1,198 words

Heart of a Dog is an immortal work by the outstanding Russian author Mikhail Bulgakov. Included in the compulsory school curriculum of the Russian Federation, at first glance it may seem that this small book is just a funny comedy in a theatrical format, based on the desire of geneticists of the first half of the twentieth century to breed “new biological species.” But at its core, this extremely laconic book is a cruel satire on Soviet reality, and is about the resentment of the lower, animal man who is not only the subject, but also the very embodiment of the Leftist idea.

The story is about a confrontation between two types of people: worthy Russian people from “Old Russia”; if not aristocrats, then at least representatives of high society, who are separated by a colossal gulf from the so-called “proletariat” — the mob feasting on the corpse of Russia in the apartment of a certain “bourgeois” F. P. Shablin (who has already been shot) in the Kalabukhovsky house on Prechistenka. The spokesman and main ideologist of the work is a caricature who goes by the name Shvonder. Between them, it would seem, an absolutely wondrous thing arises, due to the scientific genius of Professor Preobrazhensky: a dog transformed into a human. The animal, once in human form, defines itself as being on the side of Shvonder and his comrades only a few weeks after its miraculous reincarnation, even memorizing (and even commenting on the correspondence of Engels with Kautsky) Marx, Engels, and Lenin. And so, before the people of Old Russia, who are holding the last line of defense against those experts who are trying to “take away and divide” everything, an absolutely accurate character appears: a creature absolutely out of touch with common sense, but who, as it turns out, is perfectly appropriate in the new Soviet reality. They find a place for him in clearing the city of cats, and as the apotheosis of everything, at the end of the film this creature even receives a round of applause at an international meeting of party members.

In every scene, in every sound, one of the many threads reveals itself, leading to the denouement of something more than just the plot of the book: the solution to the phenomenon of Bolshevism and, in general, what can be interpreted as “mob rule” in its pure form. Bulgakov’s literary genius fills dialogues with cultural codes, making them fully-fledged semantic units: a “speaker from the people” announces to the crowd gathered at Preobrazhensky’s house that the Professor’s discovery is the property of Communism; a creature chasing cats and swallowing tooth powder gives advice on a “cosmic scale” on how to divide everything; a woman in a man’s suit expresses her dislike of the proletariat (in fact, this is an Orwellian “thought crime”)and  says that the Professor must be arrested. The metaphor of fleas is also indicative here: just as they stick to Sharikov, Sharikov begins to become a parasite on the body of Professor Preobrazhensky, who is also deprived of the ability to simply get rid of the parasite by throwing him out onto the street. At the same time, the successful “socialization” of Sharikov in Soviet society is on par with his complete humanization, which could ultimately lead the heroes of the story to a disappointing ending. Perhaps Bulgakov wanted to  show how Sharikov, having completed the evolutionary process, would finally establish himself in this world: a kind of triumph of a dog in a cap and with a loaded revolver. But such a plot twist would definitely deprive The Heart of a Dog of that subtext, because of the successful happy ending. A simple viewer views it merely as a comedy, and perceives Sharikov as a completely fantastic creature. On the other hand, when the surgeons return Sharikov to his animal state, does this not reflect that Bulgakov himself cherished hopes that someday the subjects of Bolshevism would again fall into the sewer from which they crawled out? This is in fact stated by Professor Preobrazhensky, who radicalized his rejection of Bolshevism during the course of the film with the words, “I swear that I will eventually shoot this Shvonder!”

It is noteworthy that the dog symbolizes service. It draws an analogy between three types of people and three animals: sheep, wolves, and dogs. The latter reveal themselves to have a mission as a guard to protect the former from the latter. The same symbolism, with the identification of the dog as a watchman, would later be transferred to the knightly orders and their heraldry. Thus, the dog here is a zealot of ideology and its symbolism is quite clear: a zealot of socialism is a mongrel, and judging by his thoughts, also very bad (for example, compare it with the noble dog from Jack London’s “White Fang.” Although in the film the director had to use a trained dog — a very pretty one, in fact — during the filming, it should be assumed that in the author’s plan, his breed was as ignoble as the breed of that drunkard who was sent to the operating table with her.

The book has had two film adaptations thus far, one Italian and one Soviet. If the first one is nothing outstanding — apart from the role of Professor Preobrazhensky, who is played by the magnificent Swedish actor Max von Sydow — then the other, which faithfully follows the book, turned out to be a truly excellent adaptation. The only episode missing from Bulgakov’s book — when, at the end of the first part, Sharikov performs “Eh, Apple,” which has already become the calling card of others like him, in the university amphitheater — does not spoil the authentic script at all. Heart of a Dog is thus definitely the best Soviet film, given that it is not at all Soviet in spirit and is entirely based on the script of a Russian aristocratic writer. Moreover, because of this, it is not an independent film, which in this case is only a plus. By contrast, the director of the Italian version changed Bulgakov’s main message and tried to flirt with Sharikov’s humanity (even changing his name to Bobikov). Here, the third main character is not Dr. Bromenthal, but the maid Zinaida, who is played by an actress with an expressive and beautiful appearance and who feels sympathy for Sharikov, and perhaps even love. Thus, a certain analogue of Beauty and the Beast is played out here, which in the context of Heart of a Dog looks simply ridiculous. Everything else looks ridiculous here as well: nice shots of the Italian countryside instead of gloomy Russia, a crowd of actors with characteristically Italian faces, camera work that is too fast and dialogue that tries to turn an arthouse film into an action movie. And although Max von Sydow in the role of Preobrazhensky creates an necessary contrast between him and Sharikov, it turns out that he has a general contrast with all the other faces on the screen. In a bit of black irony, it suggests that such images as that of the professor, as played by von Sydow, are simply alien to the Soviet world.