Seen on the same evening as Dovzhenko's IVAN. One is in praise of brutish, insane people and their god, Progress; the other in praise of people whom civilization has not yet deranged as they go about their beautiful tasks. People who wear flowers in their hair, whom the Russians' fever of energy would only terrify, and rightly so. Know the conclusion of Ode on a Grecian Urn? I'm with Keats.