4

This post will be long and tedious, but I cannot fail to record it. I must note certain crucial details that occurred during my slow immersion—like a fly drawn by the sweet nectar of a carnivorous plant—from a state of thinking I was in control to a state of being under total external control, no longer able to follow my own will.
When I returned home from Kharkiv, the first thing I did was watch the film 4. The first half of the movie impressed me. The second half—which consists entirely of an episode with old women in a raw village setting, getting drunk and shaking their bare breasts at the camera—not so much. I was lying on a big sofa with my friends in front of a large TV, and I felt ashamed that my friends were forced to watch this because of me. I am describing my feelings here—feelings that come from the heart, not the head. But in my head, it was something else entirely: a young director who had filmed something stunning, audacious, and bold, and who had no intention of stopping. I forgot to mention in previous posts that the film crew who interviewed me also said that the movie they were currently shooting was being sponsored by various countries.
The wait for my next trip to Kharkiv and the start of the filming block was agonizing. First, I was terrified they would interview other actresses—including my good friend, the model whose contacts I had given them—and choose someone else instead of me. Second, after I got a refund for my English classes and went to the store with the cash (my friend said the money was mine and would be useful in Kharkiv), I was robbed in a forest park. One man stood lookout while the other attacked me on the same path about twenty meters away and snatched my bag. All my money and my passport were in that bag.
There was no time to file a proper police report (I would have had to travel to a neighboring town where the crime occurred), so I told the police near my house that I had simply lost my passport. I needed it replaced as quickly as possible to make it by the departure date; otherwise, the trip would be impossible. Looking back now, I realize how symbolic that event was, occurring just before the hellish four and a half months I would spend filming in Kharkiv.
Meanwhile, my model friend went to her casting. According to her, she was rejected because she was seeing someone; they had a very close, trusting relationship, and she didn't want to lose him.
Then, with only a few days left before my departure, Asya vanished. Her phone was blocked. I called and texted—it was useless. My mood was devastated; it seemed my dream could be buried. But a few days later, just as I had resigned myself to it, Asya called. She said the filming was being postponed due to some administrative issues with the block, but they were working them out. After that call, I was jumping for joy, literally dancing around my room.
The plan was for me to arrive in Kharkiv in the second half of May, but in the end, I didn't arrive until June 17th. In the train compartment on my way to Ukraine, I met Olga Malysheva, a well-known model on photo websites at the time. It was a pleasant trip; I enjoyed talking to Olya—she was nothing like I had imagined from her pictures.
Upon my arrival, the attitude of the directorial department had cooled. It was as if they were saying, "Well, just find your own way around here." They told me to write myself a biography set in the year 1956. I spent the entire day sitting on a mezzanine above the studio, where there was a desk and I could observe the whole studio from above (the ceilings were very high). Towards nightfall, under my gentle pressure, they rented an apartment for me in the center of Kharkiv.
Waking up the next morning, I waited, but there was not a word from them. In the evening, however, either I called them or they called me—I remember it vaguely. For a while, I just wandered around Kharkiv, listening to Auktyon: "Shards of maiden hearts crunch beneath my feet," "I am a NEP-man!" and so on. I would show up at the studio, either brought by car or on foot (I got used to Kharkiv quickly; everything there felt so familiar). I kept writing my biography and didn't ask any questions.
After a while, they showed me the Institute. I was dressed in Soviet clothes, becoming a typical young Soviet woman. Inna led me; she had changed into a strict Soviet suit and become even more austere than before. She showed me everything, watching my reaction. Inna, I must say, was not as friendly or open as Asya. She was a reserved, cold brunette, though a half-smile often played on her face, and her eyes were large and open. There was something of a prison guard in her.
My reaction was natural—I was floored by the sheer scale of the sets. Describing it feels repulsive now; it seems everyone who has read about it is already sick of these descriptions. I don’t remember exactly what we saw or in what order; I only remember the horror I felt in the quarters where the "maintenance staff" lived. Those black bunk beds with wretched blue blankets (like the ones from the early 90s in my kindergarten, which was its own kind of concentration camp) and dirty, crumpled light-blue sheets. Everything was dark and gloomy, yet monumental.
Then we went to various other parts of the Institute. I didn't know then that I would spend a significant amount of time living in this Institute, in Dau and Nora’s apartment. I feel like throwing up right now. I think I’ll dance to some Aphex Twin for a bit, then come back to writing.
….
Those days were very unpleasant and stressful for me. I missed my friends in Moscow and my creative work; I felt lonely and abandoned. Whenever there was some "action" involving costume changes, it distracted me from my grim thoughts. After Inna and I exited the Institute (by the way, they searched you at both the entrance and exit to ensure everything was Soviet and authentic—thank God they didn't reach under my dress to check if my underwear or menstrual products matched the period), I was sitting on some wooden furniture, not knowing what to do with myself. Ilya walked by, smiled at me, and said: "I’m very glad you came!"
Incidentally, Inna confessed to me that the "Anya’s Apartment" block was falling through, or at least being postponed, and they were looking for a way to use me within the Institute instead.
Later, I was given a "staff dictionary" of the Institute—a guide on which Soviet words and phrases to use as replacements for modern ones. For example, instead of "I went online," I had to say, "I looked it up in the encyclopedia." I was also handed a stack of A4 sheets detailing the history of the 1940s, 50s, and 60s.
A couple of days later, I had an "exam" with Zoya—not exactly a director, but one of Ilya's inner circle. We walked from the studio through a mysterious black door (there are many such doors in the Institute itself). Behind it lay a labyrinth of corridors. We navigated this maze and ended up in a confined room where a camera was set up. Zoya invited me to sit opposite the lens while she sat on the other side, politely storming me with questions about mid-20th-century history. To my shame, I answered terribly. I knew nothing about the CPSU congresses or the dates of various events; I think the only thing I knew for sure was the date Stalin kicked the bucket. I couldn't answer anything else. Zoya didn't react at all. I left that labyrinth in a state of utter confusion, thinking I’d be fired.
But I wasn't fired. Instead, I was invited that evening to Alexey Trifonov's birthday party in the "Scientists' Apartment" within the Institute. There, I met Chucha (a famous model on photo websites at the time). We were even allowed onto the balcony of the apartment where the main characters, Dau and Nora (actually Radmila and Teodor), lived. From there, we watched a performance involving a Tesla coil. (In the film DAU. Degeneration, there’s a scene featuring something like this: a shaman, Marina Abramović, NKVD officers with barking dogs, unconscious soldiers, lightning, and discharges from the Tesla coil... to this day, I don’t understand what that was supposed to be or what kind of "experiment" it represented).
Chucha and I chatted, unbothered by the fact that microphones were sewn into our clothes. Or rather, she chatted about how she had talked with Ilya for several hours that night—that’s how long their interview lasted—and said he had messed with her head so badly that when she finally stepped outside, she just screamed at the top of her lungs for no reason. I never understood what she was doing there at the time; I never saw her again in the studio or on set.
We celebrated Lesha Trifonov’s birthday until dawn. I met Ira, the buffet girl, who had also arrived recently. She was quite gregarious and kept asking questions of the shaman, who was also at the party. I remember bits and pieces of his stories, and I remember Ilya giving a very warm toast to Alexey. There was no filming; we just socialized until sunrise. By morning, only Ira and I, Ilya, Lesha, and perhaps the shaman remained. Then everyone headed to their homes in Kharkiv. There was no apartment found for me this time—the secretary just shrugged—so I went to stay with my new friend, Ira...