A small fable, but profound and full of feeling, The Steamroller and the Violin served as the diploma project for Andrei Tarkovsky during his time at the Soviet State Film School—though it was produced through the venerated Mosfilm studio. That might account for its polish and professionalism, even though one would expect the director of Solaris, Mirror, Stalker, and The Sacrifice to have a firm control of material from the very beginning. The Steamroller and the Violin traces the one-day friendship between a bullied, 7-year-old musician (Igor Fomchenko) and the steamroller driver (Vladimir Zamanskiy) who is working outside of his apartment building. After letting the boy operate the heavy machinery (much to his bullies’ chagrin), the driver takes him to lunch. The older man teaches the kid how to cut a piece of bread from a loaf without slicing off your finger; the boy explains how his violin works, then performs. All the while shimmering refractions of light, reflecting from a puddle, bless their faces. Rich pastels—like those in a coloring book—soften other scenes, while bright reds and yellows provide pop. It all combines to create something like a Soviet Norman Rockwell painting. I imagine this pleased government officials as a paean to collective labor, but there’s also a persistent understanding that art deserves a lauded place in a healthy society as well. Outside of the realm of ideas, on a purely emotional level, there’s a climactic moment in The Steamroller and the Violin that will have you urging a paper airplane to hit its mark more strongly than you ever have before.
(4/17/2025)
