Truth be told, nowadays there is no “real” cinema produced in Ukraine. Even if some films are shot, they are of poor quality. Extremely unprofessional, and using a philistine language. At least, this is my personal viewpoint. However, within the list of nominees for the Shevchenko National Award in different spheres of art and culture this year there were two representatives of cinematographic profession.
One of them is the famous documentary film director Viktor Olender, with his tetralogy Kostiantyn Stepankov. Spohady pislia zhyttia (Kostiantyn Stepankov. Recollections after Life). I didn’t attend the premiere of the movie in the House of Cinematographers, which, as I was told, was bursting at the seams. I only heard the reactions. These were positive, including those from cinematographers, which is worth something in itself. However, even without knowing this I could have safely predicted that this would be the case. Olender is a professional with a rich experience and good taste, knowing his craft very well. He wasn’t lucky and didn’t get the award. I watched the movie anyway.
And now the sensational news! Viktor Olender shot a very good film. About a wonderful actor, but difficult man – Kostiantyn Stepankov, who passed away a few years ago. One may think that not much can be expected from a memorial. A haphazard collection of close ones, colleagues and fans, expressing their sadness at his passing. Hackneyed fragments of films where the protagonist acted. Two or three interviews of the still living Kostiantyn Stepankov from the archives. Sad passages (imperatively in slow motion!) in the apartment where he lived, the dacha where he liked to work... Some folk tunes. Oh, and of course, cliche author’s resumes, made by the “creator” on screen. And that’s it. If anyone wants to argue with me, I can provide examples. Next time, though. Today I want to say a few words about the film itself and its author.
So there is a film: Kostiantyn Stepankov. Recollections after Life. Four parts – each almost an hour long. Nothing of what I mentioned before – no banal devices at all, which I feared. There are no interviews, no inanimate camera’s relishing landscapes or objects, which the actor will never see or touch again. The film starts with the song Oy u poli mohyla – z vitrom hovoryla – poviy, vitre buynesenky, shchob ya ne chornila (In the field there is a grave, talking to the wind – blow the strong wind for me not to turn black), a fragment from Paradzhanov’s Ashyk-Keriba in which Stepankov’s character dies. There is a disciple near him: “Get up, teacher. Those like you die only on the way. Your way isn’t over yet.” After a short introduction setting the mood (I’d call it lyrical, but that’s not quite right), – the cruel newsreel of the 1920s and the voice of Kostiantyn Stepankov off-camera (the narrator is actor Oleksandr Ihnatusha): “They say that every leap year provokes unpleasant events. But the year of 1928 was gracious and generous for the peasants of Proskuriv area.” Immediately one forgets that Kostiantyn is no longer with us. One submerges into the confessional recollections of his childhood, the fears which followed him all his life, the bitter meditations about the profession of actor and fate of the generation... One avidly devours the tokens of his times, peer into the faces of idols of the past century – cheerful, easygoing, unaware of their significance... Childhood, war, and student life. The Franko Theater which was so dear and yet experienced so much suffering. The Dovzhenko Studio whose best years are behind it. It would seem that the movie is just edited scenes. But the affected lightness is filigree, no rough patching, no accidental frame. It is as if you were watching a unique video diary, which Kostiantyn Stepankov secretly kept all his life and opened up to others only after his death.
Viktor, the Shevchenko National Awards have recently been handed out in the spheres of literature, art, and political and social journalism. This year you were one of the nominees for this prestigious award. Unfortunately fortune didn’t smile on you. Were you very disappointed?
“Obviously, some nominees who didn’t get the prize are offended, claiming that the situation is fishy. I have a different attitude. Perhaps it’s not correct to speak about one’s own work, but, in my opinion, the film is really not bad. Evidently, it’s not the pinnacle of my professional abilities, but very close to them. Based on the available materials about Kostiantyn Stepankov, on the communication I had with this man, knowing extremely different opinion about my protagonist (from his colleagues, family, friends, and students), and most importantly, sticking to the goal I set myself (narration from the first person), I completely devoted myself to the task. I take no offense. Any prize, as well as any festival, is a kind of lottery. I was on the jury many times myself and competitors also accused me of subjectivity. The boomerang comes back (laughs).”
The film is from 2008, but, as far as I know, you started making it already in 2001?
“Exactly. It’s a long story. Should I tell it?”
By all means.
“Around 1986 Stepankov and I were secretaries of the Union of Cinematographers of Ukraine. He was a people’s artist, their favorite. Me – just one of many film directors of the Kyivnaukfilm studio. Kostiantyn visited the secretariat just to say hello, and, as a real actor, landed where he belongs, – in the buffet (laughs). I, conversely, was a conscientious worker, attended all sittings from beginning to end. In essence, it was a nodding acquaintance. Our first serious contact happened after one wonderful evening, following a regular secretariat. We both came to a cafe – Stepankov called me: we had a shot, two, three. We started speaking more eagerly. We went home on foot – the subway was already closed. We walked slowly, with stops. When we approached Kostiantyn’s building (near the Opera House), he asked me where I lived. ‘Reitarska street,’ – I said, suspecting nothing. Then Stepankov suddenly said: ‘Let me go with you. It’s late, everyone knows my face, and you, God forbid, will be detained by cops.’ We approached Reitarska street. This time I suggested: ‘Though you’re a famous and people’s artist, you might be assaulted by some bandits. While explaining who you are – they will beat and rob you. Let me escort you.’ Thus, we had three or four trips from Volodymyrska to Reitarska and back. We stopped near my building once again (it was around 3 a.m.), Stepankov suddenly looked around and asked: ‘So, you live here?’ – ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Let’s go,’ – he said resolutely. We entered the front door and ascended the stairs. Kostiantyn started asking me: ‘You filmed a movie about psychics, but can you look into the past yourself?’ I didn’t understand anything, and Stepankov continued going his own way. He stopped on the third floor and asked, showing the frayed, green wall: ‘Well, anyway, tell me what was written here?! It was written here in a meter-size letters ‘Ada, I love you!’ And if the words were erased, the next day they appeared here again! I lived in this apartment!’ Here, I started ringing the neighbor’s doors, as if there was a fire! At three o’clock at night! I decided to find out why she hadn’t told me about such a unique fact before – or didn’t she know? (Laughs). When, frightened, she opened the door and saw the people’s artist Stepankov, she understood the situation and quickly laid the table. We sat there till morning. That evening and night surely left some trace. From formal our relations became warmer and more cordial.”
So that’s when the idea to shoot a film about Stepankov appeared?
“Not quite. Many years passed. At the beginning of the 2000s I made a film about the front operator Israel Goldstein. One day I chanced to meet Kostiantyn in a grocery store. We hadn’t met for long time and wanted to talk. We went outside. Stepankov, without a moment’s hesitation, sat on some stairs: I remember I even felt embarrassed – all pedestrians stared at us. Only later did I understand – they recognized him, their favorite actor. And suddenly Kostiantyn asks: ‘You made a film about Goldstein. They say it’s good. Why won’t you shoot something about me too?’ I had developed an idea for a big project analogous to Leonid Filatov’s television program ‘For Memory.’ The difference was that he spoke of those who were not with us anymore, while I wanted to catch our contemporaries, people of the older generation, and call this cycle ‘Still Alive.’ It was planned that 10-20 documentary directors would make 100-140 films about Ukrainian actors, film directors, cameramen who left their trace in the history of the country and cinematography. All these films were supposed to be united by one device: ‘My name is Israel Goldstein. I was a cameraman. My name is Kostiantyn Stepankov.
I was an actor...’ I told Kostiantyn about my plan and explained that he was definitely on that list. Stepankov complained, saying he would not live long enough. If you start shooting immediately, I can tell you some things nobody knows. Nobody! Perhaps, he ‘bought’ me with those words. He fooled me, of course (smiles). But after a week or two I came to his place, we talked and recorded the conversation. Then again, and again.
I didn’t tell him I was interviewing him – I just asked provocative questions.
He started to reveal himself. Everything ended with me understanding: Kostiantyn is a person different from whom I know. Different from what his good acquaintances think about him. Even those from his intimate circles. Often there is a dominant feature that overshadows all the rest. It was the same with Stepankov. He turned out to be a clever, erudite and incredibly elegant man. In Yura Tereshchenko’s good film Vichny khrest (Eternal Cross), who by the way was also nominated for the Shevchenko Award this year, there is a good episode with Kostiantyn where he cooks varenyks (curd or fruit dumpling) for his grandchildren, because his wife Ada Rohovtseva and daughter Katia were touring. They earn money for the family. In my opinion, it was his main tragedy, like that of many actors of our times, when from breadwinners they were transformed into kept men. The absence of a job, illnesses, and old age. It seemed very important. Then, in 2001, I actually started shooting the film about him. But only in my mind. I thought that it would be quite easy: knowing a lot about him already, and having his confessions. But Kostiantyn became ill, recovered, and got ill again. First we planned to make a full-length film, but when he died, I understood it was too little: his death brought down the “bridge” connecting great historical and cultural worlds. Stepankov was born in 1928, simultaneously with the Dovzhenko studio, where fame would later come to him. He saw his first films, survived famine and war, witnessed the flourishing Ukrainian theater, and death of Ukrainian cinema. He was familiar with many great actors whose names today are inscribed in all cinema encyclopedias: Buchma, Miliutenko, Uzhviy, Yakovchenko, Shumsky. He had tea with Borys Babochkin. In the studio pond he went fishing with Mykola Kriuchkov, observed the debuts of Rybnykov, Larionova, Luspekayev, and Leonid Bykov. His biography had everything! Thus, a 4-part film was made, which we called Kostiantyn Stepankov. Recollections after Life. By the way, when I was proving that a full-length film for such a personality is a treacherously small format, I continuously repeated the phrase: ‘If Stepankov hadn’t existed, he would have been invented.’ And it’s true.”
I heard that part five was planned as well?
“Even more. We stopped at the most interesting moment. The film tells almost nothing about his acquaintance with Ada, about their love, family, and children. About their friendship and common work with Mykolaichuk, Osyka, Brondukov, Borys Ivchenko. Many things were left off-camera.”
By the way, what is the fate of the project “Still alive”? The film about Stepankov was part of its framework.
“It is a sad fate. I brought the offer to several instances: Oleksandr Rodniansky at 1+1, Kyivnaukfilm studio, and the Ministry of Culture. There was no reaction (at that time it was fashionable to shoot films only with national-patriotic themes), but the idea was immediately appropriated in fragments. The only difference – that they didn’t use the key director move – narration from the first person.”
A sad story. But let’s come back to the movie. I want to pay a compliment which you, obviously, have heard many times: watching the works about Goldstein and Stepankov, I couldn’t turn my eyes away from the screen even for a moment. It was so interesting and unknown to me. Where did you get this really rare documentary material?
“When we started working on the film, we faced a very difficult task: what to invent so that this or that artistic material we gathered (and it was black-and-white, color, and toned, and of a very bad quality, in addition), didn’t look like a discordant mixture? We decided to make the whole film black and white – both the newsreel and fragments from feature films. This solution helped us to turn live-action moments into a kind of documentary. I’ll reveal a small professional secret. For example, in the episode ‘My cinematographic baptism happened in spring 1934,’ the community joyfully decided that a portable film projector was to be sent to that godforsaken place. People were waiting for the prominent, grandiose historical event in the life of the village and their life. They waited for the first solemn review of the wonder called a ‘movie.’ Illustrating the story about people attending the first films, we inserted real newsreel sequences from Dovzhenko’s Zemlia (Land) – they fitted it so organically, as if they were part to it. Or a visit of the Franko Theater’s company to Uman. Of course, those years no one would send a cinema group to every theater tour, and television, of course, didn’t exist. We shot the Franko Theater company two or three times at most, but not in Uman. We got the orchestra greeting actors from another place. We shot some scenery of Uman ourselves. Huge job! I told colleagues: ‘You may die, but the audience must never guess that these are episodes from different years!’”
It’s an enormous job!
“Enormous. We collected over 180 hours of image, many views which I watched three, four, or twenty times, to exclude any anachronisms or inconsistencies.”
Cinema, as it is known, is a synthetic art. Which is why I must say a few good words about the narrator. Oleksandr Ihnatusha. His reading of the text, speaking on behalf of Kostiantyn Stepankov, is without pathos, yet convincing and organic. Did you spent a lot of time selecting a candidate for this very important role?
“It was long and painful. All actors which I tried were talented guys – one of them was Kostiantyn’s student, another had a good voice. I even considered Stepankov’s son, but it was difficult for him, in a moral sense, to work in this capacity. Kostiantyn’s family suggested Oleksii Horbunov, the favorite student of Kostiantyn. With his voice timbre and inner personality, he is like young Stepankov. I kept the record of his voice on a disc. Oleksii wanted to do it very much, but he lives in Moscow for long periods of time, and has forgotten Ukrainian – it didn’t work out. Hopefully, if the film is ever shown in Russia, Horbunov will speak for his teacher. I can’t say that Ihnatusha at once fitted the mood, rhythm, and topic. Theatrically – yes. Did he do everything I wanted? No. However, it’s not his fault, as a director I didn’t push enough. But I’m very thankful to Oleksandr that we dealt with each other. And that he did do it after all. I thought about Stupka at some moment, but he definitely wouldn’t stand me, and would swear at me (laughs). Though Bohdan is a great actor and truly knows what he is talking about.”
What will you say about the music?
“Fima Hofman is a wonderful composer. Talented, very sensuous. It seems to me he composed a good music.”
And the fly in the ointment, can’t do without it: where and when can one watch the film Kostiantyn Stepankov. Recollections after Life?
“Though it may seem strange, it is rather actively shown on television. Recently the film was shown on the UTR. And it was repeated three times. The film was shown on Kultura, Holos, and Kyiv television channels and radio company. And the local Yalta channel showed it four times! Thus, those interested in documentaries could watch it. But there were some amusing incidents too. Recently the poster of the film Kostiantyn Stepankov. Recollections after Life could be seen in the Kyiv cinema for a week. Colleagues started congratulating me, since today one can rarely see non-live-action movies on big screens. But I retorted: ‘Then you can congratulate me on the Guinness record: for the seven days of demonstration… five people watched my film!’ But seriously, it’s our fault. We should have promoted the movie, spoken about it in the press. Maybe the result would have been different then.”
If the fifth part of the film is finished, perhaps, you’ll hear:
Uman. July 19, 1957.
My Best!
I’m in Uman. I have no idea how to fight boredom. I know one thing – it’ll be difficult to live for two weeks in wilderness, where except for our Zorka, Hirka and Moska, there is no other object reminding of you.
My girl! My God! Remember every second how deeply I love you!
I’m waiting for you. Kissing you many times, my happiness!
(From Ada Rohovtseva’s book My Kostia. )
