By A.J. GOLDMANN

Associated Press Writer

BERLIN (AP) - It’s an iconic image of World War II: Berlin has fallen and Soviet soldiers are hoisting the red flag over the Reichstag.

What most people don’t realize, however, is that the photograph isn’t capturing the historic moment. Yevgeni Khaldei staged the scene on May 2, 1945 - three days after the Soviets captured Germany’s parliament building.

The picture is the centerpiece of an exhibit - “Yevgeni Khaldei - The Decisive Moment” - that bills itself as the first comprehensive retrospective of the photographer’s World War II work.

The show at Berlin’s Gropius-Bau museum reveals the extent to which Khaldei’s work as a war correspondent and later a staff photographer for Pravda blurred the boundaries between photojournalism, art and propaganda.

For Russians, the Reichstag photo is as potent a symbol of victory as Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal’s shot of the U.S. flag being raised on the Japanese island of Iwo Jima is for Americans.

But the Reichstag image was heavily manipulated: Smoke in the background was etched later on the negative, to create the impression the battle was still unfolding.

In another version, a soldier’s wristwatches have been deftly edited out lest they give the impression he looted them.

Ernst Volland, one of the exhibit’s curators, calls the Reichstag photo “120 percent propaganda” - especially since it was made to order according to Soviet dictator Josef Stalin’s specifications.

“Stalin badly wanted the combination of Reichstag and the red flag,” Volland said.

Another image shows a tank planted in front of the Brandenburg Gate, while a straight line of fighter planes soar overhead. Closer scrutiny reveals that the tank is a cutout from another picture and the planes are painted into the frame.

Khaldei saw no ethical problem with the doctoring. If challenged about a photo’s truthfulness, Volland said, the photographer would simply reply: “It’s a good photo. I made it. ‘Auf wiedersehen.”’

Khaldei toiled in obscurity for most of his life and lived out his retirement in a small Moscow apartment on a modest pension until his death in 1997.

The retrospective of over 200 images was put together by private photography collectors Volland and Heinz Krimmer, who have been instrumental in bringing Khaldei’s work to a broader public.

“Khaldei’s photos are in every German schoolbook. His images are known but the man behind them is not,” said Krimmer. Khaldei never considered himself an artist, and only sold his work in small quantities from his apartment.

Born to a Jewish family in 1917, Khaldei built his first camera at age 12. In 1936, he began to shoot for the Soviet news agency TASS, creating his most memorable images during World War II and its aftermath, notably the Potsdam Conference of Allied leaders in 1945 and the Nuremberg Trials of Nazi war criminals.

After the war, Khaldei had difficulty finding full-time work because of Stalin’s anti-Semitic purges and campaigns.

Only after Stalin died in 1953 was Khaldei hired by Soviet newspapers.

Volland and Krimmer met him in Moscow in 1991 and began collecting his work. Their collection of his images is now the largest outside Russia.

In 1994 in Berlin, they mounted the first exhibition of Khaldei’s work and published a book with some of his pictures.

The current show, which opened May 8 and runs through July 28, was supported by Germany’s Federal Culture Fund. It will travel to Ukraine this year and a U.S. visit is also likely, though no details have been cemented.

While war photography makes up the heart of the exhibit, it also includes Khaldei’s images of Europe in ruins. From the 1950s onwards, his work focuses on workers, politicians and artists such as cellist Mstislav Rostropovich and composer Dmitri Shostakovich.

The curators said Berlin was an appropriate first stop for the tour.

“Khaldei’s most famous images were made right around the corner,” Krimmer said.

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On the Net:

http://www.chaldej.de

This past weekend, Berllin’s formerly-great Schiller Theater was jam-packed for what might have been the first time in 30 years.

Located on the elegant Bismarkstraße, the Schiller was once West Berlin’s premiere theater and presented performances from the likes of Samuel Beckett. In the 1990’s the theater’s funding ran out. Since then, the dilapidated space has hosted out-of-town acts and one-night-only events.

On Saturday night, however, a visit from Israel’s Russian theater troupe “Gesher” seemed to attract half of Berlin’s well-to-do Russian-Jewish community. The play was “Die Späte Liebe” or “Late Love,” which was described in the German program as “A fantasia based on stories by Isaak Bashevis Singer.” The event apparantly had as its media sponsor the publisher of a number of Russian- and Jewish-interest publications. In the halls of the theater, stacks of free magazines and newspapers awaited the elderly crowd. For their benifit as well, flimsy Russian signs lined the walls.

The performance was a fundraiser for “Neue Namen,” a party running in the upcoming Jewish Community Parlimentary Elections. At 40 Euro a piece, the tickets were quite costly…although they were rumors circulating that many - if not most - of the attendees had been comped in an effort to buy their votes. In any event, I couldn’t get clear on which direction the cash was flowing.

Inside the packed theater, it smelled comfortingly of baby-powder and hairspray. To my chagrin, the performance was entirely in Russian without any form of translation. Still, I was able to make out the play’s general contours. It dealt with a trio of Holocaust survivors living in present-day Miami, and with the doomed love that develops between two of the characters. But neither the stilted acting nor the nonstop comedy set the audience up for the play’s tragic ending.

In the main role was Emanuel Vitorgan, a nearly 70-year-old actor whose long filmography includes the classic 1980 Soviet gem “Marta the Pious Woman.” As the love interest, the beautiful and youthful Klara Novika made for an unconvincing elderly widow. Rounding out the cast was a neurotic yet bland Leonid Kanevsky. An actor best known for his work in the Israeli film “Late Marriage,” Kanevsky’s finest hour was actually in 1975’s heartwarming family film, “A Taste of Halva.”

As directed by Yevgeny Arye, the actors gave exaggeratedly mannered and comedic performances, in the quaint old-fashioned style of boulevard theatre.

The audience lapped it up wholesale and were curiously uncritical of Elina Ofer’s production, whose more amateurish aspects included garish, unimaginative lighting and some truly inexplicable video animation (including clip-art cars, palm trees and an origami boat!!!??). Massive applause accompanied each entrance and exit, and peals of laughter rang out constantly. In one of the evening’s sillier moments, the crowd enthusiastically clapped along to a shoddy rendition of Hava Nagila.

Initially, the crowd’s unbridled enjoyment was baffling to me. It soon dawned on me, however, that to them what mattered was not so much the quality of the actual performance, but rather that a cultural space existed where they could be comfortable and at home as Russian Jews. If only for an evening.