In the summer of 1966 the number of older films in circulation dropped sharply. The release of new fictional features virtually ceased. From May through October only one new fictional feature, about war, appeared, plus one sugary film on the flourishing of Sintsian and the national minorities.

Foreign films vanished from CPR screens. If, in the spring of 1966, there were two Korean, one Vietnamese, and some older Soviet films (LENIN IN OCTOBER and JACOB SVERDLOV) still playing, then with the outbreak of the “cultural revolution” foreign films disappeared from the screens. Like everything Soviet, our films for a long time have been subjected to fierce criticism, which naturally has no foundation. Especially malicious attacks fell on such pictures as FATE OF A MAN and THE FORTY-FIRST. Sholohov’s hero Andrew Sokolov [in the former film] is well known to our viewers and readers. His hard life is shown courageously and without prettification. But the Chinese official criticism baselessly declares Sokolov a turncoat” and “traitor to his homeland,” and calls the writer himself a “revisionist” for truthfully describing the life of an average Soviet man in the difficult war period. What causes such maliciousness? It turns out that the truth about war does not suit Mao Tse-tung’s group. Chinese propaganda depicts war as a triumphal procession to victory over a childishly-stupid opponent.

The anti-Soviet campaign in the CPR has long been combined with slander of the best Soviet films and their heroes. Back on November 27, 1963, the Jen-min Zhibao heaped slanderous attacks on the movies of Soviet director Gregory Chukhrai. Writing of THE FORTYFIRST, the newspaper shamelessly declares that it “turns a heroine of the Red Army into a nursemaid and mistress of a White-Guard officer,” and that the picture “curses the October [Russian] Revolution and the revolutionary war for their inhumanity. ” Speaking of the film’s heroine Mariutka (who has forty White-Guard kills to her credit), the newspaper writes that she is a “prisoner of her prisoner,” a “melancholy, sentimental little lady,” and has “fallen to the loss of her human image.” All the falsity of these claims is revealed merely by the fact that Boris Lavrenev’s story The Forty-First was translated in China as much as thirty years ago, and the Chinese revolutionaries in the years of the Civil War always considered it revolutionary.

Aliosha Skvortsov, hero of BALLAD OF A SOLDIER, is called by the same newspaper a “pitiful coward,” who ‘falls in a faint before an enemy tank. “Even his heroism in the battle the Chinese critics try to falsify, saying that Aliosha “is idiotically transformed into a hero from cowardice.” Astahov, the pilot in THE CLEAR SKY, is called by the Chinese press a man “who deceives himself and others,” and his wife Sasha is called a pernicious individualist, who “thinks only about her personal happiness” during the war. And on the whole they are both individualistic, anti-socialistic personalities.” Even little Ivan, hero of MY NAME IS IVAN, gets his: in May 1964, the magazine Wen-i-bao labels him a “mentally sick person traumatized by the horrors of war.” But not a word, of course, about Ivan’s carrying out extremely dangerous assignments for the Soviet army.

Now, four years later, it is completely clear that the slanderous campaign against Soviet films and their heroes prepared the ground for a devastation of the Chinese film art itself—which happened during the “cultural revolution.” Their own films of past years were also harshly criticized, in most cases. A great majority were simply removed from circulation.

Devil-may-care condemnation now strikes not even individual films, but all the production of entire studios over a number of years. Thus were condemned the 1962-1965 films of the Chang-Chun Studio and the Shanghai Studio Tian-ma for the same years. Often the accusation so fails to correspond to what is depicted in the film that it becomes clear that the film is being condemned simply because it was issued by a “bad element.”

On the eve of the “cultural revolution,” director Lin Nun’s film THE TROOPS HAVE APPROACHED THE CITY, from Bai Jen’s script, released by the Chang-Chun Studio in 1964, was subjected to condemnation in sharp, insulting expressions. The newspaper Guan-min Zhibao, for example, treated this film twice, publishing a whole column of criticism and in addition a large article. A multitude of accusations were levelled at the film: preaching renunciation of revolutionary war, and substitution of political dickering” for armed struggle, and depiction of the enemies as “wise, just, and humane”—which, as we know, is impossible, especially in China. Further, the film turns out to praise “peaceful negotiations” and a peaceful transition” of power, and even serves as a mouthpiece for modern revisionism.” If everything in the film were really depicted this way in actual fact, it is incomprehensible how such a film could ever have been created in the CPR.

I had the “luck” to see this movie at a special screening. Such screenings are arranged in Peking theaters for the purpose of broadening the critical campaign. Its plot is simple: the PLA (People’s Liberation Army) in about 1948 approaches some large city. Chiang Kai-shek’s garrison, after a defeat in open battle, prepares for a breach and siege. All the film’s action takes place inside a narrow circle of higher officers and generals of the faction blockaded within the city. Two groups take shape: those inclined to capitulate, and the die-hards. Among them there are underground revolutionaries, and former Communists, and real executioners [reactionaries]. This complicated internal struggle culminates with a bloodless capitulation. The PLA enters without a single shot and frees the city. That was the actual state of affairs, for example, in Peking itself, where Chiang Kai-shek’s garrison commander Gen. Fu Tso-i capitulated in due course and to the present day is a government minister in the CPR.

Now it is easy to understand how this film appeared. Its idea was to reflect the unity of the Chinese nation from Chiang Kai-shek to the Communist Party in the exact spirit of the speeches of the reactionary Li Tsunjen, the former president of Chiang Kai-shek’s party, who has now returned to the CPR to retire. This expresident under Chiang, whose hands are stained with the blood of revolutionaries, after returning from the USA was very energetically (for his age) calling on the Peking leadership to “struggle with modern revisionism.” But, evidently, this unity was done too candidly, and all the blame fell on the creators of the film. Mao Tse-tung’s quote about the rifle and the bayonet, which was often cited by newspapers in this critical campaign, revealed what was really behind this criticism of the film. In fact, two tendencies from the recent past clashed in regard to this film: the line of “peaceful” nationalism and the line of Mao Tse-tung’s group of extremists, who preach the force of arms. It was this latter group which gained the condemnation of the film.

Not three months had passed when the press condemned the Tian-ma Studio’s film RED SUN, made by the famous director Tang Shiao-tan. The film’s writer Tsiu Bai-in had gained himself a reputation in the CPR as one of the chief revisionists” of Chinese film art. His article “A Confession on the Question of Innovation in Film Art” was a call to learn innovating style from Soviet cinema and to achieve a high artistic level of films, Now this article is inevitably called an “anti-party, antisocialist, revisionist program.” Before a screening of RED SUN, a lecture about it was read for foreigners. The accusation began with the stereotyped phrase: ‘the Chinese people achieved liberation thanks to the genial ideas of Chairman Mao. But in this film you will not see the portrait of our beloved leader, you will not hear a single word of his. This is a vicious distortion and hostile slander of the Chinese Revolution and the People’s Liberation Army.” In RED SUN one can’t help be struck by the courage of its creators—there really isn’t a single bust, photo, or portrait of Mao Tse-tung, and none of the characters quote his sayings a single time.

The events depicted in the film occur in 1947-48, when the best, hand-picked units of Chiang Kai-shek went over to the attack against the liberated regions. These actions take place in Central China, in places relatively isolated from the main forces of the People’s Liberation Army. But after a first defeat, the PLA retreats to the mountainous regions, is reinforced and strengthened, surrounds the attacking enemy, and annihilates a hand-picked Chiang Kai-shek division equipped with American arms. If RED SUN is compared with the above-mentioned TROOPS HAVE APPROACHED THE CITY, a curious thing emerges. RED SUN is blamed for showing Chiang’s forces fighting to the death and not surrendering, while the other film is blamed for showing them capitulating and the officers going over to the side of the PLA.

The number of works of art that have escaped “condemnation” in China is insignificant, with especially few films. The “cultural revolution” has struck the whole life of the country. The very existence of science and art have been put in doubt. People talk about the suicide of the prominent writer Lao She and the death of historian Tsan Bo-tsan. And the outstanding pianist Liu Shikun, who is well-known to Muscovites, had his hands broken by the Red Guards so that he could not perform bourgeois works” on the piano, an instrument which is “foreign” and “alien” class-wise

Nonetheless, one picture turned up which played successfully in the days of the “cultural revolution.” It is THE RED PACK. The plot is based on a real situation, appropriately prepared and adapted. On the staff of a small store there works a salesclerk who muses about the fact that during the summer season of farm work the number of customers drops; farmers from mountain villages can’t come to the store and lose a whole day walking on foot paths, because there are no good roads in the mountains.

And so the hero of the film, like Nekrasov’s peddler, puts a pack on his back with consumer goods and foodstuffs (butter, for instance), and goes into the mountains to peddle them himself. Hence the film’s title: THE RED PACK. The hero not only sells, but also buys pelts and handicraft articles from the farmers, so that the “masses will have money.” Thus he carries a full load coming and going. The farmers welcome the peddler warmly. Gradually (after criticism), the store manager himself participates in this form of business, and at one point the store’s entire staff delivers a large tub to the mountains for an old farmer . All this is very touching, and the farmers give thanks and offer a flag as a gift Guests from neighboring stores come for an exchange of experience, etc. . . .

The film ends here, but this does not exhaust the picture’s content. The main line of the film is a glorification of the ideas of Mao Tse-tung—an inordinate, deified personality cult. The film has few shots where ‘ “Chairman Mao” is not mentioned in one form or another. The film’s hero constantly recalls quotations from the writings of Mao Tse-tung; he learns by heart Mao’s works and collections of quotations, and all his good acts in the film ‘flow out” of the ideas of Mao Tse-tung, which seem to motivate the whole life of the hero. A portrait of Mao Tse-tung or a bust of Mao Tse-tung are often included in shots. The heroes of the film ascribe all their good deeds to Mao Tse-tung: the peddlers say they were sent by the “ideas of Chairman Mao,” the farmers thank the “happy era of Chairman Mao,” etc.

Young people are shown here too. The old salesclerk in THE RED PACK is infected with bourgeois ideology and is a thief and a cheat. The young salesgirls are depicted as people who have renounced any personal life, exemplary people who have “grown up in the era of Mao Tse-Tung.” The young are better and more loyal than the older and the middle generation. This idea of the film is undoubtedly one of the reasons for its success with the Red Guards.

It is no exaggeration to say that the picture’s moral is religious rather than revolutionary. Everything that people do is credited to the idolized ideas of Mao Tsetung. As in religious pictures, one can find parallels in THE RED PACK to the scenes of illumination and tender emotion that play a pivotal role in the heroes’ lives.

The Central Studio of Documentary Films also turned up in the “advance guard” of the “cultural revolution.”

All over the country the film GREAT REVOLUTIONARY FRIENDSHIP, on the visit of an Albanian delegation to the CPR, was exhibited for several weeks. This film was followed by movies about Mao Tse-tung’s meetings with masses of millions of Red Guards in Peking. It must be said that these agitation pieces made an impression by the hysterical intensity of the very atmosphere of the films. One is terrified by the crowd scenes, when a million young people raise above their heads red booklets with the sayings of Mao Tse-tung, and the whole enormous square flashes with red spots. In closeup, the film shows girls crying with excitement or hysterically jumping up and down, all of them extending their hands to the leader on his high rostrum. Mao Tse-tung says nothing, he only appears on the screen and moves around the square with difficulty, supported on both sides. It is hard for him to walk after his illness, but with a wave of his hand he salutes the rejoicing crowds of “revolutionaries’ often and with noticeable satisfaction. Standing with him in the frame most often is Lin Biao, and Chou En-lai is there considerably less often. The other leaders of the CPR are caught by the lens extremely rarely. I saw three such documentary films. The feature-length color documentary CHAIRMAN MAO TOGETHER WITH THE MILLIONMAN ARMY OF THE CULTURAL REVOLUTION was shown for a long time, filling the screens of all theaters.

The national holiday of October First was commemorated in the CPR by the release of the documentary GREAT VICTORIES OF THE IDEAS OF MAO TSE-TUNG, produced by the army studio “August First.” By these victories are understood the nuclear weapons tests in the CPR. The holiday issue of Jen-min Zhibao was decorated, along with photographs of Mao Tse-tung, by three mushroom-shaped clouds, taken from the footage of this film. All the successes of Chinese scientists, engineers, and workers the film credits to a study of the ideas of Mao Tse-tung. The film shows also the destructive force of the Chinese bomb, but what is more characteristic, the main attention is devoted to proving the propaganda thesis that nuclear weapons may not be quite so terrible, that one can take cover from them, and that after an atomic war life flourishes again. A closeup shows seeds of plants, which sprout after the explosion.

With what can you compare the misanthropic cynicism of such a shot, when the growth and flourishing of life, a blossoming flower, and a peacefully clucking chicken are intended by the creative thought of the film makers to call for war—a world thermonuclear war of mass annihilation of people?

Yes, these shots, which play to applause of the Red Guards, are intended to convince us that nuclear war is not frightful for humanity, but on the contrary opens the way to the future for it. Jen-min Zhibao wrote on October 1: “These shots convincingly demolish the nuclear blackmail of American imperialism and modern revisionism in regard to the revolutionary peoples, and convincingly prove that their nonsensical claims of the ‘annihilation of humanity and the destruction of all existence’ with the help of the atomic bomb is an insidious lie from beginning to end.” Any comments here are obviously unnecessary.

Thus does the Chinese cinema serve the “cultural revolution,” the foreign-policy adventurism of the modern Chinese leadership, and the personality cult of Mao Tse-tung.