Our theme for tomorrow’s class, “Post-Soviet decay and corruption”, is portrayed in various ways in the film Leviathan. On the surface, the Russian political system depicted in this movie is corrupt, to say the least, but when you look a bit deeper, this film works to depict several other aspects of their reality as corrupt and decaying. Visually speaking, the colors and tones used in the camerawork are dreary and bleak – this is seen everywhere from the washed out skin tone of the characters to the lack of natural color in water bodies and mountain ranges. Where I would expect color, there are only washed out tones of greys and greens, and I think this acts as a commentary on the wider societal reality of the time. The bleakness of the camerawork reflects the very bleakness of the characters and the society in which they are currently living. Most evident is the corruption and decay of the characters and how societal influences have created this in them. There are numerous examples of corruption in one’s character: Lilya cheating on Kolya with Dmitri, Dmitri willingly betraying his dear friend Kolya, the many acts of cruelty of Vadim, and generally, the characters in this film seem overly aggressive in their interactions with others, whether aggression is permitted or not. Kolya resorts to physical violence when he feels at all threatened or upset, as does his son, Roma, and Vadim and his colleagues. Social justice is not a feature in this film, as we see through the broken justice system, and the characters act according to this notion. The emotional states of these characters, similar to some of the Post-Soviet experience, are broken. Not to mention, the prevalence of alcoholism in both the male and female characters speaks to their depressed mental state. Throughout this film, I was reminded of this idea of collectivism and how this type of society was characteristic of the Soviet Union. As it relates to these characters, I noticed a lack of this collectivist mentality – most of these characters operate independently and out of self-interest. Almost every aspect of this film – from the aesthetics and camerawork to the poor
Category Archives: Soviet Aspirations and Environmental Disasters
Transcendent Themes
After watching Leviathan, I could not help but think about the film we watched earlier in the course, Urga: Close to Eden. Though the films are about entirely different periods in Russian history, they focus on similar aspects of Russian culture that we have seen throughout the entire semester: the awe inspiring beauty of Russian nature, the complex relationship between man and nature, and the superfluous man.
First and foremost, both movies display the landscape in similar ways. For example, both movies begin and end with long sweeping scenes of the landscapes without any of the characters. Urga: Close to Eden focuses most on the steppe in reference to how the mongols coexisted with nature and roamed throughout the vast Russian Steppe. Though Leviathan takes place in a very industrialized modern Russia, there is still serious screen time for the Russian coast. The vastness of the steppe and the coast invoke similar emotions of awe and uncertainty in the viewer.
The endings of Leviathan and Urga: Close to Eden also both comment on the complex relationship between man and nature. In Leviathan, nature provides the location for Lilya’s death, which though left unspecified, is likely a suicide. Though there is evidence found that incriminates Kolya, Lilya’s husband, it is possible for that evidence to have been fabricated to make Kolya answer for previous misdemeanors against the corrupt Mayor Vadim. Regardless of the official cause of Lilya’s death, the ominous sea shown throughout the film is directly involved in Lilya’s death. The ending of Urga: Close to Eden shows the steppe where Gombo and his family used to live with a smokestack that has been built there. Though Gombo’s family practiced a fairly traditional Mongol lifestyle, the ending reveals that their fourth son works at the factory that was built in place of the Urga. The endings of both films invoke the complexities involved in the relationship between the Russian land and the Russian people.
A theme that both of these movies share that is unrelated to nature is the trope of the superfluous man. Kolya is stubborn and hotheaded, rarely thinking about what might be best for his family. He is a mechanic who constantly has trouble obeying authority, corrupt as it may be. Lilya is constantly upset with Kolya’s refusal to move on from his trivial arguments with Mayor Vadim that are impossible to win. Gombo refuses to modernize with his wife. He is so afraid of buying contraceptives in front of the women at the pharmacy that he does not buy them at all, even though it would be to the best interest of both him and his wife.
A Matter of Trust
One topic that comes up in both Voices from Chernobyl and The Babushkas of Chernobyl is the rift between farmers living near Chernobyl and the scientists/officials responsible for the nuclear reactor. The difference between these groups lies primarily in their respective relationships to nature. A monologue by an environmental inspector reveals that “[f]armers didn’t invent Chernobyl, they had their own relations with nature, trusting relations, not predatory ones, just like they had one hundred years ago, and one thousand years ago” (Alexievich 173). This stands in sharp contrast to the “educated [people],” whom, after causing the Chernobyl disaster through their predatory approach to nature, ensured the farmers that “[t]here’s nothing to fear” (173). Despite the gradual shift since the emergence of the Soviet Union towards a hostile relationship with nature, the farmer’s fundamental relationship to nature has not changed. While historian Aleksandr Revalskiy claims that “Chernobyl is the catastrophe of the Russian mind-set,” he likely refers to the mindset of the Soviet elite rather than the farmers. He further claims the Russians “were raised with a particular Soviet form of paganism, which was that man was the crown of all creation, that it was his right to do anything with the world that he wanted” (175). In light of the comments of the environmental inspector, this predatory upbringing was likely more prevalent in urban areas, as it appears that rural farmers still held onto their traditional relationship with the world that they always have had.
The Babushkas in The Babushkas of Chernobyl carry on a trusting relationship with nature through their reliance on the land. Even though the scientists inform them of the detrimental effects of radiation, they continue to grow their own food and drink contaminated water out of both a love for their Motherland and the trust that nature will not harm them if treated with respect. The tragic aspect of this disaster is that those who had a trusting relationship with nature made up a large portion of those who were harmed by the actions of a few who did not. However, this relationship with nature may be one of the factors the doctor in the film refers to when he claims that “socio-psychological factors also greatly influence health” (The Babushkas of Chernobyl). Given the Babushkas’ old age, their traditional respect for the environment has possibly caused nature to return the favor by mitigating radiation’s impact on them.
Curating or Interpreting?
Alexievich’s Voices from Chernobyl is simultaneously dealing with depicting the story of the victims of Chernobyl while questioning conventional methods of documentation and storytelling. Alexievich herself ends the novel in her epilogue lamenting, “(Chernobyl) is more powerful than anything literature has to say” (240). The ending of Alexievich compilation seems to suggest that anyone learning about this catastrophe that did not experience it is unable to understand its severity. One of her narratives near the end emphasizes, “Because no one knows what Chernobyl is. People have guesses and feelings” (236). I believe that Alexievich’s style of storytelling, in the compilation of individual narratives, is not an attempt to show or inform the reader about the event generally. Yes, the narratives circle around the event of Chernobyl, however, Alexievich understands that the tragedy cannot be encapsulating in writing, but rather in experience. Consequently, instead of attempting to write literature about Chernobyl which attempts to display its tragedy, Alexievich resists and instead documents individuals. Acting more as a curator than as the traditional author, Alexievich is able to communicate the unheard stories of the “solitary voices” without generalizing the event in whole.
Alexievich asks for a comparison of her historical approach to Toylstoy’s in his novel War and Peace. In her second narrative she documents, “Do you remember how it was in Tolstoy?” (25). Tolstoy tells the Franco-Russian war through multiple perspectives, similar to Alexievich. Tolstoy’s perspectives are narrative and all from a generally similar background: Russian and of nobility. Although Tolstoy emphasizes the importance of history encompassing multiple narrative of an event, he still writes a literary narrative and not a documentation.
Alexievich pushes Tolstoy’s established tradition. She rejects any complete narrative and instead replaces any of her authorial voice with the voice of the victims. Instead of translating and interpreting history as Tolstoy does, Alexievich curates.
In Living Memory
One theme that struck me throughout the film, The Babushkas of Chernobyl, and the book, Voices from Chernobyl, is the relationship between history, being forgotten, and life persevering. The babushkas in particular exemplified this interconnection of ideas—they live in abandoned, radioactive places and yet these women (those who are left) are living to the age of 80 and above. With minimal help from the outside world, they grow their own crops, brew their own moonshine and generally take care of themselves. Their headscarves are bright colors, as though to remind themselves that they are still alive and vibrant people, full of joy and a will to live despite the contamination around them, which they are consuming every day. Yet the contrast with the “stalkers” who are inspired by a video game to sneak into the contaminated zone acts as a stark reminder that some truly believe the Zone to be an empty yet thrilling place and worth nothing more than a good dare. The woman in the video of remarks that these “stalkers” are constantly forgetting that this zone is dangerous, as though they have forgotten the true history of what occurred there and see it solely through the modern lens of video games.
In the other short video we watched in class on Monday, the man remarks that returning to these contaminated and abandoned towns and homes is like looking into the past. There are photos and clothes and just the remains of these people’s lives. Which made me wonder—is looking at the babushkas’ homes still looking into the past? Are they isolated from time? Or are they themselves a remnant of history, living in isolation? But these homes are also reminders of abandonment, as a photographer describes in Voices from Chernobyl: “You wanted to just remember it: the globe in the schoolyard crushed by a tractor; laundry that’s been hanging out on the balcony for a year and has turned black; abandoned military graves, the grass as tall as the soldier statue on it, and the automatic weapon of the statue, a bird’s nest…People have left, but their photographs are still in the houses, like their souls” (Alexievich, 192). What these people leave behind is not just history, but part of who they are. And these babushkas of Chernobyl could be considered part of that which was left behind, even as they struggled and sneaked through barbed wire to come back to their homes. But they should not be remembered just as a part of history, but as living and vibrant people, which I believe the movie does a wonderful job of capturing.
Innocence and Optimism among Young Narrators in “Voices from Chernobyl” and “A Child’s Drawings”
The motifs of youthful innocence and child-like optimism are pervasive in Psychologist Pyotr S.’s testimony from the Chernobyl disaster during the Cold War. In describing his childhood years before Chernobyl, he states that he would dress up and “play dad” in an attempt to “see how life would appear” for those around him amidst the hostilities of war (Alexievich 26). With that said, Pytor states that he had still always felt protected, constantly believing that “the most horrible things had already happened” (26). This scene portrays one child’s optimism amidst an entire nation’s suffering. The juxtaposition of these images emphasizes innocence that had served to both symbolically and literally protect these children from the darkness of their war-environment.
This notion of being protected by one’s youth is not only a key element of Pytor’s testimony, but it is also clearly illustrated in the child’s drawings within Varlaam Shalamov’s piece “A Child’s Drawings.” In this short story, the boy artist had also lived in the Russian North during wartime, just like Pytor. However, this young artist functions merely as an apostrophe, represented only by the illustrated notebook he leaves behind. In this notebook, he draws bright green grounds and clear blue skies (Shalamov 137). Furthermore, he depicts numerous “yellow fences,” “black lines of barbed wire,” and soldiers traversing the Russian landscape (137). Just like Pytor’s childhood testimony, these illustrations are optimistic, expressing both bright, solid colors, and the images of defense and protection. Note, these drawings suggest that the boy’s memories focus more so on the notion of defense, rather than the specific destruction of war.
The final connective feature I would like to elaborate on is the sense of fear and greater understanding possessed by older characters within both of these pieces, despite the youthful optimism of younger ones. For instance, in Pytor’s testimony, he speaks about how his “past no longer protects ” him, as he is no longer protected by neither his childhood nor the optimism that had come along with it (Alexievich 26). The quotation that “there aren’t any answers” left in the past suggests that Pytor comes to realize that the world is more complex, now that he is an adult (26). Meanwhile, the convict in “A Child’s Drawing” functions as the older character, and has a similar realization about the complexity of life. He states that he is frightened by the brightness and lack of halftones in the artwork, and implies that there is a void of grey area and complexity in these illustrations. Overall, the wisdom of the narrator/artist in each of these pieces plays an important role in his perception of war scenes around him.
The format of Voice from Chernobyl
The impact of Svetlana Alexievich’s Voice from Chernobyl is helped by the book’s unique form. The first part is told in a series of unrelated monologues all circling around personal experience of the disaster. Each incredibly intimate and horrifying monologue begins to add to a collective voice about the event without minimizing or generalizing any single experience.
Alexievivh’s prologue titled “a solitary human voice” (5) begins to justify her unique form. This staring monologue is longer than the rest, taking pages to tell the two-week long suffering and eventual death of one of the first responders to the reactors. The repeat theme of this narrative is the growing de-humanization of Vasily, the narrator’s husband. Once taken away from their home and moved to a hospital in Moscow, the narrator is told multiple times that, “You have to understand: this is not your husband anymore, not a beloved person, but a radioactive object with a strong density of poisoning” (16). The narrator is instructed to look past the humanity of her husband, ignore him as a victim and instead view him as an object.
Just as the narrator is asked to distance themselves from the humanity of her husband, the Soviet government asked citizens to distance themselves from the human horror of Chernobyl and instead focus their attention on the environmental impact. The rest of Alexievich monologues are an attempt to destroy this crafted blind spot.
Voices of Reflection
Though we have studied many dire historical situations throughout this course, such as the flood at St. Petersburg or time spent imprisoned at the Gulag, Voices From Chernobyl is the first time I noticed any serious intrapersonal reflections on death. I think that this reflection on death is shown in conjunction with the repeated theme throughout the testimony about any lack of choice. Whether it be the lack of choice of when to live or die or whether or not to stay in the town despite the numerous warnings, having choice removed seems to encourage deep self reflection.
The loss of control that many near Chernobyl felt is first described in the “Monologue on Why We Remember:” “I’ve been there many times now. And understood how powerless I am. I’m falling apart. My past no longer protects me. There aren’t any answers there. They were there before, but now they’re not. The future is destroying me, not the past” (27). Instead of focussing on description of the events at hand, this novel focuses more on how the events affected the people involved. In a situation as dire as that at Chernobyl it seemed that “death is the fairest thing in the world. No one’s ever gotten out of it. The earth takes everyone—the kind, the cruel, the sinners” (27). The testimonies continue to beg these big questions: ones that question how to move forward when you have no choice but to run away. Leaving homes is described as emotionally and physically disruptive, but staying put is dangerous and isolating.
The presentation of testimony in retrospect is striking and different than much of the literature we have read so far. It is also important that the novel uses so much evidence from different perspectives. Within the first two sections countless testimony are introduced from both those who fled Chernobyl and those who returned. I am interested to see all the other angles that Alexievich introduces throughout the rest of the novel.
A shift in fear
A reoccurring theme I picked up on in Alexievich’s Voices from Chernobyl was the greater fear humans had of fellow humans than of the natural environment and creatures within it. The quote that captured my attention initially was the following: “Any animal is afraid of a human. If you don’t touch him, he’ll walk around you. Used to be, you’d be in the forest and you’d hear human voices, you’d run toward them. Now people hide from one another. God save me from meeting a person in the forest!” (44). The first part, “any animal is afraid of a human” seems accurate and nondebatable to me – humans typically sit above most animals on the food chain and have historically displayed dominance over lesser species. The last part of this quote is what I found most striking. The voice of this quote claims that where humans were once unbothered by, and maybe even comforted by, the sound of human voice, we now fear it. Not only do we fear fellow humans in this situation, but we also retreat from them, which is the opposite, this quote claims, from what used to be true of mankind. The last part, “God save me from meeting a person in the forest!” really shows the fear of this person, and others in his situation, have of other humans. Considering the context of this time and their experiences in Chernobyl, fear of others humans can be understood.
Another woman discusses her level of comfort with humans in the forest, explaining that upon leaving home each day she dressed in “clean clothes, a freshly laundered blouse, skirt, underthings” (60) in preparation for if she were to be killed that day. She explains further, “Now I walk through the forest by myself and I’m not afraid of anyone. There aren’t any people in the forest, not a soul” (60). We have seen in some of the past literature we’ve read a fear of the elemental forces of nature, the sublimity, and the unknown; however, the fear this woman refers to regards humans, those of her very own species. We further learn, “I can’t be afraid of the earth, the water. I’m afraid of people” (60). This clearly shows the shift from a fear of nature to the fear of humans. She did not expand on what fear of the earth, water, and nature more generally entails, but we might speculate that fear of these things might have to do with their vastness, elemental force, unpredictability, etc.
Another man shares, “And I’ll say this: birds, and trees, and ants, they’re closer to me now than they were. I think about them, too. Man is frightening. And strange” (66). His current relationship with nature – what he defines as birds, trees, and ants – is more evident than it was before, in part to do with the decline in his relationship with humans. More broadly we might consider society as a whole and how this decline in human-to-human relations may be applicable more broadly. Lastly, one man states, “I am afraid of man. And also I want to meet him. I want to meet a good person. Yes” (67). This quote has a different tone than the rest. The ones discussed previously more directly point out the fear of humans and lack of fear of nature. However, the tone of the latter quote is more hopeful – while the man fears humans, he does want to meet someone that can disprove his fear of humans. The experiences of the people in this book are horrifying and the trauma and terrible mistreatment they have endured under the supervision and leadership of fellow humans makes it abundantly clear why they may be conditioned to fear humans. This last quote, while more hopeful, reinforces that idea.
Drawing the Battle Lines
Similarly to the Gorky excerpts from last class, “Voices from Chernobyl” on numerous occasions focuses on the warlike interactions between humans and nature in the 20th century Soviet Union. While the canal construction depicted in Gorky’s work focuses on a war with humans on the offensive, the Chernobyl disaster puts humans on the defense as they are faced with an invisible threat rarely encountered in the past.
Unlike conventional conflict, where the aggressors and defenders are clearly defined, the battle lines of Chernobyl are not clearly drawn given the nature of the disaster. As one of the individuals who returned to Chernobyl after the catastrophe claims, “Chernobyl is like the war of all wars. There’s nowhere to hide. Not underground, not underwater, not in the air” (45). Interestingly, although many of the people affected by this disaster have connections to previous wars, like World War Two, they approach the radiation with the exact same outlook despite the foe fundamentally being different. Radiation is a foreign opponent to people living near the reactor given its invisibility, the scientific knowledge required to understand it, and the inability to escape its destructive power. The uncertainty surrounding the radiation is highlighted not only by a boy’s question of “what’s radiation?,” but also by its characterization as “like God” (everywhere and invisible) (50-51). Given the unique warlike situation, some Chernobyl area residents adopt the steadfast attitude that “we lived through the war, now it’s radiation. Even if we have to bury ourselves, we’re not going!” (37). Not knowing how else to respond, some resort to holding onto their land and believing that where they currently are is where they need to be (38).
Ironically, while the Gorky excerpts depict a warlike approach to control and conquer nature, the attempt to completely control one of the smallest components of the natural world (the atom) prompts a retaliatory attack from nature itself in “Voices From Chernobyl.” Perhaps as a sign that humans are overstepping their bounds, Chernobyl serves as a reminder that the natural world is “not anyone’s land,” and that the disaster is only “God [taking] it back” (58). Perhaps this view of the catastrophe explains why some refused to evacuate, though it would be interesting to further discuss what prompted some people to think that their lives became better because of the fallout.