All language subtitles for Cineramas.Russian.Adventure.1966.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC5.1-CANGANHIÇA

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This is a balalaika.

It's a standard Russian
musical instrument

like the ukulele in Hawaii.

And this is a Cinerama camera.

It's three eyes can see
far, wide and deep.

Cameras just like this one captured
some very unique experiences

that are going to enable us to
participate in an adventure together.

A Russian adventure.

You know Russia's a big land.

I guess it's the biggest
land in the world and yet,

we know so little about it.

What sort of a country is Russia?

Who are it's people
and how do they work?

How do they play?

What is a Russian?

Well of course, we couldn't
possibly hope to supply

complete answers to
all these questions, but

I think we're going to
have a lot of fun trying.

This is Russia.

On the move.

Russia, a giant among
nations, a world in itself.

Many countries in one.

A land of contrasts and extremes.

Springtime in the
Northern regions means

crackling cold in the white wilderness.

In the South, it's a time
for a burst of blossoms.

For here is a nation,

extending more than three
thousand miles from top to bottom.

Covering a range of climates
from arctic to subtropical.

Day break over the water
in far Eastern Russia,

is night in Moscow.

Because the Union of
Socialist Soviet Republics

spans more than six thousand miles.

Many time zones from it's Eastern
to its Western boundaries.

If you went from one to the other
you'd reset your watch ten times.

And if you took just
a short trip in Russia

why you'd be adjusting your sights
often to take in the variety of scenery.

You'd be certain to see a river for,

the Soviet Union has about
150 thousand of them.

You look down at farmlands.

You'd gaze across at
the high and the mighty.

In Russia, the modern
and the medieval,

centuries apart in time,
share common ground.

For in moving ahead, the people
never forget to look back

on the splendors of the past.

Carefully they preserve the art

and the architecture of other times.

As in our country, the people
of many different descents

share citizenship with people
of the East and the West,

people of Asia and Europe.

The centers of a population,
exceeding 226 million

are in the European part of Russia.

This is one of them.

The city was once Saint
Petersburg, then it was Petrograd.

It's now Leningrad.

Those are name changes
that reflect eventual history

and shifts of power.

That's the Admiralty building
there fronting the Neva River.

This is the fortress of Peter and Paul,

burial place of the Emperor.

The monument to Peter the Great,

he founded the city in 1703.

Survived the bombs and the
shells of the second world war.

The palace that was once a summer
residence for the Czars was destroyed.

Completely restored, it again
stands in stately dignity.

With every fountain
making a contribution

to a real display of waterworks.

The Neva River runs a short
course of about forty miles.

But the Volga,

well it's almost as long
as our Mississippi.

It makes a majestic move
of some 2,325 miles

before losing its identity
in the Caspian Sea.

It's one of the busiest arteries
in the system of waterways

natural and manmade that
serve the Soviet Union.

The barges of the Volga
boatmen long ago disappeared

from the river but
their song never dies.

Another river, the Moscow,

flows into the capital city
that is the heart of Russia.

And past the heart of the city itself:

The Kremlin, ahead and on the left.

Kremlin means fortress,
and it began as that

back in the middle of
the twelfth century.

The compound of palaces
and churches that make up

The Kremlin are now government
buildings and museums.

Moscow is the cultural, political,

economic and scientific center

of the fifteen Union Republics
that make up the U.S.S.R.

It's one of the world's greatest cities,

home to more than six and
one half million people.

Every metropolis I suppose
has its own pulse beat,

its rhythm, its tempo.

Moscow's is strong. It's steady, fast.

Everyday about three
million Muscovites use an

underground transportation
system that is quite special.

Some of the tunnels are more
than a hundred feet deep.

Some go under the Moscow river.

Generally as we know them
subways are functional things

of no genuine beauty,
but this is a show place.

Commuters walk through marble halls.

The cars each seat 52 passengers with

standing room for 120 more.

Just occasionally stepping
on one another's toes.

Both the place and the personal,
very pleasing to the eye.

The system consists of seven lines,

with more than sixty miles of track.

The trains take people where
they want to go in a hurry,

up to 56 miles an hour.

But of the seventy stations,

no two are quite alike in
architecture or décor.

Moscow's subways are more
than a means for getting

from one place to another,
its for sightseeing.

You know, it's a place for
which you can linger, browse,

if time permitted.

Like you would in an art gallery.

And all of this for five kopeks.

Or about six cents.

When the citizens
emerge from the subway

and out into the open, they,
depending upon the season,

encounter the bite of the winter.

Russia's pretty much
concerned with its weather.

Does a great deal more
than talk about it.

For one thing it learns about its
climate from going to its source.

Its source is way up at
the top of the world.

This is the Arctic.

A giant refrigerator.

It's the factory producing the storms

which descend on the
Northern countries.

The output of the
factory can't be halted,

but its operation can
at least be studied so,

people can predict and prepare.

That's why Russia maintains
the weather station

at the North Pole itself.

Here men work in a world
of long winter darkness

and brief summers, during
which high noon never comes.

And because the sun swings
low along the Southern horizon

its slanting rays are really too weak to
alter the frozen features of the arctic,

and so its pressure ridges,
cornices and blocks

endure as monuments on a
vast white battlefields where

opposing ice sheets
meet in colossal conflict.

Winter over much of
Russia is long, harsh.

But the people have
learned to live with it.

They keep on the move.

When heavy snow blankets Moscow
with its special white paralysis.

The residence don't hold in.

They dig out.

Quickly the city resumes
its normal tempo.

Muscovites admit, and rather
cheerfully that winter means

a nip in the air and a chill in the wind.

Certainly it's cold, but
they say it's a dry cold.

It's invigorating, it's good for a person.

Old or young.

Come storm, come freeze, nothing
can break up a chess game.

Well, nothing except a kibitzer.

Snow is a magic substance,
brings out the creative urge.

The sculpturing of a snowman
is a slap-dash art form

that never changes from
country to country, really from

generation to generation.

They use stones or chunks
of coal for his eyes.

They push in his buttons.

They've go to make him
too fat, always, because

it won't be long before the
sun cuts him down to size.

Wonderful stuff, snow.

As artists material

or as ammunition.

You know for a sport's minded
and outdoors-loving people,

wintertime is a time for action.

Vigorous action suited
to a rigorous climate.

The Russian's play hard.

At a tender age,
Russians begin making

their marks in the skiing world.

Sitzmarks.

And through the long icy seasons,

skating rinks of course
are a busy place.

You know because skating
is really an international

past time, this could be
in any Northern country.

But a fast and frenzied race with
reindeer supplying the power,

well that's as Russian as borscht.

Doesn't matter what sport
man devises, his best friend

and often his biggest nuisance,
manages to get into the game.

Traffic is sticky.

Casualties mount.

Dropouts are frequent, recoveries few.

The going's heavy,

and the shortest course
between the starting and

finishing points might be the toughest.

The survivor and the winner.

Neither snow, sub-zero temperatures,

nor hunks of ice in the river
can keep a hearty few from

confusing January with June.

It happens every winter throughout
the Northern hemisphere.

As proof of the... well
something or other.

The majority of the people
prefer the heated waters

of the Moskva swimming pool.

That's open the year round.

Many Russians follow the sun
and the season to part of the

Soviet Union that is
subtropical in climate.

They gather at Sochi,

the Russian Riviera and
they frolic in the waves.

And here we have a Pacific cove
off the Kamchatka Peninsula.

We find a couple divers preparing
to find out what lies beneath them.

These scooters are electrically driven.

They're very maneuverable.

The divers invade a world of silence.

It seems dead, deserted.

Just like the ruins of an ancient city.

Little movement here, only the
weeds in a submarine garden.

Swaying as if in a soundless wind.

It isn't long before members of a,

sort of a reception committee appear.

Natives are restless,
but they're not hostile.

They're curious rather than afraid.

One of the divers beckons,

and a flounder responds.

So does an octopus.

One of the sea's least known
and most feared inhabitants.

Seems to be the formula for
making friends with the flounder

is apparently, win its confidence first.

Finally comes the feeding.

The unwelcome guest
bides it's time here.

Crabs, which rank high on
the menu of an octopus

move away from their enemy.

This is the creature Victor Hugo
described as The Sea Vampire:

a glutinous mass endowed
with a malignant will.

It looks like one of nature's
less successful experiments,

but actually it's an efficient machine
for capturing and killing its prey.

This one chooses not the
demonstrate its efficiency,

instead it presents the
most desirable view

one can get of an octopus.

A going away view as it jet
propulsions itself into the gloom

of the kingdom of the sea.

An old calling of the sea lures Russians

far from their homeland.

This wild, expansive
water ruled by winds

and guarded by fortresses of ice

is the Antarctic Ocean.

The latitude is 64 degrees South.

Near the bottom of the world.

And ships carrying the Russian
flag are here on business.

Big business.

The crews clear the decks for
action against the mightiest game

men have ever hunted.

Whales.

Yes whaling has changed
considerable since Captain Ahab

lost limb then life in his
battle against Moby Dick.

The White Leviathan.

Though the romance remains,
the risks have gone down

and the odds have gone up
in the favor of the hunters.

Now they search for
their quarry from above.

And there it is, it's a school of big ones.

They're broaching and blowing.

The spotter in the helicopter
radios the fleet below

and the catch boats
move up for the kill.

The modern method of harvesting
the depths is speedy, sufficient.

Team work and specialized
equipment make it so.

Still the ultimate success
rides with just one man.

That's the man behind the gun.

This is that dramatic peek
of any hunt when timing

and marksmanship have to pay off.

The thrust of a harpoon into
the immense body of a whale

isn't enough to really immobilize it.

So in the head of the
weapon is a time bomb

set to go off when and where
it will do the most damage.

It must be shot again if it's necessary.

Even so, the whale must
be handled carefully.

This is certainly a far cry from the sport

of playing a fish on light tackle but,

whalers don't invade the
Antarctic for the sport of it.

And it isn't easy, you
know, to play games

with opponents this big.

Having done it's job in the
pursuit of the capture,

the catch boat turns it's prize
over to the mother ship.

This is the Ukraine.

She's now on her 142nd day at sea.

She's a floating factory.

A processing plant
for converting whales

into marketable products.

Into the gaping maw of the
Ukraine go a hundred tons

in eighty-five feet.

Bone, blubber and meat.

Now this looks like a mammoth
mustache, but this is really

the whale bone, which
serves as sort of a sieve.

Through which the animal
strains the water for the

tiny creatures that make up its diet.

You can probably remember whale
bone use to be of great value.

Mainly because of woman's
eternal struggle to

preserve the status quo of her figure.

Because whale bone was
used for stays in the corsets

that she once wore as armor
against age and avoirdupois.

Well today its commercial value
is much less than that of meat

and of the oil obtained
from the blubber.

Oil that once lit the lamps
of the civilized world

now goes into the making of soaps.

People drift into strange
and specialized professions.

An envied few become wine tasters.

But others must sample whale oil.

The hunt goes on.

Far away Moscow, the gloom
of the night is broken by

a celebrating citizenry.

Because it's carnival time in the capital.

There are pyrotechnics,
pageantry and parades.

There's dancing in the streets.

In a nearby theater the
Pyatnitsky Folk Choir presents

the robust dancing of
the country people.

Moscow offers a wide
choice in entertainment.

You can go to the ballet
to the breathtaking circus.

Here's a demonstration of
what is known as dzhigitovka.

The acrobatics of riding
a horse and visa versa.

Star of the circus is Oleg Popov,
he's a world famous clown.

This fella's talent goes far
beyond making a funny face

or falling on it.

Circus performing is really an
established profession in the Soviet.

The government runs a
school for training the artists.

The band strikes up,

and progressive jazz goes backwards.

In a Moscow theater, the world
famous Moiseyev Company

offers folk dancing which
can sum up in a single dance

the spirit of an entire people.

The river is the Tisza.

Makes a twisting and
tumbling descent from the

Carpathian Mountains in
Southwestern Russian.

Logs of course are hauled
down out of the mountains

the modern way in a truck,
but the Gutzuls

those are the sturdy
loggers of the region,

continue to get the job done
in the old and efficient manner.

By rafting, riding the timber
in the treacherous current.

This thing develops into a race
between machines and men

who skillfully exploit the power
of the Tisza to reach their goal.

Here's the hometown
of one of the loggers.

Just a fella who insists
on home-cooked meals.

He gets them on the run.

The race is now between train and raft,

with the truck, with its load
of logs is falling behind.

Suddenly the contest is over.

Machines get tired, they
break down, stop for water,

but the river rolls on forever
through time and space.

While logs are ridden down the Tisza,

a train rumbles along the
banks of the Ural River,

the Eastern part of European Russia.

It carries iron ore to the
steel mills at Magnitogorsk

This is a big, busy center
of heavy industry.

Throughout the Soviet Union,
so rich in natural resources,

growth, expansion, building and
development are in evidence.

It's happening in Siberia where tall
trees bow before the bulldozer.

The Taiga, which Russians call
the vast forest of the North

gives way to progress.

The trees topple, but rise again.

In the form of buildings
as another town emerges

from the snows of Siberia.

Well if a new and growing
town is typical of Russia today,

so is the shimmering
sweep of a grain field.

It's land that's used only
for sowing, reaping.

The wheat is heavy-headed
with gold in it.

Russian farming of course,

fields are aflame with
the bold red of poppies.

Pork is an important product.

So is milk and beef.

And over the green pastures,
the shepherds tend their flocks.

Here we have a pastural
picture that's unchanged

throughout the centuries.

The sightseer takes to the air.

For an eagle's eye view of forested hills

and the blue of mountain lakes.

This is Lake Ritsa.

It's steep, it's clear.

A genuine gem in the
Georgian Hinterland.

From a plane you can best marvel
at such scenic splendors as

Mount Elbrus, that's
off to the right there.

This is the crown of the caucasus.

Tallest peak in Europe.

Rising 18,481 feet above sea level.

This is the way to see the larger,
more obvious aspects of nature.

But to know nature intimately, to meet
her furred and feathered creatures,

this means walking.

Walk deep into the heart
of the hidden places.

That is the way of the hunter.

The prowler in the woods
moves softly and slowly.

Always alert and ready to shoot.

He stops, he looks, listens.

To the watcher in the wilderness
the tableaux of nature unfold.

This is it.

A moment to be recorded
and remembered.

This is a moment in the
afternoon of a fawn.

There's a lot of room in
Russia for wildlife, but

even so conditions become crowded
when there's a bear around.

Mishka, the people call him.

Mishka the Mischief Maker.

He has a capacity for confusion and chaos.

Has a sweet tooth too.

His weakness for honey leads to a conflict of interest

between him and the beekeepers.

He strikes by night, raiding the hives.

And almost anytime, Mishka can turn a peaceful catnap

into a nightmare.

Hibernating bear, that's a good bear.

He's out of circulation, but when arrowed
from his winter sleep,

he immediately becomes trouble
on the loose.

Mishka is a catalytic agent.

Always alert to the opportunity of
deliberately causing

incidents or accidents.

Sometimes he simply falls into them.

All wonder that the bear
contributes so much to

the legend of the land because
he's that kind of a creature.

He's got just what it takes to turn
things inside out and upside down.

Like the perfect catalyst that he is,

Mishka emerges unscathed
from every adventure,

and ready for more.

Peaceful coexistence
between man and beast,

that's a delicate relationship,
it's easily broken.

Like here when wolves in
hot pursuit of their prey

invade the forbidden
territory of humans.

Their intended victim is an elk.

I guess in North America
we'd call this a moose.

Hunger drives the wolves to unusual boldness,

dulls their inherent
respect for man himself.

But he still can't face
this fearsome weapon

he uses against them.

Over the sands of the Muyunkum
Desert in Southern Russia

moves a party of hunters.

They're on a peace mission.

Cause in this area, two wild
boars have been battling

savagely for territorial
rights and herd mastery.

This things got to end in the death
of either the ruler or the challenger.

Unless of course the hunters
can capture one of them alive

and transport it to another place.

Boars are deadly fighters,
they're always ready to

defend or attack with
their razor sharp tusks.

A dangerous undertaking
for both men and dogs.

What now?

It's one thing to overtake a boar,

another to capture it alive
without somebody getting hurt.

Solution: wrestle and hog-tie them.

Another troubled spot in the
Southern part of the Soviet

is an island in the Sea of Aral.

Because it's overrun there with
a species of antelope which are

eating themselves out
of house and home.

Again, men must step in to solve
a problem of nature's making.

Somehow, a part of the antelope
herd has to be rounded up,

driven into the net, and
then taken off the island

and moved into fresher
and greener pastures.

But corralling the antelope will
be a chore demanding teamwork,

you've got to have some
good riders and fast horses.

The antelope are fleet footed
and they have a top speed

of more than forty miles an hour.

The starting signal

and the big roundup begins.

Even the best of horsemen
hit the dirt sometimes.

There's a wild donkey
getting into the action.

Assuming the task of catching the
runaway horse of the fallen rider.

Finally horsemen, motorcyclists,
accomplish their mission.

The donkey does too.

Over a wild and watery stage in Russia,

the birds weave the
patterns of an aerial dance.

When you think of Russia,
you must think of the ballet.

And here in the heart of
Moscow is one of its cathedrals

and cradles.

The Bolshoi Theatre and School.

Its history goes back to 1776.

Out of the hundreds of
children who apply each year

for admission to the school, only
thirty to forty are accepted.

Beginning at age seven they learn the basics of the ballet.

Practice, practice, practice.

The moment the teacher arrives.

They'll come that night when
the student will perform

before audiences at home and abroad.

Meanwhile there is the
privilege of knowing

the very special magic of backstage.

Sharing in its excitement
and watching the stars

in who's intricate footsteps
they hope to follow.

It's opening night at The Bolshoi.

We are there.

So is Galina Ulanova, one of
the greatest of ballerinas.

She's now retired but
she's still teaching her art.

She and her escorts occupy
what was once the Tsar's box.

The ballerina is Raisa Struchkova.

She's dancing the Gavotte,
the ballet Flames of Paris.

Another night, before
us is Maya Plisetskaya.

The star maiden in the
ballet The Humpback Horse.

Vladimir Vasiliev, acclaimed by
many as the world's premiere

male dancers in the role
of Ivan, the peasant youth.

With him in this ballet,
based on a Russian fairy tale

is Alla Shcherbinina as
the horse who favors Ivan

with her magic powers.

I suppose Giselle is the
goal of every ballerina

and the touchstone of her art.

Ekaterina Maximova stars as
the spirit of the peasant girl

who rises from her grave to
dance her lover into his own.

Next, the familiar Nutcracker
Suite with Vasiliev

and Yelena Riabinkina.

Finally, Vakhtang
Chabukiani as Othello

doing the mad and frenzied
dance that ends in death.

The dancing is over

and dawn comes to
the city of Moscow.

About eleven hours earlier
the light of this new day

first fell on Soviet soil.

On the Pacific coast, far to the East.

That is the scope, the sweep,
and the size of Russia.