The Petersburg Tradition: Essays in Honor of Nina Perlina

Myths of the New Millennium: Visions of Petersburg in Recent Russian Cinema

John Bartle, Michael C. Finke, and Vadim Liapunov, eds. From Petersburg to Bloomington: Essays in Honor of Nina Perlina. Bloomington, IN: Slavica, 2012, 235–50. (Indiana Slavic Studies, 18.)   Myths of the New Millennium: Visions of Petersburg in Recent Russian Cinema   Arlene Forman       Aleksei   Balabanov’s   cinematic   thanatopsis   Brother   (Brat,   1997)   elabo-­‐‑ rates  the  paradigmatic  image  of  St.  Petersburg  at  the  end  of  the  twenti-­‐‑ eth  century:  an  empty,  barren  urban  landscape  where  humanity,  com-­‐‑ munity,  and  spirituality  have  been  relegated  to  the  graveyard.  A  locus   of   decay,   destruction,   and   death,   Balabanov’s   vision   of   the   corrupt   crime  capital  would  permeate  the  large  and  small  screens  throughout   the  late  1990s.1  Its  moribund  nature  well  represented  the  zeitgeist  of   the  times,  the  fin-­‐‑de-­‐‑siècle  fatality  of  the  Yeltsin  years.  With  the  new   millennium  (and  a  new  presidency,  to  be  sure)  several  filmmakers  be-­‐‑ gan  to  respond  to  the  challenge  of  emerging  from  Balabanov’s  abyss.   Herein   we   will   examine   several   films   in   which   subsequent   directors   (ad)dress  the  “cultural  capital”  in  the  twenty-­‐‑first  century.     The   earliest   and   most   well-­‐‑known   picture,   Aleksandr   Sokurov’s   provocative   Russian   Ark   (Russkii   kovcheg,   2002),   proffers   a   stylistic                                                                                                                   1  Natalia  Sirivlia  describes  the  city  as  succubus,  drawing  strength  from  the  life   force  it  extracts  from  the  people  therein,  “Brat-­‐‑2,”  Iskusstvo  kino,  no.  8  (2000),   http://old.kinoart.ru/2000/8/2.html (accessed  January  2009).  For  an  excellent  study   of  Balabanov’s  corpus  of  Petersburg  films,  see  Jennifer  Day,  “Strange  Spaces:   Balabanov   and   the   Petersburg   Text,”   Slavic   and   East   European   Journal   49:   4   (2005):   612–24.   Jennifer   Ryan   Tishler   discusses   the   popular   television   series   “Streets   of   Broken   Lamplights”   (Ulitsa   razbitykh   fonarei,   1997–98)   in   “Menty   and   the   Petersburg   Myth:   TV   Cops   in   Russia’s   ‘Crime   Capital,’”   Journal   of   Criminal  Justice  and  Popular  Culture  10:  2  (Spring/Summer  2003):  127–49.  Elena   Prokhorova  mentions  Vladimir  Bortko’s  comment  that  the  debased  image  of   the  city  created  therein  served  as  the  major  impulse  for  his  subsequent  series   “Criminal   Petersburg”   (Banditskii   Peterburg,   2000);   Prokhorova,   “Can   the   Meeting   Place   Be   Changed?   Crime   and   Identity   Discourse   in   Russian   Tele-­‐‑ vision  Series  of  the  1990s,”  Slavic  Review  62:  3  (Autumn  2003):  512–24.   236 Arlene Forman antidote   to   Brother’s   consciously   fragmented   narrative.2   The   ninety-­‐‑ minute  stroll  through  thirty-­‐‑five  halls  of  the  Hermitage,  shot  “in  one   breath,”  replaces  the  frequent  blackouts  and  disjunctions  of  Balaban-­‐‑ ov’s  film  with  a  fluid  and  continuous  unedited  steadicam  shot.3  While   Brother   was   filmed   quickly   on   a   shoestring   budget   (shot   in   friends’   apartments   or   studios,   outdoor   scenes   dictated   by   the   availability   of   borrowed  cars),  Russian  Ark  grew  over  four  years  from  a  short  docu-­‐‑ mentary  project  about  The  Hermitage’s  300th  anniversary  into  a  lavish   feature  film  that  required  a  2.5  million  dollar  investment,  1,000  actors,   1300   costumes   and   more   than   six   months   of   rehearsal   time.   The   fin-­‐‑ ished  product,  a  kaleidoscope  of  beatified  monarchs,  seemed  more  at-­‐‑ tuned   to   the   spirit   of   the   new   presidency   and   the   new   president’s   desire  for  elaborate  commemorations  of  his  hometown’s  tricentennial.4     Russian  Ark  begins  in  total  darkness  and  then  moves  to  increasing   visual   clarity   and   color,   as   an   outside   visitor   grows   ever   more   con-­‐‑ nected  to  his  unfamiliar  environment.  Here  Sokurov  reverses  Balaban-­‐‑ ov’s   narrative   arc:   in   Brother   the   provincial   Danila   Bagrov   enters   the   city  voluntarily  and  grows  ever  more  disgruntled  with  the  locale  and   forsakes  its  environs  without  regret.     The   visual   impact   of   the   elaborate   period   costumes   and   the   lush   tones  of  the  paintings  themselves  stand  in  sharp  contradistinction  to   Balabanov’s  anemic  sepia  hues;  the  sheer  number  of  bodies  onscreen   creates,  at  the  very  least,  a  temporary  impression  of  vitality  and  hu-­‐‑ man   interconnectedness.   At   the   same   time   Sokurov   undermines   that                                                                                                                   2  Susan  Larsen  notes  that  much  has  been  written  about  the  film’s  blackouts   and   interruptions   in   “National   Identity,   Cultural   Authority,   and   the   Post-­‐‑ Soviet  Blockbuster:  Nikita  Mikhalkov  and  Aleksei  Balabanov,”  Slavic  Review   62:  3  (2003):  508.  Ira  Österberg  parses  the  film  into  25  separate  sections,  none   lasting   longer   than   15   minutes,   some   no   longer   than   2.   “Gde   moi   kryl’ia?   Analiz  fil’ma  Alekseia  Balabanova  Brat”  (MA  thesis,  University  of  Helsinki,   2006),  77,  https://oa.doria.fi/handle/10024/38903 (accessed  January  2009).   3  German   steadicam   specialist   Tilman   Büttner   had   to   carry   77   pounds   of   camera   equipment   with   him   as   he   traversed   the   film’s   one-­‐‑mile   route,   a   journey  he  managed  to  capture  on  the  fourth  and  final  take...