Every nation has its own art. Some form of creativity fed by traditions, folklore, cultural and historical heritage, as well as social and ethnic characteristics. Korean cinema is different from Thai or Mexican cinema. We would never mistake Almodovar's work for that of Iñarritu or Wong Kar-Wai. Nevertheless, modern cinema is a train on the railroad of globalization, and Hollywood is its finest car. It destroys individuality for the sake of the mass consumer. That’s not meant to be an insult, it’s just the way the market works. And yet, this approach is failing. In recent years, films that were shot thousands of miles from the dream factory have been garnering more and more attention, even at the Oscars. Today, I’m going to tell you about the original cinema of my homeland. A cinematic tradition whose very right to exist was stripped away. Filmmaking that was drowned in censorship. Cinema that has resisted, and unfortunately continues to resist the whims of dictators. Today we’re going to be discussing films that were made in Ukraine.
Every nation has its own art. Some form of creativity fed by traditions, folklore, cultural and historical heritage, as well as social and ethnic characteristics. Korean cinema is different from Thai or Mexican cinema. We would never mistake Almodovar's work for that of Iñarritu or Wong Kar-Wai. Nevertheless, modern cinema is a train on the railroad of globalization, and Hollywood is its finest car. It destroys individuality for the sake of the mass consumer. That’s not meant to be an insult, it’s just the way the market works. And yet, this approach is failing. In recent years, films that were shot thousands of miles from the dream factory have been garnering more and more attention, even at the Oscars. Today, I’m going to tell you about the original cinema of my homeland. A cinematic tradition whose very right to exist was stripped away. Filmmaking that was drowned in censorship. Cinema that has resisted, and unfortunately continues to resist the whims of dictators. Today we’re going to be discussing films that were made in Ukraine.
Ukrainian Cinema
Every nation has its own art. Some form of creativity fed by traditions, folklore, cultural and historical heritage, as well as social and ethnic characteristics. Korean cinema is different from Thai or Mexican cinema. We would never mistake Almodovar's work for that of Iñarritu or Wong Kar-Wai. Nevertheless, modern cinema is a train on the railroad of globalization, and Hollywood is its finest car. It destroys individuality for the sake of the mass consumer. That’s not meant to be an insult, it’s just the way the market works. And yet, this approach is failing. In recent years, films that were shot thousands of miles from the dream factory have been garnering more and more attention, even at the Oscars. Today, I’m going to tell you about the original cinema of my homeland. A cinematic tradition whose very right to exist was stripped away. Filmmaking that was drowned in censorship. Cinema that has resisted, and unfortunately continues to resist the whims of dictators. Today we’re going to be discussing films that were made in Ukraine.
Before embarking on our journey in the footsteps of filmmaking masters, I want to warn you: this is not a deep-dive into the subtleties of Ukrainian movies. Yes, I will be covering their history and introducing you to Ukrainian films in chronological order, but I should let you know in advance that we simply won’t have time to discuss all of them. Consider this a guide map to the famous sights, but it’s up to you to find your way to them.
I would also like to remind you of some ongoing charitable efforts. There are links in the video’s description to the “Come Back Alive” fund, the website dobro.ua and the page of adorable Lev. This little Ukrainian braveman is fighting with CMA and needs your help right now. Remember, for the price of a morning cup of coffee, we can collectively make huge strides towards victory. So now that we’ve got the intro out of the way, let’s travel a hundred years into the past.
It was the early days of our favorite artform. The late 1800s. A time when tall hats and pocket watches were in fashion, but oral hygiene was not. Industrialization was taking the world by storm, leaving a trail of devastated small towns in its wake. People were moving to the cities, where they would be confronted with long lines, a foul stench, and twelve-hour shifts at the various factories and plants. After such a grueling day, workers not only wanted to sleep, but also be entertained. While movies likely weren’t originally created to fulfill the latter purpose, over the next several years, they would come to change people’s lives.
Odessa, eighteen ninety-three. The city is an Eden for the intelligentsia; a place where the most talented people in the Russian Empire come to find refuge before soon scattering across the world and founding many successful dynasties. Unfortunately, Joseph Timchenko didn’t catch this wave of emigration, even though he had created a working kinetoscope two years before the famous Lumiere brothers frightened guests at Le Grand Café with the arrival of their train. At a conference of natural sciences in St. Petersburg, scientists were not impressed with Timchenko's apparatus, and the inventor's films were not preserved. The same fate awaited Alfred Fedetsky’s robots. This outstanding resident of Kharkov became famous for his photographs of prominent figures of that time. Members of the royal family, clergymen, artists, and composers all came to his studio. His most famous work is the portrait of Pyotr Tchaikovsky. And this despite the fact that it was Fedetsky who recorded the first real motion pictures in the empire and held the first film screening, which stunned the audience of the Kharkov Opera during intermission.
In the early twentieth century, Ukrainian cinema was world-class. Newly updated theaters were filled with motion pictures from across the ocean, but these were later supplanted by film adaptations of the most popular theatrical productions among the people.
But then… then came the civil war. Ukraine didn’t even have time to enjoy its independence before some bastards from the north came up with Bolshevism, soaked the land in blood, and turned cinema into a fist, one which mercilessly pounded propaganda into the newly minted proletarians in thousands of cinema halls across the land. Fortunately, the young, short arm of the Kremlin could barely reach Kyiv. Because of this, aside from stories about the Soviet government’s achievements and the PR of collective farm companies, there were also films dedicated to local heroes, the most notable being the epic “Taras Shevchenko”, released in 1926. Thousands of extras took part in its filming. Sure, the film rode the coattails of “Battleship Potemkin” because its director, Sergei Eisenstein, was a real trendsetter in those days. Although it would be more correct to say, “of all time”. But not every director copied this classic film’s style. In the shell of Kyiv grew pearls. Young director Alexander Dovzhenko managed to invent his own style in the second film of his career. “Zvenigora” covers two thousand years of Ukrainian history in the span of an hour. It spoke to audiences in the language of visual metaphors, with nature itself being the main character. But of course, being a Soviet film, Dovzhenko passed it off as a story about the construction of a new socialist state.
The relative freedom enjoyed by Ukrainian filmmakers also attracted creators from Moscow who had grown tired of the “cheers for patriotism”. In the late 1920s, a trio of documentary innovators who had been expelled from the capital arrived in Kyiv. Director Dziga Vertov, his wife and editor Elizaveta Svilova, and his cameraman brother Mikhail Kaufman, would soon film a series of works that would reveal the true power of editing.
“Man with a Movie Camera” is often recognized as the greatest documentary film of all time. Vertov and company were able to capture the insane pace of urban life on film. They didn’t use boards with text, theatrics, or actors. But among the footage are: a real birth, a wedding, death, a funeral, work, sports, hard labor, and even a film-screening. It shows poetry of everyday life and the faces of ordinary people smiling at a camera lens for the first and possibly last time in their lives. The shots seem to be chattering, whispering, shouting, interrupting, and arguing with one another, but never saying something inappropriate. Even today, the film is considered to be the benchmark for framing mastery. Viewers were enthralled, but the film’s success created a rift between Vertov and Kaufman. The brothers each had their own approach to the artform, and decided to part ways. Ironically, they each presented films in 1930 that were stylistically nearly identical.
Vertov went on to create “Enthusiasm”, a film showing the beauty and power of the Donbass, its mines, and the implementation of the first Five-Year Plan. This tale of collectivization was remembered for its incredible combination of sight and sound. It didn’t feel like experimentation, but rather a masterful use of a new expressive medium that gave viewers what Charlie Chaplin called one of the greatest audio-visual symphonies.
Mikhail Kaufman did not follow in the innovators’ footsteps, choosing instead to capture the beauty of small moments on the streets of Kyiv. From insects and foliage, to puddles on the street, to a couple in love twirling around. Kaufman created a whole world with no other meaning than pure joy. French film critics would call “Spring” the second best film of the year. The top spot was given to another feature film from Ukraine, “Earth” by Alexander Dovzhenko.
Yes, the synopsis offered viewers unabashed Bolshevik propaganda of collectivists fighting against peasants and gathering the largest grain harvest. Because of this, the main character is killed. I don’t want to hear any complaints about spoilers - you've had ninety-two years to watch this masterpiece of world cinema. Besides, the plot of “Earth” only matters if you think a devastating famine awaits Ukraine in the next two years; that the absurd and barbaric policies of Moscow will kill millions of people; that collectivization will bring pain and suffering. That is why the script for Dovzhenko's film looks like a mockery of the tragedy. And yet, the director hid a declaration of his love for the nature and life of Ukraine behind the propaganda. Long, captivating shots. Playing with light as inspired by masters of painting, and of course, a scene of mourning. Because of this scene, the film was considered pornography and banned from being shown in the Soviet Union. Dovzhenko was blacklisted, despite his film being widely praised abroad. Even half a century later, Woody Allen's character in “Manhattan” can be seen watching “Earth”, and hundreds of other films have also cited scenes from the film. It would seem like an immortal classic, but the film angered the authorities so much that Dovzhenko had to personally apologize to Stalin for it.
To restore his damaged reputation, the leader instructed the director to create the Ukrainian equivalent of “Chapaev”, a wildly successful Russian film about the exploits of a red army general during the civil war. The Ukrainian counterpart was entitled “Shchors”, with a story nearly identical to that of “Chapaev”. To create the film, the largest soundstage in Europe was built in Kyiv, where up to nine crews would work simultaneously. The epic film underwent extensive censorship. Stalin himself could have been listed in the credits as a full-fledged co-author who had rewritten the dialogues and either cut or added entire scenes. But Dovzhenko still managed to shift the focus. The co-author filled the movie with horror, a tradition his pupils carried on. The film most certainly made an impact upon its release, but now the scenes depicting the “liberation” of the peasants are more reminiscent of the behavior of Russian invaders today. “Shchors” is a prime example of Soviet propaganda. Fake slogans. Characters who act like maniacs and have an unquenchable thirst for violence. Dovzhenko still managed to subtly show his love for his people in the film through the costumes and scenery. But it wasn’t much. Nevertheless, the people were grateful to the director, who to this day is still considered to be Ukraine’s most influential director, whose pupils have brought worldwide recognition to their country. Kyiv’s most prominent film studio is even named after him.
Ukrainian cinema was controlled by Moscow, but the advent of audio shook even the Soviet bonds. Audiences wanted to see productions that represented their culture. The 1930s were known for enchanting musicals, the first of which was a film adaptation of Nikolai Lysenko's opera “Natalka Poltavka”. Nine musical numbers that dominated movie theaters in the USA and Canada. The film didn’t even have subtitles because foreign audiences were still able to enjoy the vocals and breathtaking landscapes. Next to be released were “A Zaporozhian Beyond the Danube”, “Sorochinsky Fair”, and just before the Soviet Union entered into World War II, the historical drama “Bogdan Khmelnitsky”. Again, the production featured thousands of extras, hundreds of costumes, and dozens of impressive battle scenes. Unfortunately, beginning on June 22nd, impressive battle scenes covered the entire western part of the Soviet Union. Once the hostilities had reached Ukraine, film studios in Kyiv and Odessa relocated to Central Asia, where they continued to operate. Of course, film production during this period was aimed at maintaining morale, covering events from the front and partisan movements, and highlighting the tragedies of ordinary people. Such tragedies were indeed many and terrible, considering that total losses in the Soviet Union made up more than forty percent of casualties in World War II. More than twenty-five million inhabitants of the USSR died, with Ukrainians making up at least a third of that number.
Not surprisingly, one of the most important films of that period was the documentary “Ukraine in Flames”, written and edited by Alexander Dovzhenko. During the war, hundreds of cameramen joined the military ranks, each armed with nothing but a camera. The footage that was captured came from the best and most daring documentary filmmakers of that era. Sergei Urusevsky was among them. His talent would soon produce a masterpiece for the world. Urusevsky teamed up with Mikhail Kalatazov to film an ode to humanism with the anti-war drama “The Cranes Are Flying”. But back to “Ukraine in Flames”, in which Dovzhenko combined both the horrors of destruction and the liberation from the Nazis. No sooner had Kyiv been de-occupied, than local film studio employees began arriving at the train station to resume their work. Several films had already been shot by 1945. Yet another example of art’s triumph over war. It takes tragedies and breaks them down to the atomic level so they can be reassembled as a message to the future, screaming for future generations to prevent such horrors from happening again. Unfortunately, the silver tongues of true villains continue to sow confusion. And so, in the minds of the grandchildren of heroes who survived these atrocities, the concept of “never again” is gradually replaced with “We can do it again”...
But let's go back to the mid-1940s. The Kyiv film studio’s most ambitious undertaking in the years immediately following the war was the production of “The Third Blow”, directed by Igor Savchenko. The story tells of the liberation of Crimea in 1944, and delves into all the subtleties of fortification science. Thousands of extras, military equipment, and an almost documentary-like filming style captivated the masses and was well-received by the Soviet government. Thanks to the film’s success, Savchenko was able to take on an even bigger project, a landmark story about Ukraine’s most beloved poet, Taras Shevchenko. This icon of Ukrainian culture was brought to life on screen thanks to future director and Oscar winner, Sergei Bondarchuk. His reincarnation as the hero consisted of such professional, high-quality acting that Stalin ordered that Bondarchuk be immediately awarded the title of People's Artist. However, the leading role was the only thing the head of the USSR liked about the movie. The constant changes, reshoots, and corrections put Igor Savchenko in an early grave, leaving his understudies to finish the film. And this they did secretly. No one dared to report to the head of state that the director of such an important film had availed himself of such a liberty as death. The drama “Taras Shevchenko” retained its love for the traditions and daily life of Ukrainians, but the film’s final cut portrayed Shevchenko as a fighter against Emperor Nicholas and the Empire itself, not as a fighter for the freedom of Ukraine.
It was the dictator's countless interventions that led to the stagnation of Soviet film production. There were dozens of films about the development of collective farming, the successes of the authorities and the heroic overfulfillment of five-year plans. Even after his death, Stalin’s influence could still be felt in Soviet cinema. In 1956, yet another film dedicated to a Ukrainian poet and writer was released. Sergei Bondarchuk embodied Ivan Franko on screen. Even though the film was shot in Ukrainian, the main character was turned into a caricature of a Marxist. As a counterbalance to this, that same year the Odessa Film Studio released a gem of a melodrama, entitled, “Spring on Zarechnaya Street” which was notable for its beautiful camera work and theme song.
Now let's speed up our time bus a bit and jump forward a decade. We just have two short stops to make. The first is a visit to the magical colors of the drama “A High Price”. The second stop will have us enjoying the eccentric humor of the comedy “Chasing Two Hares”, while also giving us a charming tour of Kyiv.
By the way, the comedic musical was created as a B-class film, meaning that it could only be distributed domestically within Ukraine. Because of this, Victor Ivanov was allowed to shoot the dialogues in the Ukrainian language. Unfortunately for the director and everyone else involved, they did a wonderful job. Government authorities loved “Chasing Two Hares”, and so they requested that it be dubbed in Russian. It was this desecrated version that was shown in every theater throughout the USSR. Our native sound track was simply tossed out, and for forty-two years it was thought to have been lost. It was only in 2013 that an original copy of the film was found in the Mariupol Film Fund. Since then, the time-worn, at times inaudible sounds of the film’s audio has graced the ears of every Ukrainian.
Well, the 1950s have flown by, bringing us to the main station on our tour of “Ukrainian Cinema”. Get comfortable, because we're going to be in the sixties for quite a while. Only Sergei Parajanov and his “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors” deserve their own separate story.
Each scene is a masterpiece of visual art, and the film itself is like an art gallery that invites the viewer to walk through the essence of Ukrainian culture. Roger Deakins himself would be jealous of the achieved lighting; Bertolucci would be inspired by the masterfully mixed colors, and even Emmanuel Lubezki would find the camerawork enchanting. And we haven’t touched on the sound and accompaniment, which is both hypnotizing and fascinating to the very end of the closing credits. To the mesmerizing sound of trembitas, Parajanov raised the bar in world cinema. And this despite political repression, persecution, a ban, discrediting statements by colleagues, the disruption of the film’s premiere in Kyiv and a hundred other obstacles on the path to creating a masterpiece. That’s right, the love story between the Hutsuls Ivan and Marichka is a masterpiece that was applauded by Fellini, Antonioni, and Kurosawa. Parajanov's film is a sophisticated work of art, in which mysticism, folklore, and the tragedy of an ordinary person create a beautiful harmony in a timeless song. But the Soviet authorities didn’t like songs, so the director was forced to flee persecution. He moved to Armenia, where a few years later he shot “The Color of Pomegranates”, another world-class masterpiece of art-house cinema that broke all the traditional canons of camerawork and plot. Parajanov returned to Kyiv in 1971, where he was arrested and sentenced to imprisonment for homosexuality and Ukrainian nationalism. And although the director was sentenced to five years, he was never truly going to be set free. Due to the international outcry and countless letters from Truffaut, Godard, Fellini, Visconti, and hundreds of other world cultural authorities, Parajanov was nevertheless released. He was forbidden from living in Ukraine and was never allowed to complete the film “Kyiv Frescoes”, which highlighted the consequences of World War II.
But back to the sixties. Like an earthquake, the release of “Ancestors” stirred up the waters of Ukrainian cinema, bringing a slough of talented creators to its coast. One noteworthy example is “The Stone Cross”, which was released three years later and could easily compete with “Ancestors” in its symbolism, camerawork, and of course, the richness of its Ukrainian texture, which seemed to cause colors to explode through its black-and-white picture. Ivan Didukh and his preparations for moving to Canada personify the hesitation and pain of millions of Ukrainians, who for hundreds of years have been forced to choose between the love they have for their homeland and the search for a better life. It’s no coincidence that when Didukh is leaving his village in the final scene, his possessions resemble a coffin, and the farewell song sounds more like a funeral procession.
In addition to creating a whole genre, the Parajanov earthquake launched the careers of two outstanding figures of Ukrainian cinema. We are talking about the leading actor and camera operator of “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors”. The first is Ivan Mykolaichuk, whose downtrodden look has become a signature feature of domestic cinema. “Shadows” was only Ivan’s second appearance on screen, but from that moment on he seemed to have reached the peak of the Ukrainian “Mount Cinemalympus”. Over the next five years, he would become the country’s foremost actor and would establish himself as a talented screenwriter and director. But for the Soviet authorities, Mykolaichuk had also become a symbol of excessive nationalism. Subsequent censorship caused his films to be left on the shelves of the State Film Fund for decades instead of being shown in movie theaters around the country. However, the film would eventually still light up the big screens around the world, making Mykolaichuk an unforgettable figure to the global audience.
The second outstanding figure was cameraman Yuri Ilyenko, who sat in the director's chair right after working with Parajanov. His debut art-house film, “A Spring for the Thirsty”, was banned immediately after its premiere in 1966 for being “ideologically false” condemning this silent poem to oblivion for two decades. It wasn’t until the late 1980s that viewers from all over the world were able to enjoy Mr. Ilyenko’s talented debut after he won the right for Ukrainian poetic cinema to exist in an unequal battle with the Soviet government. The film itself is an intricate mosaic of allegedly disparate elements that made up old man Serdyuk’s final days. He spent his entire life caring for the well from which the villagers drank, but no one appreciated neither the well nor the old man. Hidden in this well is a simple yet powerful metaphor. It represents nature, tradition, and family values - pillars that hold up humanity’s existence, but which few are prepared to defend. The most pivotal scene in the film is when the old man attempts to call death. He has grown weary of living, and awaits the old woman with her scythe, meanwhile making a coffin for himself. But death doesn’t come - only kittens and relatives.
This almost entirely silent, black-and-white film challenges audiences. Its viscous pace isn’t for the casual viewer, but seekers of truly original cinema will fall in love with Ilyenko's work.
The director later joined forces with his brother, cameraman Vadim Ilyenko, who seemed to surpass the achievements of “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors”. A loose adaptation of Nikolai Gogol's short story, “The Eve of Ivan Kupala” is another explosion of beauty in which Ukrainian traditional costumes and interiors dance with the colors of nature. It is something that must be seen and felt to be truly understood.
The final installment of this magical trilogy was the period drama, “The White Bird Marked with Black”, a metaphor for the pain of the Ukrainian people. The story tells of three brothers who are all in love with one girl, but she chooses a Soviet tractor driver over all of them. One joins the army, another joins the national resistance, and the third remains on the sidelines. Neither path leads to happiness. Interestingly, government officials didn’t seem to notice the metaphor condemning the authorities and even gave the film the highest award at the Moscow International Film Festival in 1971.
And just like that, our tour through the sixties has come to an end, and we find ourselves in the next decade. Waiting to greet us here yet again is Ivan Mykolaichuk as he takes audiences on a whirlwind of adventures in the comedy “The Lost Letter”. The film features cossacks, muskets, sabers, rivers of vodka, hell and demons, an empress, and an incredible dose of humor. Plus, this low-budget movie actually boasts some impressive camera techniques, original decisions by the director, and stunning costumes. Director Borys Ivchenko created a cocktail of chases, skirmishes, mysticism, and jokes, all garnished with a spaghetti western style that was quite popular at that time. And if a student of Morricone’s had in fact worked on the film, then perhaps it was Ivchenko’s work that would have inspired Quentin Tarantino.
As for Mykolaichuk, he had become Ukraine’s Clint Eastwood and James Dean. He went on to make a film in the late seventies that essentially summed up all the achievements of Ukrainian poetic cinema. The drama “Babylon XX” tells the story of when the Soviet world reached western Ukraine. A village that hasn’t even had time to take down its portraits of the tsar is now expected to rejoice at the power of the people, which itself only introduces a new form of serfdom. Although this film doesn’t ooze with Ukrainian-ness like those of Parajanov and Ilyenko, Mykolaichuk takes complex concepts and makes them more digestible through complex characters and deep thoughts.
And now let's take a look at another branch of Ukrainian creativity. A place where there were much fewer revolutionary and freedom-loving attitudes, but still full of humanism and respect for traditions and culture. We are talking about the work of director Leonid Bykov, one of the most celebrated artists of the Soviet Union and my father's favorite actor. Bykov's house was directly across from my dad’s house. Mr. Bykov often went fishing on the Rusanovsky Canal, where packs of little hellions were always waiting for their idol. Dad would always recount those stories when he would sit down to watch “Only Old Men Are Going Into Battle” and he always sat me next to him. As a child, I preferred cartoons and was skeptical about war dramas. Now this movie takes my breath away. It’s no surprise that this film isn’t traditionally shown in Russia around May 9th. They show a different film there. One in which the fighting looks spectacular and bright, and people seem more like superheroes from Marvel comics, constantly spouting taglines instead of actual sentences. For some reason, I’m reminded of a quote from Slaughterhouse Five:
“You'll pretend you were men instead of babies, and you'll be played in the movies by Frank Sinatra and John Wayne or some of those other glamorous, war-loving, dirty old men. And war will look just wonderful, so we'll have a lot more of them. And they'll be fought by babies like the babies upstairs.”
Bykov, like Vonnegut, turned down roles for the Waynes and Sinatras, and shifted the focus to people's feelings that they were in a terrible situation, but remained human. The final scene is yet another reminder of the tragedy of those events. This film pierced the hearts of every witness of World War II, their children, and their children’s children. The same applies to Bykov's last work, the drama “One-Two, Soldiers Were Going…” albeit to a lesser extent. The director died in a car accident in 1979. A boulevard was named after him in Kyiv. A monument dedicated to the memory of downed pilots was also erected, featuring Bykov’s character from “Only Old Men Are Going Into Battle”. There are streets bearing his name in Sumy, Kharkiv, Krivoy Rog, Druzhkovka, Pokrovsky, Kramatorsk and Slavyansk (another example of the critical need for denazification).
Another gem of this period was a talent who excelled at long panning shots in psychological dramas. Her name was Kira Muratova. Her attention to everyday life in the film “The Long Farewell” hypnotizes with what at first glance seems to be a lack of substance. But Muratova purposely uses calmness to immerse the viewer into the inner worlds of the characters. Their pain and suffering can be felt by everyone. Well…almost everyone, because apparently the Soviet officials had Komsomol badges where their hearts should have been. In 1971, just two weeks after its release, the film was removed from the box office. Muratova was reprimanded by the censors and lost her position at Odessa Film Studios, where she had worked for over ten years. The film didn’t come back to the big screen until the “perestroika”, and the director returned to Odessa. In 1989, she filmed the drama “The Asthenic Syndrome”, garnering her worldwide recognition and a silver bear at the “Berlin Film Festival”. Muratova went on to direct eight more films and take her well-deserved place among the most prominent creators of an already free and independent Ukraine.
This is going to sound awful, but let's go back to the Soviet era. A time when the forces of the Ukrainian film industry were reallocated to Moscow. When a film set was even set up for Sophia Loren in Chervonyi Yar near Poltava. When brave mustachioed musketeers were received in the palaces of the Lviv region, and Transcarpathian valleys were cleared for “War and Peace”. This was a time when Ukrainian directors weren’t just fighting for budgets, but for the right to create. No palaces. Why, even the alForest Song”. Ilyenko's talent helped to bring the fairy taleready illustrious Yuri Ilyenko wasn’t given any scenery. In the 1980s, he filmed a mystical adaptation of Lesya Ukrainka's drama “The to life on screen without funding or permission to shoot in the proper locations. Moscow authorities also enjoyed the tale. They appreciated Ilyenko’s work in their own way. And by that I mean it was confiscated, dubbed in Russian, and released in theaters, with the original work forever buried in the archives. They never gave it back, either, despite decades of requests from the Ukrainian film fund, whose members had been dreaming of restoring the mystery of Ilyenko.
Thus began the eighties. By no means a pivotal point in the development of Ukrainian cinema. The decade is only distinguished by the aforementioned works of Kira Muratova and the wonderful dramas of Roman Balayan, which featured the best Russian actors of those days. However, it gifted the world something even greater, the beginning of the collapse of the Soviet Union. Probably not by chance, the drama “Decay” premiered in 1990. It didn’t touch on political intrigues in the Kremlin, but demonstrated the horror of propaganda and inhumane lies through the example of one of the worst tragedies in history. The recent HBO series, “Chernobyl” almost drowned in well-deserved praise from critics and viewers alike, but it didn’t even come close to the shocking horror of Mikhail Belikov's film. Downplaying, cynicism, and bureaucracy result in confusion and tremendous losses for small people, so to speak. The contrast creates an indescribable effect that lingers with the viewer even after the end credits. The camera is like a silent witness to a waking nightmare.
Not to be judgemental, but this nightmare can at least be explained by the stupidity of cabinet officials who didn’t bother to pay attention to the scale of the disaster. The next film showed cruelty and brutality that made the radiation from an exploded nuclear reactor seem dim by comparison. I'm talking about the Holodomor, a genocide that exterminated more than seven million Ukrainians. In the film “Famine-33”, the policy of destructive collectivization is put on full display by first-time director Oles Yanchuk. The film is a loose adaptation of the novel “The Yellow Prince”, which until 1991 was banned by the Soviet authorities. It’s no wonder, because during the Communists’ reign, they were punished for even talking about the tragedy. Sure, this movie won’t impress hardcore cinephiles, but for Ukraine, it evoked anger and a thirst for freedom. It was shown for the first time on the country's main channel, UT-1, the evening before a referendum to secede from the Soviet Union. Ukrainians voted ‘yes’.
But the independence they sought wasn’t easy to achieve. The country was plagued by financial crises and political disputes. The nineties gave us hundreds of masterpieces of world cinema, but not a single Ukrainian flower was included in the bouquet of iconic films. What can I say, while the biggest films of that time were being shot at the modest expense of Western film studios, the most memorable was the historical epic drama “With Fire and Sword”, by Jerzy Hoffman. Yes, the film was shot in Ukraine and included the country’s best actors, but it was financed and produced by Polish studios. And although Bogdan Stupka's performance as the hetman Bohdan Khmelnytsky is considered canonical, attitudes towards the film are divided. First of all, there are huge discrepancies regarding the accuracy of events, which is unacceptable for a historical film. The depiction of Cossacks as disheveled drunkards didn’t help much either, although they were considered one of the strongest fighting forces of that time. But let's not focus on the negative. Let's move on to the 2000s, which saw the dramatic power of Kira Muratova come into full bloom and the release of a really funny American film about Ukrainians.
No, I'm not talking about “Lord of War”, in which Jared Leto's character draws an exotic outline of Ukraine. I’m talking about a small independent film by Lev Schreiber, a popular American actor whose mother has Ukrainian roots. In 2005, he made the film “Everything is Illuminated”, based on a mixture of the book of the same name and Lev's own relationship with his grandfather from Odessa. The leading roles were played by Elijah Wood and the frontman of the band “Gogol Bordello”, Yevgeny Gudz. Despite the fact that most of the film was shot in the Czech Republic, Ukrainians were hit with a wave of nostalgia thanks to a most unexpected product placement as well as wide shots of Odessa and the surrounding countryside. (53:02)(29:31)
Over the following ten years, Ukraine’s film industry was practically outsourced to its neighbors. All the best projects were filmed with the assistance of Russian companies and mainly focused on TV. This Renaissance coincided with rapid changes in the country. First, the “Revolution of Dignity”, the story of which was filmed by dozens of talented directors. Numerous documentaries cover this story of tragedy and triumph, the most popular of which is “Winter on Fire” directed by Evgeny Afineevsky, which was nominated for an Oscar in 2016 and later purchased by Netflix. However, just a few months after “Maidan”, Russia sent troops to Crimea, annexed it, and started a bloody war in the Donbass. For the next eight years, Ukrainian cinema would absorb the pain of millions of people and turn it into tragic art. “Atlantis” by Valentyn Vasyanovich is worth hours of in-depth study of the history of the conflict. Only non-professional actors were cast in the post-apocalyptic film, consisting of ATO veterans, members of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and volunteers. The film tells about the future of Donbas after Ukraine’s victory. It’s a desolate world full of broken hearts. The film received a prize at the Venice Film Festival in 2020 and captivated audiences at festivals in Istanbul, Toronto and Tokyo. The documentary “The Earth is Blue As an Orange” was released around the same time, which tells the story of a family that lived in the frontline zone of Donbas for more than six years. Despite the constant shelling and battles that surrounded them, they remain cheerful and radiate true love for each other. These films are a bit heavy for a casual movie night, but they reveal the truth of recent events that the world seemed determined to ignore. Despite the troubled fate of the Donbas, where the fighting didn’t stop for eight years, Ukrainian cinema experienced a surge of renewed vigor. Back in 2014, the drama “The Guide” was released, which covers the tragedy of the Holodomor. It has become even more relevant as of late, given that Ukraine’s restless neighbors have resumed their aggression. This is probably why the crime drama “The Tribe”, which was quite popular in other parts of the world, failed to garner much attention in Ukraine. Thirty international awards and a place on many lists of the best films of the year speak for themselves. This story about students at a boarding school for the deaf and dumb was shocking for its documentary style, honesty, and lack of subtitles. The director refused to have the film translated because, as stated in the trailer, “The language of love needs no translation.”
The films mentioned here have turned out to be rather depressing, but they are an accurate reflection of the trials the Ukrainian people have been through. But we have always been able to meet these challenges with our heads held high. We cannot be broken, and our freedom cannot be taken away. It's a shame that some people have been so slow to grasp that.
I'm not going to end on a sad note, because over the years, Ukrainian cinema has been full of gems worthy of both admiration - such as the documentary “Living Bonfire” about Transcarpathian sheep herding - and laughter, as in the comedy drama “My Thoughts are Silent”, which lets viewers fully enjoy both absurd humor and the world of sound engineering hidden from ordinary citizens. In closing, I’d like to mention the action-comedy “Inglourious Serfs” to assure you that every Ukrainian now has a Taras Shevchenko ninja in them slicing the enemy left and right.
So support the AFU, believe in victory, and if you have a couple of free, quiet hours tonight, put on a Ukrainian movie. Glory to Ukraine!