Shepitko's The Ascent portrays the literal and metaphorical journey of two Russian soldiers deep into enemy territory and into the depths of their consciences. Sent to find food for a hungry division of partisan soldiers fighting Germans in Belarus during World War II, Sotnikov and Rybak make their way across a wintry landscape, attempting to evade German squads.
The film was made in 1977, but is filmed in stark black and white. This format, in coordination with the bleak snow-covered landscape, makes the beginning of the film almost completely two-tone: black soldiers on white snow. The motion of the camera complements this with shots that call attention to the contrast between white and black, an unmistakable symbolism that refers to several dichotomies represented by the two principal characters. Throughout the beginning, Sotnikov is sick, marking him immediately and physically as different from Rybak, who selfishly tells him he never should have come. The differences between the two men only grow when, while fleeing German troops, Sotnikov is shot in the leg, spilling dark blood onto the white snow. It is almost as if all darkness leaves him, then, an idea reinforced as Rybak drags him into the woods, covering him in snow and rendering him completely white.
The moral purity that distinguishes Sotnikov from Rybak becomes more apparent from this point on, after which the film also largely abandons the black-and-white motif–its symbolic work being done–in favor of shades of gray. These seem to represent the varying degrees of truth and betrayal demonstrated by the new characters who are introduced, from the innocent mother who houses the soldiers to the headman who worked for the Germans for fear of his life: light collides with dark.
Upon their eventual discovery by German troops, the two partisans face very different interrogations. Unwilling to betray his cause, Sotnikov reveals no information and withstands terrible torture, whereas Rybak proves immediately pliant and even jumps at the opportunity to join the German police in exchange for his life. The illness, wounding, and torture that bring Sotnikov ever closer to death reinforce his inner need to be true to himself and his cause, a need that leads him even to attempt self-sacrifice to save the prisoners who are condemned to be hanged with him, giving him a Jesus-like aura as he is led up a hill to his death. Unlike the pure Sotnikov, Rybak betrays his cause and himself by joining the Germans rather than face the death his ostensible convictions would earn him, earning jeers as a "Judas," from the Belorussian villagers. In the last shot, with a final scream, Rybak realizes that–in the culmination of Shepitko's incredible journey through the visual–he truly is the black to Sotnikov's white, completely incapable of holding true to himself, unable to muster the will to escape the Germans who have fomented his betrayal by either committing suicide or running away through even an open gate. All of this internal struggle, revelation, and symbolism is built slowly and brilliantly up by the director from the mere initial binary of black and white.
The film was made in 1977, but is filmed in stark black and white. This format, in coordination with the bleak snow-covered landscape, makes the beginning of the film almost completely two-tone: black soldiers on white snow. The motion of the camera complements this with shots that call attention to the contrast between white and black, an unmistakable symbolism that refers to several dichotomies represented by the two principal characters. Throughout the beginning, Sotnikov is sick, marking him immediately and physically as different from Rybak, who selfishly tells him he never should have come. The differences between the two men only grow when, while fleeing German troops, Sotnikov is shot in the leg, spilling dark blood onto the white snow. It is almost as if all darkness leaves him, then, an idea reinforced as Rybak drags him into the woods, covering him in snow and rendering him completely white.
The moral purity that distinguishes Sotnikov from Rybak becomes more apparent from this point on, after which the film also largely abandons the black-and-white motif–its symbolic work being done–in favor of shades of gray. These seem to represent the varying degrees of truth and betrayal demonstrated by the new characters who are introduced, from the innocent mother who houses the soldiers to the headman who worked for the Germans for fear of his life: light collides with dark.
Upon their eventual discovery by German troops, the two partisans face very different interrogations. Unwilling to betray his cause, Sotnikov reveals no information and withstands terrible torture, whereas Rybak proves immediately pliant and even jumps at the opportunity to join the German police in exchange for his life. The illness, wounding, and torture that bring Sotnikov ever closer to death reinforce his inner need to be true to himself and his cause, a need that leads him even to attempt self-sacrifice to save the prisoners who are condemned to be hanged with him, giving him a Jesus-like aura as he is led up a hill to his death. Unlike the pure Sotnikov, Rybak betrays his cause and himself by joining the Germans rather than face the death his ostensible convictions would earn him, earning jeers as a "Judas," from the Belorussian villagers. In the last shot, with a final scream, Rybak realizes that–in the culmination of Shepitko's incredible journey through the visual–he truly is the black to Sotnikov's white, completely incapable of holding true to himself, unable to muster the will to escape the Germans who have fomented his betrayal by either committing suicide or running away through even an open gate. All of this internal struggle, revelation, and symbolism is built slowly and brilliantly up by the director from the mere initial binary of black and white.