Mikhail Kalatazov is best known for 1957's The Cranes Are Flying and 1964's I Am Cuba. This is the film he made between those. It also contains cinematography by Sergei Urusevsky. That's its best aspect, for sure, and much like those other two films, it's a gorgeous piece of pure cinema. The story concerns four geologists (including The Cranes Are Flying's lead actress, Tatyana Samoilova) who have been dropped off in remote Siberia to search for diamonds. The initial plot concerns a love triangle between Samoilova and two of the men (while the third man writes the titular letter to his wife). Soon the melodramatic plot line falls to the wayside when the four are trapped in an enormous forest fire. It then becomes a desperate tale of survival. It's actually quite gripping, and the photography is so utterly stunning you can't help but be awestruck.

This is a totally excellent man vs. nature drama. An outstandingly dramatic soundtrack is coupled with some of the most powerful and unique visuals I've ever seen. If you thought Tarkovsky was a one-shot in the Soviet Union when it came to beautiful yet haunting images, you'll definitely think again after this movie. The characters and the story are perhaps not too well developed, but this somehow adds to the sense of not being totally in control, which is important here. It's nothing short of a tragedy that this movie is totally unknown; it would probably have been a candidate of reaching IMDb's top 50 if it were. Those looking for unknown classics should hunt this one down at all costs.

Saw this at Tribeca Film Festival in Spring 2007, and was absolutely floored. I walked out of the theater afterword amazed at what I'd seen and thrilled that such an amazing film existed and had been maintained by a tiny number of appreciators in such excellent quality for so long.

The story is not the strong point of the movie. Rather, as with Terence Malick films, the story is just a starting point for the film, which is another beast entirely. What shines and carries the film from scene to scene is the cinematography. I didn't know if this was happened elsewhere at the time, but I didn't expect to see hand-held camera work in a 1959 Russian film, let alone the kind of early spinning, impossibly-filmed shot that appears early in the film. Later, there is a sequence that makes me long to know how they created the opportunity to film in such conditions.

If you've read this far, you must track down this movie. My understanding is that Francis Coppola has a California archive maintain the only copy in the Americas, and that it's usually shown just one a year.