The Death of Yevgeny Bauer

1917 proved to be a tumultuous year for Russia: Tsar Nicolas II abdicated his throne and Russian forces withdrew from the First World War as the Bolshevik revolution roared across Russia. The death of Russia’s preeminent filmmaker Yevgeny Bauer that July seemed to be barely a footnote; yet, it marked a drastic shift for the nation’s cinematic future.

While today we associate silent Russian cinema with the Soviet-style montages of Eisenstein and Pudovkin, Yevgeny Bauer typifies pre-revolutionary Russian film’s heavy theatrical influence and focus on melodrama. Entering films as a set designer, Bauer ensured each of his films utilized ornate tracking shots to showcase his towering, lavish sets—a far cry from the rapid Soviet editing style of Battleship Potemkin.

Yevgeny Bauer frequently trafficked in the tragic. (We are talking about the country where American and other European film companies occasionally exported a separate tragic ending to their two and three-reel dramas to appease Russian audiences.) In his brief five-year career as a film director, Bauer frequently placed death at the center of his films.

His two films After Death (1915) and The Dying Swan (1916) are a perfect entry point to the great, largely forgotten director’s unique style and a fascinating rumination of the darkly hypnotic draw of death and the afterlife.

After Death (1915)

Bauer’s 1915 film After Death, follows a reclusive young man Andrei drawn out of his solitude by a friend to attend an aristocrat’s party. There, he meets the beautiful actress Zoia and the two share a bond; however, they only meet one more time before Andrei reads of her suicide in the newspaper.

Andrei becomes even more isolated after learning of her death. He dreams of Zoia at night and obsesses over her memory in the day. Initially, his fixation stems from their short yet visceral connection but quickly turns into suspicion that her unrequited love for Andrei was the cause of Zoia’s death.

Hoping to find answers, Andrei visits Zoia’s family and obtains her diary and portrait. He pours over the diary pages. He spends most of his waking time staring at her picture. As his dreams continue, he begins seeing Zoia when awake. The image of Zoia gradually consumes Andrei as his desire to bridge the gap between heaven and earth grows stronger with each passing hour.

On his deathbed, Andrei’s aunt asks him what is wrong. Andrei tersely responds, “Wrong? I am happy” despite the inner anguish sordidly expressed on his face. Andrei hallucinates Zoia embracing him once more before he sinks into his coveted deep sleep as the film draws to a close.

After Death possesses a hypnotic power largely due to Bauer’s deft hand behind the camera. Bauer relies on superimpositions, tracking shots, and tinting to capture the mysterious allure Zoia and her death hold over the susceptible Andrei. Bauer’s simple but effective dream landscape—with fields visually reminiscent of the Greeks’ agrarian paradisical Elysian Fields—captures the mysterious yet alluring pull death has over Andrei.

Bauer imagines death as a double-edged sword: an opportunity for a reunion with loved ones that comes with the price of complete dissociation from everyday reality. One cannot live amongst the living and the dead.

Death might be something most look to cheat but Andrei finds himself drawn to it as a solution to the grief of his lost loves. When we first meet Andrei, he stares longingly at the portrait of his deceased mother whose image, as the film describes, “ruled his imagination”. Already transfixed by the memory of his dead mother, Andrei easily idolizes a woman after only meeting her twice in person.

Despite his romantic notions of the afterlife, we as the viewer are left in doubt as to whether he achieves his desires in death. We are not treated to a happy ending where we see the two lovers united after death. Instead, we see Andrei as a tragic figure who allows his grief to shroud his ability to connect with the real world.

The Dying Swan (1916)

Yevgeny Bauer returns to hypnotic obsessions with death in his 1916 film The Dying Swan. Gizella, a mute ballerina, meets and quickly falls in love with Viktor, a man she bumps into on a walk out in the country. Their newfound happiness abruptly ends when Gizella spots him with another woman at his country home.

Heartbroken, Gizella finds solace in her dancing. Setting out on tour she quickly becomes famous for her Dying Swan dance routine (taken from the real-life ballerina Anna Pavlova). Her paths cross with Count Glinski, an artist obsessed with capturing death in his art. Convinced Gizella’s downtrodden demeanor and broken heart will be the perfect subject for his portrait of death, he invites her to pose for his tragic masterpiece.

Meanwhile, Viktor tracks down and unites with Gizella after finding her name in the papers. Upon their reunion, Viktor proposes marriage and Gizella happily accepts.

When Gizella appears for her next portrait for Count Glinski, the count is despondent upon seeing her newfound upbeat personality.  “Where are those joyless, sad, exhausted eyes? Now her eyes blaze with a different flame. No, it is not the same Gizella.”

Still determined to fulfill his self-proclaimed, life-long artistic mission, Glinski invites the now happily married Gizella to pose for him again. “Gizella are you still alive? No that won’t do” Glinksi utters as he chokes Gizella. He is now free to capture the dead Gizella stuck forever in her famous Dying Swan pose. (How’s that for a dark, tragic Russian ending?)

Gizella’s death, much like Andrei’s, fails to fully satisfy the unquenchable desire of Count Glinski’s to connect with death. If his final portrait of the dead Gizella is anything like his first attempt at sketching Gizella—his friend bluntly calls the portrait untalented and terrible—then his whole life’s work was all in vain. Glinski’s mission to capture death in art form is a fool’s errand.

While After Death focuses on death’s potential power to reunite lovers, The Dying Swan highlights death’s mystical beauty. Count Glinski succinctly explains his vision of death after his first session with Gizella, “Be still, Gizella, do not move. That is where beauty and peace lie”. Death to Glinski finds its beauty in its stillness an almost impossible state in our everyday chaotic lives.

Despite Bauer’s characters’ reverence and awe with the morbid, his films paint death as unapproachable. Andrei’s obsession with death further isolates him from the world and any real human connection. Glinski’s pursuit of capturing death through art robs Gizella of her newfound happiness after a period of darkness and solitude.

Yet, death’s distance from our world further heightens its mystery. Death’s unapproachable distance Yevgeny Bauer himself remained fascinated by—but not subsumed by—throughout his films.

This is post an entry in the Classic Movie Blog Association 2024 Fall Blogathon. Check out more great posts at the A Haunting Blogthon: In the Afterlife main page.