![](/cover/16472/IAMCUBA4KCRITERIONSET.jpeg)
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