The film that made Pyr’ev a director of ill repute, at least for the canonized versions of history. Due to Partijnyj bilet, he’s commonly remembered as one of the Soviet cinema’s shadier players – doesn’t matter that (again) the film ran into trouble and was, per legend, saved by no one else but Stalin who ‘understood’ its brilliance and approvingly ‘re-baptized’ it (the project started as Anna, then became Anka, then…). The plot, based on the crime of wrecking (“deliberate acts aimed against the normal functioning of state and cooperative organizations”), feels a bit forced, tacked on – and indeed, originally the story developed quite differently. Tellingly, everything of excellence and beauty about the film comes from those earlier drafts of the script. For one: anti-hero Pavel’s love interest, Anna, a new Soviet woman the likes of which one finds in not too many films – intelligent, independent-minded, sexy in an unadorned fashion, and down to earth in a pleasantly casual way. Anna is not a star of the new workers’ world – she’s the state of things. Then, the film’s spaces: the outskirts of Moscow where Anna lives with her family have a certain pastoral air (it’s a world Pyr’ev seems to have known quite well, as he reportedly lived in similar circumstances shortly after arriving in the capital); the factory, which looks like constructivism unbound; and finally the big city itself, which is presented as grand and threatening at the same time. A curious detail: at the time of Partijnyj bilet Pyr’ev wasn’t a member of the Communist Party; he only joined in the early 50s.