I Am Cuba 4K (1964/Milestone/Criterion 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray w/Blu-ray)

4K Ultra HD Picture: A- Picture: B Sound: B+ Extras: B Film: A

I Am Cuba is a masterpiece, a cinematic social realist mural stacking four episodes of life in Batista's dictatorship together to memorialize and celebrate the nameless everyday Cubans (farmers, sex workers, students) whose exploitation and courage ushered in a new era. The anthology's connective tissue: the cultural, economic, and civic forces that led Cuba to revolution in 1959. Mikhail Kalatozov's 1964 film is also a blunt piece of agitprop cinema, sitting comfortably alongside Battleship Potemkin and Strike as an exemplar of the form. Nothing about I Am Cuba is subtle - not its politics, not its message, not its allegiances.

These truths complement and complicate one another; without both, I Am Cuba would cave in on itself. When it debuted 60 years ago, it was assailed from all sides. It wasn't Communist enough. It was too Soviet. It was too Communist. It was anti-American. And on and on. You'd expect that from a dispatch from the hottest moment of the Cold War. But, surprisingly, six decades later, it's still difficult for some to uncross their eyes, look beyond overly simplistic nationalism, and hold two opposing thoughts in their heads at the same time: I Am Cuba is propaganda. I Am Cuba is breathtakingly gorgeous.

Maybe that's because Kalatozov isn't Sergei Eisenstein. Or maybe it's because it deals with the Cuban revolution - still a raw nerve among more Americans than I would have guessed. Whatever the reason, to view I Am Cuba, still, through Cold War jingoism is to do the film, and yourself, a disservice.

The episodic structure of the film could easily lead nowhere. Chapter one sees Cuba's most vulnerable used and disposed of by Madison Avenue types; chapter two finds a farmer pushed to immolation by exploitative land barons, local and foreign; chapter three centers on the college students, particularly one doomed leader, serving as Castro's voice in the streets while he and his soldiers hid out in the mountains; and chapter four is another rural tale of a farmer pushed to enlist in the revolution after the government bombs his home and kills his son. Kalatozov ingeniously uses one chapter to build to the next, which in turn builds on what preceded it and widens the scope of the narrative. And he does it not through recurring characters but an omniscient narrator - "Cuba's voice" - which explicitly binds together common themes and emotions, from suffocated hopes and tightening repression to selfless bravery and acting on ideals.

Typically this is done elegantly. Kalatozov, who won the Palme d'Or for his 1957 film The Cranes Are Flying, is clearly an artist. But he's occasionally as blunt as a hammer claw to the face. This can come in the depictions of Americans (obviously Russian actors acting broadly as sneering or effete businessmen, or brutish, rapey members of the military). There's one moment, though, that's so absurd it feels like parody. As the second chapter ends, Cuba's voice returns to externalize the message of what we've just seen. "I am Cuba," she says. "Sometimes it seems that the sap of my palm trees is full of blood. Sometimes it seems to me that the murmuring sounds around us are not the ocean but choked-back tears of the people. Who answers for this blood? Who is responsible for these tears?"

This is followed by a smash cut to newsreel footage of Batista in a suit and garish ceremonial necklace, with the narration, "The General Fulgencio Batista, Honorable President of the Republic, receives an award..." We quickly see this footage is playing at a drive-in, where college students throw Molotov cocktails at the screen, which is soon engulfed in flames - just in case we missed the point.

It would be hilarious if it weren't so sincere. And it helps that it's a great scene to look at. I Am Cuba's success hinges in no small part on the triumphant and ingenious work of cinematographer Sergei Urusevsky. As much as Kalatozov keeps the film (mostly) in control, it's Urusevsky who gives it life.

It's head-spinning how beautiful Urusevsky's images are. There's the shot at the start of the film of a canoe gliding down a waterway, seen from inside the canoe as it navigates between huts and under very low bridges. There's the shot in the first segment, where the camera begins on a rooftop party, moves down a building to a pool party, then plunges into the pool where people are carousing under water. (It inspired a tribute in Boogie Nights.) There's the impressionistic, Bergman/Murnau-like montage in chapter two of the old man remembering losing everything - his wife, his land, his hopes and dreams - to nature and profit. There's the... well, nearly every moment in the third chapter, which culminates on a justifiably iconic tracking shot during a student's funeral, which begins in the procession at street level, goes to the roofs, through windows and workshops, back to the roofs, and ends on a heroic wide shot of the casket marched through crowded streets adorned with flags.

And on and on and on. Urusevsky's camera is so fluid it might as well be liquid. And a recommendation for the film could easily be a catalog of his shots. But these are more than just pretty pictures. Kalatozov and Urusevsky use them to orient their film in the tapestry of world cinema. Each chapter has a distinct style. The first feels made by a Mexican director, like Emilio Fernandez (Victims of Sin); the second is in the mode of Eisenstein; the third feels like it could've come from the French New Wave or Italian modernism of Michelangelo Antonioni (indeed, it anticipates Tomas Gutierrez Alea's 1968 Cuban New Wave masterpiece Memories of Underdevelopment); and the final chapter feels by turns Neorealist and early Sam Fuller or Stanley Kubrick.

On the art, I Am Cuba is unimpeachable. The film has its faults, but it's a singular achievement. Each frame is a painting; each segment a journey worth taking; the totality unlike anything else. But what of its politics? Frankly, who cares. This is 2024. The Cuban revolution clearly failed. It was a failure before the Sixties were out. And it failed because of Castro and his self-serving Stalinism. Castro, Che, the icons of their moment are essentially missing here, outside of a few mentions in passing. What matters are the ideas - not Communism per se but equality, self-rule, self-respect, the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - all the things that dictatorships, be they run by Batista or Castro, deny their people. There are Cubans today who supported the revolution because of Batista's deprivations who ultimately rejected it because of Castro's deprivations. I Am Cuba argues that revolutions are won by its people, not a single person or leader, no matter how charismatic.

That might be why the film was rejected in Cuba. Castro's delicate ego couldn't abide such revolutionary thinking. But it certainly makes it essential viewing today, as America - like so many other nations - stares down a future determined and dictated by violent, caustic, reactionary fanatics devoted to a personality cult. Is revolution in the cards? Who knows. But I Am Cuba gives us a glimpse into the forces and culture that breeds such things. It's a warning worth heeding, for all sides.

I Am Cuba arrives on an exceptional 4K presentation from the Criterion Collection. Previously available only as a DVD from Milestone, released in 2007 in a kitschy cigar box package, Criterion's disc is an upgrade in nearly every way. You can read more about that DVD edition at this link:

http://www.fulvuedrive-in.com/review/6612/I+Am+Cuba+%E2%80%93+The+Ultimate+Edition

It has been a while since I last watched the Milestone DVD, but viewing Criterion's 4K disc it's clear that this is the superior presentation. The transfer of the black and white film is well balanced throughout that never loses its filmic quality. Some stretches of the film, particularly in chapters 2 and 4, are fairly stark and sun-bleached, but those moments never feel off or wrong. Rather, they contribute to the overall sense of being unmoored, which is likely the intention. The film hasn't been restored, at least per Criterion's spec sheet, but it's fair to say I Am Cuba has never looked better. The 2160p HEVC/H.265, black and white 1.33 X 1 image has no kind of Dolby Vision or HDR enhancements, but the Ultra High Definition image is still very impressive just the same in raw 4K, which has been the case in some other 4K releases on disc like Criterion's version of Romero's Night Of The Living Dead (1968) looks good, the VCI version of the first-ever spoof of that film, Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things (1973) was mixed and some documentary and concert 4Ks have lacked any HDR and have usually still been on the decent side.

On the audio side, there are two lossless tracks on the disc: Spanish LPCM 1.0 and Russian LPCM 1.0, both with optional English subtitles. I viewed the disc with the Spanish track, and it's solid. There are moments here and there when overlapping dialogue meant to create a sense of aural density sounds weak, or at least artificial. But this wasn't exactly a big-budget blockbuster, so it's excusable.

The extras is the only place where the disc comes up a bit short. Carried over from the old Milestone DVD are the trailer, the 2004 making-of documentary The Siberian Mammoth, and a 2003 interview with Martin Scorsese, who help resurrect and restore I Am Cuba. There is also an appreciation of the film's cinematography from Bradford Young. Missing, though, is a 101-minute 2006 documentary on Kalatozov, a 30-minute interview with screenwriter Yevgeny Yevtushenko, the Cuban version of the opening credits, and three stills galleries. The Kalatozov documentary, especially, is a tough loss, and as insightful as the Young interview is it doesn't make up for this missing element.

Still, it's a small quibble. I Am Cuba has finally arrived on something other than DVD. Many of us thought we'd never see the day.

- Dante A. Ciampaglia