Vremya zhatvy

pure poetry. a form of poetry of image, story and final part. a testimony about a period. and about people. a woman and her family. a field and a flag. a desire. and a song. the death, the dusty air, the goose, the mouse. and a lot of pictures. short - portrait from East. and this fact makes it a Russian amazing movie.for the air of for ever remember. for the images who proofs not only high art but who remembers slices of many other films from a cinematography who has force and science to give to artistic film nuances of document. a child and his universe. nothing more. nothing else. and a time of darkness . in the best light. under the magnificent wise of confession. a film who, after its end, becomes only experience. because its extraordinary beauty, its inspired ingredients are only tools for rediscover the profound truth of its message.

I saw this film back at the 2005 Palm Springs International Film Festival and of the 14 films I saw there I liked this the least. I can appreciate the near documentary style and feel of this look at a rural collective farm community in the Stalinist era but it was a small movie and since it was so bleak I couldn't get past being depressed viewing it. It did have elements of comic relief but I think it could have dealt with this subject matter and story a little differently and taken it to another level for my taste at least. There were several promising aspects especially the ending was good and that could have been explored better. Coming in at 68 minutes this was also too short to be a feature film so it was accompanied by a 12 minute animated short from the Netherlands called Seventeen which in itself was depressing and had no correlation to the subject matter of Vremya Zhatvy so I don't know how the two came together in this screening. I would rate this a 5.5 and not recommend it at least not recommend it to a general audience.

Some individual poetic moments of an almost forgotten wrecked past, be it the situation and/or the beautiful photography. It's the old Soviet Union, the time of the kolkhoz(e). A family history at a decisive moment. A son, another son, a mum, a dad and a bloody goose. A banner. A war history. A city apartment. And some almost forgotten dear memories. A mother holding her young son. Trying to hold things together in different respects. This commentary is already too long for a poetic movie that you simply should watch, instead of reading crap about it (like this piece). If you like The straight story, Bye bye blue bird or Der Himmel über Berlin, you might enjoy this one.

This documentary/movie about a woman on a collective farm winning an award for her hard work is a must-see. Without expecting too much of it, i went to see the movie. After a few minutes it was like i was IN the movie, like i was walking in the farm, and looking in the garden and house of Antonina and her disabled husband and her son, the story-teller. This movie shows the life on the farm in the Soviet Union, both a tough life, and at the same time a simple and happy life, compared to life in post-soviet Russia.

Beautiful images and nice, sometimes a bit Yann Tiersen-like music, this documentary-like movie is a must see.

And also one of the best movies about our Soviet past I've seen. The epoch looks thrilling and somehow wonderful at the same time. It does not speculate on Stalinism and does not adorn anything. It is almost documentary - I was not surprised when I learnt that the movie was based on the real story, that all actors, except Lyudmila Motornaya (Tosya), were non-professionals, and that the director, Marina Razbezhkina, has a considerable documentary experience.

There is not much action in the film and it can be somewhat difficult to continue watching repeated, slow scenes of the harvester, the field, the flag, and again, and again - but there is a definite sense in all this, and the ending redeems it all. It is worth to watch it until the end and then you will be surely touched.

If you are interested in what we have left behind, in our past, you must see this.