wider world.

My interpretation might be wishful thinking, but strikes a chord with some of my recent reflections. We don't appreciate what is all around us or right under our noses, or appreciate what we can derive from those things. People striving to be benevolent or altruistic miss the point, in failing to see the basics, the root issues.

The movie also contains some periods of relative inactivity, affording the watcher space to think and reflect. The dialogue warrants close scrutiny, and when I watched the film I marveled at it.

The "something to aim for" is abstract. In contemplating the notion of "free will", we must accept how much we are estranged from our true feelings and needs. It is the hope that kills us. Human nature defeats us, and it is surely preferable to live life as a series of small steps, being mindful and extracting the most from each second, minute, hour, day. We should seek to transcend our nature this way, rather than strive for the unattainable and emerge disappointed.  All easier said than done, however.

Stalker, with a suitably eerie soundtrack by Eduard Artemyev, is a gripping, if unsettling, watch.

Solaris (1972 film)

My recently rekindled interest in science fiction and spaceflight, together with my longstanding affection for European art cinema, led me to check out Solaris, a 1972 film directed by Andrei Tarkovsky.

Based on the novel by Stanislaw Lem, the movie is largely set on a space station orbiting the fictional planet of Solaris, and it examines the crew's interactions with a strange and mysterious ocean on the planet's surface. The major themes explored by the film are the psychological impact on human beings of spaceflight, and also the relationship between science, perception and conscience.

The film is long, and slow, but symbolism and meaning are there in abundance if one looks closely enough, and I found it quite gripping. I empathized with some of the characters, identifying with their alienation, distractedness and confusion. The contrast between the organic, fecund, green Earth and the clinical and ascetic environment of the spaceship is very cleverly underlined.

Special effects are employed sparingly, but where they do appear they are surprisingly good and convincing. Nothing, though, obscures the intellectual and emotional thrust of the movie.  The film looks more "modern" than 1972 somehow, and this might be down in part to the lovely cinematography.

Another element of the picture's impact is the soundtrack music, by Eduard Artemyev.  Part of it is based on a piece by Bach, an organ prelude, and this forms a recurring, and haunting, "theme tune".  Ambient sounds form a subtle, yet unsettling and disorientating backdrop.

I find films set on spaceships absorbing, no matter the overall quality or gravitas of the work. I feel the same way about movies set on submarines. The claustrophobic and captive atmosphere means that arguments are often distilled down to a basic or existential level.

This is a film which demands intense concentration and attention, and it is one where the viewer is rewarded by taking notice of nuances in the dialogue. Science fiction films occasionally emerge as excessively earnest in their examination of profound topics.  Solaris doesn't fall prey to this, and is not as literal or straightforward as many of its Western counterparts.  The movie's length means that the philosophizing is diffused, and the characters appear less anxious to ruminate on the meaning of life and the universe - interesting to note for a film produced in the Soviet Union.

Some of the minutiae of the "science" in this picture are not startling original, but they are fused into a strong and plausible whole.  The various sub-texts are addressed, on the whole, with finesse and sensitivity, and the primary themes are interwoven adroitly.

Donatas Banionis gives an assured performance as Kris Kelvin, conveying authority in addition to a reassuring "everyman" quality. One of those performances which instills confidence in the viewer, and which supports the overall believability of the story.

The film generally explores the question of humanity's purpose in space. Is this to be human, and how should this blend with cold science? One could interpret the ocean on the planet Solaris as a mirror, forcing us to confront our nature. There are also hints about the limits of rationality.

Solaris is an engrossing and stimulating film.  I am just disappointed that it has taken me this long to watch it!

The Battle For Spain - The Spanish Civil War 1936-1939 - Antony Beevor - book review

The Spanish Civil War remains highly emotive. Antony Beevor chronicles and analyses the conflict in his book The Battle For Spain.

In the chapters which constitute a "preamble", Spain's history prior to the 1930s is stressed , with some emphasis on the influence of the Church and the landowners. The country had, it appears, not been affected as much as other parts of Europe by liberalizing impulses.

The plethora of factions on both sides of this conflict can be confusing to say the least, but Beevor does his best to clarify who was who, and why. As he observes, this was not just a struggle between left and right, but also one between libertarianism and authoritarianism and centralization and "federalism"/separatism. These dynamics served to create a very intense and volatile picture.

It is difficult not to be sympathetic to the more libertarian elements of the republican side, however much one feels that they were occasionally naive in their idealism in the face of cold realities. The anarchist scene in Spain around that time, particularly that located in Catalonia, is a fascinating and thought-provoking phenomenon. For all its flaws, a hopeful and positive experiment.

My interpretation was that Beevor felt that the left misjudged the size of its mandate, with its strident rhetoric more than its actions, driving many into the arms of the nationalists. The right exaggerated the "threat".

The infighting between the various groupings, and the fragmented nature of the alliances, is one of the factors which gives the Spanish Civil War an enduring fascination. Loose cannons, hot heads, impractical idealism, brazen opportunism, impulsiveness, impetuosity and cold calculation - all played their part in the drama.

I was impressed by the author's analysis of the early stages of the uprising, the government's hesitant and dilatory initial response, and the motivations behind some of the early atrocities. The republican excesses were more the result of an outburst of rage and chaos. The nationalists, on the other hand, planned a systematic campaign of terror, even "cleansing". The language coined by some nationalist officials is chilling, like something harking back to the Middle Ages...

Beevor goes to great lengths to outline how the unity, or otherwise, of the two sides developed and evolved, Franco maintaining a semblance of cohesion via a mixture of concessions, sops, coercion and eventually demonstrable indispensability to the success of the nationalist cause. Staying largely above the internal strife also clearly helped him. The republicans were not so fortunate, of course, having the heavy hand of Stalin and the Comintern to contend with. Was it the case that the nationalists had a simplicity of purpose, even allowing for lingering agendas, so that they were able to keep their eyes on the prize?  It seems bizarre, but the situation in the anti-fascist camp was not that straightforward.

Another illuminating section of The Battle For Spain deals with the war economy in the republican zone, and the tensions which some methods sparked with the central government. It is difficult not to conclude that the anarchists sometimes clung too rigidly to lofty theories and ideals when a more pragmatic approach may have been more beneficial in the grand scheme of things. Later on, though, they felt with some justification that they were struggling for their very survival and identity.

The rather inglorious attitude of some foreign countries, as well as the manner in which big business connived with the nationalists, is a distasteful facet of the conflict. Yes, we all know now what Stalinism was like, but isn't this a case of being wise after the event? The "rationale" behind certain people's backing for Franco was rather grotesque. The republicans were drastically deprived of genuinely powerful friends, and the consequent reliance on support from the Soviet Union was to bear bitter fruit.

The "romance" surrounding the republican cause is very seductive, even if it is often tricky to pin down exactly. One of the main tasks of the historian therefore is to separate fact from myth, and to weigh what was propaganda, distortion or fabrication. I feel that Beevor remains relatively dispassionate throughout, and does not allow the emotive nature of the subject matter to impinge on lucid judgement. The cruelty and barbarism of the nationalists largely speaks for itself, although the cracks in the republican side take a little more explaining and understanding.

The International Brigades are often the things which most laymen remember about the Spanish Civil War, partly due to the literature and evocative tales which emerged, and also because of the principled stand which they made. Beevor strives to place their role into its proper perspective, and stresses how they slotted into the structure of the Republic's forces.

Diaries and private correspondence are invariably very useful in getting nearer to the truth. Intimate, often candid thoughts committed to paper in the midst of the maelstrom, not alloyed or compromised by propagandistic concerns or embellishment. Such material is made excellent use of in this book.

A probing look at the involvement of intellectuals and artists is also a feature of this work, how many became disillusioned, and how some journalists had their hands tied. It is also pointed how the "demonization" of the communists may have played into their hands, by allowing them to portray themselves as the sole meaningful and dedicated bulwark against fascism.

The portions which address the "civil war within a civil war" evoke a loss of faith among some of the leftist forces and the growth of disenchantment, It is at this point that the paranoia of the Stalin-aligned communists and their acolytes becomes a pervasive trend, seeing the hands of fifth-columnists in almost every military or political reverse. They had leverage, which meant that the other players in the republican fold had to tread carefully in dealing with them. They may admittedly have been on firmer ground in advocating firmer, more cohesive organization and leadership in the face of the nationalist threat.

The vagaries of Stalin's stance are strange. He was doing his best to conceal or downplay the "communistic" side of the republican make-up, for foreign consumption at least, whilst his men on the ground in Spain were throwing their weight around in no uncertain terms. The activities of the secret police, the harsh treatment of the International Brigades volunteers and the draconian punishments for soldiers are all documented here. It is easy to imagine how many people became exasperated and cynical.

A theme which emerges in the second half of this history is the tendency of the republican leadership, under communist sway, to embark on military adventures for reasons of propaganda, playing to both the domestic and international gallery, even when this was not consistent with military or strategic logic. At the same time, of course, the diplomatic picture was clouded and complicated by the gathering storm on the wider European scene. Decisions made regarding Spain were not made in isolation.

Rightly or wrongly, I discerned from some of the author's observations a sense that the republicans were almost naive and "green", both in some of their military decisions, and in their dealings with the outside world, in areas such as finance and arms procurement.

There is a look at what happened after the civil war concluded, including the fate of the exiles,and how Franco went about consolidating his grip on power. The role of both sides in the Second World War is given some attention, and Beevor also looks at the military lessons which the great powers learned, or disregarded, from the fighting in Spain. He also assesses the impact of the interventions made by the Soviet Union, Germany and Italy.

Overall, when reading this book I was left with a feeling of sadness at what befell Spain, at the behaviour of some people on both sides, and how those with honourable and humane motivations and intentions were let down, manipulated and misled.

The Battle For Spain is a sobering but rewarding and worthwhile read. It is well structured and paced, and it brings to life a tragic and contentious episode in modern European history.