New Directors/New Films Review: First on the Moon

If the press materials provided at its screening are to be believed, Aleksey Fedorchenko’s First on the Moon, which professes to tell the story of a secret, Soviet moon mission in 1938, is the first Russian mockumentary. Through a combination of archival footage (both real and fake), fake surveillance video, and modern-day interviews with “participants” in the venture, the film traces the history of the moon project back to the invention of the rocket, and explores the mystery of its ill-fated ending. Very early in the film, it becomes apparent that it’s unusual within its genre for a reason that goes beyond its origin: First on the Moon is a mockumentary with almost no interest in humor. Instead, when viewed with any knowledge of Soviet history at all, Fedorchenko’s melancholy film becomes a regretful indictment of the Soviet government, and its devastating need to destroy the best and the brightest the country had to offer.

Opening with the story of a mysterious fireball that fell on Chile in 1938, the movie quickly moves to the inception of the secret moon project, detailing the selection of the program’s participants. While there is something vaguely amusing about the archival (both original and created for the film) footage of smiling Soviets, waving and laughing for the camera, the desperate reality that lurks just behind that good humor is difficult to shake, and it tinges even these simple moments of lightness with an air of tragedy. Eventually, four young, fit Russians are selected to train for the moon shot, though their mission is so secret even they are not told what lies at the end of their training. The four are: Ivan Kharlamov (Boris Vlasov), so impossibly fit and handsome that he doesn’t seem real; Nadezhda Svetlaya (Victoria Ilyinskya), the only woman in the program; Mikhail Roschin (Victor Kotov), a dwarf chosen because he is a perfect fit for the rocket’s living module; Khanif Fattkhov (played by both Anatoly Otravdnov and Alexey Slavnin, the former in the archival footage, and latter in the present day), the only member of the quartet who survived to speak about his experiences.

The first half of the film, in which we meet the soon-to-be cosmonauts, witness their training, and watch early rocket experiments, is frustratingly unengaging. The surveillance video - the film’s Soviets had cameras in the rooms of the trainees, and often followed subjects with hidden camera - in addition to being deeply disturbing, is distancing simply because of what it is. It’s hard to identify with someone you’re watching from the top corner of their room, and even harder to feel anything for him when he’s putting on a Happy Worker show for official state video. As a result, the viewer heads into the actual launch (from the four trainees, Kharlamov is selected to make the flight) with an intellectual feeling of dread, but without emotional identification with the characters on the screen and very little interest in their mission.

All of this changes, however, when the mission fails. The rocket disappears, and the movie changes from a bland history to a mix of detective story and tragic tell-all, as it both searches for the remains of the rocket and reveals what befell the surviving trainees. In an effort to find traces of that Chilean Fireball, which appeared just days after the rocket vanished, the filmmakers travel to Chile to interview witnesses and to search for traces of the mysterious object. While this portion of the film is probably its most conventional (specifically, it’s strongly reminiscent of Peter Jackson’s Forgotten Silver, a film with which Fedorchenko, with his interested in mockumentaries, is likely familiar), it quickly falls by the wayside in favor of the increasingly intimate, increasingly sinister surveillance footage that is revealed as part of the film’s effort to trace what became of the cosmonauts after the program was closed down. As the actions of the government become colder and more calculating, Fedorchenko’s film finally finds its warmth. Through a slick combination of sinister footage from the 1940s and modern-day interviews, his characters for the first time are brought to life, and the audience is, finally, emotionally involved in their story.

By its end, First on the Moon doesn’t really have anything to do with a secret moon mission. Instead, it becomes yet another document about the horrors of the Soviet system, reminding us that even those who worked hardest for its success were often destroyed. What make the film all the more tragic is its tone - instead of anger, there’s a terrible air of resignation to its condemnation, as if Fedorchenko is too dismayed by the past to even muster the energy to fight. While the film may bore audiences without a basic knowledge of and interest in Soviet history, it offers much fodder for thought to those who can understand its emotions and message.

First on the Moon will screen at the New Directors/New Films series with an extraordinary Dutch short called Still World, co-written and directed by Elbert van Strien. Set in a world where mediocrity is both preferred and enforced, Still World tells the story of one man who tries to rebel, and the mysterious figure (“K.”) who guides him in his search for an explanation for the world in which he lives. Made in the style of Chris Marker’s seminal La Jetée (perhaps better known these days as the source for Twelve Monkeys), the film is composed almost entirely of gorgeous black and white stills, and reserves its single moment of movement for the instant in which it can exert the most power. The though film’s story tends to weaken towards its end, Still World is stunning to look at, and a great achievement if only in its creation of atmosphere from a series of frozen images.