Perestroika means restructuring, re-building.

This is a personal account of an ex-Russian (Sasha Greenberg, astrophysicist of Jewish descent played by Sam Robards) coming back to the land of his youth. During his three days in Moscow (the duration of a conference on the structure of the universe) the protagonist re-lives and revises his entire life.

Many a time he had to rebuild himself – while adjusting to life within the regime marked by anti-Semitism, coming to live in a different country, working on a project that compromised his ideals, relating to his strong-headed women, meeting his old friends and enemies with whom he hadn’t been in touch for the last 17 years, facing his midlife crisis, coming to peace within himself…

Against the chimerical Milky Way of a backdrop – the Soviet parades’ old documentaries and contemporary singing gypsies, troika rides alongside raging babushkas fighting for the vodka bottles, grey memories of classrooms meetings and a lavish set of dancing Hasidim, the density of Russian kitchen talks and the views from a spacious New York apartment – Sasha strives to trace the constellations of his past to illuminate his present.
The film struck me with its clarity and brightness, depth and simplicity, allegorical mysticism and precise attention to detail. With the aim of de-constructing the nesting doll of “Reconstruction” I met with the writer/director Slava Tsukerman, who was one of the honorees at the celebration of Russian/American heritage and culture at New York City Hall (05/07/2009)

We conversed in Russian.

FIR: The film is obviously autobiographical, but to what extent?

ST: When I was younger I couldn’t understand how people write about their own life. With PERESTROIKA it happened to me naturally. Having left the Soviet Union in 1973 I am intimately familiar with the details of emigration, immigration and coming back after 17 years. I remember returning to Russia in 1989 for the Moscow International Film Festival. When I asked my friends – immigrants, who already visited Moscow – to recommend me a hotel they said: “Do you think you’d be allowed to sleep?”

FIR: That’s exactly what happened to Sasha. But my question is about what is embodied in his cosmology of soul, so to speak, whether it is something that concerns you. In Sasha’s case it’s emphasized by his very profession – astrophysics…

ST: Writing my protagonist as a film director – though Fellini’s “8 1/2″ is one of my favorites of all times – wouldn’t be the right decision for this film. The choice for his field to be astrophysics was based on the premise that the metaphorical logic of it deals with the structure of the Universe: the man wants to understand how the world ticks, but can’t understand even his own life. Also for quite some time I thought of making a film about a physicist, about the moral responsibility of someone who creates a bomb. I knew a few astrophysicists when I lived in my old country, but outside of Russia the connection with the Russian world of science was broken, and even after we shot the film I wasn’t quite sure if a real physicist would come to Sasha’s dramatic conclusion – why bother trying to understand the structure of the universe if you can’t even get a clear idea about the structure of your personal life? When we were finishing editing I met a Russian astrophysicist who was teaching at NYU, and he confirmed that not only such a physicist could exist, but that there was a real might-be-prototype – Victoriy Shvartsman – who took his own life, being tortured by the same conclusion.

All the major characters have their real life twins.

FIR: There is the monumental figure of professor Gross, Sasha’s teacher, who doesn’t question the truth of “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.” Is there also a thread of the prodigal son theme woven into their relationship?

ST: Yes. Leaving America for Russia, Dr. Gross put himself in a position of the prodigal son, then his fate is reversed in the actions of his student. By the way, Murray Abraham (Gross) was absolutely delighted to create such a biblical character.

FIR: Russian Sasha is played – and very convincingly – by American Sam Robards. He speaks accented English, and so do all the Russians played by the Russian actors but not as convincingly. What was the rationale behind this decision?

ST: There was a dilemma in regards to the language. I could have made the characters speaking their own language, which would make the Moscow scenes more natural, but in that case Sasha would have to be played by a Russian and two thirds of the film’s dialogue would be in Russian. It would be a different film. Meanwhile I had to think about the distribution of PERESTROIKA too.

On the other hand, using English for all dialogue made it more theatrical in style, which fits the metaphorical nature of the picture.

FIR: The film’s events take place in 1992, when the Soviet Union collapsed, and its release we witnessed just now, in 2009. When did you write the script?

ST: In 1992. Initially I wanted this film to be more irritating, more thought-provoking. And I was toying with more plot lines too – dealing with Sasha’s grown up son, and concerning his mother. But I had to give them up, as they couldn’t fit seamlessly into the structure of the film. We almost started it in 1992 as an American-Russian co-production but at that time a heavy inflation had spread in Russia, and my Russian financiers disappeared, which made the American part of the team feel uneasy. Only years later were we able to produce the film. The delay made it better, I think. Time distance adds perspective to the story.

PERESTROIKA’s reception was mixed. Some people loved the film, and others didn’t ‘get it’. For Slava, who follows the philosophy of Mejerhold, the controversial reaction to the film is definitely a sign of success. “It makes people think,” he says.

WINGS

it’s the essence of one woman’s dreams, whether they concern her past, present or future. The story, which is basically a cinematic portray of that woman, takes place in the early 60s in Russia. The lead character, Nadezhda Petrukhina, wonderfully played by a great Russian actress, Maya Bulgakova, used to be a pilot during World War II, but at the present time she’s a headmistress of a trade school. She is also a town’s deputy and a well-known and respected persona. And though her life is quite eventful (membership in various boards and committees, concerns about her daughter, day-to-day troubles at her school), to Nadezhda it seems empty, lacking in the significance, meaning and freedom that it was filled with during the years of war.

It is a quite common phenomenon when the heroes that survived war can’t find themselves in the ordinary time of peace. When the glorious fight for freedom, justice, for whatever it is, stops. When the importance of survival, from being crucial, becomes essential only to a small group of people, if not just for yourself. When your actions switch from meaningful deeds to maintaining a random existence. Something changes within: your heart sinks and doesn’t beat with the same frequency, your emotions feel dull and your mind, absorbed with justifications of why you’re still alive, doesn’t produce any thoughts worthy of thinking.

That’s the story. It’s said very simply, in black and white, which makes it transparently clear and strong. The absence of cinematographic tricks or a dramatic abundance of graphic war scenes helps focus attention only on Nadezhda. And that is the red thread of Shepitko’s genius.

ASCENT (1977)

I remember when the novella “Sotnikov” by Vasili Bykov on which the script is based, was published in Russia. We, schoolchildren, were passionately discussing what traits of character to develop, who to be – a person that is willing to die for their principles and others, or a human being who does everything and anything for his/her survival.

The story takes place in occupied-by-Germans Byelorussia, during one of the winters of World War II. Two partisans – Sotnikov, a former teacher, and peasant Rybak – go to the nearby village in search of food supplies for their group, which is separated from the main partisan’s camp. They get caught by the Nazis and are to be executed, along with an elderly man, a mother of three that the soldiers happened to visit, and a young Jewish girl who didn’t want to say who was hiding her. During their last night spent in the dark cellar, Sotnikov decides to reveal who he is and die for everybody, while Rybak wants to ask Nazis for mercy in exchange for his services. And so it goes: the martyr dies, with everybody acknowledging his suffering as a deed, and the traitor lives, suffocated by what he’s done.

The film is black and white. The overwhelming whiteness of snow creates a background of almost unbearable light, which elevates the local tale to a height of biblical proportions. And the parallels are obvious – Sotnikov to Jesus Christ and Rybak to Judas.

It’s somewhat hurtful for me to read the lines implying that the artist’s consciousness was burdened by the task of making allusions comparing Nazi’s regime to Stalin’s dictatorship. At that time the truth about the latter was not revealed yet, but nearly every family residing in the Soviet Union had lost a loved one in that War, and were severely scarred by the truth of it. I think there is nothing hidden in this story and its execution.

Larisa Shepitko’s works are pure. Her contribution to the art of world cinema is small – she made only four films – but quite solid. It’s a pity that the life of a great artist was cut short (she died in a car accident, not even 40). At least she’s got her wings.

Late night. Low visibility. A lone car hits a lone cyclist. The two occupants of the car leave the injured man to die. They are not callous people, just cautious: their affair cannot be disclosed. The driver, Maria Jose (Lucia Bose), is a wealthy married lady, and her lover, Juan (Alberto Closas), a university professor. Later on, during a cocktail party, it becomes apparent that the desolate road where the accident occurred wasn’t completely uninhabited, and their rendezvous are not entirely clandestine. The sly and roguish socialite/art critic Rafa (Carlos Casaravilla) threatens to reveal the couple’s “un-pretty” secrets. The shadow of un-prevented death overflows the conscience of the teacher. The jeopardy of losing everything blinds the mind of his mistress. Fear and guilt gradually meld into a final tragedy.

Overloaded with contemporary American cinematic works, my memory of the most valued and cherished film experiences became diluted. DEATH OF A CYCLIST resurrected my devoted love for the neorealist and classic noir movies. The traces of both styles are quite palpable in this melodrama that marked the birth of modern Spanish cinema. The unhurried pace of the narrative, the growing, subdued tension, the long, uninterrupted shots, the atmosphere of decadent private lives within a strongly-defined, decadent social background, create an effect of total absorption, and an awareness that the art of cinema has been manifested again.

Juan Antonio Bardem made this socially critical film in 1955, while living under the Franco regime. The exceptionally well-shot, contrasting milieus of the rich and poor districts of Madrid, is a very acute, politically charged reflection of the reality of the time. No wonder the film was censored and the director, ostracized.

Bardem skillfully employs the stylistic devices of commercial Hollywood (from which he tries to break) to his advantage. There are lots of glamorous close-ups of the stars – Lucia Bose and Alberto Closas, going though their emotional upheavals, making the film visually somewhat familiar and acceptable for censors. But at the same time this exaggerated attention emphasizes the distructive self-absorption and utter egoism of the bourgeoisie, framing the target for Bardem’s ideological spears.

In the documentary on the life and career of Juan Antonio Bardem (“Calle Bardem”) which is the part of the DVD, his contemporaries – directors, writers, actors, teachers – tell about the artist being an active member of Spain’s Communist party, about his self-imposed mission to translate political ideas into cinema, about his influences and affiliations, his triumphs and failures.

Bardem’s frequently quoted words about the Spanish cinema of the mid-fifties as “politically ineffective, socially false, intellectually worthless, aesthetically nonexistent and industrially crippled” were completely turned around with the DEATH OF A CYCLIST.

Seeing the film today gives viewers a fantastic excursion into both world history and cinema history, in addition to delivering the sheer pleasure of experiencing a classic masterpiece.

The violin is the instrument of Don Plutarco, a humble, elderly peasant-musician. He travels with his son and grandson across the Mexican countryside playing music and working for the underground guerilla movement that fights against an oppressive regime.

The village of Don Plutarco is seized by the military forces of the government. Their relatives are captured and kept prisoners. The ammunition, so needed by the resistance, is hidden in Don Plutarco’s cornfield.

The old man decides to fetch it by playing a deadly game with the commander of the military unit that occupies his homeland. Don Plutarco charms the captain with his music to get a permit “to check his crops.” He finds the arms at the secret place where they were left and carries as much as he can to the rebels in his violin case. The plan is working! Or so it seems.

Don Plutarco’s efforts to help the guerillas result in a tragic betrayal.

The film is shot in black and white, which emphasizes the monumentality of the story. The graphics of the picture become a very important element, underlining the gravity of the tragedy, and lending it a classic feeling.

The moderately-paced action givesviewers a chance to experience firsthand the strong tension of the cat-and-mouse game. The sincerity and naïve wisdom of the protagonist create an irresistible sympathy for him. It actually doesn’t matter – who and when and against whom he was fighting, the details of the conflict seem to be irrelevant, so universally true is it perceived.

The lead actor – Don Angel Tavira – is a lifelong musician (despite losing his right hand when he was 13), dedicated to the preservation of the old, traditional style. His part in Vargas’s film was his debut, and won him a best-actor prize at the 2006 Cannes Film Festival.

THE VIOLIN has quite a list of regalia, and it’s well deserved.

This DVD, released by Film Movement, also contains a short film “Un Bisou Pour Le Monde” (“A Kiss for the World”) by the French director Cyril Paris.

A teacher gives an assignment to her pupils: to look for the unknown words in the daily newspaper. One student tears the paper apart and is given a task of taping the page back together. The result of his handiwork is a bit different from the original version.

It’s a lovely film – a heartfelt joke about how we see what’s happening in the world on a daily basis.

The fans of independent cinema should be pleased with this worthy addition to their video libraries.

The name of Sergei Paradjanov is a legend in Russian (Soviet) and world cinema. His fate is one of a martyr, his fame is being one of the most unique talents, and with his death the world has lost one of its magicians.

The works of Paradjanov are extremely poetic, richly expressive, visually astounding, stylistically fearless and monumentally profound. His tales of love and tragedy are set against colorful, exotic, ethnic backgrounds and told with the naïve simplicity of folk songs and myths.

SHADOWS OF FORGOTTEN ANCESTORS of the Hutsul tribe chant their spell in the Carpathian Mountains of 19th-century Ukraine. The young protagonist falls in love with the daughter of the man who killed his father. The gloom of death curses the blossoming relationship into a tragedy. First the girl dies. Then her lover, tortured by memories and the emptiness of life without her, finds his self-forced end, and their story becomes a legend. The darkness of this poem is illuminated and purified by incredible cinematography. The sadness of the story leaves a long-lasting aftertaste.

The film was first released in 1964. Paradjanov was criticized, outcast and eventually imprisoned. He had allowed himself to have the luxury of freedom of expression in an un-free society, and that had to be punished. Yes, it shut down his talent as a filmmaker, but it didn’t break him, nor did it kill his gift as an artist. When released, he showed his impressions of life behind barbed wire, exhibiting his drawings, ceramics, dolls and poetry, and he made new films.

THE LEGEND OF SURAM FORTRESS (1984) is set in the Caucus Mountains of medieval Georgia. Repeated efforts of people to build a fortress to defend their country constantly fail. The young protagonist, released from slavery, leaves his beloved, promising to come back when he has means to pay for her freedom. His wanderings bring him to a rich merchant who helps him to start a new prosperous life with a new woman who bears him a son. The abandoned lover, sick with grief, becomes a fortuneteller. When years later a group of warriors comes to her for advice in regards to the troubling fortress, she tells the son of her never-forgiven lover that only a self-sacrifice will make the construction stand up. He entombs himself within a wall of the fortress, thus securing its strength, saving his motherland and fulfilling the prophecy. The unquestionable deed of a sacrifice for the sake of the glory of the country is sublimated into poetry of the highest caliber, and the fantastic imagery and music make it a cinematic ode.

Besides these carefully restored films, the DVDs also contain interviews, documentaries, featurettes and other materials about or dedicated to Sergei Paradjanov and his art. His wife’s memories are warm, whimsical, sad and haunting. The cinematographic wonder of ISLANDS, a documentary comparing the artistic worlds of Paradjanov and Tarkovsky is extraordinary, symbolic and heart breaking.

The digitally preserved magic of Sergei Parajanov’s old masterpieces makes your love of the cinema young again. And though Paradjanov’s freedom of expression would still be a luxury (in a “free society”) it is so enviable and so inspiring.

I went through Russian schooling, which required first, upon passing judgment about a certain film or play, to define what that work was about. And this seemingly simple task I found to be most bewildering when applied to the majority of films produced by US studios. Of course, one doesn’t anticipate being smitten by the “bouquet” while chewing gum. But once you’re trained to look for “hidden messages,” neither can you can’t help it.

Watching STRANGER THAN PARADISE I experienced the sentimental joy of a homesick stranger browsing through the pages of a picture album featuring a place where they belong. I knew what the film was about, I felt it with all my senses, and it gave me the pleasure of recognition (and gourmet surprise).

It’s about isolation, the perpetual aloofness of the misfit, the un-requited love that rots away in unoccupied vessels of humanity – so familiar, so palpable, so haunting.

These films are certainly for connoisseurs, cinephiles and lovers of rhymed lyrics. Or for the audiences whose life experience echoes with that of Jarmusch’s characters. Or – well, actually I am not sure about the last statement given the total admiration and popularity of cinematic extravaganzas about the not-so-common lives of the rich, the dangerous, the mean and vicious, the treacherous and traitorous, the mighty and the daring. But the first category of viewers might indeed have a feast: this double-disc featuring the first films of renowned director Jim Jarmusch is a tribute to the whole era of pioneering independents, an appreciation of the special poetry of New York low life in the late 70s – early 80s. It also contains a 1984 German TV program showing interviews with the cast and crew of STRANGER THAN PARADISE, and a booklet that has Jarmusch’s notes on his film, as well as beautifully written articles by Geoff Andrew, J. Hoberman and Luc Sante, readings which give as much pleasure as watching the films. My time with this special edition was quite rewarding. And definitely stranger than paradise.

Disinformation / Palast Productions in association with Big Noise Tactical Media
Running time 30 min

At the time of its happening Hurricane Katrina flooded national media with coverage almost as much as it did the Gulf Coast with water, streaming, along with the debris and tears of grief and suffering, the flickering lights of hope. A year after the catastrophe, when everything had dried up, reporter Greg Palast traveled to New Orleans hoping to moisten the memories of the disaster with the results of his investigation into what has happened since.

His tracing of the events and deeds, of saviors who “bushwalked” through the wet terrain, uncovers untold facts: the population wasn’t well-informed about the strength and possible outcome of the upcoming hurricane; the evacuation process wasn’t done the way it should have been; the levees of the city were never high enough to withstand the rage of the elements and protect the weak and disabled; about 80% of the original residents (almost all of them the “less fortunate”) are gone.

Well… too bad for them. The fittest – more fortunate, better informed and equipped – survive. It’s the law of nature and economics. The author is appealing to the senses of someone looking for truth and justice. But who needs to hear; who needs to know? Not the dwellers of Dixieland, the film suggests. In this country people need money, with which they can buy their own truth and justice, not, unfortunately, the one of Mr. Palast. Who wants the latter? – The ones that have nothing to lose, who can’t do anything to change the situation, and if they do – like the effective grassroots ortanization Common Ground, that built houses, out of their own will, for the displaced – their efforts can be easily whipped out by the fittest, concerned about the money. And money comes from Dixieland, whose sound so appropriately accompanies the terrifying visuals of BIG EASY TO BIG EMPTY.

Greg Palast is a reporter committed to drying up the disinformation puddles leaking through the official channels. Let’s hope that, like myself, many more will say: “I hear you, Greg”.

Credits:
Writer/reporter Greg Palast
Producer Matt Pascarella
Director of Photography/editor Jacquie Soohen
Co-produced by Big Noise Tactical Media
Coordinating producers Leni Von Escardt, Zachary Roberts, Christine Speicher
Music by Dr. Michael White, Kermit Ruffins Treme Brass Band, Brod Bagert, Pete Fountain
Produced with the support of Link TV, Democracy Now!, and The Palast Investigative Fund

RUSSIAN FILM WEEK in New York happens every fall since the beginning of this century. FIR thought that I, a Russian filmmaker, might have a particular interest in this event.
Russians used to consider cinema not an entertainment but an art form. Meaning that watching a movie didn’t imply just spending money and time for a two-hour, more-or-less successful break from reality, but being touched and/or changed by more-or-less profound thoughts and emotions. The recent political developments in Russia have made certain alterations in the art-versus-entertainment attitude towards cinema: it’s fast-forwarding in the American direction. So, I was curious to find out what films are considered to be “the cream” of the contemporary Russian movie industry.

TRANSIT (dir. Alexander Rogozhkin), a World War II story, opened the week. I went to see the film with grave feelings of apprehension at having to endure gallons of blood, fashionably utilized graphics of destruction, explosions, torn limbs and lots of weaponry; and to lament a catharsis that I will not experience, based on nearly everything I’ve seen for quite some time now.
To the contrary, I was astonished by the opposite: no close ups of wounds, no mutilated bodies, no glow of guns and an invisible touch of visual images that brings you to a different state of mind.
The film’s story unfolds in a realistic set of 1943, at the transit aerodrome located on the Chukotka Peninsula where a group of American pilots from Alaska ferry “Air Cobra” (P-37) fighter planes across the ocean on “lend-lease”. The military routine is disrupted by the occasional presence of American female pilots. It catalyses the internal drama marked by murder and a love affair, deeds of honor and friendship.
The script (by Alexander Rogozhkin) is infused with irony and sad humor. It reminds me of the prose of Andrey Platonov whose writing unfortunately is not very popular in the US. It evokes nostalgic memories of Russian intelligentsia and times when human values were not measured in units.

The Florence Gould Hall, where the opening night took place, was full of people – dressed up Russians, casual Americans, decorated veterans, celebrities, men with flashing cameras, lovers of festivities and connoisseurs of cinema. Not all of them reached the Cinema Village Theatre on 12th Street where the rest of the week was to unfold.

ELLIPSIS (dir. Andrei Eshpai) is a melodrama set in the 1960s. The main character, Kira Georgievna (Evgenia Simonova – a Best Actress award winner), is a well-known sculptor married to a well-known painter. Her happy life is disturbed by the sudden entry of her first husband, unjustly arrested 25 years ago, sent to a faraway labor camp and presently released. Responding to his love, Kira Georgievna is ready to leave her second husband and move with the first one to a different city. But another sudden entry of the first husband’s girlfriend and son from the faraway place prevents this from happening.

VOICES FROM THE BATHROOM:

THE MAN OF NO RETURN (Dir. Ekaterina Grokhovskaya) is shot in the contemporary settings of a provincial town. The multi-layered fabric of the film is woven out of colorful threads of mini-plots concerning the lives of twelve main characters. A military student rebels against following in his father’s footsteps. He makes money by sleeping with a rich older woman, who is the daughter of a retired doctor who used to work in a hospital where a young, paralyzed (from the waist down) girl is brought after poisoning herself. There she meets a young, paralyzed (from the waist down) guy who is beaten up by gay bashers after his attempt to become a whore, following in the footsteps of his classmate, who is the son of a military officer… – You’ve got the picture…?
This is the debut feature from director Grokhovskaya, producer Zadorin, and lead actor Sergei Krapiva – just to name a few.

INTERVIEW WITH FILMMAKERS

FIR: Did you have any previous acting experience?
SERGEI KRAPIVA: No. I did modeling. The producer and director saw my face on a billboard and contacted me about a screen test, which I passed. My character has lots of similarities with me, and I am very grateful to Ms. Grokhovskaya and my fellow actors who helped me with techniques to fill in the gaps.
FIR: What do you expect from showing your film in New York?
IGOR ZADORIN (producer): To sell it here.
FIR: Did you contact any distributors?
IZ: No. The film speaks for itself.
FIR: Are you aware of the fact that it’s not commercial?
IZ: Why not? It’s just like CRASH.
FIR: Structurally maybe?
IZ: I have already recouped investments by selling the TV and DVD rights in Russia. I consider this film to be a name-making vehicle for us – myself and director Ekaterina Grokhovskaya. She is also my wife. And as we speak, my team is working on two mega-profitable projects.
FIR: Where did you get the money to begin with?
IZ: I used to have a construction business. My friends, who quadrupled their money in a wink, are laughing at me, but I believe that soon I’ll increase my capital a 100 times while doing what I love.

I checked on what the Russian press were writing about this film. Mainly they were overwhelmed with the return to the big screen of Galina Jovovich (she immigrated to the US in 70s), whose present fame is built up by the success of her daughter, Milla Jovovich (RESIDENT EVIL, RESIDENT EVIL: APOCALYPSE).

PLAYING THE VICTIM (Dir. Kirill Serebrennikov) is a dark comedy. The main character, Valya, works with a police to play a crime victim in the reconstructing of events for a crime scene investigation. The absurdity of his job matches the absurdity of the crimes being reconstructed: one man “feels like” dissecting his girlfriend because she didn’t fully respond to his feelings, another one drowns his woman for the same reason, a third one, for no reason at all, shoots his classmate, and finally Valya himself poisons his entire family.

I wasn’t sure if this highly ironic film, saturated-with- cultural-references, could be fully understood by American moviegoers. Not that there were many of them in the house. But I could count two. Let’s ask the one without a press pass.

CONVERSATION IN THE HOUSE

AMERIAN VIEWER: Lots of killings happened in this movie. Though it’s different.
FIR: In which way?
AV: There are different types of killings: no blood. And the violence is not graphic but suggested.
FIR: So, you’d rather see blood and mutilations?
AV: When you don’t see these elements it makes you use your imagination and think. And when you think, you understand the absurdity of killing and violence. In American movies you usually don’t have time to think.
FIR: Did you see any other Russian films?
AV: Yes. I saw POLUMGLA (Dir. Artyom Antonov). It’s a beautifully shot film about World War II. A young wounded Russian officer is building a tower for radio communications in a northern village (Polumgla) with the help of a crew of captured Germans. They develop human relationships, but in the end all the Germans are shot. The film is tragic.
FIR: Any blood?
AV: No blood. Makes you think…

For me, as a Russian, this week was an incredibly unexpected treat. I cried almost all the time. Cried like beluga. (It’s a Russian expression, I don’t know where it came from, and it makes sense to me. Who am I but a smoked sturgeon, taken out of its pond, but preserved enough not to vanish too soon, taken out of my culture, never embraced an American one, suffocating in the smoky sting of linguistic handicap.) I cried over my beautiful childhood, my ceased-to-exist country (the Soviet Union), my native language, enriched with numerous verbal forms. I cried over the stories told.
Most of the films were about love, regardless the genre, time, period or settings. The characters’ actions and motivations were not driven by monetary or power gains, but by love. And the Russian notion of love implies a great deal of sacrifice. So, all the sadness of these cinematic tales comes from loss of everything, devoured by the pagan fire of love.
Once I spoke to Elena Solovei – a great Russian Chekhov actress now residing in the US. She was invited to NYU to lecture on acting Chekhov. And one of the main topics was about the motivations behind the actions of Chekhov’s women she played so well. “They sacrifice themselves for love,” Elena explained. The students couldn’t understand, and the actress didn’t know how to explain it better. And I don’t know why I’m recounting this incident.
The point is whether the great films of Russian Week have a chance to be seen by general American audience or not. Will there be people who’d enjoy them? – Of, course. Will distributors pick them up? – The prospective is less enthusiastic: not commercial, subtitled, etc… Wait, I’m doing it again – finishing in a minor key. America sings in major! So, let’s say I was really lucky to see 9 out of the 12 great “art-house” films presented. And long live Cinema!

http://www.accentworks.net

Films selected from the Dance Camera West Festival in Los Angeles.
DVDs produced by Kelly Hargraves and Lynette Kessler, Distributed by First Run Features

Watching dance – just like dealing with any other art media – suggests an acquired taste. For a novice it might be boring or make no sense. But somehow the merging of dance and film creates a bridge of understanding and appreciation even for an onlooker who is immune to the arts or whose taste buds haven’t yet been developed. Cinema, being the most approachable and friendly form of creative endeavors, showcases the dance in the familiar frame of a screen and makes an audience’s experience nothing short of spectacular.

No word is spoken. Yet the drama is unfolded. No funny faces are made. Yet the viewer’s smile evolves into laughter. The beauty of the dancers’ movements, seen through the special eye of the camera, rhymed with natural movie sets and embellished by techniques of montage, elevates itself into sheer magic.

Each film has a different story, a different mood, and employs different dance styles. The forms of storytelling vary – from a literal fable to a more or less abstract expression of ideas. The geography of the tales stretches from Alpine Mountains to mourning chambers, from a vast shoreline to a tight wall corner, from an exotic countryside to a simple furnished room. Each dance style is appropriate for the atmosphere in which it takes place. Each piece represents a different level of mastery in dance and in filmmaking. And only a camera can capture the tint, the hint, the accent, the detail intended to be a sparkle, a quiet explosion, which would otherwise go unnoticed if the dance were performed in a theatre. Only film can splice, fragment, dissolve and magnify the movement so that it reads differently, modifying the message of the artist’s work.

The new film genre initiates the love of dance in the hearts of a broader audience than what this art might gather around the regular stage. As for people like myself, who’d been touched by Terpsichore for quite some time, watching dance on film becomes a triple delight. Or quadruple.

Disc One running time: 95 mins.
“Reines d’un Jour” by Pascal Magnin, Switzerland
“Measure” by 33 Fainting Spells, USA
“Rest In Peace” by Annick Vroom, Netherlands/UK
“A Village Trilogy” by Laura Taler, Canada
“Cornered” by Michael Downing, Canada
“Contrecoup” by Pascal Magnin, Switzerland

Disc Two running time: 50 mins.
“Boy” by Rosemary Lee and Peter Anderson, UK
“Burst” by Reynir Lyngdal and Katrin Hall, Iceland
“Cargo” by Kelly Hargraves, Canada
“Case Studies From The Groat Center For Sleep Disorders” by Mitchell Rose, Ashley Roland an Jamey Hampton, US
“Horses Never Lie” by Kathi Prosser and Caroline Richardson, Canada
“Motion Control” by Liz Aggiss, Billy Cowie and David Anderson, UK
“The Duchess” by Eric Koziol and Shinichi Iova-Koga, US