Twelve Chairs Again (aka Las Doce Sillas)

Courtesy of Netflix, we've now enjoyed our second avatar of The Twelve Chairs--that comic Russian about enterprise and mayhem during the birth pangs of a revolution. This one is not the Mel Brooks we saw a few days ago, and not the Soviet version: it's the work of Tomás Gutiérrez Alea, in his time (per Wiki) "an influential Cuban filmmaker." This one doesn't even get a mention in the director's Wiki. Best I can tell it was actually made in Cuba, shortly after the Revolution, and it is easy to see why he quickly made himself unwelcome in what so soon became an ugly police state. What's perhaps most remarkable how well the story (first crafted in Russia in the 20s) so well suits the new revolution and the new emergent dictatorship.

The Twelve What?

The Mr. and Mrs. Buce Film Appreciation Society recently enjoyed a screening of Mel Brooks' Twelve Chairs. I first saw it about 25 years ago, the same week (I think) that I saw a Russian version of the same (by Leonid Gaidai), which does not seem to be available on Netflix (nor anyplace else that I can find). Indeed it seems there are half a dozen versions, including one from Cuba, and one in which Fred Allen plays the proprietor of a traveling flea circus.

No surprise, when you stop to think of it; the plot is classic, or inevitable: competing teams of malefactors chase after the same loot and hilarity ensues (think It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, among many others). What gives Twelve Chairs its particular durability is the opportunity it provides for extended commentary on the dashed hopes and deflated pretensions of the Soviet Union. Which brings me to a particular question: would Twelve Chairs say anything about Russia today? Or do we need a wholly new vehicle? Twelve Kalashnikovs, anybody?