Caught in a cross-section of decorative Russian tragedy and numinous 1970s psychedelia, First Love makes an initial impression as deep as a thumbprint; the true effects of the film are only felt long after its close, when its floral brume can finally settle into the skin. Such are the subtleties and minor notes of the Swiss drama.
Swiss possibly denotes the country where, simply, the production of money originated, and also one of the nationalities that actor-turned-director Maximilian Schell had claimed for himself. First Love, however, was filmed in Hungary, Austria, and Germany, respectively. Add British actor John Moulder-Brown, Italian actress Valentina Cortese, French star Dominique Sanda, and the famed Swedish cinematographer Sven Nykvist to the mix, and you’ve got the kind of Euro-pudding that was very typical of 1970s world cinema.
Released in 1970, and based on a novella by Ivan Turgenev (one of the numerous lynchpins of Russian realist literature), First Love doesn’t so much command your attention as it invites it. It’s a slow seduction all the way through, but Schell, who also stars, makes a careful and winding summoning of our collective senses to locate a story of stifling obsessions and nostalgic daydreams.
Set in 19th-century Russia, First Love begins with the arrival of an impoverished princess (Dandy Nichols) and her young daughter, Sinaida (Sanda), who move into a dilapidated countryside manor, next to the very furnished home of the teenage Alexander (Brown) and his affluent parents (Schell and Cortese). Curious and then eventually besotted by the beautiful Sinaida, Alexander takes to hanging around his neighbor’s home, which is frequented by a whimsical troupe of doctors and poets, each of them smitten by the young woman.
Alexander is soon welcomed into Sinaida’s home and her group of adoring male friends, but his jealousies and confusions get the better of him. Unable to keep pace with the young woman (his 16 years to her 21 years), the young lad is often left in the lurch. Insistent, regardless of the age difference, and still very much infatuated, Alexander continues to pursue Sinaida. Stopping him dead in his tracks, however, is Sinaida’s latest and clandestine suitor, whom Alexander spies one night through her window: his own father.
With such a highly disparate cast of actors, and a stylistic sense that sweeps from Imperial Russia to the peak of hippiedom at the end of the 1960s, First Love shouldn’t work. Yet Schell shows a steady hand in coordinating the otherwise conflicting elements. A careful selection of actors means that everyone involved looks the part, and their distinct approaches and personalities, therefore, add to the precipitating miasma that begins to swell mid-point.
First Love‘s best attribute is Sanda, who is darkly coy in her role and, as always, sustains the mystique that has followed her throughout her years. Seemingly statuesque (particularly next to the pubescent Brown), with her long, tawny locks framing a glacially lovely and enigmatic face, Sanda turns what, at first, seems like a diffident character into the small marvel of a delimited mystery.
Schell (bearded here as a silently suffering toff) has a minor, though pivotal, role, which he commands with a certain strength that makes his refinements ever more prominent. In this slightly Dionysian jumble, there is also the exchange of staid airs and comedic color, offered in turns, respectively, by Cortese and Nichols.
Schell’s best ally, perhaps, is the much-esteemed Nykvist, Ingmar Bergman’s go-to cinematographer, and a talent who truly understands and appreciates the open spaces of nature. The bucolic countryside lends its riches in texture, color, and shape to the celluloid, and Nykvist spans a perfect scope of lush foliage, dancing silhouettes framed by dusky skies, and ruined architecture once burnished in rococo glories.
Indeed, a slow-burn, First Love won’t entice the more antsy viewers looking for chancier thrills; its narrative delivery turns a more mesmeric circle than it ever beelines a pace toward a sensational end. Still, the overall effect is like the deceptive and sensual snare of a Venus flytrap, languorously closing in on the viewer as the minutes pass.
VCI Entertainment’s Blu-ray release offers a new restoration of First Love. The transfer here is cleaned up considerably and pays respect to Nykvist’s handsome photography; the colors of the countryside are rendered in rustic brilliance. As a talky film, dialogue is thankfully, for the most part, clear, though there are some dips in audio due to some dubbing issues inherent in the master print. The music, whenever it appears, is vibrant and strong, rushing in to disrupt the somnolent airs.
The supplements on the disc include a few brief documentaries on Sanda, Brown, and Schell, and an interview with Brown, who details his working relationship with Schell. Included, as well, is an audio commentary by film historian Rob Kelly. A trailer and a photo gallery round out the supplements. This particular Blu-ray release by VCI Entertainment also includes a DVD format of the film, as well.
Nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film (as Switzerland’s entry), First Love quickly fell from sight. It never managed to capitalize on its nomination, and mostly served as a springboard to catapult Sanda (who had already caused quite a stir in that same year’s The Conformist) into stardom during the better part of the 1970s.
Spare, yet strangely ornate, First Love sings of a decadence that evokes at once the richly embroidered tales of Russian literature and a kind of cinema that saw its way out at the dawn of the 1980s. Its aura still glows, however, and, much like the Promethean structures of buildings left in ruins in the film, it shimmers through the tarnish and rust.
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