Unconditional, on Apple TV+

At this point, everyone should be extremely cautious when visiting Russia or China, because they are hostile powers that employ hostage-taking as a tactic to negotiate political and economic concessons. That caution should also apply to layovers. Orna Levy and her daughter Gali learn that the hard way. They were traveling from India to Israel, but Gali was arrested on dubious drug trafficking charges during their Moscow connection. Orna Levy is neither a lawyer or a diplomat, but she is a mother, so she fights tenaciously for her daughter’s freedom in co-creators Adam Bizanski & Dana Idisis’s 8-episode Israeli drama, Unconditional, which premieres today on Apple TV+.

Orna assumes they would simply eat between flights and that would be all they would see of Russia. Instead, the police swarm and arrest Gali, leaving her mother confused and alarmed. The timing is terrible, because the Israeli embassy is closed for a national holiday. Eventually, she learns the charges, but neither Levy or her lawyer can speak to her daughter, because the cops keep transferring her from prison to prison, like a game of three card monte.

Eventually, Gali is “arraigned,” but with one whispered word from the prosecutor, the judge denies bail with no explanation. Viewers had better take note at this point. This could happen to any American traveling to Russia, if Putin and his lackeys feel they need an extra bargaining chip.

Awkwardly, Gali’s case turns out to be a little more complicated. As Levy conducts a media campaign back home to pressure the Israeli government secure her daughter’s release, she starts to pick up hints Gali might have been intertwined with some sort of international intrigue. For starters, she had a bundle of strange passports hidden in some of her possessions that her mother was carrying. Consequently, Levy starts distrusting her own government, even including her sort of former lover, Dori, a not-exactly former member of the Shin Bet.

Regardless, Gali most likely wasn’t precisely the naïve girl her mother presumed. Indeed, her parting advice to her mother—do no eat or drink anything—was quite sage. As her Russian lawyer later explains, Putin’s cops often lace water provided during interrogations with trace amounts of drugs, to produce false positives to present in court.

The early episodes of Unconditional are smart, nerve-wracking, and urgently timely television. Unfortunately, the conclusion is fairly ridiculous and leaves major national security questions unresolved—and not in a cliffhanger kind of way. The writers clearly just didn’t consider it important.

Admittedly, Bizanski & Idisis target fans of Not Without My Daughter rather than Tom Clancy, but given the Russian and Israeli setting, they could have anticipated a crossover techno-thriller market. To be fair, as previously stated, there is a great deal of valid cautionary, ripped-from-true-life sequences.

Nevertheless, the mother-daughter relationship is the engine driving the series and its reason for being. Consequently, it is also a heck of a showcase for Liraz Chamami, whose performance as Mother Levy is both magnificent and harrowing. She is a ferocious mama bear and a poignant everywoman, misunderestimated (as George W. Bush aptly says) at every turn.

Evgenia Dodina is also wonderfully acerbic and flamboyantly sharklike as Rita, the mysterious Israeli spymaster, who might possibly do more good than harm for Levy. Yossi Marshek also deserves credit for his sensitively understated portrayal of Benni, Levy’s husband suffering from acute early Alzheimer’s. Yes, when it rains for Orna Levy, it pours.

My Undesirable Friends: Pt. I – Last Air in Moscow, on Mubi

For TV Rain, there was no revolution to televise—just the rise of an Orwellian dictatorship. At first, the oppression increased at a steady rate, but after Putin’s illegal invasion of Ukraine, the general crackdown on civil society escalated exponentially. Considered the last independent network in Russia, TV Rain (sometimes romanized “Dozhd”) and its journalists were branded “foreign agents,” solely due to their skepticism of Putin. In reality, their only real foreign connection was Julia Loktev, a friend of TV Rain host Anna Nemzer, who documented the journalists during late 2021 and early 2022 in My Undesirable Friends: Pt. I – Last Air in Moscow, which Friday on Mubi.

Loktev’s epic five-and-a-half-hour documentary starts with the dawning of the “foreign agent” age. Every TV Rain show and social media post must be prefaced with the Putin’s regime’s mandated boilerplate labeling what follows as the product of paid foreign agitation. As they comply with the law, Nemzer and her colleagues mock the disclaimer, turning it into a badge of honor. They are hardly the only “foreign agents.” All reasonably independent journalists and scores of NGOs and their employees were tarred with the same scarlet letter. It was even unjustly applied to Memorial, the now-defunct non-profit, founded during the Soviet era, which documented the Communists’ crimes against humanity—a practice that Putin obviously considered bad for business.

As Nemzer and her colleagues struggle to comply with the new rules, she and Loktev regularly check in with friends who are slowly becoming dissidents, like “Ksyusha," whose husband, Ivan Safronov was (and still is) imprisoned on treason charges. Eventually, she too joins TV Rain, but when things get bad, she is the most reluctant to consider exile, because she knows it will be used against her husband.

Nemzer and Loktev also introduce viewers to a TV Rain roommates who are arduously appealing a past case through Russia’s kangaroo appellate courts, for the sake of ultimately petitioning the European Court of Human Rights. Yet, that effort goes for naught after Putin launches his war on Ukraine and withdraws from the Council of Europe.

It takes Loktev three and a half absurdist hours to get to that point. Things move much quicker during the second two-hour section, which begins with the start of the Ukraine invasion. Despite expecting it on an intellectual level, those associated with TV Rain react with shock and horror, which quickly turns to panic.

Putin’s regime prohibits the use of the word “war” in media coverage insisting on the euphemism “special military operation” instead. It also mandates only Russan government sources can only be cited. Working around such restrictions becomes increasingly dicey, especially as TV Rain personnel are increasingly detained. Loktev spends considerable time waiting outside one such holding facility, waiting and hoping for the release of on-camera anchor Eduard “Edik” Burmistrov, who wasn’t even arrested for his TV Rain work. He just happened to attend a vigil for assassinated opposition leader Boris Nemtsov.

My Undesirable Friends is absolutely harrowing stuff. In retrospect, the mammoth shape makes a lot of sense. For a while, the constant drumbeat of outrages are like the drippings of water torture, but after the WAR begins, it becomes a genuine monsoon. Perhaps a half hour could have been pruned from the “before” section, but that is arguably rather high praise for a film that runs over five hours.

Regardless, the madness and the sheer pettiness Loktev documents is bizarre and terrifying. The audience essentially witnesses an entire nation lose its mind, driving away or imprisoning its future generations in the process. Nemzer is a wise choice to serve as the film’s initial voice, because she is incredibly smart and charismatic, but also highly relatable as a parent. She is also already realistic to the point of cynicism. Consequently, instead of shaking our heads at her naivete, we [sadly] nod for her prescience.

The Dmitriev Affair, on OVID.tv

Being an archivist sounds like it should be a boring job. Unfortunately, such has not been the case for Yuri Dmitriev. He found himself persecuted as an enemy of the state, precisely because he did his job well—too well as far as the Putin regime was concerned. For the crime of discovering and authenticating a mass grave for victims of Stalin’s purges, the mild-mannered archivist stood trial on truly horrific trumped-up sex crime charges, as filmmaker Jessica Gorter documents in The Dmitriev Affair, which premieres tomorrow on OVID.tv.

By pouring through Stalinist era archives and combing through the forestland of Karelia, Dmitriev uncovered the Sandarmokh mass grave site. As part of the Nobel Peace Prize-awarded international NGO, Memorial, which was forced to shutter its Russian constituent organization, Dmitriev helped oversee the excavation of the gravesite and the dedication of a commemoration monument for grieving family members. That did not sit well with the Putin regime, which has fostered a media campaign to rehabilitate Stalin’s historical image.

What happened to Dmitriev is absolutely disgusting. For two years, he was imprisoned and prosecuted on specious child pornography charges. Tragically, the supposed victim, his adopted daughter, became collateral damage, when she was returned to the grandparents who previously abandoned her at the orphanage. Considering the constant presence of Dmitriev’s grown children and other family members, the charges so utterly defied credibility, Dmitriev was initially found not guilty. Yet, the regime simply re-indicted on even more extreme charges.

Gorter was present to record every perverse twist and turn of the Kafkaesque case. It might be a cliché, but this documentary conclusively proves the adage that “those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” This is precisely why Putin and his lackeys are so determined to obscure and re-write Russia’s sinister Soviet history.

Unfortunately, the film also shows just how acutely vulnerable Dmitriev was to the regime’s smear tactics and lawfare. He is clearly an “absent-minded professor” type, whose passionate outrage in the face of injustice often propels him to ill-advisedly take the state-media’s bait. Arguably, his lack of cynical guile directly contributes to his downfall.

Inside Russia: Traitors and Heroes, on OVID.tv

Remember when the phrase “speaking truth to power” became an overused cliché? It never caught on in Putin’s Russia. Nina Belyayeva knows that better than anyone. The former Voronezh legislator spoke out against Putin’s unprovoked assault on Ukraine during a council meeting. She now lives in exile in the Baltics. That is what happens to elected officials who speak truth to power in Russia, so imagine trying it as an average citizen. Filmmakers Paul Mitchell & Anastasiya Popova interview Balyayeva and other brave dissenting Russians in Inside Russia: Traitors and Heroes, which premieres Wednesday on OVID.tv.

Every second of Mitchell & Popova’s film clearly exposes just how deeply Putin has warped the very souls of the Russian people. If you doubt it, just listen to the hateful, genocidal sentiments YouTubers Alla and Misha record during their person-on-the-street interviews for their channel @WhatTo (which ominously has not posted a new video in at least a year). They used to work for independent media outlets, but such a thing no longer exists in Russia. Mostly, the older citizenry they interview argue Ukraine initiated the war, through their Nazi aggression, so Russia should exterminate the entire nation. The perverse contradiction of the hate-filled propaganda they regurgitate is clearly lost on them.

Uliana had profound misgivings when her brother Vanya enlisted. Yet, ironically, she now struggles to justify the war in conversation, because her brother’s sacrifice would otherwise be meaningless. For Lyonya and his friends, graffiti was the only avenue available to them to criticize the government’s policies. Unfortunately, he was serving a six-month sentence for one such statement when Mitchell & Popova added the “where are they now” postscript.

Obviously, out of all their subjects, Balyayeva had the most political stature and influence. Consequently, prosecutors had to get the go-ahead from their superiors before opening a case against her. That gave her a weekend’s head-start to plan her escape.

Whiteout: Russian Occupational Hazards

If you are an American who still works abroad in Russia or China, here is a simple question: are you out of your mind? After seeing how both regimes practice hostage diplomacy, with victims like Paul Whelan, do you really believe it couldn’t happen to you? That is what Henry thought, until gunmen took his entire office hostage. They are probably Russian mob rather than proper government officials, but what’s the difference, really? Woefully out of shape Henry stands a poor chance of survival, so he readily agrees to an escape attempt, but it turns into a case of out-of-the-frying-pan-and-into-the-fire in Derek Barnes’ Whiteout, which releases today on VOD.

Their captors intend to ransom Henry and his co-workers for ransom, but until their relatives pay-up, they labor like slaves in a Siberian factory. When the gang-leader recruits Henry for some office work, it makes him valuable to Kurt and Anthony, two hardened longtime inmates, with an escape plan requiring his help. Despite the risk, his boss Thomas advises him to go for it, because staying there most likely results in death.

Unfortunately, his partners in escape had their geography somewhat mixed-up, which means they have a hard trek ahead of them. Things really get awkward when they are joined by two other Russian fugitives, including the one who tried to give Henry the prison shower-room treatment. However, it turns out he should be more afraid of Kurt and Anthony. Not to be spoilery, but they eventually admit they recruited Henry precisely because he was so overweight.

Whiteout might be a low-budget production, but it is brutally effective. Give credit to Barne and co-star-co-screenwriters James McDougall and Douglas Nyback credit. They never shy away from the grisly implications of their sinister premise. This is a tough little film, whose reputation will likely grow over time.

Paradise, on Klassiki

Fossil fuels are the only things propping up the Russian economy right now, so don’t expect Putin to help reduce carbon emissions. Keep in mind, he was also a KGB agent, when the USSR was one of the dirtiest polluters on Earth. As usual, Russia’s regional ethnic minorities pay the price. Thanks to record high temperatures, northeast Siberia was plagued with unprecedented forest fires in 2021, but the national government in Moscow supplied no assistance. It wasn’t an oversight. That was policy. The hardscrabble residents of Shologon must face the advancing flames alone in Alexander Abaturov’s documentary, Paradise, which premieres tomorrow on Klassiki as the “Pick of the Week.”

Unfortunately, the Taiga region where Shologon is located had been designated one of Russia’s inaptly named special “control” zones. That means the national government will withhold support if they believe the potential costs of fighting fires are greater than the benefits of saving the endangered areas. Somehow, Shologon was fortunate enough to get Pavel, a forest fire expert temporarily assigned to them, but all the labor involved comes from the village. (To be fair, Pavel appears willing to roll up his sleeves and pitch in too.)

Although Abaturov takes an editorially restrained, highly observational approach, he still captures some very dramatic footage of the wildfires encroaching on Shologon—mostly just by leaning out of car windows and filming the villages as the desperately trying to set backfires and firebreaks. The villagers do so largely unprotected, as was presumably true for Abaturov as well. The air and skies often look ominously orange and smoky, which is not the result of filters or any sort of augmentation (as New Yorkers will remember from when the Canadian forest fires turned our skyline a sickly shade of amber last year.)

Like Pavel, Abaturov clearly sympathizes with the citizens of Shologon. The current regime badly exploits its regional minorities, definitely including the Turkic and Mongolian people of Siberia. In 2021, Putin’s government turned their backs on them, during their time of crisis. Today, the hardscrabble provinces are disproportionately likely to serve as cannon-fodder, because they cannot afford the estimated five to seven thousand dollar bribes necessary to buy their way out of conscription.

Slava: After the Fall—Graphic Novel

Russians have had to hustle to survive for over a century now. The grizzled old miner Volodya will be the first to admit it. However, doing black market business was never considered anything to admire. The two slicksters who come to town looking for a big score have different, Yeltsin-era values. However, the miners hope to use the sleazy Lavrin and his somewhat naïve protégé in Pierre-Henry Gomont’s French graphic novel Slava: After the Fall, which is now available in ebook formats.

Lavrin thinks he a real mover-and-shaker, but most of the deals he pulls off involve scavenged fixtures from grand old Soviet palaces of Communism. That is why he dragged Slava out to the remote Russian Caucasian mining town. However, the weather is rougher than they anticipated, as are the thugs who have the jump on them.

If it weren’t for Nina and her grandfather, Volodya, this would have been the end for them. For his part, Slava is stupid-staggered by his crush on Nina, but Lavrin does not do gratitude well. He still wants those fixtures and he does not even bother hiding his admiration for the oligarch planning to buy and plunder the town’s mine. However, Nina and Volodya have a different plan. Before the mine is auctioned, they want Lavrin and Slava to sell the mine’s newest equipment on the black market, so they can outbid the oligarch and keep the miners employed using the older, still serviceable machinery.

It is indeed a clever plan. If more communities had been as adaptable, Russia’s post-Communism history might have been very different. Of course, there are complications, mostly involving flaky Lavrin. Despite their cynical attitude towards Yeltsin’s privatizations, Gomont’s characters have little nostalgia for Communism, except maybe Nina, who grew up listening to the miners’ propaganda songs.

Regardless, Morkhov, the fictional rival oligarch, is cut from the same cloth as “Putin’s wallets.” The kind of travesty Nina and Volodya are trying to avoid happened quite a bit and paved the way for Putin’s anti-American regime and its war crimes in Ukraine. Clearly, current events have added extra bite to Gomont’s wistfully ironic tale.

NYFF ’17: A Gentle Creature

It is a matter of inspiration rather than adaptation. Dostoevsky’s short story sparked something for the Moscow-trained, Ukrainian filmmaker, but it is way more upbeat than Sergei Loznitsa’s resulting film. In terms of literary comparisons, think of it as Candide rewritten by Kafka in present day Russia. However, this much abused woman is keenly aware she is absolutely not living in the best of all possible worlds. She lives in Russia, a corrupt and soulless country, where nobody passes up an opportunity to victimize others. Of course, it starts with the venal officials and rolls downhill in Loznitsa’s A Gentle Creature (trailer here), which screens as the “Film Comment Presents” selection of the 55^th New York Film Festival.

We never really learn how and why the meek office worker’s husband was sentenced to prison for murder, but it is probably safe to assume he was unjustly convicted. One day, her care package is returned to her, because it was refused by the prison. Concerned about her husband’s status, she makes the arduous journey to the unnamed provincial village, but all her bureaucratic inquiries are rebuffed out of hand.

Apparently, exploiting visitors in “the Gentle Creature’s” position is a cottage industry in this town, which looks unchanged since the Stalinist era. Unfortunately, everyone immediately recognizes she is particularly easy pickings. A grotesque boarding house proprietor quickly gets her claws into the confused wife, but it is her criminal associates who represent the real danger. They claim they can facilitate a visit with her husband, but we suspect their ultimate designs involve something like human trafficking.

Creature is absolutely, positively guaranteed to garner a divisive reception from New Yorkers. Older viewers will be put off by its deliberately slow, agonizingly naturalistic first two hours, as well as a sudden turn towards the surreal in the third act. On the other hand, Social Justice Warriors will be confused by Loznitsa’s not-so-veiled criticism of Russia’s Communist past and possibly outraged by a scene of sexual violence that is admittedly tough to watch (but it is supposed to be horrifying, that’s the whole point). However, for those who understand the film’s historical and cultural context, it is a bracing indictment of contemporary Russia, both socially and politically. There are also moments of bitterly dry humor, which is so very Russian.

Granted, the Gentle Creature is such a perfectly passive victim, she often induces groans and face-palms. However, it is important to remember Creature is essentially an allegory, so we should expect a level of characterization proportional to Pilgrim’s Progress or Everyman. Still, the “Human Rights Activist” is a rather fascinating exception. When we initially meet her, she is overworked and physically intimidated to her breaking point. Yet, her later appearance suggests she fetishizes her martyrdom.

As the Human Rights Activist (nobody needs bourgeoisie names in a film like this), Liya Akhedzhakova covers quite a gamut, but she leaves us chastened and disillusioned in both her bravura scenes. In contrast, the wafer-thin and sunken-eyed Vasilina Makovtseva is profoundly haunting and disturbing as the Gentle Creature. It also should be stipulated, the ensemble is fully stocked with utterly convincing thugs, bullies, grifters, and freaks.

Pointedly, Human Rights Office is located on Dzerzhinsky Street and the bust of Lenin oversees all the humiliation from its place of honor in the shabby village square. For obviously reasons, Creature was filmed in Daugavpils, an ethnic Russian village in Latvia, “blessed” with a vintage Soviet prison—but to dispute its authenticity or current relevancy would be disingenuous denial at its most risible.

Nor can we argue Creature is a work of perfection. The film’s didactic nature is inescapable and pacing can be an issue, especially in the early going. Regardless, this is an important cinematic statement, produced out of moral outrage and bitter black bile that is light years removed from Loznitsa’s cerebrally constructed documentaries. It maybe isn’t the best film at this year’s NYFF, but it is probably the most significant. Recommended, with a sense of urgency, warts and all, A Gentle Creature screens again tonight (10/5) and Sunday (10/15) as part of this year’s New York Film Festival.

Rooftop Films: At the Edge of Russia

If the neo-Soviet Russian government is willing to allow a Polish filmmaker access to one of its distant sub-arctic posts, it is a safe bet few military secrets could be gleaned from the soldiers stationed there. In fact, the frozen border guards do not even have spoons in Michal Marczak’s deceptively un-documentary-like At the Edge of Russia (trailer here), which screens this Wednesday as part of Rooftop Film’s 2011 summer season—and admission is free.

Recruited out of college, Alexei Zarubin is in for an education. He had anticipated seeing some action, but finds himself assigned to Ice Station Zilch instead. However, snow-blindness and boredom are very real and pressing dangers here. Initially, the old-timers haze him a bit, but nothing too serious. Clearly, in such cramped and isolated quarters, everyone must get along reasonably well.

Not a complete idiot, Zarubin steadily wins the confidence of the weathered veterans. Time passes without any sightings of invading armies on the horizon. In truth, once Zarubin is instructed how to wrap his feet to prevent frostbite, he is probably in the safest spot of all Mother Russia. Yet, in proper Orwellian fashion, Putin’s grinning mug looks down upon them throughout the ramshackle outpost.

Evidently there are twelve such military bases still in operation along Russia’s northern border, all dating back to the 1950’s. Even during the Cold War, their efficacy was highly questionable, especially during the 1970’s when Canadian PM and Castro BFF Pierre Trudeau was arguably more anti-American than the Soviets. Nevertheless, Zaburin and his comrades walk the line, like characters in a frosty Beckett play.

Zaburin’s senior officers are so cinematic, in a craggy character actor sort of way, it is difficult to believe they are not actors. While Marczak’s approach is strictly observational, he reportedly did a bit of re-staging and the like. Still, cinematographer Radoslaw Ladczuk achieves a more polished look than one sees in the majority of the grungy narrative features that are quickly hailed and then forgotten on the festival circuit. Viewers should be warned, there is a whole lot of snow shoveling in this film. Yet, as the grizzled Valery Vasiliev’s rotation fast approaches, his mounting anxieties regarding home and hearth provide the film a sense of narrative structure.

Seventy-two minutes is probably the optimal length of time to spend on Russia’s arctic border. After seeing the state of readiness of the border guards (which is far higher than necessary) and the resources at their disposal (which would have been considered crude five decades ago) it is hard to say whether Edge should leave viewers more or less concerned about the imperialistic ambitions of Putin’s Russia. Either way, it opens a fascinating window into one of the most remote yet well guarded corners of the world. Recommended for Russophiles, particularly at no cost courtesy of Rooftop Films, Edge screens this Wednesday Night (8/10) at the Socrates Sculpture Garden in Long Island City.

Gorby’s Kids: My Perestroika

Even though he was badly hung-over, he knew a national crisis was underway. Though the Russian did not know at the time the hard-line Communist coup had deposed Mikhail Gorbachev, he saw Swan Lake was the only program on television. For some reason, the Soviets always broadcasted the Tchaikovsky ballet during periods of internal turmoil. It is telling details like this that connect the personal to the grandly historical in Robin Hessman’s documentary My Perestroika (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York at the IFC Center, almost exactly a year (to the date) after its successful New York debut at New Directors New Films.

A Russophile in high school, Hessman was working for LENFILM, the Soviet film agency based in what was then Leningrad at the time of the infamous coup. Through her time working and studying in Russia, Hessman developed a keen appreciation for the stoic nobility of average Russian citizens, which is markedly reflected throughout My Perestroika. Using five former classmates as POV everymen, Hessman subjectively presents the last forty-some years of Russian and Soviet history through their memories and home movies.

Yes, there is a certain nostalgia for their childhood years lived under the yoke of Soviet tyranny. However, it is really for their lost innocence rather than the supposed virtues of the Brezhnev era. As becomes clear in their interviews, as the Perestroika generation came of age, it also became disillusioned.

Still, not all of the film’s lead voices are struggling. An entrepreneur with a small chain of high-end men’s clothing stores, Andrei has done quite well for himself. He is also the most vocal critic of the current Putin regime. In contrast, life is rather difficult for single mother Olga, who works servicing the bars that rent her company’s billiard tables. The married school teachers Borya and Lyuba are somewhere in the middle, still living in the same cramped apartment he grew up in, but they take some measure of satisfaction in their work and family. As for Ruslan the busker, he defies easy classification and harbors few illusions.

While none of the five have led exceptional lives, Hessman had the good fortune to find participants who had been somewhat in the vicinity of great events. Borya and Lyuba in particular, remember the thrill of resigning from the Communist Youth, as soon as it was safe to do so. Later, they joined the protests against the 1991 coup, but again they did so without feeling any threat of imminent danger. Indeed, there is a constant sense of irony throughout My Perestroika that seems so fittingly Russian.

Indeed, the experiences of My Perestroika’s subjects are too complex for pat labels, at various times lending credence to wide array of political interpretations (though it is hard to find much in the film to justify faith in the Putin’s puppet government). Of course, life is messy that way, especially in Russia. Hessman’s fascinating film captures that reality quite well. Definitely recommended, My Perestroika opens this Wednesday (3/23) in New York at the IFC Center.

ND/NF ’10: My Perestroika

Even though he was badly hung-over, he knew there was a national crisis. Though the Russian did not know at the time the hard-line Communist coup had deposed Mikhail Gorbachev, he saw Swan Lake was the only program on television. For some reason, the Soviets always broadcasted the Tchaikovsky ballet during periods of internal turmoil. It is telling details like this that connect the personal to the grandly historical in Robin Hessman’s documentary My Perestroika (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors New Films, jointly presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and MoMA.

A Russophile in high school, Hessman was working for LENFILM, the Soviet film agency based in what was then Leningrad at the time of the infamous coup. Through her time working and studying in Russian, Hessman developed a keen appreciation for the stoic nobility of average Russian citizens, which is clearly reflected in Perestroika. Using five former classmates as representative everymen, Hessman subjectively presents the last forty-some years of Russian and Soviet history through their memories and home movies.

Yes, there is a certain nostalgia for their childhood years lived under the yoke of Soviet tyranny. However, it is really for their lost innocence rather than the supposed virtues of the Brezhnev era. As becomes clear in their interviews, as the Perestroika generation came of age, it also became disillusioned.

Still, not all of the film’s lead voices are doing badly. An entrepreneur with a small chain of high-end men’s clothing stores, Andrei has done quite well for himself. He is also the most vocal critic of the current Putin regime. In contrast, life is a struggle for single mother Olga, who works servicing the bars that rent her company’s billiard tables. The married school teachers Borya and Lyuba are somewhere in the middle, still living in the same cramped apartment he grew up in. As for Ruslan the busker, he defies easy classification and harbors few illusions.

While none of the five have led exceptional lives, Hessman had the good fortune to find participants who had been somewhat in the vicinity of great events. Borya and Lyuba in particular, remember the thrill of resigning from the Communist Youth, as soon as it was safe to do so. Later, they joined the protests against the 1991 coup, but again they did so without feeling any threat of imminent danger. Indeed, there is a constant sense of irony throughout Perestroika that seems so fittingly Russian.

Indeed, the experiences of Perestroika’s subjects defy easy classification, at various times lending credence to wide array of political interpretations (though it is hard to find much in the film to justify faith in the Putin’s puppet government). Of course, life is messy that way, especially in Russia. Hessman’s fascinating film captures that reality quite well. It screens today (3/25) at MoMA and Sunday (3/28) at the Walter Reade Theater as part of New Films New Directors.

Slava Tsukerman’s Perestroika

Dr. Alexander “Sasha” Greenberg is one of the leading authorities on the structure of the universe, but it is increasingly difficult for him to structure his own life. As for how Russia’s future would take shape, it was anyone’s guess in the pivotal year of 1992. Seeking some answers in his own life, the former Refusenik scientist returns to the city of his birth in Slava Tsukerman’s Perestroika (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday.

Returning to Moscow after the fall of Communism, much appears to have changed for the better—at least to extent. During a tour, the owner of a television studio tells Greenberg: “sex and Jews are our two most popular subjects today. Everyone wants to film what used to be forbidden.” However, opinions vary widely among Greenberg’s old friends about the prospects for post-Soviet life. Some support Yeltsin, while others are deeply skeptical. Some acquaintances put their hopes in democratic capitalism, while a few actually advocate a return to authoritarian rule. For his part, Greenberg just wants a drink.

Greenberg is experiencing the homecoming his mentor, American defector Prof. Henry Gross, thought would be impossible. He finds himself a celebrity, mobbed by people he hardly remembers, in a surreal reunion. Though it is all smiles now, not all of his memories are pleasant, as when Gross denounced him in class for applying for immigration.

Perestroika is named after Gorbachev’s “restructuring” policies, rather than Glasnost, his so-called “openness” policies of the same era. Indeed, structure is a critical issue for Greenberg. If he changes his life, will he only replace pieces, perhaps trading his frequently estranged wife for his younger mistress? Likewise, will the Russians exchange the yoke of Communism for another dictatorship? (Sadly, in retrospect, this appears to be the case).

Like Greenberg, Tsukerman was also a Refusenik who ultimately immigrated to New York by way of Israel. He is best known for the radically different Liquid Sky, but he displays an equally distinctive visual approach in Perestroika. Blending cosmic animation, archival documentary footage, intentionally obvious use of blue-screen photography, and highly stylized visions of Moscow, Perestroika is not exactly an exercise is socialist realism. It is reflective of Greenberg’s deep but disorderly thoughts.

In Perestroika, characters often talk in metaphors. While it runs the risk of sounding pretentious, it is often fascinating, particularly during key conversations between Greenberg and his old mentor. Though Sam Robards’ accent might be a bit spotty, he conveys both a believable world-weariness and even a genuine likability as the prodigal Greenberg. As the erudite Gross, Oscar winner F. Murray Abraham is perfectly cast, capturing his disarming charm, while spinning out advanced scientific concepts with ease.

Perestroika is surprisingly fast-paced, considering it is driven by ideas and dialogue. Despite its rather abrupt conclusion, it is a smart, challenging picture that brings considerable insight to bear on very recent Russian-Soviet history. Perestroika opens this Friday in New York at the Cinema Village.

Margaret Mead: Alone in Four Walls

Call it the school for Jean Valjeans. Boy after boy incarcerated in a Russian reformatory school tells a similar story—sentenced for two to three years for stealing jam or other common foodstuffs. There is also the boy serving three years for triple homicide. If that sounds grossly unjust, the punch-line of German director Alexandra Westmeier’s documentary Alone in Four Walls (trailer here) is that most of the young charges of the remote Ural reform school do not want to leave. Alone, which screened last night at the Margaret Mead Film & Video Festival, is an unusual issue-oriented documentary, because it refrains from bludgeoning the audience with its righteous.

Artfully filmed by Westmeier’s cinematographer husband Inigo, Alone focuses exclusively on the children of this facility, giving the supervising adults only incidental screen time. As we first meet the charges, they explain for the camera their starter-prison tattoos. However, as they tell their stories, they do not seem to be bad kids. Although the film begins with a scared new arrival distraught because he was not allowed to say goodbye to his mother, most of the residents have clearly adapted well to their new environment. After all, it offers them things they did not have at home: namely structure and regular meals.

In a rare turn of events, the Westmeiers’ post-screening Q&A was actually illuminating. The director explained the seemingly disproportionate sentences for pilfering food were often handed down as a way to get the children out of a dangerous situation, giving them a chance to finish school. While it might speak well of Russia’s juvenile justice system, it is a pretty damning indictment of the country’s overall social support system.

One of the few adults we hear from is an alumnus of the institution, who recalls his time there as the best years of his childhood. Yet, when he sought out his closest mates from his time there, one was already dead and another was back behind bars. It turns out recidivism is a brutal 91% for the school’s graduates. Westmeier blames the lack of social services for such at risk youth. The lawless example of the Russia government itself also would not exactly instill good citizenship either.

Westmeier’s approach works because she resists the urge to explicitly tell viewers what they should think about it all. Whether you fully share Westmeier’s sympathies for the children or not, Alone certainly takes viewers to a remote corner of Russian they have never seen before.