Sad songs mean so much… Tatjana (1923), with John Sweeney, Kennington Bioscope

Ivan, they want to murder Boris! For God’s sake help!

Michelle Facey introduced the film she had found in the BFI National Film Archive and explained how, literally, one, or in this case, two things, had led to another. Firstly, the Bioscope’s screening of Asta Nielsen’s first film Afgrunden (1910) also starred Robert Dinesen, who went on to direct and star in this film and also to direct Claire (1924) – screened at the KB in 2019. Secondly, Tatjana’s mesmerising star, Olga Tschechowa, who was to later become involved in a plot to kill Adolf Hitler, also featured in last year’s screening of Ewald André Dupont’s Moulin Rouge (1928). Looking for more of their work, Michelle came up with this film which not only still existed but lived not too far away deep in the stacks over in the BFI’s Berkhamsted repository.

There is virtually nothing about the film online and, indeed, Michelle’s initial reference came from an advert in Close Up magazine’s September 1928 issue for the Shaftesbury Pavilion, “The Home of International Film” which, along with screenings for all the latest continental hits, such as the recently restored but rarely screened, Saga of Gosta Berling included a feature entitled He Who Covets, the English title for Tajana.

Digging further, a copy of the Bioscope magazine was found in the Cinema Museum archive, which included a review of Tajana, a film, the reviewer felt, that would have a strong appeal at melodrama houses. And, here we were!

Olga Tschechowa in F W Murnau’s Schloß Vogelöd (1921).

Tajana is a skilfully made tale of love and obsession during the turbulence of the Russian Revolution. Its structure is unusual, starting off in the smart part of Copenhagen, with the death of a well-to-do man, Ivan Gorykin (Paul Hartmann) found slumped at his desk in the morning by one of his servants. His wife leaves a note which leads to a flashback as the whole tale is unravelled to catch up with this mysterious moment.

We’re back in Tsarist Russia and in the house of Count Schuwaloff (Leopold von Ledebur) and his daughter Tatjana (Tschechowa) who is engaged to Prince Boris Orloff (Dinesen). The intertitles are in English and so a lot of the pronouns have been anglicised for those checking IMDB…

Schuwaloff has lost his patience with the son of one of his loyal servants, Anna (Maria Peterson), Ivan, who is too distracted by revolutionary theory to apply himself to the kinds of study the Count feels is worthwhile. The old man is quite right to be concerned because not only is Ivan a revolutionary he is also dead set on winning Tajana’s heart, even when she makes it quite clear to him that she only has eyes for Boris. She pleads with her father to carry on funding Ivan but Boris steps in to pick up the tab only for Ivan to show his gratitude by pointlessly pleading undying love to the revulsed Tajana.

Robert Dinesen

The years pass, Tajana and Boris marry and have a child whilst Russia edges ever closer to revolution. Ivan is one of the leading lights and like any bad Bolshevik decides to use the upheaval to further his own romantic agenda. He devises a plan so self-serving and cunning that even the most selfish fox might reject it as too complex and, well, he appears not to have a thorough understanding of Marx’s political philosophy, so it looks like Tajana’s old man was right about the wasted education.

The day will soon be here when we force these nobles to their knees…

Ivan arranges for the local peasantry to be both drunk and deceived, arranging for them to attack Boris and Tajana’s home whilst at the same time using his mother to provide them with an escape route straight into his arms. He pretends to help both escape, leading Boris into a trap at the border and hoping to use his supposed bravery to finally win over his suddenly isolated and devastated wife.

As plans go it underestimates the human details but when he tells Tajana that Boris has been shot by border guards, he becomes her only refuge amidst the revolutionary anarchy. Her Boris is gone and will she never hear the Chanson Triste – possibly Tchaikovsky’s Chanson Triste (Op. 40 No. 2) from 1878 - that he used to play for her, ever again?

Carl Drews’s cinematography makes the most of some marvellous snow-scapes especially during the attempted escape and the print looked splendid considering it’s possibly not been screened since its original release.

Paul Hartmann looking like an instense revolutionary in a publicity shot for something else entirely

John Sweeney is, of course, very much your man for the Russians and wove splendid dramatic and romantic lines through the web of revolutionary intrigue. He hadn’t seen the film – who had? – but he was, of course, spot on when the chanson was called upon to be très, très triste!

John was on duty for the first half too and again showed his range of quality improvisations accompanying the compilation of colourised shorts mostly shown from film.

The first two were from Bob Geoghegan’s collection, Interesting Incidents from Here and There (1916) a travelogue sadly missing the first section in London but still fascinating, and then a mild romantic comedy Une mésaventure de François Premier (1912) in which the lusty monarch tries, and fails, to have his wicked way with the wife of one of his nobles all in lovely Pathe Colour. Royalty eh? They’re nothing but trouble, just ask Ivan.

Not so simple, Simon. Ernest Bourbons screen shot courtesy of Movies Silently

There was another splendid travelogue on 35mm this time from Tony Fletcher’s collection and covering Russia in around the same period as our main film, followed by another tinted print, a French comedy called Onésime vs. Onésime (1912) (Good Simon, Bad Simon). Here forgotten French clown Ernest Bourbon plays Good Simon who tries to rid himself of his bad double with plenty of laughs and smart camera trickery to follow. There’s a review on Fritzie Kramer’s peerless Movies Silently site and it includes One of the Greatest Puns in Blogging History so you must check it out!

Both Simons were courtesy of Christopher Bird’s collection and so he along with Bob and Tony prove the worth of private collections alongside institutions like the BFI, in preserving the almost lost corners of early film. Credit too to the Bioscope which continues to provide an opportunity to see these rare gems screened and accompanied as cinematic nature intended.