The politics of culture is perhaps more contentious in Russia than in other countries. Since the 1930s, there has been a close relationship between the state and artistic creative unions. The best historical example of this was when Socialist Realism became state policy with Stalin’s 1932 decree “On the Reconstruction of Literary and Art Organizations.”
Despite the ideological control over the arts, creative unions nevertheless presented artists with an avenue to influence state policy, as well as a collective body representative of artists’ mutual intellectual and social and economic interests.
Today, the relationship between the current Russian state and its artists is not so overt, but as Danil Dondurey points out in his article “The ‘vertical of power’ grabs Russian cinema,” this doesn’t mean that it is no less contentious. This was evidenced in the recent congress of the Russian Film Makers Union, where an on going struggle between pro-Kremlin and Putin bud Nikita Mikhalkov and more liberal forces calling for his ouster has apparently come out in the former’s favor. With his victory, Russia’s cinematic elite have abandoned politics altogether. As Dondurey explains,
Cinema does, of course, directly affect us all. The underlying theme of the recent congress was changes to the creative unions. To judge from the published plans, they are all going to have to abandon their intellectual mission and become a mixture of trade union and social services. They will restrict themselves to helping the old, providing money for medicines and arranging funerals. And that’s it! There will be no more thoughts about politics in the cinema, partnerships between government and business, no more talk about the quality of films or educating the audience. And above all no more programmes linking us up with other cultures and countries.
This is momentous. The creative unions go back to 1934. Their task was to mediate between the artist and the state, the artist and society, the artist and business. They looked after the interests of the creative professions. As of today, this mission is over.
In fact, this is a process which has been going on ever since the fall of communism. They have not been engaged with cultural politics and economics, or been in real partnership with the Ministry of Culture for a long time. They have mainly been concerned with anniversary celebrations, recommendations for honours and finding a use for the property granted them by Khrushchev and Brezhnev.
It was the cultural politician extraordinaire Nikita Mikhalkov who first announced that the creative unions were no longer going to be communities of like-minded people charged with managing partnerships between artists and the state. All these functions were to be transferred to the specially created Academies, which have been springing up like mushrooms.
It is significant that during the 10 hours the congress was in session not a word (!) was actually said about Russian cinema. Nothing about its crisis, or about how to come through it, nothing about any achievements or failures. No one talked about what we should do next, although these congresses only happen once every five years. There was no analysis, only pompous declarations of love for the way it used to be. No one was looking for co-operation or reconciliation.
It was presented as a conflict between a small group who supported the incumbent president Khutsiev and the overwhelming majority of film-makers. It was not by accident that there was no government representative at the Congress – neither the Minister of Culture nor anyone else.
So what direction will Russian cinema take now? In all European countries the government acts on the arms’ length principle: they subsidise the arts, but decisions are taken by the artists themselves. This is how it is in Germany, France, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, Norway… In Russia strategic questions about the organisation and development of the film industry have not been discussed for 10 years. Perhaps things really would improve if decisions were all taken behind the scenes?
You should have seen this ‘Congress of Victors’. Everyone, even people who knew nothing about the politics of cinema, knew what was going on. What we were watching was not just one famous person attacking another (who is important, talented, moneyed and very well connected, a kind of cultural oligarch).
There has been a lot of discussion recently, even beyond the industry, about the ‘vertical of power’ which is being set up within Russian cinema. After the Congress many people will winder whether anyone in the country is going to able to take decisions about culture on behalf of the wider public. Will it be possible to sack cultural bureaucrats without an imperial decree? Do we need cultural tsars who can’t really be asked where the money is coming from.
Thanks for this article. I find it unnecessarily hysterical and doom and gloomy.
I really seriously doubt that. Russian cinema is undergoing a revival at the moment that hasn’t been experienced since Tarkovsky. It’s back. And in no small part thanks to the government investment. And of course in no small part thanks to the incomprehensively deep cinematic tradition that could have and should have died after the fall of Communism and the dissolution of the strength of the trade union, but didn’t. It’s precisely because of these things that I can’t get all het up about the success of the over-rated but also unfairly singled-out like some posterboy Mikhailkov.
Also, Russian film people are serious divas, as you can see in the above quotes. I’ve known film people from all over, and they are all divas. But in Russia, it’s a madly so, and all cultlike. They take this stuff VERY SERIOUSLY in ways just no one else does. So everything is a matter of life and death and tortured artists who moan when the State tells them what to do and then moan when the State ignores them. And all the while they keep making brillliant films, regardless what horrible regime they’re living under, regardless of the infighting (there’s always infighting too), regardless of almost anything, really. It’s almost religious…
If you think this is ominous, you should read The Film Factory. It’s the same old intellectual/artistic what is our role kind of freak out, only it ends in show trials. See. Perspective people. Seriously.
Uhm, if anyone is half as interested in this subject as I am (which would be scary), I wrote a little piece about the current state of cinema in Russia a while back. Aside from my own acting like I know what I’m talking about, there are lots of good links and references.
http://www.eurotrib.com/story/2008/5/20/182936/797
This is only somewhat on topic, but speaking of Russian culture and its interaction with other countries, what is the deal with Russia and France. Specifically, why was there common ties between both countries during the 20th century with respect to the cinema? Is it due to the number of White Russians that fled to France during the civil war? On that subject, why did so many Whites go to France instead of some other country?
I have noticed that France is really the only western country that ever made any movies that dealt with living conditions in the USSR.
There was a large Russian diaspora in France. i presume because a lot of the nobility spoke French and had a lot of contact there. This book, Them: A Memoir of Parents, might give some insight.
I don’t have an answer for the film questions.
A propos of nothing whatsoever in this discussion, I might be going to a Limonov book signing tomorrow.
God, the man is so oppressed.
You should throw pee in his face! Which book?
I assume the Whites went to France because of a shared language since French was the language taught to the educated classes prior to the Revolution.
There has been a long tradition of Russian intellectual types defecting to France, but I don’t know exactly what’s behind that, beyond that that’s where intellectual types like to defect to. France is really lovely, and I do think there is a comparable cultural sensibility. I think the Russian filmmaker Pavel Lungin might still be living there.
My best answer for the spate of Franco-Russian productions after the fall of Communism is money. Russian filmmakers needed money for production and got it from international sources. International productions also give you a better chance of making the film festival circuit, which is good for distribution. Why France? I don’t know specifically beyond the existence of an established emigre community and long cinematic history. I’m tempted to say: France has money and Russia has the talent. But I’m sure there must be more to it than that.
It’s a good question, though. I should find out the answer.
Keeping with the Russians going to France theme, this is my favorite poem. Mayakovsky.
ПРОЩАНЬЕ
В авто,
последний франк разменяв.
- В котором часу на Марсель? –
Париж
бежит,
провожая меня,
во всей
невозможной красе.
Подступай
к глазам,
разлуки жижа,
сердце
мне
сантиментальностью расквась!
Я хотел бы
жить
и умереть в Париже,
если б не было
такой земли –
Москва.
1925
OMG Chris – I’m So Jealous!
“You should throw pee in his face! Which book?”
I dunno. Whichever one he just wrote.
A friend invited me to go with her.
Jason, there were of “White Russians” all over the world. Most of them, though, were in Europe simply that’s where they ended up once they lost the Civil War. At the end many ended up in France for a variety of factors. For example, in relative terms France’s economy was stronger than of other European countries, so a White Russian had a better chance of finding work (and with better pay) in France than in other European countries. Before WWI Russia was a very strong ally of France and during WWI, of course, Russia and France fought on the same side: at a certain level France felt some sort of obligation toward the White Russians and did more to help White Russians than Poland, Germany, and so on. In the early 1920s, right after the Russian Civil War, Poland and Germany each had three times as many White Russians than France (primarily because Poland and Germany were closer to Russia.) Poland, however, treated the White Russians with hostility and although the White Russians treated better by the Germans, Germany economy was a disaster. As a result by 1930 Poland and Germany lost about 2/3 of its White Russians, while France increased its numbers considerably. A thing to remember is that most White emigres, even among the aristocrats, left Russia with almost no possessions. The stories cab of former Russian generals or Russian Counts working as cab drivers in Paris are not exaggerations. Also, during the 1920s the French Foreign Legion enjoyed an infusion of a good number of battle hardened recruits: White Army veterans, most of them former officers.
Have you read George Orwell’s “Down and Out in Paris and London”? It’s a wonderful and quick read. A couple of Orwell’s buddies in misery are White emigres.
Karaim emigrated to Germany for some reason, and lots of Cossacks to France.
And Serbia. Lots of Cossacks went to Serbia.
Limonov’s book is “Boy, Run!”
Chris, yes indeed, there were plenty of Cossacks (Don, Terek and Kuban) in both France and Yugoslavia between the world wars.
By the way, here is a short excerpt from the first chapter of George Orwell’s “Down and Out in Paris and London” (published in 1933, before his Spanish Civil War experiences):
///
I must say something about Boris, for he was a curious character and my close friend for a long time. He was a big, soldierly man of about thirty-five, and had been good looking, but since his illness he had grown immensely fat from lying in bed. Like most Russian refugees, he had had an adventurous life. His parents, killed in the Revolution, had been rich people, and he had served through the war in the Second Siberian Rifles,
which, according to him, was the best regiment in the Russian Army. After the war he had first worked in a brush factory, then as a porter at Les Halles, then had become a dishwasher, and had finally worked his way up to be a waiter. When he fell ill he was at the Hotel Scribe, and taking a hundred francs a day in tips. His ambition was to become a MAITRE D’HOTEL, save fifty thousand francs, and set up a small, select restaurant on the
Right Bank.
Boris always talked of the war as the happiest time of his life. War and soldiering were his passion; he had read innumerable books of strategy and military history, and could tell you all about the theories of Napoleon, Kutuzof, Clausewitz, Moltke and Foch. Anything to do with soldiers pleased him. His favourite cafe was the Gloserie des Lilas in Montparnasse, simply because the statue of Marshal Ney stands outside it. Later on, Boris and I sometimes went to the rue du Commerce together. If we went by Metro, Boris always got out at Cambronne station instead of Commerce, though Commerce was nearer; he liked the association with General Cambronne, who was called on to surrender at Waterloo, and answered simply, ‘MERDE!’
The only things left to Boris by the Revolution were his medals and some photographs of his old regiment; he had kept these when everything else went to the pawnshop. Almost every day he would spread the photographs out on the bed and talk about them:
‘VOILA, MON AMI. There you see me at the head of my company. Fine big men, eh? Not like these little rats of Frenchmen. A captain at twenty– not bad, eh? Yes, a captain in the Second Siberian Rifles; and my father was a colonel.
‘AH, MAIS, MON AMI, the ups and downs of life! A captain in the
Russian Army, and then, piff! the Revolution–every penny gone. In 1916 I stayed a week at the Hotel Edouard Sept; in 1920 I was trying for a job as night watchman there. I have been night watchman, cellarman, floor scrubber, dishwasher, porter, lavatory attendant. I have tipped waiters, and I have been tipped by waiters.
‘Ah, but I have known what it is to live like a gentleman, MON AMI. I do not say it to boast, but the other day I was trying to compute how many mistresses I have had in my life, and I made it out to be over two hundred. Yes, at least two hundred… Ah, well, CA REVIENDRA. Victory is to him who fights the longest. Courage!’ etc. etc.
Boris had a queer, changeable nature. He always wished himself back in the army, but he had also been a waiter long enough to acquire the waiter’s outlook. Though he had never saved more than a few thousand francs, he took it for granted that in the end he would be able to set up his own
restaurant and grow rich. All waiters, I afterwards found, talk and think of this; it is what reconciles them to being waiters. Boris used to talk interestingly about Hotel life:
‘Waiting is a gamble,’ he used to say; ‘you may die poor, you may make your fortune in a year. You are not paid wages, you depend on tips–ten per cent of the bill, and a commission from the wine companies on champagne corks. Sometimes the tips are enormous. The barman at Maxim’s, for instance, makes five hundred francs a day. More than five hundred, in the
season… I have made two hundred francs a day myself. It was at a Hotel in Biarritz, in the season. The whole staff, from the manager down to the PLONGEURS, was working twenty-one hours a day. Twenty-one hours’ work and two and a half hours in bed, for a month on end. Still, it was worth it, at two hundred francs a day.
‘You never know when a stroke of luck is coming. Once when I was at the Hotel Royal an American customer sent for me before dinner and ordered twenty-four brandy cocktails. I brought them all together on a tray, in twenty-four glasses. “Now, GUARCON,” said the customer (he was drunk), “I’ll drink twelve and you’ll drink twelve, and if you can walk to the door afterwards you get a hundred francs.” I walked to the door, and he gave me a hundred francs. And every night for six days he did the same thing; twelve brandy cocktails, then a hundred francs. A few months later I heard he had been extradited by the American Government–embezzlement. There is something fine, do you not think, about these Americans?’
I liked Boris, and we had interesting times together, playing chess and talking about war and Hotels. …
///
The Tereks are my favorite Host.
Speaking of White emigres, I translated an interview with the head of the Romanov family (Grand Duke Nikolai Romanov) a few years ago. Seemed like a very nice old guy who didn’t have much good to say about Tsarist Russia. Averko would have hated him.
Thanks guys for the responses.
Limonov was very good by the way. He read poetry. No Other Russia people in sight, just bohemian types.
Chris, your mention of a Romanov reminded me of another fascinating emigre: the older brother of the man who ordered the execution of the last Tsar and his family. I’m referring to Yakov Sverdlov’s older brother.
He (the older brother) worked for Gorky and became close to him in the early 1900s. Gorky adopted him, so he took on the name of Peshkov and converted from Judaism to Russian Orthodoxy. As a result, his father as well as the rest of the Sverdlov family broke off all relations with him, even though he probably converted simply out of convenience. Soon after Peshkov left Russia and on his own went to Canada and various European countries. He joined Gorky in Italy, but by the beginning of WWI they drew apart in their politics. Peshkov joined the French Army as a volunteer–a lowly soldier. He distinguished himself for bravery, lost an arm, and was promoted to officer rank. In the 1920s he joined the French Foreign Legion and was wounded once again in Morocco. During World War II he was able to escape the Germans and joined DeGaulle’s Free French army. At some point he was promoted to Brigadier General. After the war he served as a diplomat in Japan and at some point conducted negotiations with Chiang Kai Shek. He was pretty old when he died and was buried in the Russian Orthodox cemetary in Paris where many White Army officers are also buried.