Dionysos

Does the title, referring to the Russian classics (Anna Karenina, The Brothers Karamazov), create a framework for analogies and thus understanding the meaning of the film? No.) This film does not want to be bound by a coherent narrative and instead wants to rely on a chain of surreal scenes that depart from film realism towards emotional and atmospheric pulsation that aims to draw the viewer into the film despite its overall lack of meaning. However, the film is not just a completely free sequence of fragments of the author's subconscious, suffering from total discontinuity (a problem of many surrealisms) - in Khamdamov's film, there are many recurring motifs that run throughout the entire film and allow not only for a certain basic reconstruction of the temporal and narrative axis (although this is only secondary), but mainly to truly enjoy the atmosphere of the film or rather the atmosphere of the fictional world in which it takes place. It is a world that is typically "supernatural," timeless, sometimes mysteriously empty (the empty subway - in Russia!), and sometimes populated by strange characters in unexpected places; it is truly an imaginary world where "real" scenes can be replaced by scenes from another film (supposedly Khamdamov's Nechayannye radosti, banned by authorities in the 1970s and 1980s) without everything ceasing to make "sense," which is missing anyway...

Neo-Baroque lost its neo and only baroque remained, whose weight of gilded encumbrance may have been another bead in the rosary of genre-ironic creations of cinéma du look, but the repetition of the prayer mantra reveals itself here as a doubly double-edged sword, which Carax cut himself with this time: by repeating the form, its true power was diluted, the power of negation through a convention-incompatible form, to such an extent that the negation of negation (= form) evoked simple mathematics - multiplying two minuses gives us a plus, which is nothing but the valorization of the content itself. And in the content, I saw nothing but convention, to which only a different narrative vector and occasionally a comedic tone could not suffice to break free from it. Symptomatically, here, the undermining and playing with genre forms (musical, melodrama, fairy tale, etc.) is nothing more than something we have already seen in other more commercial works because such "postmodernity" has long been privatized by Hollywood. Hollywood has finally caught up with and absorbed Carax like a depth that is truly dangerous to look into because, from this perspective, cinéma du look can turn into cinéma du don't look. Neo-baroque always started in apparent kitschy sweetness only to turn bitter, but this transition was (in the best works) caused precisely by the inversion of conventions of given forms, while when we want to repeat this Neo-baroque dramatic arc only on the level of content, we always end up with nothing but convention sneaking in through the back door. Perhaps the transformation of the puppet into a living being was supposed to be an interpretive indication of the author's mise en abyme, with which Carax wanted to convince the viewer at the last moment that his film is not just a bloodless marionette swallowing the budget, but a work containing life, yet even in this final attempt (which is nothing other than a replication of Hollywood desires), he failed.

Pasolini is a communist without progressive faith in economic modernization, nostalgically looking backward rather than forward, seeking authenticity in human life unspoiled by the empty greed of capitalist civilization. Pasolini finds a non-utilitarian way of experiencing the world either in the past (his work inspired by antiquity, later the Trilogy of Life set in the Middle Ages), or in the (lumpen) proletariat of southern Italy (a recurring theme in his work, strictly speaking, however, also - through the irreversible disappearance of this way of life in post-industrial Italy - belonging to the order of history), or as here - in the combination of both. Africa as the intersection of history and the present: the present symbolizing modernization in the form of pervasive consumerism, sparing no developing countries, which are presented as the only possible future; history as the experience of a time when soulless rationality and the utility of market society had no place alongside liberating irrationality, the uselessness of actions imbued with freedom, and naïve yet eternal connections between people and beliefs, traditions, customs, and religions. Africa as a challenge to the third world, fighting against imperialism and thus against the consumerism of the first world, in order to create a better future through the synthesis of the past and the present.

When postmodernism suddenly awakens from amnesia and realizes that surrealism has been forgotten. The film is situated on many interpretive edges - from farce to imaginative questioning about the nature of human memory, and from a game with genres to multi-layered references to the history of cinema. It should not be forgotten that it is a quite interesting criticism of war: the film deliberately adopts the expressions of the wartime propaganda of that time for its overall framework of space and events, which occasionally creates delightful contrasts - anti-German slogans fighting against Teutonic barbarians framing the time and space of the film and standing against the personal search for emotion, the death of loved ones, etc. However, it is primarily a surrealist anabasis to the end of the world, wrapped in the retro black and white garb of silent films of the time, more so those German films rather than war or Soviet films (where the most famous product of Soviet cinema of the 1920s in the form of the montage school automatically comes to mind). However, Maddin adds some more historical inspiration to the postmodern urn - the noir genre. After all, the lonely hero with amnesia, in a hostile environment of a mysterious city, tracking his femme fatale at night and commenting on this self-destructive pursuit of solving the mystery through voice-over, is a classic fulfillment of this genre.

Classical education (or rather education in classical art) can be felt in every shot of Greenaway's films, and few filmmakers would dare to present a subjective story about an architect against the background/through the analysis of classical European culture presented to the majority of people (in both the film and real world...) by a completely unknown architect. The author's sense of visual analogies and metonymies permeates the entire film (as always), here built on a basic axis: Boullé's architectural design of the Cenotaph (1784) is compared to the belly, with the belly as a symbol of indulgence, insatiability, etc. of classical European culture (the story takes place in Rome...). The belly becomes an obsession for Kracklite and he is forced, through his inner identification with Boullé, to experience the history of this culture first-hand. That includes everything = intrigues, egoism, insidiousness, and treachery, but on the other hand also with the persistent struggle for his goal, self-destructive idealism, an attempt to achieve (impossible) perfection, etc. Boullé truly becomes Kracklite and vice versa, and the 18th century enters the twentieth. From a cinematographic point of view, it is worth mentioning the symmetrical composition of shots, perfectly evoking the disposition of classical architecture.

The zero level of film: its decomposition into prime factors - crushing its DNA down to basic bases. In other words: a return to the original foundations of every film experience, which is the interplay of light and shadow, sound and silence. This means that the prejudices and comfort cultivated by decades (and now more than centuries) of conventional bourgeois cinema are painfully disintegrating in the viewer, with unpleasant struggles that mean only one thing: a return to the degenerated sensibility of the viewer to the true roots of their perception. As they say - to bounce off the bottom, we must first finish the bottle - Kubelka has truly brought us down to the very foundation of film.

"A person has no fate or privileged place in the universe. If they didn't exist, nature wouldn't miss them." Khouri's privileged theme: the disintegration of an individual from the whole world into the monad of a useless human being; Khouri's privileged place: a luxurious abandoned hacienda, in a broader sense territorialization of the privileged theme to the privileged class - the bourgeoisie (and secondarily Brazilian). The universe of this film created by Khouri's successful mise-en-scène: the contradiction between the individual and nature, the anxiety of life and being simultaneously attracted to it as someone who doesn't belong; an island of a functionalist villa amidst a flood of greenery; solitude against the backdrop of the city. But above all, this monadic poetics of alienation leaves its mark in the framing of the human face by the camera which, with frequent details filling the faces of the actors, creates a claustrophobic atmosphere and emphasizes the inner and outer separation much better than the sometimes insensitive and exaggerated use of "oppressive" non-diegetic music, which, in my opinion, has aged the most in the film. If during watching I pondered why there are so many allusions to the 1920s in the film, it is perhaps due to their unsurpassable and beautiful portrayal of the human face, as only silent film could do, and which Khouri also used quite successfully, although in this film it leads the actors to a certain - but characteristic - lifelessness not only in their facial expressions.

What does continuity speak of through a flood of discontinuous fragments from visual diary notes of one's own life, besides the author's own life? It is also one intertitle with a paradoxical message, being even more paradoxical as the film is at first glance, and according to the author's claim, purely personal - "This is a political film." This is a political film? Yes: the film presents the humanism of human life, adoration of the small everyday life not only in contrast to any great history but - and this is the second paradox - also in contrast to the author's own life. Humanism of the moment against any effort, always necessarily violent, to achieve greatness and the desire to leave a mark on the world and history, but above all resistance against the desire - equally violent - to ascribe any meaning to one's own life. Indeed, it is heroic to look back at oneself in old age and say: This means nothing. Everything that you see and that I see, is nothing. Everything is randomly composed, any statement regarding the interpretation of what you see and what is presented before my eyes in a cinematic memory, says nothing more. The more it tries to be objective, and even if it were the most objective (only place, date, time, context), it cannot provide anything at all, because it is about nothing because life has nothing to do with it. So says the author. For the author, there is only a feeling, a moment, the joy of the moment, which merges with the pure joy of filming whatever, because life does not have predetermined important or big events, but a moment of joy can arise from anything. That is why this film is the only film by Jonas Mekas that is worth seeing because it also provides an "interpretation grid" (if it makes "sense" to use this term...) for the author's other films.

A cult perestroika film uniquely combining a testimony of its time period with underground music, a love story with crime, all intertwined with a multitude of postmodern games not only in film form (the intertitles explaining slang expressions, the psychedelic experimental dream sequences of the main character, the contrast between the main storyline and the story of the murdered Tsar Paul I taken from a real book by N. Ejdelman, being read by one of the characters). A true monument of its time, not only because its plot takes place in 1980 and particularly captures the paradoxical era, but in addition to Brezhnevism, it also bears witness to the era of Gorbachev – we must realize that it was written in 1987 and the most positive character is a good-for-nothing musician of an underground band. The ending belongs to the song "Перемен!" (We are waiting for changes). Assa is also a true memento of a destroyed world - perhaps only in the former so-called Eastern bloc there was a belief that the only thing standing in the way of true life, art, etc. is the evil repressive state, and that once we get rid of it, we will be able to live a sweet unrestricted life like in the West, finally devoting ourselves freely to our creativity and through it surely improving the world. The totalitarian state was washed away by a flood, but that free world of creative self-expression in a dehumanizing impersonal world somehow did not materialize.

In many ways, the "backward" country with its traditional mode of existence - the self-propelled absurdity - refers not only to itself but to the entire "modern" situation. This is not just a film about the USSR/Russia, but ultimately about the USSR/Russia in every other country today. In Russia, only at the turn of the 80s and 90s did the aforementioned historical principle reach one of its world-historical culminating moments. The film exudes the classic artistic motif of pessimism from modern times, and the film form ironically solidifies this painful motif: the first part, the fictional story, despite its gloominess, offers both an explanation for the all-encompassing absurdity (the protagonist's suffering over the loss of her husband leads to her rejection of false social games) and a sort of resolution or hope in the fact that, like the widowed protagonist, we too will see the meaninglessness of the established way of life. This is followed by a brilliant transition from fiction to "reality" (which is only a different plane of fiction), in which there is no longer room for either explanation or hope, only for the desperate and futile attempts of the teacher Nikolai to escape through a fake death (a hard sleep). Black-and-white fiction with hope against color reality without resolution.