IVAN’S CHILDHOOD. Tarkovsky’s masterful debut

To be honest, I was seriously worried that the subject would overwhelm me. His films are so full of metaphors, surreal interjections, and references to his own biography that attempting to interpret them can easily miss the mark. At the same time, like any great work of art, they contain many indeterminate areas that allow the viewer to relate the work to their own experiences. This method of engaging the audience in the creative process, making the work different for everyone, directly derives from surreal and abstract painting (Tarkovsky was trained as a painter), is successfully used in theater, and is also not shunned by cinema—recall, for example, Un Chien Andalou or the films of Alejandro Jodorowsky. Skillful use of indeterminate spaces can elevate a film, painting, or theatrical performance to the level of a masterpiece, but it also gives anyone attempting to write about it quite a headache. Ivan’s Childhood

Ivan’s Childhood is Tarkovsky’s first full-length film. I believe that among all his films, it is the easiest to understand and serves as an excellent introduction to his later works. It tells the story of twelve-year-old Ivan, who, having lost his entire family during the war, ends up on the front lines, providing invaluable services to the Soviet army as a scout. He is much more effective than the adult soldiers because his short stature allows him to move more easily out of the enemy’s sight. Additionally, Ivan is completely unafraid for his own life—having lost his loved ones, he has no one to return to, and fighting the enemy gives his life meaning.

Tarkovsky’s full-length debut fits into the canon of Khrushchev-era Soviet war cinema. We have here fearless Red Army soldiers struggling against a brutal invader, among whom the main character stands out for his courage. Making a twelve-year-old boy the central character was, however, a significant break from convention. War is not shown here as a great adventure—as seen, for example, in Four Tank-Men and a Dog—but as a sad, grim period that no one who experienced it would want to return to.

In Ivan’s Childhood, one can see the emerging style of Tarkovsky—a painterly use of the camera, which, combined with Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov’s fantastic music, creates an absolutely unique atmosphere. The films of the greatest Soviet director can be watched repeatedly precisely for these shots, each of which is like a separate painting. We see this especially in Ivan’s dreams, which intertwine with the plot, giving us an idea of the main character’s past and personality.

It is difficult to say how much Tarkovsky revealed about himself in his full-length debut. Certainly, Ivan’s Childhood does not contain as much psychological exhibitionism as his later productions. However, I believe that Tarkovsky managed to sneak in some references to himself—look, for example, at how much Ivan’s mother resembles the mother portrayed in Mirror, who is the mother of the creator himself.

Ivan’s Childhood is unquestionably a remarkable film, but I do not consider it Tarkovsky’s greatest work. The true greatness of the Soviet director would come a few years later. However, without this full-length debut, masterpieces like Stalker or the aforementioned Mirror would not have been possible. This film is also worth seeing for its connections to the subsequent ones—each of his films we watch makes us discover hidden meanings in the next ones. Ivan’s Childhood is an excellent introduction to this director’s filmography.

Words Michal Bleja