| One
of the many unforeseen consequences of the fall of the Soviet Union
has been the sudden collapse of the domestic film industry, probably
the most privileged mass cultural medium of the Soviet Union. By the
mid-1980s, some 150 feature films were produced annually for audiences
numbering nearly four billion per year. Since 1991, however, cinema
attendance has plummeted by a factor of at least one hundred, and
the remnants of the once huge audiences now watch an overwhelming
number of imported, mostly American, films. Revolt of the Filmmakers is the first account of Russia's film industry since this disastrous
decline.
According to Faraday, who was film correspondent for The Moscow
Times during the mid-1990s, the turning point came during the
years of perestroika, when Russian filmmakers achieved an
unprecedented degree of freedom from managerial control. They immediately
used their newfound liberty to dismantle the industry's central
administrative structures in the name of artistic autonomy. Filmmakers
were at last free to follow their own aesthetic criteria, and many
began to orient their work entirely toward critical acclaim at festivals.
But the unintended result of this revolution in the name of art
was the alienation of the mass Russian audience. Today some filmmakers
are attempting to regain a mass audience by celebrating and mythologizing
national cultural identity, but the Russian film industry has never
fully recovered from the 'revolt' of the filmmakers.
For this book Faraday has interviewed Russian filmgoers, critics,
directors, and other industry insiders. Among those directors whose
work he considers are Alexei Balabanov (The Castle), Nikita
Mikhalkov (Burnt by the Sun), Karen Shaknazarov (American
Daughter), Pyotr Todorovsky (Moscow Country Nights),
and Marina Tsurtsumia (Only Death Comes for Sure). He also
draws upon documentary evidence, including the Russian press and
the diaries of Andrei Tarkovsky (The Sacrifice, Solaris).
Few predicted that the loosening of state ideological and institutional
controls would threaten the survival of Russia's once-mighty film
industry. Even today Lenin's often-quoted, if apocryphal, declaration
that 'cinema is the most important of all the arts' remains emblazoned
over the gateway to Mosfilm studios—but its relevance is in doubt
at the start of a new millennium. |
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