KinoKultura: Issue 42 (2013)
In the eight-day period from 2 to 9 June 2013, Kinotavr Open Russian Film Festival celebrated its twenty-fourth anniversary in Sochi. Transforming itself in this quarter century from the Festival of Un-bought Cinema (its original 1990 title) to the 2013 festival of “most-bought” cinema, Kinotavr now operates as a key point of mediation between European cinema, broadly defined, and cinema to the East, including Central Asia. This June Kinotavr offered twelve new Russian films in its 2013 Main Competition, chosen by a Selection Committee of prominent film specialists who put together the slate from some seventy Russian films in this year’s cycle. 
Of the twelve competition films, five entries were directorial debuts: Taisiia Igumentseva’s Bite the Dust (Otdat' kontsy, 2013); Natasha Merkulova and Aleksei Chupov’s Intimate Parts (Intimnye mesta, 2013); Maksim Panfilov’s Ivan Son of Amir (Ivan syn Amira, 2013);Dmitrii Tiurin’s Thirst (Zhazhda, 2013), and Ira Volkova’s Dialogues (Dialogi, 2013). This cluster marks a substantial increase from 2012 Kinotavr, which—though a robust portfolio in many ways—had selected only a single debut, Vsevolod Benigsen’s almanac State of Emergency (Avariinoe sostoianie, 2011). Seven additional 2012-2013 directors, in total ranging in age from twenty-four to fifty-seven years old, completed this year’s roster of competitors.
Many of the competition entries were represented by relatively small production companies. Of the ten or so Russian “majors,” only two contributed new works: Sergei Sel'ianov’s CTB was represented by Ira Volkova’s Dialogues; and Aleksei Uchitel'’s ROCK was represented by Iurii Bykov’s The Major (Maior, 2013) and Taisiia Igumentseva’s Bite the Dust. Two films relied substantially on co-production funding: Bakhtyar Khudoinazarov’s Waiting for the Sea (V ozhidanii moria, 2012) was a Russian-German-French-Belgian-Kazakh-Ukraine co-production; Vitalii Manskii’s Pipeline (Truba, 2013) was a Russian-Czech-German co-production. In the choice of films, juries, events, and roundtables, the festival included a range of political positions within the industry, from state conservative Stanislav Govorukhin, whose noir film Weekend (2013) opened the festival, to more liberal filmmakers such as documentalist Vitalii Manskii.
While it is a risky business to crystal-gaze into the film industry on the basis of a single year, two things were fairly evident in June 2013. First, Russia’s efforts to maintain its position in global cinema continues to be a struggle on every front (domestic box-office percentages; growth rate of modern screens; attendance demographics; number of prints; box-office shares for prizewinners; annual increase of full-length feature films). Second, Kinotavr does a masterful job in stitching together professional contacts among key participants—media figures, leading producers, directors, and distributors—in a longer-term strategy for industry health. If one chooses to look carefully, one finds most aspects of the festival program augmented by secondary functions, providing a venue where the business of tomorrow’s films could be conducted in an environment of intelligent collaborative work.
The profile of the Main Competition jury is the object of great scrutiny, since it is these members who will bear the burden of everyone else’s second guesses. Unlike last year—when, in a creative move, director Vladimir Khotinenko’s 2012 Main Competition jury comprised exclusively directors (Bakur Bakuradze, Aleksei Fedorchenko, Vera Glagoleva, Nikolai Khomeriki, Aleksandr Kott, and Anna Melikian)]—the 2013 Kinotavr jury profile returned to the more traditional model. Under the leadership of director Aleksandr Mitta, the jury included a producer (Sergei Melkumov of Slovo), an actor and actress (Anatolii Belyi and Viktoriia Tolstoganova), a composer (Iurii Poteenko), and a film expert (Anton Dolin), as well as Liubov' Arkus, a film expert who had made her directorial debut last year with Anton’s Right Here (Anton tut riadom, 2012), a documentary that garnered considerable critical and festival success.
In a departure from previous years, however, the 2013 festival also constituted a second jury, this time of distributors, led by Aleksei Riazantsev (KARO Premier), with Gennadii Khudos (Kinomax) and Sam Klebanov (Kino bez granits). The festival’s spotlighting of major distribution figures was one of the festival’s strategic moves intended to help accelerate an industry that has yet to recover from the distribution collapse of the 1990s (See Beumers 1999; Condee 2009: 49-84). In addition to these two juries for the Main Competition, the festival hosted a third jury for the Kinotavr Shorts. Led by director Boris Khlebnikov, the jury comprised two producers (Petr Anurov and Katia Filippova), film expert Mariia Kuvshinova, and veteran composer Leonid Desiatnikov.
The turning point
In retrospect, the major event of the festival turned out to be the penultimate day of the competition: the screening of Aleksandr Veledinskii’s comedy The Geographer Drank the Globe Away (Geograf globus propil, 2013). I will not anticipate the views of the scholar who will review this film for KinoKultura, but will say a few words instead about its reception at Kinotavr, where it was embraced as a welcome latecomer to the competition. Veledinskii’s film was lauded as a worthy descendent of three films in particular: Roman Balaian’s Flights in Dreams and in Reality (Polety vo sne i naiavu, 1982); Vitalii Mel'nikov’s shelved two-series television film Vacation in September (Otpusk v sentiabre, completed 1979; released 1987); and Dinara Asanova’s Tough Kids (Patsany, 1983). Veledinskii’s 2013 film hero Viktor Sluzhkin, played by beloved Konstantin Khabanskii, was seen as belonging to the tradition of hapless Russian losers who have included Oleg Iankovskii as Sergei Makarov (Flights), Oleg Dal' as Viktor Zilov (Vacation), and Valerii Priemykhov as Pavel Antonov (Tough Kids). In Veledinskii’s rendition of the hapless intelligent, Viktor Sluzhkin, a biologist in need of work and money, takes a job for which he is unqualified as a geography teacher in a Perm secondary school. His life is ordinary in the extreme: petty squabbles with his wife; routine care for his small daughter; drinking with friends; arguments with his school administrator. Then, in the midst of this humdrum existence, Sluzhkin embarks on a road trip together with his students, into the wilderness and eventually along a river; all hell breaks loose as Sluzhkin rediscovers his capacity for love, laughter, and youthful excess.
Regardless of whether one is an admirer of this festival candidate, it is accurate to say that Veledinskii’s film eclipsed the other competition offerings, including two strong contenders, Aleksei Fedorchenko’s Celestial Wives of the Meadow Mari (Nebesnye zheny lugovykh Mari, 2012) and Natasha Merkulova and Aleksei Chupov’s Intimate Parts. The greatest strength of Veledinskii’s work in the competition was its potential box-office appeal. If Fedorchenko’s or Merkulova-Chupov’s audiences were likely to be the thoughtful intelligentsia, Veledinskii’s anticipated audiences were surely a broader swath of cinema ticket buyers. This likelihood does not make his work a better film, but apparently (in the view of the jury) it made it a better choice.
And so, at the Closing Ceremony, Kinotavr’s Main Prize was awarded to Veledinskii’s The Geographer Drank the Globe Away. As the overwhelming favorite, Veledinskii’s film also won several other awards: the Film Distributors’ Jury Prize; Best Actor (Konstantin Khabenskii); and the Tariverdiev Prize for Best Film Music (composer Aleksei Zubarev).
The Prize for Best Direction went to Vitalii Manskii (Pipeline), whose documentary on life along the Gazprom pipeline also won the White Elephant (Guild of Film Scholars and Film Critics). Best Debut was awarded to Natasha Merkulova and Aleksei Chupov (Intimate Parts), who also received a Diploma from the Guild. Merkulova and Chupov’s female lead Iuliia Aug, who also played a memorable role in Fedorchenko’s Celestial Wives, won Best Actress (Intimate Parts). While a fierce competitor, Fedorchenko’s Celestial Wives of the Meadow Mari won only supporting awards: the talented DoP Sandor Berkesi was awarded Best Cinematography; its scriptwriter, the prose writer Denis Osokin, won the Gorin Prize for Best Script; Fedorchenko was awarded a Diploma from the Guild. While Fedorchenko’s film could not attract the kind of returns compellingly assured by Veledinskii’s Geographer (if marketed correctly), Celestial Wives is a major film for this year and deserves more critical attention. It is a credit to the Selection Committee that the competition included three films—one debut (Merkulova-Chupov) and two veterans (Fedorchenko and Manskii)—who could give Veledinskii a good race.
Separate from the main competition were three non-competition programs, the most popular of which was the now-traditional Cinema on the Square. A second sidebar was a program curated by Sergei Lavrent'ev and dedicated to the darker side of wartime (Oh, War, What have You, Foul Thing, Done?); third was Natal'ia Nusinova’s selection of Dutch shorts (“Year of the Netherlands” at Kinotavr). Under the rubric Special Course was a portfolio of offerings more varied than in previous years. These included four events: a directors’ Master Class by Aleksandr Mitta; a joint Master Class on historical spectatorship by film scholars Marianna Kireeva and Evgenii Margolit; a Master Class on new media by Anna Kachkaeva (Dean of the Faculty of Media-Communications of the Higher School of Economics); and a lecture on Russo-Soviet cinema in France (1892-2012) by Joel Chapron. In addition to these four events, the festival showcased some of the earliest films (course work or diploma work) by four prominent directors (Vadim Abdrashitov, Stanislav Govorukhin, Nikita Mikhalkov, Sergei Solov'ev), who provided commentary and led discussion on their films.
As at several other major festivals, one of the most valuable sideline events was the Pitching Competition, curated by Anna Gudkova (Kul'tburo, Generation Campus). At Kinotavr 2013 the pitching competition was juried by some of the most prominent names in Russian cinema: director Vladimir Khotinenko; film administrators Anton Malyshev (Cinema Fund) and Viacheslav Tel'nov (Ministry of Culture); media mogul Viacheslav Murugov (CTC Media); producers Aleksandr Rodnianskii (AR Films, Kinotavr, Non-Stop Production) and Sergei Sel'ianov (CTB), as well as one member each from the Main Competition jury (producer Sergei Melkumov) and the Distributors’ Jury (Aleksei Riazantsev). This competition for future production was a kind of Russian Shark Tank for young filmmakers, presenting their work in front of film experts positioned to move winning projects forward to the next stage of production targets.
Three roundtables completed the welcome alternatives to screenings. Daniil Dondurei (Editor in Chief, Iskusstvo kino) led the joint Kinotavr-Iskusstvo kino roundtable Cinema on Television; Nick Holdsworth (East European Bureau Chief, Variety) led a roundtable on Russian-German co-production; Andrei Plakhov led a roundtable on support of national cinema.
Contemporaneity. A recurrent debate among Russia’s metropolitan cinema critics for roughly seven years has been this: is there a place on today’s screen for highly charged contemporary issues?
The relevant Russian phrase is “fear of contemporaneity” (“strakh pered sovremennost'iu”), a term that strategically conflates two distinct assertions: first, current Russian films often resist contemporary settings; second, current Russian films often resist controversial topics. This studied “confusion” of the contemporary and the controversial (as if one were an adequate stand-in for the other) is curious, all the more so in a culture for which historical controversy had been a centuries-long preoccupation.
Clearly, political relevance has a different valence in Russian cinema than on US screens—whether Hollywood, independent cinema, or other media regimes. First, Russian culture bears the historical experience of mandatory political address. Second, Russian state support (and regulation) of cinema production is historically resistant to controversial topics; third, an incentivized state program encouraging patriotic cinema further discourages polemical filmmaking; fourth, investigative and documentary-style cinema does not circulate in an exhibition environment of sympathy towards turbulent politics and civil society. We might cite a host of other reasons that extend beyond the scope of this essay, but we will move on.
Last year gave reason to expect sharper political stakes: at Kinotavr 2012—in the wake of mass demonstrations of spring 2012 in Moscow and elsewhere—it seemed as if a number of Russian directors were cautiously turning their attention to contemporary political issues, less for their controversial potential than for their place as a marker of recent historical experience. As if in passing, Sergei Mokritskii’s Protest Day (Den' uchitelia, 2012) integrated scenes from Bolotnaia Square into its narrative structure. Likewise, Avdot'ia Smirnova’s 2012 comedy KoKoKo contained conversational references to Mikhail Khodorkovskii. In Mokritskii’s and Smirnova’s work, politics remained largely “citational,” the background realia in two films engaged in issues other than contemporary politics. Elsewhere in the Kinotavr 2012 offerings, it was social—not political—controversy that advanced to a more explicit articulation, as in Aleksei Mizgirev’s Convoy (Konvoi, 2012) or Vasilii Sigarev’s Living (Zhit', 2012). It seemed as if cinema—or at least some of its liberal directors, independent from the patriotic project—were gingerly beginning to negotiate a way for politics and sharp social issues to re-enter “the most important of all the arts.”
In any event, it is with this frame of reference that Kinotavr 2013 (a year later) was anticipated by both Russian and international critics. Would the 2013 selection of films continue the “citational” path, along which political events were registered in an understated fashion as a set of muted, “organic’ background facts? Would we be offered more of the bleak social reality that has characterized work by such filmmakers as Mizgirev and Sigarev?
The 2013 results were unexpected. Without question, today’s cinema stepped forward into today. Not only were the majority of the films set in contemporary times (to the extent the view could tell); several of their older sources—the scripts, novellas, or novels—had been re-written specifically so as to transpose the settings forward from an earlier decade to the present day. In two cases (Dmitrii Tiurin’s Thirst and Aleksandr Veledinskii’s Geographer), this decision to “contemporize” the script was made as an artistic change. Elsewhere—as in Gennadii Sidorov’s posthumous film, Novel with Cocaine (Roman s kokainom, 2012), screened as a Special Event at 2013 Kinotavr—it seemed to be a question of budget: “today” is cheaper to shoot than “yesterday,” with its historical artifacts, costumes, and potential anachronisms. Kinotavr 2013 included plenty of “today” (however we understand it) in today’s cinema.
Controversy. What, then, about the separate issue of political controversy in today’s cinema? Let us take several “case studies” from this year’s festival.
Yusup Razykov’s Shame does not refer explicitly to the K-141 Kursk tragedy of August 2000, an event with sharp social and political resonances. The film’s portrait of navy families pushes any larger historical controversy deep into the background, foregrounding instead the Northern navy subculture. Here Razykov’s melodrama employs that genre’s classic trompe l’oeil: the historical significance of Kursk is refracted through the local community’s experiences, which in turn are writ large so that we might perhaps identify with their loss and pain.
Or a second example: Bakhtyar Khudoinazarov’s Waiting for the Sea is in some sense a film about environmental disaster, but carefully estranges itself from that potential controversy. First, as the director reminds us, his melodrama is “[the hero’s] tragedy, not the Caspian Sea.” And in any case, he continues, the sea (identified as “Caspian”) is a placeholder for the Aral. This perpetual displacement—melodrama has conventionally argued—is a better teacher about controversial issues than direct political speech can ever be. The politics are both there and not there.
And a third example: Manskii’s Pipeline, about communities along the pipeline route, never includes the word “Gazprom.” In fact, the director omits episodes (such as the segment at Torzhok) that might be judged too controversial (Tuula 2013c: 83). A genre very distant from melodrama, Manskii’s stark documentary nevertheless adopts a similar strategy, placing large political issues into the background, thereby imbuing that same background with new intensity—a provocation, perhaps, to the spectator, who—incidentally—has likewise put Gazprom in the background. Enjoining us in common silence, Manskii underscores the ways in which all of us—director, producer, distributor, exhibitor, spectator—do not talk about politics.
Iurii Bykov’s Major was the only entry in this year’s competition to court controversy directly, though here is the greatest irony: Kinotavr 2013’s most explicitly controversial competition film was the one that most strictly observed genre requirements (in this case, of the police thriller). I will not ventriloquize Bykov’s press-conference arguments, which speak for themselves (see Anon 2013; Tuula 2013d: 69). Instead, I will offer a different perspective on Bykov’s challenge to contemporary culture.
Much had been written over six years (2007-13) about the policeman in Russian cinema; The Major continues this line. The policeman has remained an intriguing figure for many reasons, among them this: private man and state emblem, the uniformed policeman is an impossible hybrid of legal power and human body, a mutant Law-Made-Flesh. Unlike Word and Flesh, this profane hybrid is a kind of liger, impossible to normalize and therefore the subject of recurrent libidinal fascination. The policeman remains a figure of contemporary life, perhaps because his intimate life is visible at a time when—entirely coincidentally, of course!—the human frailties of the state and the governmental features of the human personality are disturbingly evident. State clannishness, about which Bykov has spoken in press conferences, captures the eerie atavism of these regressive loyalties that imperil the common “third place,” that space between private family and state work. The anonymous ordinary stranger at an unforeseen moment may only regress to his own dyad of “family” and “work,” but not to a neutral place with mutually binding codes of behavior.
Why does this matter? The conventional examples of the third place—the site where strangers might encounter divergent views—are the Greek agora, the Enlightenment coffee house, the Parisian intellectual café, the dusty Russian bookshop, the English pub, the working man’s barber shop—also include (more relevantly) the movie theatre, where historically as strangers we sit together in the common darkness. In a robust distribution system, we might even have the chance to watch Bykov’s film about clannishness. The gradual extinction of the movie theatre—where we are no longer likely to watch Bykov’s film—and the crisis of the third place might be seen as intimately linked phenomena.
And so, when director Natasha Merkulova oddly assures us that Intimate Parts is “not political cinema and not social cinema,” (Tuula 2013e: 66) is it perhaps a disservice to the directors’ work (and ours) to agree too glibly that their film is “without politics”? Does it matter that we utter these reassurances at a time when “non-traditional sexuality” is increasingly vulnerable to prosecution? When Manskii says, “We did not film Gazprom or people who work on the pipeline; we filmed those who lived next to it,” (Tuula 2013c: 83) what is the critic’s task? If the space for social controversy in contemporary Russian cinema is the background—as it indeed seems to be—then what does “background” mean?
We remember—on both sides of the Cold War—that the background had been a place of maximum political significance. No less a master than Aleksei German, Sr. found the background—whether in the physical setting, the sound design, the secondary characters, or background events—to be a rich source of primary meaning. In literature as well, the deliberately muted background has a dense and honorable history, to which is devoted Lev Losev’s classic analysis of Aesopian language, grounded in the codes of “screen” and “marker” (Losev 1986). It would seem—with the exception of Bykov’s explicit challenge—that the background remains the primary dedicated terrain for political staging.
Brother writers. A final trend of this year’s festival is an apparent tendency for the middle (“post-Balabanov”) generation of Russian directors, born in the span from the early 1960s to the late 1970s, to sustain an unusually robust collaboration with writers of their own cohort. It is perhaps a related fact that earlier Kinotavr festivals had routinely included a number of excellent 19th and 20th century literary adaptations; these were notably absent at Kinotavr 2013. Has this genre become hopelessly outmoded—more intensely identified, perhaps, with state cinema—is its temporary disappearance related to a more intense collaboration with contemporary literature?
Among the examples of collaboration with well-known contemporary writers were Aleksandr Veledinskii’s rendition of Aleksei Ivanov’s Geographer; Dmitrii Tiurin’s eponymous film version of Andrei Gelasimov’s Thirst; and Aleksei Fedorchenko’s film based on Denis Osokin’s stories, which itself follows on their earlier Silent Souls (Ovsianki). In some cases, such collaboration is the result of personal friendship (as in Veledinskii’s other collaborations with Zakhar Prilepin). Elsewhere, it is calculated business decisions: producer Iurii Sapronov’s search for a scriptwriter for Aleksandr Terekhov’s novel Germans (Nemtsy, 2012) and his novel Stone Bridge (Kamennyi most, 2009) is in part based on their status (respectively) as winners of the National Bestseller and Great Book awards. Other such collaborations include Andrei Gelasimov’s novel A Year of Deceit (God obmana), the basis for Dmitrii Tiurin’s eight-part television series; and Zakhar Prilepin’s novella Break Loose (Vos'merka, 2012), the basis for Aleksei Uchitel'’s eponymous 2013 film.
Perhaps the larger significance of this emergent cohesion—whether through friendship, professional interest or historical coincidence—is an analogous cohesion among Russian producers. It is a curious fact, for example, that six of the current top twelve box-office producers were born in 1961. I would not argue that this fact—after all, a random act of parental lovemaking—represents an accompanying ideological compatibility or political agreement, but it nevertheless contributes to a potential marshaling of industry resources at a key time when Russia is occupies an increasingly visible place in world cinema. On that hopeful note, I will end this essay.
University of Pittsburgh
1] Kinotavr Program Director Sitora Alieva has estimated that approximately 80 per cent of the films premiering at Kinotavr in recent years are picked up in one forum or another for distribution and exhibition (Alma Aty, 20 September 2011).
3] The list of majors shifts from year to year, but an approximate core list would include the following: Art Pictures, Bazelevs, Central Partnership, CTB, Direktsiia kino, Koktebel', Non-Stop, Real-Dakota, Rock, and TriTe.
5] Arkus’s film awards for Anton include a 2013 Nika for 2012 Nonfiction Film; a 2013 Golden Eagle for 2012 Best Non-Fiction Film; the Golden Lily (Main Prize) in the 2013 Documentary Competition at GoEast; and the 2012 Miron Chernenko (Documentary) White Elephant award from the Guild of Film Scholars and Critics.
6] The most recent and comprehensive treatment of this key debate in contained in Elena Stishova 2013. Early intimations of this preoccupation may be found in Dondurei et al. (2006), as well as Dondurei’s comments on 3 February 2007 on Ekho Moskvy. More recently, see Aleksandr Arkhangel'skii on Channel Kul'tura.
7] See, for example, Iurii Sapronov, producer of Tiurin’s Thirst (Tuula 2013a: 60), on the decision to transpose Andrei Gelasimov’s 2002 eponymous novella from the 1990s to the present day. See also director Veledinskii’s remarks (“Parmskaia obitel',” Kinotavr Daily 5: 3) on the decision to shift Aleksei Ivanov’s 2007 novella from the 1990s to the present day.
8] Sidorov’s film is a present-day rendition of M. Ageev’s [Mark Levi’s] novel Novel with Cocaine (Roman s kokainom, 1934). See the interview with producer and actor Igor' Trif in “Rekviem po mechte,” Kinotavr Daily 2:1.
9] See “Korabl' pustyni,” Kinotavr Daily 5:2 and Khudoinazarov’s remarks (Tuula 2013b: 54), interesting less for the content than for the syntax of continual strategic retreat: “the sea itself was the Caspian, although what is implied is the Aral […] But it is an allegory—the film is not about the Aral, but about everything that is going away.”
10] Kinotavr’s memorable examples from recent years include Aleksei Mizgirev’s Hard-Hearted (Kremen', 2007); Nikolai Khomeriki’s Tale of the Darkness (Skazka pro temnotu, 2009); Angelina Nikonova’s Twilight Portrait (Portret v sumerkakh, 2011); Konstantin Buslov’s Cash (Bablo, 2011); and Mizgirev’s Convoy.
11] “Third place” is a concept with many fathers, of which the best known is US urban sociologist Charles Oldenburg in his 1989 The Great, Good Place and his 2001 Celebrating the Third Place. With a somewhat different (but related) valence, Homi K. Bhabha speaks of the “third space” (note the difference semantics) in his 1994 The Location of Culture and elsewhere.
12] “[T]he background [vtoroj plan] is the main thing; it is life itself. That is what I film: the background (“Boius' snimat' plokhoe kino,” Izvestiia 19 July 2003: 10). And elsewhere: “the background dialogue is more important than the basic dialogue; precisely for its emersion in time” (“Kino proizrastaet iz poezii,” Voprosy literatury 12 : 152). In conversation with his producer Guy Séligmann, German confirms that the background noise is often selectively enhanced, whereas the foreground noise is at times deliberately muted (“Izgoniaiushchii d'iavola,” Iskusstvo kino 6 : 128). For the best elaboration of this argument, see Evgenii Margolit, “Vtoroi plan v sovetskom kino” and other contributions in this rubric, Seans 51-52 (2012).
13] The most notable recent examples of 19th and early 20th century adaptations include Roman Khrushch’s Pechorin (2011), from Lermontov’s 1838-40 novel Hero of Our Time; Andrei Mamontov’s Gold (Zoloto, 2012), from Mamin-Sibiriak’s 1892 novel; and Aleksandra Strelianaia’s Dry Valley (Sukhdol, 2011), from Ivan Bunin’s 1911 novella. Strelianaia’s work was included in Kinotavr 2011.
14] These are (in descending order of box-office earnings) Anatolii Maksimov, Timur Bekmambetov, Konstantin Ernst, Sergei Sel’ianov, Aleksandr Rodnianskii, Dzhanik Faiziev, and Renat Davlet’iarov, all born in 1961.
Anon. (2013), “Fil’m Maior Iuriia Bykova teplo priniat v Kannakh,” Newsru.com (22 May).
Beumers, Birgit (1999), “Cinemarket, or the Russian Film Industry in 'Mission Impossible,’” Europe-Asia Studies 51: 5, pp. 871-896.
Condee, Nancy (2009), “Cine-Amnesia: How Russia Forgot to Go to the Movies,” Imperial Trace: Recent Russian Cinema (New York: Oxford).
Dondurei, Daniil with Lev Karakhan, Andrei Plakhov (2006), “Kann-2066—Pas'iansy T'erri Fremo,” Iskusstvo kino 7.
Losev, Lev (1986), О blagodetel'nosti tssenzury: ezopov iazyk v sovremennoi russkoi literature (München: Otto Sagner Verlag).
Stishova, Elena (2013), Russian Cinema in Search of Reality (Rossiiskoe kino v poiskakh real'nosti (Moscow: Agraf).
Tuula, Maksim (2013b), “Iurii Sapronov: Liuboi chestnyi razgovor vazhen dlia obshchestva,” Biulleten' kinoprokatchika 6 , June 2013: 60-61.
Tuula, Maksim (2013b), “Bakhtiiar Khudoinazarov: Eto kino ne ob Arale, a obo vsem, chto ukhodit,” Biulleten' kinoprokatchika 6 , June 2013: 52-54.
Tuula, Maksim (2013c), “Vitalii Manskii: Truba—eto, kak govorit Putin, skrepa, kotoraia soedinila nashi razmyshleniia o raznosti zhizni v raznykh kontsakh Evropy,” Biulleten' kinoprokatchika 6 , June 2013: 82-83.
Tuula, Maksim (2013d), “Iurii Bykov: Grazhdanskie liudi ne mogut soprotivliat’sia takomu sil’nomu klani, kak ministerstvo vnutrennykh del,” Biulleten' kinoprokatchika 6 , June 2013: 68-69.
Tuula, Maksim (2013e), “Natal’ia Merkulova: Te, kto zapiraiut seksual’nuiu energiiu na zamok, riskuet poluchit’ bombu zamedlennogo deistviia,” Biulleten' kinoprokatchika № 6 (83), June 2013: 64-66.
Nancy Condee © 2013
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