L'empire perdu

I am Portuguese so, despite being born in the 80', i know a few things about a country trying to overcome its own memory. For those who don't know, Portugal was the late perpetrator in Europe of a fascist concept of "empire", a retro idea that stuck cultural life and true evolution for decades in some countries. It finished for us in the mid 70', but dealing with such a radical change of collective definition is something that drags to these days, watered by an upgrade in the Portuguese general living conditions, but still there.

Now i think the Soviet experiment was probably more radical and fundamentalist to its populations than the Latin European fascisms. And it lasted longer. So, dealing with the radical shift towards a forced "western democracy" approach is probably a painful process for the ex soviet territories, mostly the russians. That's the frame where i place this specific picture. I watched it as an exorcism of past phantoms, but also a blinking melancholic eye to those days.

The facts in the story, which is casual (it is here as a 'typical' repetitive case, in those days) all speak against what was happening in that regime in that context, but yet it avoids moralizing. No one is judged (unlike, for example, in "The lives of the others") and no one is innocent. It's a kind of approach that assumes that we must feel what was going on regardless of the upper political or power contexts that forged what we see. I accept that vision, i enjoyed it. The cinematic options here were fully coherent to what we saw, and from time to time i saw Tarkovsky here, who has much to do with how cinema bends memory. Nice to remember a social context, a certain youth i never got to know, and a certain kind of cinema that is sweet and sometimes (not this case) deep and life-altering.

My opinion: 3/5

FantasPorto

http://www.7eyes.wordpress.com

One more great film by Karen Shakhnazarov, this is a coming-of-age movie during times when Western cultural and consumption influences were overcoming Soviet attempt to block them (and repress smuggling of those products). Jeans and jackets, English rock n'roll, French cinema, all that attracted youth, instead of those classes on the history of the Communist Party or the anti-(USA)imperialism propaganda. The relationship of the three friends is also interesting, with their mix of cooperation and rivalry, besides womanizer and brawler typical behviour. That juvenile lack of responsibility and experimentation, in their case, merged with a deep change in Soviet society as a whole, brilliantly portrayed in the movie (including with a perfect period art direction). The ending demarcates the passage to adulthood, and the future could never be foreseen by those partying teenagers.

This is the kind of film which captures the spirit of the age, which gives us an excellent cast playing characters who are all too real, in their world, over 35 years ago.

Everything that one could have heard about Leonid Brezhnev's Soviet Union can be found here. Compared to today, it was an era where life was simpler, yet offered far less opportunities than the West.

Despite the differences, by the end of this film, it is very easy to relate to the characters, especially Sergei Narbakov, the protagonist, and his friend, Stepan Molodtsov. Our humanity is a shared experience.

The outstanding performance by the Armenian actor, Armen Dzhigarkhanyan, must not be overlooked, either. Alternating between old wisdom and very dry humor, he stands out as Sergei's grandfather.

I have already recommended this film to friends who share with me an equal curiosity about the USSR, an acronym now consigned to history books.

The Vanished Empire is a beautiful film about Moscow in 1973 when its hero, Sergei Narbekov, is eighteen. Now, he and his cohorts of those days are fifty-three. Not without significance is the fact that Back to the Future is a big hit at the time. Russian kids are in love with jeans, denim, and bootlegged vinyl of the Stones and, judging by Sergei, college is a place to pick up girls you impress by your skill at wangling outlawed or hard to get stuff, including tickets for shows. Getting drunk and going dancing are also high values. Meanwhile, the USSR is full of itself, even if the kids debate whether it might not be much better elsewhere. The empire is in the ascendant but will soon begin to vanish. The film doesn't push this aspect, but hints at it metaphorically. More often it revels in the details of the period, the boastful propaganda signs, the shiny but rickety Russian cars, young hipsters performing covers of western rock and roll, cluttered apartments, people who read. This is clear-eyed nostalgia. The images are lightly tinted in yellow but razor sharp. The only nostalgia is in how well Shakhnazarov has brought everything back to life. Sergei (played by the impressive newcomer Aleksandr Lyapin) is tall and rangy, modeling his up-to-date fashions with slightly geeky panache. He has a fresh choirboy face, but also an air of cynical cockiness. The fresh face it to attract girls, not signify innocence.

Sergsi's father and grandfather (Armen Dzhigarkhanyan, an Armenian like the director) were archaeologists. His father's missing, his grandfather (who knew Agatha Christie) is amiably tired of life at home, and indulgent toward the boy -- who steals his books and sells them to buy stuff and get drunk with his best mates Stepan (Yegor Baranovsky) and Kostya (Ivan Kupreyenko). It's essential to understand this film to recognize it's about sowing your wild oats. Decades later the grudges of this moment and its misbehavior won't matter one bit. And due to the resilience of youth, they hardly even matter now.

But Sergei's definitely a bad boy, neglecting his studies and, time and again, at key moments in fact, getting drink or stoned and standing up his new girlfriend Lyuda (Lidiya Milyuzina), whose respectable mother he's impressed with is intellectual background. He wants her and loves her but he wants to have fun more. He's unmotivated. When his mother dies of stomach cancer he goes on a trip, a kind of expiation, suggested by his grandfather, to the vast empty site of the ancient City of the Wind, sole remnant of the lost Khorezm civilization his grandfather discovered.

That evocative moment ends the vision of 1973 and there quickly follows a short perspective-establishing coda in the Moscow airport today, where the now much older Sergei, whom we don't see, is recognized and approached by Stopya (Stepan), the friend he rejected in a fight over Ludya. Sergei's a translator now. The grudge is forgotten. All that means nothing now.

There's a parallel, but never at all pushed, of the lost civilization of the East and the lost Soviet empire. The film, handsome to look at, with a vivid look, is superb as to period mise-en-scene, period (and not just of his own youth) being a penchant of Shakhnazarov, whose position as head of Mosfilm has helped him get funding for such productions. The evocations give a sense of the USSR's high point of self-importance but also of how it was stunted. Now everything is gone, changed, and feels "evil," Stopya says in the airport. Shakhnazarov doesn't have to spell out the differences; the contrast is beautifully sketched in.

In retrospect there's a feeling conveyed that the reason Sergei wasn't a good boy is that he saw through the Soviet dream. The Vanished Empire, with its subtly overlapping sense of parallels between lost youth, far off civilization, and crumbled USSR, succeeds in both making eighteen and 1973 clear and vivid and showing that they're gone forever -- that in reliving them for us Sergei is an archaeologist, just like his father and grandfather, after all.

Living in a country where Russian cinema is something foreign, not only in terms of language but also because the import of movies from all of Eastern Europe is quite poor, let me just begin by saying that this movie is a true gem discovered.

Advertised by some as a common love story, "The Vanished Empire" should be seen as much more. While love, or perhaps rather infantile teenage crushes is present throughout, director Karen Shakhnazarov tells the tale of a Russia torn between conservative party-political-values and new western influences featuring the tunes of Shocking Blue, Deep Purple and jeans that begs to deviate from otherwise more traditional clothing. All this started to penetrate a crowd of youths in the early 70's, it just, well, seemingly was a bit more difficult for protagonist Sergei with pals Kostya and Stepan than the contemporary American teen.

Both script, directing and cinematography holds a great deal of quality. Try to catch this! Don't let Timur Bekmambetov's "Night Watch" be the only Russian movie you've seen for the last four years - and the next four to come...