LEBEDEVA

(back from 2008)

Hermitage. Yet another splendid set of doors is about to open to a different Epoch of Russian history, introduce new characters, raise new arguments between the European and the Russian. Marquis de Custine opens the doors without any further ado. His movement is slow but anticipating. The doors give away, producing an awfully loud squeak; a squeak that fits perfectly with wooden panels and high ceiling. It is as if only that set of doors could have caused the sound. It slits right through the static silence of the palace. As if to play along with the doors, Marquis breathes out loudly with anticipation of the beauty that is unfolding in front of him. He even kneels down slightly, having just opened the doors. A vast corridor in a palette of cold green and wood uncovers to his view. His black clad figure stands out in the pale empty corridor with its bold color. Marquis holds back a bit, not daring to enter just yet. Wooden frames and paintings surround the French diplomat, entrapping him in its beauty and historical references. In that movement not once does the Marquis face the main protagonist who is invisible. He is always turned with his back to him and to us. We do not see his eyes or his face. There is nothing to prepare us for what is in front of him that we cannot yet see.

(me and my sister in Winter Palace at the age of 7)

These are just ten seconds of the 96 minutes single shot film, which goes down literally in one breath. The movement of opening doors repeats itself over and over through the 33 rooms. It brings new plots and disorientates the viewers ever so more on this guided tour of Hermitage or more like a blend of Russian history. The tour would, I believe, bewilder even me, a Russian. Alexandr Sokurov, the director of the film, outlines this idea quite carefully in his interview to John Hartl saying:

There’s no doubt that several periods of time are existing in parallel in the life of Russia today. Elements of feudalism and elements of early Russian capitalism and continuing socialist habits. This is true of the people and the authorities, and so on. Yes, Russia is distinguished by the fact that in one temporal plane, a multitude of historical epochs are in existence. And, despite the fact that we live in the 21st Century, we are also living in the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries. (Sokurov 2003)

The fluidity of the movie as a single shot movie and the effortless opening of doors without a single a delay make the transition smooth and overwhelming. It is as if the viewer drowns in the whirlpool of fast movement, anxiety and conversation.

Both of the characters, the Marquis and even the “invisible” Russian protagonist, feel like foreigners in the splendid world of the Winter Palace. They wonder through the unknown grounds, vast history of world politics and art that Hermitage, the “ark”, has collected. It should seem familiar to them since they represent the culture and time of many exhibits, yet they seem as much out of place in the palace as much as at home. They do not realize where they are. Initially, upon opening one of the doors they even think they are in the Vatican. Along with them I feel like a tourist, traveling through this film. Timothy Corrigan mentions a very alike feeling in his book A cinema Without Walls, my “relationship with the city of images on the screen begins from outside and I inhabit that city only by taking parts of it over”.

I was 15 years old when I first saw the Russian Ark. Having just moved to Oxford, I picked out the film by pure luck with no idea of how it was going to influence my future choices in study and work. This brief moment in the film became like a metaphor to my repetitive change of place of study and living. At that point of my life I have already moved so many times, that I could no longer really feel at ease upon settling in one place. It started in Novosibirsk, then Omsk and Astana, followed by Moscow, then briefly Spain. Upon only getting accustomed to the idea of staying there it was off to Germany; first Bavaria then an island in the North Sea and finally Oxford. I felt pretty much like a tourist in my own life. Julia Kristeva says: “A Person in the 20^th century can exist honestly only as a foreigner”. The Russian Ark has shown me that it is true. No matter how many evidence we acquire that we belong to a place, we cannot be truly not foreign. Traditions that we so carefully gather in museums, we only see them for a second as we pass them by. Some might catch our eye for longer than others but one thing stays the same. They are not ours anymore. They belong to people who were there before us. They meant something to people there. In reality, we are as foreign to them as tourists who come to see these pieces of evidence and culture. The opening of doors has a purpose - to view and then to pass.

So upon coming across those particular ten seconds in Russian Ark, I could finally, along with the Marquise de Custine “let my breath out”. This moment has instantly entrapped me and has been on a constant loop in my mind ever since. It was as if an explanation for my restlessness and constant anticipation that I have gathered particularly through out the time on the German ecological island has finally been depicted. I have been sent away to Spiekeroog at the age of 14, and although having been quite accustomed to moving, this was my first truly shaking environment shift. On the island I have found myself surrounded and isolated not just simply by the sea but more like by the foreign culture and people. Just like the “European” aboard of the “ark” finds himself entrapped in the Russian culture and history. I quickly came to realize that when I opened the doors to my foreign being people saw not as much of my reality and who I was but “the paintings and history” stored somewhere specifically for them.

Now, I feel foreign even in Russia. Do the global strives of international relations destroy ones culture? I definitely think so. I don’t believe in the whole citizen of the world. One should be able to identify themselves with their home and place. It is even more important for other people have to identify me with my home and my place. It seems, however, that for forever people at home will associate me with the place where I currently reside and the people who I live among will forever see my roots. Most of the people in my present see more of my past. Most of the people from my past see my present. Who is right? What do I want them to see? These are the questions so painfully echoing in the film The Russian Ark.

Speaking in broader terms the film depicts the strained relationship between Europe and Russia, Russia's alienation from the rest of the old world. No matter how much of a facade is put up in the hermitage to make Russia more “westernized”, the main narrator feels out of place. The opening of the doors is performed by the Marquis, a sign of power. He seems like the master. Those little details emphasize the nature of the politics between the Old world and Russia throughout the 18^th, 19^th and 20^th centuries. Although trying to stand on its own in full power of its nation, the aristocracy in Russia has always tried to look for guidance from Europe and trying to seek its approval in almost anything it did. Be it clothes, cuisine, art, architecture, political regime, ways of entertainment, literature or arm forces. Perfect example of it all was the idea of building St. Petersburg by Peter the Great in 18^th centenary, which became known in history of Russia as a ‘Window to Europe’. It was the first city in Russia that was built according to a plan. Once opened, the urge to find acceptance from the West has spread across the society. Russia went from being alienated from the world because of its backwardness in technological development to alienation because of the loss of independence. The Marquis, whilst inspecting the Hermitage numerous amounts of times underlines this with phrases like: “You, Russians, can only copy...”, or: “Who is this composer? He must be German, all composers are German”. His character is not just of the Marquis de Custine. He represents Europe and its conceptions of Russia and partly he is what Russians expect the reflection of the Europeans to be. Alexander Sokurov clarifies this idea quite well in his interview with John Hartl:

We stuck to certain defining characteristics of Custine, but we also created something of a composite, universal European. In his remarks, we tried to form an approach to Russia that used to exist and still does – an attitude to Russia that isn’t always complimentary and, to be frank, isn’t always fair to us. ( Sokurov 2003)

Russia in its own race to welcome the westernized style of living, started to lose its traditions and culture, becoming foreign. Although having had only good intentions from the start, I believe Russia has lost itself in the conflict of cultures, trying to incorporate foreign views in its true nature. Still not being accepted by Europe nor ever fully belonging to Asia, it is very much alienated from the rest of the world. It is stuck in a limbo of not only between Europe and Asia but one of time and history. There still seems to be hope though. The main character chooses to stay on the ark, suggesting he is accepting the newly created identity. He seems to accept the uncertainty in the belonging of Russia to either of the parts of the world as the identity of himself. Instead of desperately trying to be part of one of them, he chooses to be something else, a weird blend of both. By this acceptance he reinforces the uniqueness of the identity, accepts the fact that he is foreign. While acceptance of others might come in a little time, he finds peace in what he is. It is the necessary confidence that has to come from within the person that helps to eliminate or at least to dim the alienation. Looking at Russia now, I can see a strange but inspiring blend of old morals and traditions and the newly found hunger of capitalism. Crisis of identity by far has not passed yet, but the restraint of the stereotypical frames, most tried to conform to, has fallen. Images on the walls are beginning to gain back their substance.

The described scene left me with a feeling of anticipation but in a completely different kind of way. In Russian Ark’s imagery world, amongst it’s splendid mise-en-scene, I have been able to find that one moment, in the movement of which I can place myself every time I am about to enter a new environment, a new home and meeting new set of people. Being foreign does mean being different but it does not mean being ignored. We are determined by the past but we are living in the present. The search for ourselves begins by opening of a door to the past while letting in the present. I find a certain beauty in the simplicity of this everyday and yet grandiose action of opening a door. Farewell to the never forgotten but left behind and welcome to the new.