Continuing the "historical wave" theme of the 1917–1921 Ukrainian Revolution in our blog, I’m sharing here my article dedicated to the 1918 German film about Mazepa. The piece was published in Kino-Theatre Journal, No. 2, 2018.

The film itself can be viewed (if you’re lucky enough, as Adobe Flash Player is required) at this link: https://www.europeana.eu/en/item/08614/cat41703

So:   

The years 1917–1918 marked a time when Ukraine, having gained autonomy and then independence, stepped onto the international stage for the first time in a long while. While it’s important not to overestimate this development’s significance to Europe, which was being rocked by a world war, a new state had emerged, entered international relations, and it was necessary to somehow define this former "blank spot" on the mental map of the world. This was especially relevant for Germany, which signed the Brest-Litovsk peace treaty with the Ukrainian People's Republic (UNR) in 1918, establishing close contact between the two states. It is unsurprising, then, that following newspaper columns, the Ukrainian theme also emerged in the arts: recalling the myths associated with this land, Germany released Mazepa, the National Hero of Ukraine in 1918, directed by Lupu Pick and Martin Berger[1].

Global cultural tradition has solidified three primary images of Mazepa: the patriotic Ukrainian view sees him as a hero-liberator; the Russian view (followed by the non-patriotic Ukrainian one) sees him as a traitor; and the Western European view, generally unconcerned with Ukrainian-Russian relations, sees him as a romantic hero-lover. This somewhat unexpected interpretation was born of a colorful story by Polish courtier Pasek, who harbored a deep dislike for Mazepa. In his Memoirs, the author, who had considerable literary talent, wrote the story of a young Ukrainian's unhappy romance while serving in the court of Jan Kazimierz. According to this legend, Mazepa had an affair with the wife of a Polish nobleman; the offended husband, with his servants, captured him, tied him naked to a horse, and set it loose, with the horse eventually reaching the Ukrainian steppes[2]The image of a hero bound to a frenzied horse, left to fate, captivated the Romantics. The figure of the hetman was familiar to the Western world as early as the 18th century: he appears in The Great Embassy by Jesuit missionary Gosetsky, who traveled to Turkey in 1712-14 and described the journey in verse[3]in Voltaire’s History of Charles XII (1731), and Memoirs of Azem by d'Orville (1764). The 19th century saw a whole series of works dedicated to him, both literary and pictorial; let us recall only the most famous: Byron's Mazeppa (1819) and Hugo’s (1829), Gericault's The Page Mazeppa (1820), and Delacroix's Mazeppa on the Dying Horse (1824). The plots of all these works revolved around that same image of a naked young man on a horse.

All this backstory is directly connected to the film. Incidentally, it wasn’t the first foreign film about the hetman; it was preceded by screen adaptations of Byron’s Mazeppa by Frank Dudley (UK, 1908) and Mazeppa, or the Wild Tatar Horse by Francis Boggs (USA, 1910). While the plot of the first roughly follows Pasek’s story[4], the second introduces very notable details: its hero is the son of a Tatar leader, captured in childhood and raised by Poles. His beloved’s father, opposed to her marriage to Mazeppa, ties him to a horse. Ultimately, the horse brings the young man to a Tatar camp; recognized by his father, the hero becomes his heir and elopes with his beloved to be united forever[5].[5].

The German Mazeppa was the first feature-length film by today’s standards on this theme. Despite the title’s alignment with the Ukrainian perspective, the authors further developed the romantic hero-lover image. He was given a love story that is plainly secondary to the plot, which revolves around the intrigues of one Polish noble against another. The film's events take place in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth under King Jan Kazimierz's reign. The Russians invade the country, and the king sends letters to his subjects urging them to come to its aid.
The Counts Cherny and Skrudzinsky and Hetman (!) Mazepa become heroes of the war. The king showers Skrudzinsky with favors, which prompts Cherny, offended by this injustice, to slander him before the king and force him to flee. Mazepa's involvement in events is limited to warning Skrudzinsky’s daughter, Bianca, about Cherny… only to be eliminated by Cherny himself. The former lover of the hetman—his wife—is the wife of the count, who discovers the affair. Mazepa is stripped and tied to a horse, which races him to a Cossack camp (this episode, by the way, is the most vividly realized, with the parallel editing of the hero’s narration to the Cossacks interwoven with “flashback” shots of his adventures). Finally, leading a Cossack squadron, the hero sets off to rescue his beloved, engages in battle with the count’s forces, and sustains serious injuries. However, this all turns out to be unnecessary, as Skrudzinsky has already managed to redeem himself before the king and free his daughter from the enemy. In any case, Mazepa receives his bride and, moreover, the title of Prince of Ukraine. Although his name appears in the title, the hero only appears in a few episodes.

Interestingly, the filmmakers chose to focus on the well-established romantic version of the story, despite the overall political relevance of Ukraine and Mazepa at the time. Although the hetman's opposition to Russia and his overall European orientation should have been known, at least to interested parties from Voltaire's History of Charles XII, the film shows this only in the opening scene of the Russian invasion of Poland. Perhaps not coincidentally, the antagonist has a name atypical for a Pole—Count Chernin. This name also belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire's foreign minister in 1916–1918, who had to resign amid scandal: the politician hoped to conclude a separate peace with the Entente and even attempted negotiations, which became known and earned him a poor reputation in Germany. Incidentally, he headed the Austro-Hungarian delegation in Brest and signed the peace treaty with the UNR.

In short, the choice between political urgency and a plot appealing to the audience confidently favored the latter. The approach to historical representation showed almost complete ignorance of Ukraine and a lack of desire to delve into its specifics—a general attitude toward the subject, typical of cinema of that era (and, ultimately, later eras too). The setting in the film appears to be either Poland or Ukraine, generally presented as an abstract Slavic space. The nobility, including Mazepa, is adorned with signs of Polish national culture: zhupans, caps with ostrich feathers, long drooping mustaches covering half the face (which, by the way, makes character identification difficult, especially in a film built on medium and wide shots). As for the national affiliation of the lower classes, one can find signs of nearly all Slavic peoples; even the Zaporozhians lack the stereotypical traits we associate with them and are depicted without oseledets haircuts but some with beards. The term "Ukraine" appears only at the end, and even then in a colonial context: the Polish king proclaims Mazepa its prince.

Thus, the attempt to represent Ukraine and its history on the big screen showed more absence than presence of our country on Europe's cultural map. This is evident from the absence of stereotypes associated with it. These stereotypes usually irritate us but indicate at least a superficial understanding of the country and its characteristics: for instance, the "Little Russian pants" that flourished on the pre-revolutionary Russian screen, though derogatory, still clearly distinguished Ukrainians and, even without the authors' intention, asserted: "Ukraine is not Russia." Such a representational tradition did not exist in the Western world—nor did Ukraine. Forming its screen image required time and effort—and might have gradually occurred had historical circumstances not changed. By late 1918, German troops withdrew from the UNR, so interest in this ally (or rather, this food supply source) did not last. Not much time would pass before our country once again disappeared from the political map of the world. Abroad, Ukraine’s image would occasionally resurface in individual films, but again without a well-established representation system. But that is a topic for another article...

[1] As part of the Europeana Internet project dedicated to World War I, this film was uploaded by the Dutch Film Institute (EYE Film Instituut Nederland): http://www.europeana1914-1918.eu/en/europeana/record/08614/cat41703

[2] Borshchak, I., René, M. Ivan Mazepa. Kyiv: Svenas, 1991, p. 10.

[3] Hospodin, A. Mazepa in World Literature. Winnipeg: Prosvita, p. 29.

[4]http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0331287/?ref_=fn_al_tt_3

[5]http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0001311/?ref_=ttpl_pl_tt