UNAFF ’14: The Gold Spinners

He was Soviet Estonia’s Don Draper, the only Mad Man operating in a barking mad system. Thanks to a unique set of circumstances, his Esti Reklaamfilm (ERF) Studio prospered nicely as the only production house for television commercials in the USSR. Peedu Ojamaa looks back on his strange but groovy career in Hardi Volmer & Kiur Aarma’s The Gold Spinners (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2014 UN Association Film Festival in the Stanford area.

Ojamaa started at as a cub reporter, transitioning into newsreel production, specializing in uncommonly watchable reports, at least by the admittedly dismal standards of the Soviet media. Of course, Estonians were familiar with the TV commercial as concept, because they were furtively watching Finnish broadcasts (by all means, see Aarma’s even more rollicking Disco and Atomic War for the full glorious story).

Why oh why, would a Socialist Workers’ Paradise need something as crassly capitalistic as the commercial spot? To help perpetuate certain illusions, such as the non-existent demand for some state-mandated products. Conversely, even though scarcities like butter and sugar would immediately sell-out anyway, ERF’s commercials created a false image of plenty.

Arguably, Ojamaa became the first crony capitalist when Soviet planners, in their infinite wisdom, declared one percent of all state enterprises’ annual budgets had to be spent on advertising. As a result, ERF probably produced spots for products that never really existed—and the likely examples are pretty incredible to behold. Frankly, many of ERF’s commercials are considerably more entertaining than Super Bowl ads, like animator Priit Pärn’s energy conservation PSA. While prudish Party censors maintained a tight rein on programming, ERF was also apparently “free” to pursue the old adage “sex sells,” so parents be warned.

Granted, there is a good deal of nostalgia for the work ERF produced, but no illusions regarding the corruption and inefficiency of the Soviet Socialist system. One might say, Volmer and Aarma treat the Communist era with the irony it deserves. Regardless, the impish humor of both the film and the commercials it documents are quite winning.

Indeed, Spinners has the same punchy editing, subversive humor, upbeat soundtrack, and wickedly insightful cultural-political history that made Disco such a blast. Aarma and his collaborators on both films prove documentaries can be wildly entertaining and enormously informative at the same time. Very highly recommended, The Gold Spinners screens this Sunday (10/26) as part of session 29 of this year’s UNAFF.

UNAFF ’14: My Stolen Revolution

It is pretty heavy when an atheist Marxist confesses nostalgia for the Shah of Iran. Nahid Persson Sarvestani does not express such a sentiment in those exact terms, but she comes close, readily arguing the Islamist regime that followed the Shah’s secular authoritarian rule turned out to be far, far worse. Essentially establishing the Islamist-theocratic corollary to the Kirkpatrick Doctrine, Persson Sarvestani collects the harrowing oral history of several former comrades in My Stolen Revolution (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2014 UN Association Film Festival in the Stanford area.

As a teenager, Persson Sarvestani was an ardent leftist, who had no qualms about joining forces with the Islamic fundamentalists against the Shah. In retrospect, this was a mistake. She ruefully admits the Islamists had superior organization, which launched them into power when Carter pulled the rug out from under our ally the Shah. Soon, the new regime was imprisoning and torturing proven troublemakers like Persson Sarvestani. Although she was able to get out of the country while the getting was good, her younger brother was executed in her place.

Long nurturing an acute case of survivor’s guilt, Persson Sarvestani sought out several revolutionary comrades who were not so fortunate, in the hope they could offer some insight regarding her brother’s final days. However, the reunion with her former cadre leader does not go so well. Persson Sarvestani is appalled to find the good leftist has found solace in the Muslim faith she once rejected. For Persson Sarvestani, that is a deal-breaker.

Fortunately, the subsequent colleagues she tracks down have remained reasonably true to their ideals. Instead of a misogynistic religion, they take comfort in art. Unlike Persson Sarvestani they saw the insides of Iran’s political prisons and lived to tell about it—barely. Indeed, most of the women are dealing with the lingering pain and physical ailments caused by the extreme torture they endured.

Their stories are so harrowing it is no exaggeration to say Persson Sarvestani’s experiences pale in comparison. She is clearly just as aware of this as viewers will be, yet there is still an awful lot of her throughout the film. When she invites her new friends on a retreat to share their testimony, the film would have been better served if she had just stepped out of the way, rather than making such a point of grappling with her own feelings.

Nevertheless, the women’s individual indictments of the Revolutionary regime are powerful stuff. Of course, the ruling ideology and theocratic state apparatus responsible for the physical and psychological torture of sixteen year old girls remains unchanged. Despite a few video diary indulgences, My Stolen Revolution is a timely and valuable film. Recommended for viewers concerned about international women’s rights, it screens this Saturday (10/25) in Palo Alto, as part of session 25 of this year’s UNAFF.

UNAFF ’14: When You Can’t See the Film

For Hollywood, Chinese multiplexes are paved with gold. Unfortunately, you will be more likely to see a leprechaun inside one than a locally produced independent film or documentary. Any film accurately reflecting the struggles of China’s underclass and the corruption of the Communist government will never be approved for domestic distribution. Of course, that will not be an issue for our left coast moguls, but it is a persistent frustration for discerning cineastes and just plain curious viewers. The sad state of official Chinese film distribution is analyzed in Yijun He’s short but revealing documentary, When You Can’t See the Film, which screens as part of the 2014 UN Association Film Festival in the Stanford area.

Sadly, Yijun’s film is especially timely in the wake of thuggish forced closure of this year’s Beijing Independent Film Festival. This is a familiar story to small but hearty band of the underground film clubs that have sprung up to fill the demand for unsanctioned independent film, particularly documentaries. Often meeting in bars or universities, organizers risk arrest and persecution for the sake of cinema, but they are not bandits. Clubs always screen films with the consent and participation of filmmakers grateful to have a forum for their works, typically offering a small honorarium for their appearance.

Since their previous venues were shut down under suspicious circumstances, the primary club featured in WYCSTF ironically rents space from a local multiplex, sort of following the hide-in-plain-sight strategy. It is nice to see American documentarian J.P. Sniadecki (whose The Iron Ministry was one of the unlikely hits of this year’s NYFF) present his previous film Yumen and graciously engage with patrons. On the state authorities’ Richter scale, Yumen is probably about a three, given it applies Sniadecki’s uncompromising ethnographic observational aesthetic to an abandoned Northwest industrial ghost town.

However, Xu Xin’s Karamay qualifies as a radioactive ten-plus. The nearly six hour epic documentary expose the infamous (despite a total media blackout) fire in which nearly three hundred school children perished while government officials were ushered to safety. It is clearly the film to program if you want your screening swarming with cops.

The club organizers Yijun profiles and the filmmakers they support truly represent independent film in its bravest and most honest manifestation. It puts to shame our smug little so-called indies that cling to the label and the marketing platforms that come with it. At a svelte thirty minutes, When You Can’t See the Film is quite illuminating and sadly frustrating for film lovers. Highly recommended, it screens this Saturday (10/25) in Palo Alto, as part of session 27 of this year’s UNAFF.

UNAFF ’14: In the Wake of Stalin

The fact that assassinated independent journalist Anna Politkovskaya supported the work of the Russian research and archival non-profit Memorial pretty much tells you all you need to know about its mission and place in the Putin-era body politic. Dedicated to exposing Stalin’s crimes against humanity and preserving the oral history of his victims, Memorial endures constant harassment and demagoguery. The dictator’s pervasive legacy and the drive to whitewash its enormity are examined in Thomas Johnson’s In the Wake of Stalin, which screens as part of the 2014 UN Association Film Festival in the Stanford area.

Through forced agricultural collectivization, willful acceptance of the resulting famines, a notorious series of purges and show trials, and periodic anti-Semitic campaigns, Stalin physically and spiritually devastated the Soviet people. Yet today, more and more Russians use loaded terms like “strong leader” and “iron willed” to describe Stalin.

In part, matters reached such a frightening and depressing state because there has never been a national reckoning of the Communist Party’s crimes. There is a government appointee officially charged with investigating Soviet human rights violations, but his lack of initiative is rather appalling, even by the standards of Soviet era bureaucrats. Memory stepped in to fill that void, but the reaction from Putin’s enforcers and loyalists has not been pretty.

While the title suggests more of a survey of Stalinist horrors, Johnson’s film, co-written with Marie Brunet-Debaines evolves into a documentary tribute to Memory, but they clearly deserve the ovation. The testimony they capture from Memory interview subjects is truly harrowing, while the thuggish graffiti and threats they document are simply ugly.

Nonetheless, Wake consistently draws a clear distinction between Stalin and Putin, readily conceding they are not moral equivalents (thus far). However, the dictum regarding those who forget the past deafeningly echoes throughout the film. Clearly, there are those who wish to render the past forgotten—and they presumably have their reasons.

Indeed, Wake is a level-headed analysis of Russia’s current ideological climate, enriched by its wider historical context. It is not alarmist, but it is alarming. Thoroughly researched and substantiated, it is a valuable work of cinematic reportage. Highly recommended, In the Wake of Stalin screens this Sunday (10/16) at Stanford University as part of session 10 of the 2014 UNAFF.