Although
D’Est was originally conceived as a stand-alone film, Akerman later
incorporated it into a special installation. Frankly, that might be the best forum
for it. It is rather hypnotic to watch her restless camera scan the weary faces
of the innumerable by-standers queueing around street corners and packed into
train stations, staring out blankly at the audience. It would probably be even
more so as part of an immersive destination exhibit. However, casual viewers
should be forgiven if they lose patience with it at home.
Regardless,
D’Est is very much a time capsule that transports us to a very specific
place, at a very specific time. Of course, much has changed in Germany and
Poland since Akerman shot her footage in 1992. Russia—maybe not so much. The
babushkas are different (presumably), but the crumbling edifices are the same (if
not worse).
Frankly,
if you took a similar journey east today, you would suddenly find yourself in
the West when you hit the Baltic Republics, where they uphold democratic values
and observe their NATO commitments. Poland has made great strides, but recently
they have taken a bit of a detour through populism—it happens to the best of
countries. However, Russia is practically back to where it started, passively
standing in line, waiting for change, but acquiescing to the status quo, out of
fear things could get worse.
Akerman originally traveled to the soon-to-be-dissolved USSR to research a potential film about Anna Akhmatova. It is a shame that project was never realized, because Akhmatova deserves to be much more widely read these days. A film by Akerman, who is frequently the focus of repertory programming, could have helped keep the poet in the public consciousness. Be that as it may, D’Est certainly captures a keen sense of the end of an era. If nothing else, it prompts some interesting reflections, which means it still holds value. Recommended for those who understand Akerman and her oeuvre, From the East starts streaming tomorrow (9//25) on OVID.tv.
