An absolute pippin of a short, all the more surprising when you think of the dour heavy-handedness that mars Pudovkin's most famous work. Just as delightful is the subject's ambiguity - a welcome break from the wearing, mathematical propaganda that is much of Soviet cinema.

The central ambiguity of the film is: does it celebrate conformity, or is it a satire on it? In favour of the former proposition is the fact that everyone's playing chess. Like the myth that all Dublin cab-drivers are learned Joyceans, the Soviet populace as a whole seem obsessed with the rigorously intellectual game of chess. The film opens with some dispiritingly authentic chess tournaments - yep, just grandmasters sitting at tables, playing chess, and people watching. Then the comedy begins. Its conflict is that a chess nut's fiancee loathes the game, and cannot escape from it wherever she turns. Her only chance of happiness is to conform to society's pleasure.

On the other hand, this pleasure is roundly mocked, and the insanity of the chess obsession leads the film from documentary realism, into fantasy, absurdity and the supernatural. The hero is a bonkers chess addict - his cap, scarf and socks are checkered, as is his cigarette case, while he has miniature chess boards, rule books and problem setters all over his body. His straightforward journey to his fiancee is constantly interrupted by chess-related obstacles, which are quite clearly seen to have a fetishistic power over him. This power extends to society as a whole: in one particularly piquant episode, a thief about to be nabbed by a policeman is saved because a stray chessboard falls his way; the hunter and hunted stop to play. Here the mixture of chess and chance are seen to have a disruptive effect on the smooth running of society.

I suppose whatever way you read it depends on how you view the game itself. In one way it calls for extraordinary intellectual and imaginative powers, the ability to think of alternatives, which runs contrary to the rigidities of a police state. However, chess itself is a rigid game, the board a prison with minutely defined rules. The pieces, like the citizens in a police state, are at their masters' bidding, forever running around in labyrinthine patterns. The film might be quite subversive.

What it certainly is is a hilarious treat, full of great visual gags and in-jokes, as well as a disturbingly logical Alice in Wonderland-like erosion of structures, and a heroine whose unhappiness is a strange melancholic malaise. There is an irreverent sense of jeu d'esprit almost entirely absent from Soviet cinema.

"Shakhmatnaya goryachka" or "Chess Fever" is a 28-minute black-and-white silent short film from 90 years ago. The writer and director is Nikolai Shpikovsky and fittingly to the title, this film also features the chess world champion from back then in a little cameo. The lead actor is Vladimir Fogel and this one one of his early performance. Then again, "early" is a strange description in his case as he committed suicide before the age of 30 already. I myself actually like chess and think it can be a fascinating activity, especially if 2 people play against one another and have similar skill. Nonetheless, this film never got me interested. It would probably even better to read the story/screenplay as the action was pretty obscure here. This is frequently a problem with silent films if they use intertitles not half as frequently as they should and this is the case here as well. I do not recommend this Soviet short movie. Thumbs down.

Just like the best Hollywood equivalents, this short silent film has a simple storyline which is, of course, a wee bit over the top, is extremely funny and is perfectly paced. I wasn't expecting anything like this at all and it was a joy from start to finish.

Later, it made me think, once again, just how many wonderful short films there have been made and lost, from all corners of the world ... a darned shame.

If ever you get a chance to see this film, you won't be disappointed.