It's a truism that great art and propaganda rarely coincide. But there are exceptions, and Sergei Prokofiev's stirring cantata "Alexander Nevsky" did indeed begin its artistic life as an anti-German propaganda film instigated by Stalin in 1937. Both Lenin and Stalin saw the medium of film--which burgeoned in the early 20th century parallel to the Communist revolution--as a potent force for influencing mass opinion and sentiment.

For his project, Stalin recruited the great film director Sergei Eisenstein to make his movie, which was based on a fragment of 13th-century history when the Russian warrior-noble Alexander Nevsky repelled an invasion by the Teutonic (i.e., German) Knights. The great warrior had previously repelled the marauding Swedish armies, but in Stalin's era, the Swedes were of no political importance and Hitler was the great menace. Having lured the cosmopolitan Russian composer Prokofiev from his comfortable perch in Paris and resettled him in 1936 in Moscow, Stalin eagerly paired him with Eisenstein. Together they created one of the masterworks of 20th-century cinema, "Alexander Nevsky." A year after the film's release, the composer pulled together significant portions of the film score and expanded the orchestration to create the cantata of the same name.

The San Diego Symphony, under the baton of Music Director Jahja Ling, was joined by the San Diego Master Chorale in a powerful and beautifully proportioned performance of "Alexander Nevsky" last weekend (Feb. 29--March 2) at Copley Symphony Hall. From the dark, modal intonations of the Chorale's first entrance, where it begins to tell Nevsky's story, to the jubilant, hymn-like finale celebrating the victory of the Russian forces and people under Nevsky, the Chorale produced a consistently rich, centered sonority, not to mention a credible take on the Russian language text. It was only during the celebrated scene/movement "The Battle on the Ice" that the orchestra overpowered the chorus as it declaimed Prokofiev's fake Gregorian chant of the Catholic invaders (before they fell through the ice-covered lake in their retreat!). Otherwise, orchestra and chorus proved well-matched and engaged with equal intensity in this epic.

Ling marshaled the work's explosive drama with a steady hand and a judicious sense of pace. Considering the density of the scoring, the players delivered remarkably clean and incisive textures. Having heard this work on several occasions--most recently last fall with the San Francisco Symphony and Chorus under Kurt Masur--I can say that the local team holds its own with the best of show. Mezzo-soprano soloist Sally Burgess filled the hall with her ardent, dusky declamations in the "Field of the Dead" movement. Part eulogy, part love song, and part blind idealism for Mother Russia, her eloquent singing fused these potent and dangerous emotions in a manner that was both compelling and eerie.

As rich as "Alexander Nevsky" may be, it's only half an evening's program, so we were treated on the first half to a visit by guest violinist Martin Chalifour, Concertmaster of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He was the soloist in works by John Corigliano and John Williams, each excerpted from recent North American films. Chalifour, a familiar performer on San Diego stages because of his 20-year association with the Mainly Mozart Festival, brought his customary sophisticated and heartfelt artistry to these minor works.

In Corigliano's "Chaconne for Violin and Orchestra from The Red Violin," his elegant control, silvery tone, and fleet technique compensated for the work's episodic, nervous structure. As an experiment in unusual orchestration--Corigliano is fond of accompanying the solo violin with snarling riffs from the percussion battery--"The Red Violin" is a notable achievement. But only the most persuasive soloist, someone of Chalifour's caliber, is likely to convince audiences to take this piece to its collective bosom.

Williams' "Three Pieces from Schindler's List" is far more conventional, a nostalgic invocation of Eastern Europe in World War II. Chalifour lavished tone and temperament on these ingratiating melodies, and his magic was hard to resist. But I could not help thinking that Williams' "Krakow Ghetto--Winter '41" was just an ironic gentrification of the actual klezmer music that was extinguished by the Nazis.

Ling opened the evening with Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings," not a piece composed for the movies, but one that has found its way into numerous sound tracks. It was a respectful account, although I thought Ling's tempo bordered on the lethargic.