This flood of confusion drowns even residual associations. The Red & The White (1967) fades into a slow-motion shot of cavalrymen galloping over a hill towards the frame. That typically valiant bugle blows. It’s a brief but subversive device, belying the ensuing cruelty dually supplied. Commissioned to commemorate 50 years since the October Revolution, it rubbed the face of socialist realism hagiography in the dirt.
The only indifference is one towards systemised forms. If willing to indulge in these calculated dances between warring bodies and the camera (offering spectators this peculiar pleasure) then we can view them as paeans to courage and, to some extent, naivety amid innate corruption.