Sing It Again!
The Singers — in print and on film
The first dog I had as adult showed up on the back porch of a friend’s apartment, sticking her nose through the cat flap. We noticed her—she was thin and dirty. We gave her some attention—water, food, and a bath. I had risen that morning with no intention of getting a pet and came home with a companion for the next 15 years.
Something similar—but on a smaller scale—happened this month when a stray short film called The Singers appeared in my streaming queue. I briefly considered that it might qualify for Re-Reading is a Gift if it was based on Ivan Turgenev’s short story with the same name—which I had read several years earlier. When I finally paid attention to the film, watching it a few weeks later, I knew it was worth writing about.
Turgenev’s story, written in the 19th century, is told by a huntsman passing through an impoverished village in a remote part of Russia. The plot could not be simpler: He stops at a tavern and witnesses a brief, almost miraculous efflorescence of human spirit when its downtrodden patrons compete to see who among them was the best singer.
There is no narrator in the film, but the story, adapted to contemporary America by the director and cinematographer, Sam A. Davis, is nearly the same. In a dive bar beside the railroad tracks on a cold, snowy night, a penniless man pleads with the bartender, offering to sing in exchange for a beer. The bartender responds by promising $100 and a free drink to the best singer in the place. What follows, plausibly presented and evocatively filmed, is an unexpected series of transcendent performances.
It always surprises me to think that a sweet-natured writer like Turgenev contended with government censorship. Apparently, the Tsar did not like anyone drawing attention to the harsh reality of peasant life. But in these two accounts the harshness takes a back seat to the spark of humanity that ignites and briefly flares, illuminating a human quality that persists regardless of time or place.
Because Re-Reading is a Gift is about revisiting things from the past, you can imagine how I felt midway through the film when I recognized one of the singers from my own past, riding the New York City subway. I used to see him during the evening rush hour, busking alongside an electric guitarist and a drummer with a snare on subway platforms in lower Manhattan. They were, to me, evidence of the abundant talent in New York City, and it was a welcome surprise to re-discover this man — identified as Mike Yung in the credits—performing in this Academy Award-winning film.
The penultimate beat of the movie is a bit too on the money for me. But I really don’t care. It is a welcome counterpoint to a world brimming with cruelty and violence. Besides, the film ends on an unexpected and delightful final grace note.
Watching The Singers brought to mind my own experiences witnessing songs sung under duress. One of these occurred on a nearly empty, late-night subway platform in Brooklyn. I had been in a hurry (I don’t remember why) and was feeling frustrated by the long wait when I heard a voice from across the tracks. The singer was poorly dressed and held a cardboard box between his knees, which he used as a drum. His voice was beautiful, though. So were his words, which I subsequently came to know from recordings by Mahelia Jackson. “I sing because I’m happy,” he sang. “I sing because I’m free. God’s eye is on the sparrow, and I know he’s watching over me.”