The titular character in Aleksandr Ptushko’s Ilya Muromets (Boris Andreyev) has a difficult, perilous journey ahead of him. He meets magical nightingales which almost kill him, but there are scenes reminding him of what he does. He does all of this to rescue his wife Vasilisa (Ninel Myshkova), also a hostage of Tsar Kalin (Shukur Burkhanov). In defeating Tsar Kalin and the Tugars, a fictional Tatar tribe, he’s also defending the Kievan Prince Vladimir. The journey has its bright spots, but the film reminds us of Vasilisa’s predicament and her son, Little Falcon. Still both under Tsar Kalin, he adopts Little Falcon, and the brainwashed youth grows up wanting to fight Ilya.

This came out to screens all over the Soviet Union in 1956, the same year that The Ten Commandments came out. America has myths that it culturally appropriates on screen, it’s ok for the former Soviets to do the same. And because every critic brings this up, the only Western version of this film that existed is the Corman cut which he called The Sword and the Dragon, which is still what some streamers call it today. Corman’s hacking did so much damage to this that one of the streaming versions available is the MST3K one. Boutique home video companies and OVID come to the rescue, even if we’re still at the mercy of subtitles. Nonetheless, if we trust subtitles, viewers can enjoy Ilya Muromets for its admittedly genre hybrid of adventure and fantasy.

Russian cinema is a spectrum especially during the 1950s, ranging from Tarkovsky to admittedly corny fare like Ilya Muromets. My biggest problem is the casting which, in fairness, how does one cast for figures who are myths? The decision to cast Andreyev, a man in his forties, for the leads is for scenes when Ilya’s older. But those scenes don’t happen until maybe the fourth act and they were going to wig him anyway. I’m sure there were burly ethnic Slavs in their thirties who can repeat lines just like Andreyev does here. Other scenes are with Tsra Kalin and Vasilisa, which explores less of Tatar culture than the scenes showing Kiev.

But as much as I complain about the castiong in Ilya Muromets, Andreyev’s baritone voice is to die for. Most of the Kievan characters sing and speak in lower vocal ranges which I always appreciate when hearing them. Also, the film is a showcase of Ptushko’s perspective and talent, imagining a Soviet Harryhausen with sprinkles of Oklahoma. Characters wear divine costumes while insulting each other, a prelude to bigger trickery and grander scenes of battle. All of these scenes are foreground to either natural scenes or studio sessions with backgrounds with matte special effect. The experience this film gives, despite its flaws, transports its viewers, presenting us corny nonsense and making us believe.

Ilya Muromets comes soon to OVID.