Snuff

Initially, the old man and I had a decent relationship; he admired how I used a formal tone to deflect Nora’s jabs (she irritated him, too). When Nora went on a short vacation, I was initially glad we were left alone. I thought "Old Dau" wouldn't watch or control me like she did; I’d just have to care for him a bit more. Otherwise, I’d be free to roam the apartment, wear whatever I wanted, sleep in Denis’s huge, comfortable bed, dream of him, and dance without flinching at the click of Nora’s heels.
The old man told a brutal story about living through the war, and about how some women in those times would hide in the forests, catching surviving soldiers and raping them. He also told me about his casting for this film—how he sang "Shine, Shine, My Star," and Alyonka rushed to embrace him, so moved was she by his performance. He told many other things I’ve since forgotten.
He quickly began to irritate me. Soviet pop music played incessantly on the radio; he adored it and demanded it stay on whenever he was near. I asked him how he could love such garbage, and he was baffled that anyone could not love it.
I can’t say that solitude in that space brought me joy, either. One evening, as I was mopping the floor, I lifted a bucket in the middle of the living room, and a huge centipede darted out from under it. For someone used to Moscow, these creatures are pure monsters. I let out such a hysterical scream—it was so terrifying. Through that scream, I seemed to express not just my fear of the centipede, but something else I hadn't yet realized. That sensation, that atmosphere I felt, is perfectly captured in Bergman’s film The Serpent’s Egg.
So, when Nora returned from her vacation, I breathed a sigh of relief. But not for long.
When I returned from my own vacation, Nora—or rather, Radmila—told me that during those four days of my absence, she realized she would never in her life hire a housekeeper; that it had been easier for her without me. For some reason, those words stung.
I want to return to an episode—I don't recall exactly when it happened, but it was clearly toward the end of filming. This is the episode I began my narrative with. During that period, filming took place mostly in D1 or the buffet. I didn't understand what was happening around me, and no one told me anything; instead, everyone was so on edge. It became harder and harder to clean because I realized the set didn't have long to live. Why clean if it’s all going to be destroyed anyway? I felt like I was performing meaningless actions every day, but I couldn't shake it off, couldn't recover, couldn't stop acting on autopilot.
Nora was on vacation, and Dau was under my responsibility. At one point, I screamed at him—I simply needed someone to snap at to release my accumulated tension. That was when Dau demanded they call Asya so he could quit the project. While Asya talked to him, I felt guilty. When I was summoned to the Office and Inna spoke to me, I felt guilty then, too. During that conversation with Inna, as she presented me with the fait accompli that the end was being postponed, a wild thought crept in: get drunk one more time, and then—come what may.
On my way back to D2 after that talk, I met the housekeeper from D1. We got to chatting. Unlike me, she was a housekeeper in real life; she lived in Kharkiv and only came to D1 to clean, returning to her real life every day. She looked organic in her role. I, however, didn't feel like myself at all in that attire and under those conditions. We talked, and I felt a bit better, but I held onto my intention.
And after the talk, I carried it out. I didn't even wait for Dau to finish the dinner I’d prepared for him, or for him to leave the table for his bedroom. Right then, Maya Kristalinskaya’s song "Tenderness" (Nezhnost) was playing on the radio. I began to dance right there in the living room, opposite Dau as he sat at the table slowly consuming his dinner. I danced to that song and sang along loudly. I was in my nightgown and robe. "The earth has grown empty without you..."
The next morning, I woke up in Denis’s enormous bed in an absolutely hellish state. I think if I had drunk even a little more, I would have died. My head was splitting; it was impossible to stand up. "What about Dau?" I thought. "How will I get up? I don't have the strength to do it—who will take care of him?" But eventually, somehow, I managed to rise. Vera called and told me, in a calm, understanding voice, to come to the Office for a talk once I had "recovered."
Downstairs, I encountered Dau sitting on the sofa. Моя "going-out" clothes and shoes were scattered all over D2, starting from the hallway. He insistently called me over to sit beside him. He described the situation we had found ourselves in: how he’d had to mop the floor because I had vomited everywhere during the night, how he’d had to wash my clothes, and nearly put me to bed himself. Flashes of the previous night flickered in my consciousness: deep night, darkness, me in a completely shattered state being found by Svetlana (the executive producer) and one of the makeup artists. I had apologized to them for having to witness it; Svetlana had said kindly, "It’s alright, it happens."
Dau said he would never forget that night, that he’d remember it for the rest of his life—and he grabbed my hand. I was taken aback, but with a surge of intense anger, I snatched my hand away. He had a firm grip, but I demanded he never do that again. He said: "But during the night, you were different. You called me 'Daushka.' No one has ever called me that before!" The keys to the front door had vanished; the door was locked. I reported this over the phone to Vera.
After some time, Kasya entered through the living room window. This was the same defiant girl who had physically fought Tesak and his gang during a "fixation," trying to put them in their place. She told me something fascinating about my night. First, it turns out I had called the Directorial Department yesterday, reporting that Dau was dying. An ambulance had actually arrived and stood at the Institute gates, right before the gravel road. Everyone in the studio was in a panic, not knowing how to proceed: according to the rules, absolutely everyone entering the Institute had to change into period-accurate clothing. These were the sacred, unbreakable rules established by Ilya long before my arrival. No one had ever stepped into that zone in modern clothes.
Flashes flickered in my mind. First, of me calling my friend in Moscow, weeping about how miserable I felt. Then, deciding to call Department R. I wanted to tell Ilya that I was in pain, but I was too shy. Under the influence of alcohol, the shyness vanished. I distinctly remember his voice: "Anya, this is Ilya Andreyevich. What happened?" I don't remember my words, but the intention to say "I’m hurting" was definitely there. I remember his response: "What? Is Dau unwell?" and my own confusion. I even remember the flavor of that confusion: "Oh, he only cares about Dau. He doesn't give a damn about me." Then—a blackout.
Kasya recounted my "rampage" with what seemed like admiration. Then she shared some of her own experiences. I remember her telling me how she and some other girls had written on the door to the director's office (a door painted bright red): "ABANDON CLOTHES, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE." Ilya was very displeased. I was surprised by his reaction; I imagined he would have laughed and been amused by the wit. By then, I had already read Dante’s Divine Comedy, so I truly appreciated Kasya's gesture.
We talked about what participating in this project gave us. It seemed to be the feeling of life as a game. That in real life, you could also behave as if everything is just a game, not taking problems too seriously. But perhaps I’ve already forgotten the details.
Eventually, I found the keys. Reasoning logically, I figured that in a fit of rage I must have flung them at the nightstand, and they had slipped behind it. I no longer remember the conversation with Vera. Later, I met Inna in the Office. If before she would nervously ask, "Anya, what are you doing here? You should be at the Institute," this time she hugged me and asked tenderly: "Will you make it to the end?" I told her I’d make it until the scheduled date for the Institute’s destruction.
That evening, there was a "fixation"—Father Daniil, a priest, came to visit Dau. Ilya asked me to go in and say something to him, but I couldn't find the right moment. Ilya called again: "Anya, it's Ilya again. Well done for not doing what I told you; it wouldn't have fit the mood of what was happening there." It was unusual for Ilya to suddenly praise me for a trifle and offer an explanation. He said nothing about the fact that an ambulance had been called because of my call the previous night, only to be sent away because Dau wasn't actually dying and I had lied.
It was interesting to hear in one of Ilya's interviews later that during those minutes, while the ambulance was on its way and his assistants hadn't yet reached D2, he was thinking about whether he should film the dying Dau.