Female filmmakers are not afraid of being sentimental and focusing on romance rather than current issues. In any mundane story, they see universal human dramas about loneliness, lack of understanding, the conflict between the mind and the heart, the absurdity of daily life and the search for happiness. They are not afraid to make films that are eccentric, lyrical and without plots. Russian female directors are not trying to imitate the male outlook and toy with feminist ideas, they honestly want to save the world and help it regain its lost meaning.
The film, "Goddess: How I Fell in Love" is a directorial debut of the eccentric playwright and actress Renata Litvinova. She co-produced and starred in the film. Disparate pieces of life are joined together by the central character, a criminal investigator named Faina who has visions and attracts misfortune. While self-absorbed, she nonetheless demonstrates a keen sensitivity to other people's pain and is vulnerable to human suffering. Faina's intuition and natural somnambulism make her good at solving crimes. But the film is not about this. By deconstructing reality, Litvinova exposes its frailty, absurdity and cruelty. But the director concludes that any life can be justified with humanism and love.
This lyrical, meditative and narcissistic film is, in fact, a reflection of Litvinova. Litvinova plays an entirely different role in "The Tuner," the film by director Kira Muratova, a master of intellectual film and one of Litvinova's teachers. In the film, Litvinova portrays an enterprising and unscrupulous woman who encourages her lover, a former piano tuner, to lie and steal. He goes to a magnificent house to tune an antique piano, charms his elderly hostess and her friend, himself becomes a friend of the elderly women and eventually robs them. But the two aging daydreamers forgive the thief because he was charming and he paid attention to them.
Muratova shows love for her characters but at the same time mocks at them, which is her trademark style, her idea of humanism. In "The Tuner," as well as in her earlier pictures, notably "Chekhovian Motifs" (2002), she removes dramatic tension with clownery and love for life with mockery and farce.
"Remote Access" by Svetlana Proskurina, a director from the team of art house leader Alexander Sokurov, was shown at the Venice Film Festival this year. Her film explores a mother-daughter relationship. The mother and daughter could be much closer and give each other more love but they are too preoccupied with mundane concerns to pay attention to their feelings. The film was born out of nostalgia for emotional unity between children and their parents.
First-time director Marina Razbezhkina's "Harvest Time" is very sentimental. Like other female filmmakers, she also reflects on the absurdity of the routine. The film, which has a rather sarcastic tone and is about the tragic side of the Soviet life, has earned the director several awards from critics and the press.
The main character, Tosya, is given a red banner in recognition of her outstanding performance as a combine operator. She hopes to preserve this award. But the ignorant mice living in her shabby home nibble at the precious piece of fabric. Tosya tries to work even harder than before so that the banner will not be taken away from her. Otherwise, everyone will see the holes in the cloth, shameful traces of the mice's feast. Tosya's life gets taken over with worries, hardships, and hopes for a miracle which never comes.
Another young Russian filmmaker, Svetlana Stasenko, is also waiting for a miracle. Her debut picture "Angel on the Curb" has won American critics' Young Artists Award. In the film a famous criminal takes Mishka, a boy from a troubled family, under his wing and arranges for him to play rock music in bars. When his older patron is murdered, Mishka takes revenge by shooting at the killer. Will Mishka be a hardhearted criminal or a rock musician with a bright future when he gets out of jail? Stasenko's film is more about psychology than society, as Mishka's moral choice and mental stamina are what really matters.
Another newcomer to Russian film, Anna Melikyan, has come out with an anecdote, a surreal tragic farce. "Mars," is a story about a fictitious town bristling with effigies of Vladimir Lenin and Karl Marx (originally, this Soviet-style town was named "Marks," after the latter of the two Communist ideologues, but at some point the letter "k" dropped out). Wages in the town are paid with teddy bears instead of money and all local movie theaters show "Casablanca." The director is more in the psychological dimension - her characters' illusions - than the social dimension. Living under stifling ideological constraints, the Martians dream of a freer and happier future for themselves. But their hopes, however humble, will never materialize.
Female filmmakers torment themselves over unsolvable philosophic problems and are frantically searching for justice. They still hope to rectify what their male counterparts gave up upon a long time ago. They are driven by a desire to make peace, a thirst for social stability, and a need to express their opinions on issues that the stronger sex keeps silent about.
