Elga Lyndina
and Andrei A. Eshpai's
Ellipsis
Russian Film Week New York City
October 13-19, 2006
Reviewed by Lauren
Possee
Ellipsis
is like a trip to Tasti-D’Lite; it is a
great idea in theory, but in the end leaves you
unsatisfied and craving something with a bit more
flavor. Adapted from the novel Kira Georgievna
by Viktor Nekrasov, this heated love story has
the potential to effectively translate into film,
but in this case doesn’t quite work. The
screenplay created by Elga Lyndina and Andrei
A. Eshpai is filled with far too many gaps and
unanswered questions to give the story the justice
it deserves.
Set in 1960’s Russia, Ellipsis tells
the story of Kira Georgievna, a middle-aged successful
sculptor, passively married to Nikolai, a much
older painter. Each completely engrossed in their
work, they become entirely emotionally detached
from one another. At this point we meet Vadim,
the man Kira was engaged to marry twenty-five
years earlier. Their plan was destroyed upon Vadim’s
arrest by the Solviet police, which earned him
a twenty-year sentence in Siberia. Now married
with a five-year-old son, his curiosity leads
him back to Kira. They fall in love all over again
and plan to start a new life, but complications
naturally arise when they realize the sacrifices
that must be made in order to be together.
The majority of
the film focuses on the rekindling of Kira and
Vadim’s love affair, which would have been
effective, provided there was any understanding
of the relationship’s history. It was impossible
to be empathetic to their situation with no substantial
flashback sequences or back-story to gain insight
or appreciation to their predicament. Evgenia
Simonova, who played Kira, was not fully aware
of the dilemma that faced her. The decision to
leave her husband seemed entirely too easy, and
could have been much more interesting had she
displayed an ounce of remorse or conflict.
There were sporadic
tidbits of revealed information that demanded
further exploration. For example, there is reference
to a letter Vadim wrote Kira after spending a
short time in prison stating, “You should
no longer consider me your husband.” This
letter is barely referred to, but it bears so
much significance to the story. It was a mistake
to overlook this vital piece of information. Upon
further exploration, the letter could have been
the missing clue to many questions left unanswered.
In the end, it
made no difference which man Kira ended up with.
With underdeveloped characters and little understanding
of the central relationship, it was difficult
to sit through the film’s entirety.
Pavel Lungin's
The Island (Ostrov in Russian), 2006
Russian Film Week New York City
October 13-19, 2006
Reviewed by Melinda
Maclean
The Island
begins during WWII when a German U-boat comes
upon a small Russian tug stationed near the White
Sea. Pyotr Mamanov plays Anatoly, a young man
who is put to the ultimate test when he is forced
at gun point to betray his friend, the tug boat
captain, by revealing him hiding in a pile of
coal. The German SS officer forces Anatoly to
choose between a bullet in his own head or having
to shoot his comrade to save his own skin. After
crying, pleading and whimpering, Anatoly looks
into his friend’s eyes and shoots him, watching
his body disappear into the water. As the German
boat leaves Anatoly is struck with relief and
exuberance at the fact that he has managed to
escape with his life spared. This is the opening
which leads to more then thirty years later when
we next see Anatoly as an old man bent over, wearing
a monk’s garments, shuttling coal over a
dilapidated walkway that is part of the structure
of an isolated monastery where Anatoly has spent
the past many years trying to erase his own guilt
in the complicit murder of his friend.
Anatoly is a figure
in the tradition of the holy fool. He relishes
his harsh existence and takes comfort in self-deprivation
(he sleeps on a bed of coal). His wish to be left
alone causes him to behave in an inexplicable
and deranged manner resulting in some very funny
scenes. In between visits from two other monks
(played to wonderful comic effect by Viktor Sukhorukov
and Dmitri Dyuzhev), and the growing number of
people who make pilgrimages to visit the strange
mad monk for his healing powers, Father Anatoly
takes walks along the island and has conversations
with God and his dead friend, begging for relief
from his spiritual torments and guilt. Pyotr Mananov’s
Anatoly is a profound and striking portrayal of
a man who is in conflict with his own soul and
the world around him. The film is a masterful
and comedic meditation on the human need to believe
in God and how to reconcile spirituality with
the corruptibility of the world and our own nature.
Yuri Korotkov's
The Last Coalface
Russian Film Week New York City
October 13-19, 2006
Reviewed by Lauren
Possee
Prior to the screening
of The Last Coalface, producer Valery
Todorovsky announced at the end of a brief speech,
“This is a film about love.” Simply
and humbly stated, this introduction could not
have been more perfect. Free from every cliché
so often present in American film; Russian writer
Yuri Korotkov truly hit the nail on the head with
this brilliant exploration of the theme of love.
The Last Coalface is a tale of three coal
miners and their families during the collapse
of the Solviet Union. The film opens with a funeral
scene, where eight men are dead due to an accidental
coal mine explosion. It is announced that the
grieving families will receive a hefty compensation
package, including free college tuition for each
child and a yearly salary for each spouse.
The abrupt death
of the eight men leaves surviving miners Andrei,
Seryocha, and Toyla questioning the significance
of their own lives. Each character has an individual
story involving daily struggle, all equally as
fascinating and fully dimensional as the next.
Andrei, the youngest of the three, is engaged
to Andrea, a beauty queen from a wealthy family
who disapprove of their daughter marrying a man
with such low social status. Seryocha and his
wife, both middle-aged, struggle to support their
family on a coal miner’s salary. Their oldest
daughter Nastya turns to prostitution while attending
college in Moscow in efforts to support herself
and contribute to her family’s plight. Toyla,
the oldest of the three men, is burdened with
the fact that he does not make enough money to
provide adequate medical care for dying wife Tonya.
Through their actions,
these men prove they are all-encompassed by love.
Paralleling Chekov’s theme of desperation
in his masterpiece The Three Sisters,
where three girls fight desperately to get to
Moscow, these three men are driven with the same
desire to get their families out of poverty, and
are willing to take drastic measures to achieve
this. Toyla, touchingly played by Sergei Garmash,
declares his love for Tonya through a poignant
act which exemplifies that in times of great need,
the human condition is capable of just about anything.
One night, frustrated with his inability to provide
necessary medication or hospitalization for his
wife, Toyla impulsively drives his motorcycle
straight through a local pharmacy window, and
steals all the drugs that will fit in his backpack.
Desperate
to make a better life for their loved ones, Toyla
and Seryocha devise a plan to blow themselves
up in the mine, being meticulously careful to
make it appear accidental. With the comfort of
knowing their families will receive a generous
severance pay, the men are assured this fool-proof
plan is their only hope. In the days leading up
to the suicidal explosion, they attempt to make
peace with their decision by tying up any loose
ends with their families, knowing their time together
is limited. Seryocha, although passionately disapproving
of his daughter’s secret life of prostitution,
offers his forgiveness shortly before the planned
explosion. This scene is particularly heartbreaking,
since, upon first discovering Nastya’s lifestyle
he had threatened, “I’ll strangle
you with my own hands!” Actor Artur Smolyaninov
flawlessly went from one extreme to the other,
commanding a chilling power on screen.
The Last
Coalface is an innovative film that explores
the human capacity to love. First-time director
Sergei Bobrov certainly has a bright future ahead.
America needs more films like this, where the
stakes are high, the circumstances are desperate,
and the relationships are passionate.
Kaka Kikabidze’s
The 7th Day
Russian Film Week New York City
October 13-19, 2006
Reviewed by Lauren
Possee
Willing the audience
to root for the villain in a suspense film could
be perceived as a clever tactic, if done intentionally.
However, when clearly unintentional, it leaves
the viewer confused. Kaka Kikabidze’s The
7th Day poses the question: “Who should
I be rooting for?”
The film, set in
present day Russia, opens with a piercing gunshot,
followed by an adrenaline-pumping chase sequence,
where we meet Nikolay, a man on the run due to
unsettled gambling debt. He escapes to a suburban
village in Moscow and reconnects with his grandfather,
who, on his death bed, informs his grandson that
he is heir to a lucrative inheritance in the form
of a buried army treasure. The old man also requests
Mikhail, a local monk, to read the will aloud
on the seventh day following the burial. On that
day, Nikolay will discover exactly what fortune
he is destined to inherit.
Mikhail and fellow
brothers of the monastery take Nikolay under their
wing, providing food, shelter, and safety. This
sense of security is abruptly curtailed, however,
when Milkum and Girya, the two men chasing after
the gambling debt, arrive unannounced. After making
violent demands for their money, the men are somehow
convinced to wait seven days, until the treasure
is unveiled, and the debt can be paid.
Milkum and Girya,
played by Amiran Amiranashvili and Vitaly Khaev,
are the supposed villains in the film. Satisfying
demands from “the boss’ via cell phone,
the two men convincingly instill fear in the village
through their sadistic behavior. Although against
conventional movie-viewing protocol, a brilliant
comedic dynamic between the pair makes it impossible
not to secretly root for them. Milkum, short,
plump, and delightfully loud-mouthed is a perfect
contrast to the Schwarchenegger-sized, grumpy,
oaf-like Girya. Amiranashvili, blessed with untouchable
comic timing, especially delivers a stand-out
performance as Milkum.
Anatoly Bely’s
performance as Nikolay is lifeless at best. This
is a character whose life is on the line. While
handcuffed to a radiator for seven days, he awaits
his fate, all the while separated from his wife
and son. These certainly are desperate circumstances.
With such unlimited potential in the writing of
this character, it was infuriating to witness
such a lack of passion from the actor. Bely has
a tremendous amount of responsibility in this
role, and proves to be the weak link in the cast.
In simple terms,
The Seventh Day is a story about waiting.
Seven days of waiting, all to determine if Grandpa’s
buried treasure actually exists. Although seemingly
exciting, the suspense dissipates around day two.
While there was an interesting subplot involving
flashback sequences with Nokolay’s wife
Oyla, subtly and convincingly played by Maria
Poroshina, there was little else to fill the action
leading up to the seventh day. Furthermore, the
flashbacks provided mere glimpses of their relationship,
and while that was likely an intentional choice,
a deeper examination of the bond between Nikolay
and Oyla could have added much needed dimension
to his character.
Far too dull
to be labeled a suspense-thriller, The 7th
Day disappoints overall with its dragging
plot and passion-free performances. Rooting for
the villains and feeling a lack of sympathy for
the protagonist, although likely not the director’s
intention, were circumstances that rang true in
this case.
