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State of Cinema 2024

VERTAALD DOOR TRANSLATED BY TRADUIT PAR Maria Choustova

Ya es hora

 

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!

Thank you very much for this opportunity to share with you some of my concerns, impressions and reflections on the state of contemporary cinema.

First of all, I would like to remind you that there has been a war going on in Europe for almost ten years now. As you know, Russia first engaged in hybrid warfare in Ukraine back in 2014, and then, seven years later, launched a full-blown invasion – openly and without mercy – bombing cities and villages, killing civilians, ruining the economy and destroying the country. This is the context I have been living in lately, and this is what I have been preoccupied with. Inevitably, my mind, my films and my daily existence have been affected by this experience.

I made my first film, Today We Are Going to Build a House, back in 1995. It was almost thirty years ago. Since then, I have made thirty-two films. Over the years, I have witnessed changes both in the technology of film production and in the methods and channels of film distribution. I also observed the impact which cinema has had on society and vice versa.

As far as technological progress in cinema is concerned, one can only admire its pace and advancement. Thirty years ago, one could only dream of such achievements and developments both in sound and in image production. When I was making my first film, we could only work with up to ten tracks of sound without compromising quality. Nowadays, I can use as many tracks as I wish. It seems that there are no technical limitations whatsoever, and sound in cinema has become much more sophisticated and nuanced. I’m now able to use sound in my films as a key element of dramaturgy. The same can be said about image production. When working with archive footage, I’m now able to restore it to a very high quality. If you compare my two montage films – Blockade (2005) and State Funeral (2019) – you will immediately notice the difference in image quality and the progress that has been achieved. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out that it is now possible to create fake archive images, which in itself would lead to the creation of a new cinema genre. Digital technology enables image manipulation to such a degree that, by removing or adding various elements, we are practically creating “motion collages”. New technologies equip us with additional tools and, if used wisely, they can enrich our films.

I’m afraid the good news ends here.

The state of contemporary cinema reflects the state of contemporary society. The problems we are facing today are mirrored in our films. Every artistic experience, every coping mechanism, is unique, and I would like to share with you my own story. Though these events are not directly related to cinema but to another artistic guild, I think my story gives an accurate description of the current state of affairs.

In 2021, I was approached by the director of the Vilnius Youth Theatre, Audronis Liuga, with a proposal to write a stage adaptation of The Kindly Ones by Jonathan Littell and to direct it. As many of you know, The Kindly Ones is a bestseller, first published in France in 2006 and awarded with the Prix Goncourt and the Grand Prix du Roman de l’Academie française. The book’s protagonist is an SS officer, and the narrative spans from the beginning of the German invasion of the USSR in 1941 to the fall of Berlin in 1945.

The novel’s protagonist participates in the Holocaust, and attempts to reflect upon events in retrospect. The book is based on archival documents and memoirs, which Jonathan Littell took years to research, prior to writing The Kindly Ones. The Holocaust is a subject which is very close to my heart. For ten years, I have been trying to finance a fiction film entitled Babi Yar, narrating the story of one of the most horrific mass killings of the Jews, which took place in Kiev during World War II. I also made a documentary film about the Holocaust in Ukraine. The film is Babi Yar: Context and it’s based on archival footage. My film Austerlitz deals with today’s perception of the Holocaust and the problem of its memorialization. To anyone interested in the subject, I would strongly recommend a book by the German psychologist Harald Welzer, Täter: Wie aus ganz normalen Menschen Massenmörder werden. This book sheds light on the subject which is again becoming very relevant. The book was first published by Fischer Publishing House in 2005, one year before the first publication of Littell’s The Kindly Ones.

By the summer of 2022, I finished writing a play, having singled out the storylines and events which were close to my chosen subject from the novel’s complex narrative. The management of the Youth Theatre sent the play to the actors. In August 2022, I met with the actors in order to present my artistic concept of our future performance. It was during that meeting that I found out that two lead actors had refused to participate in the production. I requested to meet with them privately in order to discuss the situation and to find out their objections to my play.

The Holocaust in Ukraine began almost as soon as German troops invaded the territory of the Soviet Union. First came the pogroms, instigated by German special forces, SS and Abwehr, and carried out by the Ukrainian Auxiliary police, which was recruited from the ranks of the Organization of the Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN). My play, based on The Kindly Ones, began with a large-scale pogrom in Lvov. This scene, as well as the subsequent one, in which senior German officers are discussing the reasons and motives of the pogrom, are very important and necessary for the understanding of what really was going on.

In the scenes that follow, I focus (based on the book’s chronology) on the events in the lives of several German officers, participating in the killings of the Jews, the book’s protagonist being one of them. The protagonist is also trying to come to terms with what’s happening around him.

When I met with the two actors who refused to take part in the production, they told me that they did not want to act in an “anti-Ukrainian” play. I tried to explain to them that the play describes the events that took place eighty years ago, that the narrative is based on well-documented historical facts, that the perpetrators of the Holocaust were criminals and that they did not represent the entire population of Ukraine, and that keeping silent and erasing their crimes from the nation’s history is a crime in itself, but all my efforts to persuade them to change their mind were in vain. Our opinions differed.

Two weeks after our rehearsals began, one of the actors, who dropped out of the production, wrote a Facebook post expressing his outrage at the fact that the Lithuanian state was supporting an “anti-Ukrainian” theatre project. The post went viral and generated a heated discussion within the Lithuanian artistic community. Nobody had actually read my play, but everyone got very agitated. The subject was promptly picked up by the mainstream media. All hell broke loose. At that point, two Ukrainian organizations entered the scene: the Theatre Union of Ukraine and the National Association of Holodomor and Ukrainian Genocide Researchers. Both organizations sent their protests to the ministry of culture of Lithuania and to the Lithuanian media.

I would like to quote from these documents, if I may (as translated from Ukrainian):

“We would like to draw your attention to the fact that the book by Jonathan Littell, which the Lithuanian Youth Theatre is about to stage, is so full of controversial ideas, national and social stereotypes, simplifications and prejudices that one can expect that the forthcoming performance will resonate negatively with the public.”

“One cannot rule out the possibility that it is because of the author’s close links to Russia that the novel expressively displays such an anti-Ukrainian bias. We are deeply concerned by the fact that S. Loznitsa has chosen to present these particular Ukrainian subjects and narratives on stage.”

“The decision to stage this production at the time of a large-scale military invasion, which Russia launched against Ukraine, by a government funded theatre in Lithuania, a Ukraine friendly country, is a mistake. Without a doubt, this performance will be used by the Russian propaganda in order to discredit the Ukraine and Ukrainians.”

The rehearsals went on. I came to the theatre every morning not knowing how many cast members would turn up for work, because one after another, fearful of a potential scandal, the actors were dropping out of the production. In the meantime, the story reached national TV and radio. Judging by the comments made by journalists, I saw that the text of the play had been leaked to the press. The director of the theatre insisted that I also speak to the press about the “case”. I agreed to give one interview during which I asked the journalist how he managed to get hold of the text of the play, which was never published. The only people in possession of the text were the actors, who received printed copies before the rehearsals had begun. From an ethical point of view, was it acceptable for those journalists and public figures, who were in possession of a stolen text, to discuss it with audiences that had no means of reading it? What was it all about?

The “media show” culminated in a meeting of the supervisory board of the theatre, whose members include actors, directors, critics and other distinguished theatre professionals. Prof. Ramune Marcinkeviciute began her opening address as follows: “I don’t understand why we were all invited to this meeting and what exactly we are going to discuss. We all know Sergei Loznitsa’s films and his point of view is stated rather clearly in them…” In the end, the ministry of culture of Lithuania ruled that it was not possible to judge a work of art which hadn’t yet been created. “Once the play is staged and the performance opens to the public, we shall watch it and then we shall express our opinion,” commented a ministry spokesman.

The premiere of the play took place on December 14, 2022. It was found to be neither “anti-Ukrainian”, nor “offensive”. Neither did the Russians pick up my play for their propaganda purposes. “So, what was the whole scandal about?” asked some spectators, shrugging their shoulders as they were leaving the theatre.

The play is still regularly performed by the Vilnius Youth Theatre company. 
No apologies were offered to me.

So, what is this story about and why am I compelled to share it with you today? It’s not easy for an artist nowadays to have his or her own point of view, to think for him- or herself and to have the courage to express his or her opinion in public. Once again, we are reduced to existing in a uniformed and conformist intellectual environment, in which everything is black-and-white, the notion of “truth” is monopolised and no open and free discussion is possible. There exist many reasons why this has happened, which need to be examined. It’s a subject for a different speech, perhaps.

We are living in times of moral decay and educational decline, while various new technologies are being developed in order to manipulate our minds and our behaviour. These technologies are capable of bringing existential destruction to human society. These tendencies are becoming more and more prominent and radical.

As far as I’m concerned, it is only culture that can safeguard us against barbarity.

The events of recent years, numerous excesses in the cultural sphere, clearly demonstrate that more often than not the word “culture” is being used in vain, without actual understanding of its meaning. In his essay ‘The Phenomenon of Culture’, the Soviet cultural semiotician and linguist Yuri Lotman gives the following definition of the term: “Culture as a super-individual intelligence is a mechanism, compensating for the insufficiency of individual intelligence and, thus, functions as its essential complement”. The key definitions here are “super-individual intelligence” and “a mechanism, complementing the deficiencies of individual intelligence”.

Cinema, just like other art forms, and just like all the other areas of human activity, manifesting and projecting our cognitive abilities, is part and parcel of culture. It possesses the ability to present and describe notions in its own unique way, by means of its own language. This language enables us to pinpoint, describe and represent the phenomena of the world around us, as being perceived by our cognition. It means that cinema, as a territory of art, is, first and foremost, a territory open for discussion. One must not mistake this artistic territory, the space filled with intellectual projections and abstract models, with the sphere of material physical existence. I’m sorry if this statement sounds too obvious and banal. Still, I feel I have to repeat this again and again.

We must not restrict intellectual freedom, freedom of artistic ideas and freedom of expression. A ban on free speech, a lack of open discussion and an imposition of “taboos” on certain topics pose a danger to our very existence.

On my part, I continue to do what I’m rather good at doing, and I’m open for discussion in the field I’m active in – in cinema.

I thank you for your attention.

Sergei Loznitsa 
November 24, 2024

Every year, Sabzian asks a guest to write a State of Cinema, and to choose a film that connects to it. This way, once a year, the art of film is held against the light, an invitation to reflect on what cinema means, could or should mean today. On 11 December 2024, Sabzian and Bozar welcomed Ukrainian filmmaker Sergei Loznitsa for the State of Cinema 2024. He chose the film La bête (2023) by Bertrand Bonello to accompany his State of Cinema address.

Image: Ya es hora [It is Time] (Francisco de Goya, 1789), n°80 from the Los caprichos series, Museo Nacional del Prado [public domain]

MANIFESTO
18.12.2024
EN RU
In Passage, Sabzian invites film critics, authors, filmmakers and spectators to send a text or fragment on cinema that left a lasting impression.
Pour Passage, Sabzian demande à des critiques de cinéma, auteurs, cinéastes et spectateurs un texte ou un fragment qui les a marqués.
In Passage vraagt Sabzian filmcritici, auteurs, filmmakers en toeschouwers naar een tekst of een fragment dat ooit een blijvende indruk op hen achterliet.
The Prisma section is a series of short reflections on cinema. A Prisma always has the same length – exactly 2000 characters – and is accompanied by one image. It is a short-distance exercise, a miniature text in which one detail or element is refracted into the spectrum of a larger idea or observation.
La rubrique Prisma est une série de courtes réflexions sur le cinéma. Tous les Prisma ont la même longueur – exactement 2000 caractères – et sont accompagnés d'une seule image. Exercices à courte distance, les Prisma consistent en un texte miniature dans lequel un détail ou élément se détache du spectre d'une penséée ou observation plus large.
De Prisma-rubriek is een reeks korte reflecties over cinema. Een Prisma heeft altijd dezelfde lengte – precies 2000 tekens – en wordt begeleid door één beeld. Een Prisma is een oefening op de korte afstand, een miniatuurtekst waarin één detail of element in het spectrum van een grotere gedachte of observatie breekt.
Jacques Tati once said, “I want the film to start the moment you leave the cinema.” A film fixes itself in your movements and your way of looking at things. After a Chaplin film, you catch yourself doing clumsy jumps, after a Rohmer it’s always summer, and the ghost of Akerman undeniably haunts the kitchen. In this feature, a Sabzian editor takes a film outside and discovers cross-connections between cinema and life.
Jacques Tati once said, “I want the film to start the moment you leave the cinema.” A film fixes itself in your movements and your way of looking at things. After a Chaplin film, you catch yourself doing clumsy jumps, after a Rohmer it’s always summer, and the ghost of Akerman undeniably haunts the kitchen. In this feature, a Sabzian editor takes a film outside and discovers cross-connections between cinema and life.
Jacques Tati zei ooit: “Ik wil dat de film begint op het moment dat je de cinemazaal verlaat.” Een film zet zich vast in je bewegingen en je manier van kijken. Na een film van Chaplin betrap je jezelf op klungelige sprongen, na een Rohmer is het altijd zomer en de geest van Chantal Akerman waart onomstotelijk rond in de keuken. In deze rubriek neemt een Sabzian-redactielid een film mee naar buiten en ontwaart kruisverbindingen tussen cinema en leven.