To glimpse the \u201creal\u201d Kyiv hidden within \"Arsenal,\" however, one must look not at the foreground but at the background\u2014as in this shot of a religious procession. In the wider crowd scenes, entirely different faces emerge: dignified, intelligent, and strikingly beautiful. It is quite possible that many of the extras, like Dovzhenko himself, had participated in the public celebrations of 1917\u20131918 and remembered them vividly.\n\nWhat did they think and feel while helping to create what was, in essence, a caricature of their own experience? Unfortunately, that is something we are unlikely ever to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\nThus emerges the first facet of Kyiv: a political capital, an epicenter of social upheaval, aspirations, and competing visions of the future. In the scenes set on Saint Sophia Square, those willing to watch with their \u201cperipheral vision\u201d can sense the same solemn excitement and faith in tomorrow that would animate Kyiv\u2019s Maidan movements from 1990 to 2013.\n\nUltimately, the two forces competing for Ukraine\u2019s future\u2014the independence-oriented camp and the pro-Russian one\u2014were already present then, and in many ways remain with us today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Provincial Kyiv: \u201cChasing Two Hares\u201d<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\nMore than any other screen portrayal, Kyiv is perhaps associated with Viktor Ivanov\u2019s cult classic \"Chasing Two Hares\" (1961). Surprisingly for a film that openly caricatures the pre-revolutionary world, its creators managed to infuse the satire with a note of nostalgia while simultaneously anchoring it in their own present. This latter quality, incidentally, was characteristic of Soviet cinema as a whole, which rarely valued the past for its own sake.\n\nEarly in the film, viewers are reminded that the story takes place in the relatively recent past\u2014just half a century earlier. (By comparison, we are now separated from the film itself by more than sixty-five years.) The action was therefore shifted forward in time from its literary source\u2014Mykhailo Starytsky\u2019s 1883 play, itself an adaptation of Ivan Nechuy-Levytskyi\u2019s 1875 work\u2014and relocated to the beginning of the twentieth century, bringing it closer to contemporary audiences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The underlying themes remain strikingly familiar and quintessentially urban: newly enriched social climbers aspiring to join the \u201celite,\u201d young people willing to use whatever means necessary to secure their place in the world, and the most time-honored shortcut to wealth of all\u2014marriage.\n\nAdded to this is the imperial context. Over everything hangs a sense of provincialism imposed from above and, it must be admitted, enthusiastically embraced from below. Kyiv appears here not as the proud ancient capital or the \u201cmother of cities,\u201d but rather as a provincial town of the Russian Empire, albeit one with ambitions. The city\u2019s then-modern center, Khreshchatyk, is mentioned as a fashionable promenade lined with expensive shops and frequented by a \u201crespectable\u201d public. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
From this emerges one of the film\u2019s central themes\u2014one that remains relevant to this day: linguistic identity and the status of the Ukrainian language. Interestingly, Holokhvostyi and Pronia are not ridiculed primarily because they speak Russian. In Soviet cinema, Russian was rarely portrayed negatively; if anything, it often served as a marker of an ideologically \u201ccorrect\u201d character. Ukrainian\u2014or the mixed Ukrainian-Russian vernacular known as surzhyk\u2014was more commonly assigned to secondary, often comic, figures.\n\nThe audience\u2019s amusement stems instead from the fact that Holokhvostyi and Pronia speak badly. They aspire to a sophistication and cultural refinement they do not possess, awkwardly imitating what they perceive as higher status. In the process, they have lost touch with their own identity\u2014an identity preserved by the film\u2019s more grounded \u201cordinary people,\u201d Halya and her beloved Stepan.<\/p>\n\n\n\nAnd yet, the film would never have earned such genuine affection from audiences if it were merely a satire of Ukrainian provincialism and its inferiority complex toward the Russian imperial center, with its \u201curbanity\u201d and \u201cgreat culture.\u201d Increasingly, viewers are drawn to the image of old, \u201cauthentic\u201d Kyiv that appears on screen: historic buildings that could well have been contemporaries of the play itself. There is none of the aggressively polished sheen of the modern metropolis, none of the notorious ill-conceived residential towers clumsily wedged into the urban fabric. <\/p>\n\n\n\nKhreshchatyk is only mentioned in the film; what we actually see on screen are low-rise buildings, small houses with front gardens, and Andriivskyi Descent\u2014still just a street at the time, not yet the \u201cMontmartre of Kyiv.\u201d Even the magnificent rococo St. Andrew\u2019s Church appears somehow lived-in and familiar, almost homely, while the modern city blocks visible in the background serve less to evoke the image of a contemporary metropolis\u2014the Soviet Ukrainian capital\u2014than to underscore the continuing relevance of the story itself.\n\nThat phrase, \u201cnot so long ago, just half a century earlier,\u201d immediately casts the film in a nostalgic light, and the effect only grows stronger with time. We all become a little like Holokhvostyi: in our pursuit of the attractions of modernity, we end up losing our Kyiv.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Capital\u2019s New Face: \"The Years Youth,\" \"Shtepsel Marries Tarapunka,\" and \"The Month of May,\"<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\nAleksei Mishurin\u2019s \"The Young Years\" was released in 1958, during the Khrushchev Thaw, and is imbued with the spirit of that era: youthfulness\u2014serving as a metaphor for broader social renewal\u2014and optimism about the future.\nThe film follows two aspiring students, Natalka, a young woman from Kyiv, and Serhii, a newcomer from the Donbas, as they apply to a theatrical college in the capital. As was often the case in Soviet cinema, the story touches on social issues alongside its romantic plot. Remarkably, some of these concerns feel just as relevant today as they did then. Among them is the phenomenon commonly known as \"blat\"\u2014the reliance on personal connections and informal favors\u2014which had become so deeply embedded in the system that it was often treated as a necessary evil rather than something to be openly condemned. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Despite her obvious talent and strong chances of being admitted on merit, Natalka decides to \u201cplay it safe.\u201d The good-natured uncle of her suitor\u2014a composer and member of the admissions committee\u2014agrees to \u201chelp\u201d both the young woman and her chance acquaintance, Serhii.\nThe arrangement is treated as so ordinary that it provokes no moral hesitation whatsoever\u2014not from the ambitious young applicant, nor from the prominent Soviet cultural figure. Indeed, he is not portrayed as a villain at all. At most, he receives a symbolic punishment at the end of the film when he falls into the water during a fishing trip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And what of Kyiv itself? The filmmakers seized the opportunity to showcase the city in all its splendor. The center had only recently undergone a massive reconstruction of Khreshchatyk, which had been devastated during the Second World War, and now proudly displayed its brand-new neo-Baroque architectural ensemble.\n\nThe camera lingers over these sights with evident delight, moving from the stately grandeur of Khreshchatyk to the opulent halls of the theatrical college, and from there to the city's lush parks and the broad waters of the Dnipro. The result is a visual celebration of Kyiv as a confident socialist capital, radiating renewal, ambition, and vitality. <\/p>\n\n\n\nKyiv itself is central to this vision. \"The Years Youth\" is one of the few films in which the city appears unmistakably as a capital\u2014a true center of gravity, a place people aspire to reach, where dreams can be fulfilled, and which gathers the country's diverse regions beneath its wing.\n\nIndeed, the unity of Ukraine\u2014albeit viewed through the Soviet lens of a socialist republic\u2014is one of the film\u2019s key motifs. The story opens in the Donbas, where Natalka is visiting. It is there, on her journey back to Kyiv, that fate brings her together with Serhii, who is applying to the very same theatrical college.\n\nRushing to catch her train, Natalka remains dressed in the stage costume of a \u201cyoung proletarian.\u201d As a result, Serhii mistakes her for a teenage boy, and she mischievously introduces herself as her own fictional brother. After all, every film needs at least a little intrigue. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Ukrainian regional identity of the Donbas is beyond doubt in the film. The performances at a local amateur concert blend elements of Ukrainian folk culture with those of an urban working-class environment. It is also in this film that Serhii, the young man from the Donbas, sings Andrii Malyshko\u2019s famous \"Song of the Rushnyk\" for the first time while traveling by train from the Donbas to Kyiv.\n\nIt is worth remembering that every Soviet film was produced under a system of strict, multi-layered oversight and ultimately required final approval in Moscow. The Donbas\u2019s Ukrainian character\u2014and its place within Kyiv\u2019s orbit, not only politically but culturally as well\u2014therefore raised no objections even from the Soviet \u201cCenter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The splendor of the rebuilt postwar Kyiv\u2014from Khreshchatyk to the newly constructed university buildings\u2014as well as the atmosphere of the post-Stalin Thaw, with its growing weariness of revolutionary utopianism and its renewed focus on private life, can also be found in other films of the period. Among them are \"Shtepsel Marries Tarapunka\" (1957, directed by Yukhym Berezin and Yurii Tymoshenko\u2014the celebrated comedy duo Shtepsel and Tarapunka themselves) and \"May, the Merry Month\" (1965, directed by Hryhorii Lipshyts). <\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the former, Tarapunka, a Kyiv police officer, unexpectedly becomes a variety-show star while navigating a series of comic misunderstandings involving his beloved Halya, a member of an amateur performance troupe from Reshetylivka. The hero\u2019s romantic troubles unfold against the backdrop of lovingly photographed panoramas of Khreshchatyk, which almost become a character in their own right.\n\nMany of the film\u2019s themes echo those of \"The Young Years\": the newly rebuilt and resplendent Kyiv, Kyiv as the capital that brings together the country's regions, and Kyiv as a space of social mobility and opportunity. One episode, for instance, revolves around a large-scale republican amateur arts festival that draws participants from across Soviet Ukraine. Indeed, the similarities are hardly surprising, given that only a single year separates the two films.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\nIn \"The Month of May,\" a student couple files an application to marry but, according to the rules, must wait another month before the marriage can be officially registered. Through a twist of circumstances, they are mistaken for an already married couple and\u2014somewhat scandalously by the standards of puritanical Soviet society\u2014spend that month living together as husband and wife, while experiencing all the difficulties of learning to live with one another. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\nAlongside the imposing Soviet neoclassicism of the city center, the couple\u2019s life unfolds amid the modernist architecture of the 1960s student campus. Adding to the film\u2019s lyrical atmosphere are the nighttime streets of the big city, the Dnipro embankment with its parks, and the open-air summer theater.\n\nThis is an emphatically everyday comedy, drawn from the contemporary lives of young people who were meant to recognize themselves in its characters. Accordingly, Kyiv in the film appears neither as a symbol nor as a city of dreams, but as a mid-twentieth-century metropolis where ordinary people solve ordinary problems\u2014problems that are familiar and understandable to the audience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kyiv in Cinema as a Place of Memory: \"The Seventh Route\"<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\nIn the cinema of independent Ukraine, Kyiv acquires a new dimension. During the 1990s, cinematic portrayals of the city became more inward-looking and intimate, while increasingly focusing on the ambivalence of life in a large city.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Warm and lyrical, though tinged with a considerable measure of melancholy, is Mykhailo Illienko\u2019s \"The Seventh Route\" (1997). The film intertwines two storylines. A struggling poet earns his living as a Kyiv tour guide; while showing the city to a group of foreign visitors, a misunderstanding with the interpreter forces him to improvise, and he begins inventing an entirely new excursion on the spot, using his own biography as an underground Soviet poet as its foundation.\n\nAt the same time, a young American woman films, with a video camera, the places associated with her mother's youth in Kyiv. Her mother, now an \u00e9migr\u00e9, once lived in the city. The two storylines, the two personal histories, gradually intersect\u2014and the points at which they do are precisely Kyiv\u2019s locations themselves, the sites of memory shared by the aging poet and the \u00e9migr\u00e9 woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\nThe dreamlike, bittersweet music of Volodymyr Hronskyi, together with the work of the British-Ukrainian diaspora folk-rock band \"The Ukrainians\"\u2014especially the song \"Vorony\" (\"Crows\")\u2014combines Western rock rhythms with Ukrainian melodies and imagery, creating an atmosphere of both loss and rediscovery.\n\nThrough his improvised excursion, the hero, whose youth and fate have been marked by disappointment, seems to regain control over his own story. The young woman tries to grasp, to literally record on camera, her mother's past. Meanwhile, the foreign tourists seek to revive a connection with their lost \"ancestral homeland.\" All of this unfolds against the backdrop of Kyiv before the construction boom, when the city's face was still defined by old residential neighborhoods, historic buildings, and courtyards overgrown with greenery.\n\nKyiv appears here neither as a piece of \"historical exotica\" nor as a grand capital-city backdrop, but simply as a city. It is no coincidence that the \"seventh route\" includes not a single tourist attraction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The film captures the spirit of its era, with its mixture of freedom, uncertainty, and disorientation. Ultimately, the \u201cseventh route\u201d is needed not only by foreign visitors seeking to discover a different, non-monumental side of their historical homeland, but by Ukrainians themselves. To move forward, one must first come to terms with one's own past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kyiv in 1990s Cinema: \"A Friend of the Deceased\"<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\nA very different side of the era is revealed in \"A Friend of the Deceased,\" directed by Viacheslav Kryshtofovych and based on Andrey Kurkov\u2019s novella Dear Friend, Comrade of the Deceased\u2014with Kurkov himself serving as the film\u2019s screenwriter. Released in 1997 as a Ukrainian-French co-production, the film offers a darker portrait of post-Soviet Kyiv.\n\nIts protagonist, a young translator named Tolya, drifts between odd jobs of varying legality while struggling with problems in his marriage. In a moment of frustration, he accepts a friend's offer to \u201ctake care of\u201d his wife's lover by hiring a contract killer. Then, in a brief fit of despair, Tolya gives the hitman his own address instead. Realizing what he has done, he is forced to find someone who can \u201ctake care of\u201d the killer.\n\nIn the Kyiv of the 1990s\u2014where everyone is trying to survive one way or another\u2014this proves less difficult than one might expect.<\/p>\n\n\n\nWhereas \"The Seventh Route\" offers a lyrical portrait of the city\u2014Kyiv as a home\u2014\"A Friend of the Deceased\" presents Kyiv as a 1990s metropolis: dynamic and constantly changing, marked by stark social contrasts, plagued by chronic crime, financial hardship, and stress, and perpetually somewhat neglected. Yet for all that, the city retains its own charm and attractions, among them one of the era\u2019s most recognizable features: the caf\u00e9 where Tolya, despite being unemployed, spends much of his time.\n\nAnd still, beneath all these contemporary layers, one can discern the Ukrainian \u201ceternal city,\u201d with its golden domes\u2014visible from the window of Tolya\u2019s apartment\u2014its Podil streets, and the \u201cpicturesque ruins\u201d of its older architecture.<\/p>\n\n\n\nAn ironic perspective: \u201cThe Hero of My Time\u201d<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\nYet a capital city is not only about great historical events, nor only about personal dramas that seem especially elevated against a backdrop of monumental architecture or the hills above the Dnipro. It is also about snobbery, a sense of superiority (usually undeserved), and the pursuit of dreams that all too often ends in disappointment.\n\nTo balance our survey, let us conclude with an ironic deconstruction of the capital\u2019s allure by the Kyiv-born director Tonya Noyabrova. \"Hero of My Time,\" her feature-film debut from 2018, reworks the classic motif of the provincial newcomer who sets out to conquer the capital. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kyiv, however, is not Paris, and Zhorik is no Rastignac. Accordingly, what awaits the viewer is not a grand Human Comedy in the Balzacian vein, but a merciless\u2014and in many ways remarkably accurate\u2014satire of Kyiv\u2019s particular vices: pretentiousness, bad taste, and the all-conquering phenomenon known in Ukrainian as zhlobstvo.\n\nIn some respects, the film echoes \"Chasing Two Hares,\" exposing the provincialism hidden beneath the city's awkwardly assembled mask of \u201cmetropolitan sophistication.\u201d After all, a considerable share of Kyiv\u2019s residents are themselves former provincials.\n\nMarkets, grimy apartment entrances with broken elevators, endless queues at government offices with their distinctly post-Soviet atmosphere\u2014all of this appears alongside, and in sharp contrast to, modern shopping malls with expensive boutiques and even a museum of contemporary art, complete with a somewhat comical aspiration to ultra-modernity. <\/p>\n\n\n\nIt is precisely there that Zhorik finds work as a security guard, and the museum becomes the setting for one of the film\u2019s sharpest and most amusing episodes\u2014a satire aimed both at Kyiv\u2019s cultural milieu and at the pretensions of conceptual art.\n\nIn a certain sense, the museum of contemporary art\u2014where the boundary between art and garbage is determined quite literally by the curator\u2019s whim, a figure distinguished more by self-importance than by professionalism\u2014becomes a metaphor for metropolitan life as a whole. Here, value is often assigned rather than earned, appearances matter more than substance, and success depends as much on belonging to the right circle as on genuine merit.<\/p>\n\n\n\nWe have touched on only a handful of the cinematic images through which Kyiv has been portrayed on screen\u2014those that, in our view, are among the most vivid and characteristic. In reality, of course, there are many more. Every film shot in Kyiv or about Kyiv carries within it a fragment of the city\u2019s spirit, of its complex history and equally complex present.\n\nPerhaps that is precisely why there is no single film that has become the myth of Kyiv. The city is simply too multifaceted, too resistant to neat formulas and unambiguous interpretations. And that is what makes it so fascinating to watch filmmakers attempt to capture it, continually discovering new facets that had previously gone unnoticed.\n\nThe cinematic journey through the city will therefore continue for as long as Kyiv itself exists.\n\nWhich is to say: forever.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u0417 \u043d\u0430\u0433\u043e\u0434\u0438 (\u043c\u0438\u043d\u0443\u043b\u043e\u0433\u043e \u0443\u0436\u0435, \u0449\u043e\u043f\u0440\u0430\u0432\u0434\u0430) \u0414\u043d\u044f \u041a\u0438\u0454\u0432\u0430 \u0433\u0440\u0456\u0445 \u043d\u0435 \u0437\u0433\u0430\u0434\u0430\u0442\u0438, \u044f\u043a \u0443\u043a\u0440\u0430\u0457\u043d\u0441\u044c\u043a\u0443 \u0441\u0442\u043e\u043b\u0438\u0446\u044e \u0432\u0456\u0434\u043e\u0431\u0440\u0430\u0437\u0438\u0432 \u0441\u0440\u0456\u0431\u043d\u0438\u0439<\/p>","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":6746,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[189],"tags":[229,313],"post_folder":[],"class_list":["post-6727","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog","tag-Kyyiv","tag-kino"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6727","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6727"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6727\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6748,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6727\/revisions\/6748"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6746"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6727"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6727"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6727"},{"taxonomy":"post_folder","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kilok.art\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/post_folder?post=6727"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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