Otets i syn (2003) aka Father and Son
Director: Aleksandr Sokurov
Scenario: Sergei Potepalov
Country: Russia, Germany, Italy, Netherlands
Duration: 83 min (Cannes Film Festival) | Russia:97 min | USA:82 min (Wellspring DVD)
Actors: Andrei Shchetinin, Aleksei Nejmyshev, Aleksandr Razbash, Fyodor Lavrov, Marina Zasukhina, Anna Aleksakhina, Jaime Freitas, Joăo Gonçalves
Prirodan odnos je da se dijeca u jednom periodu odrastanja poistovjećuju sa ocem, a kasnije prolaze kroz lavirint tražeći sopstveni identitet.
Ova priča nam nudi malo drugačiju perspektivu tog odrastanja. Ruski režiser Alexander Sokurov nam nudi malo drugačije viđenje odnosa između oca (Andrei Shchetinin) i sina (Aleksei Nejmyshev), priču koja je na ivici ljubavne romanse. Obrnuti redoslijed gdje se otac u jednom trenutku poistovjećuje sa sinom.
Priča je puna napetosti, strepnji i strahova. Kroz dijaloge oca i sina na krovu nekog stana negdje jako visoko izmješale su mi se silne emocije uzbuđenja, napetosti pa na kraju i straha da neko ne padne sa tog krova po kojem skaču kao da su na nekoj livadi.
Moto ove priče je iskazan kroz riječi sina: "Očeva ljubav je krst. Voljeni sin dopušta da bude razapet."
Emocionalna zamka u koju su upali nije prekinula put kojim se treba ići, ali je definitivno izazvala nedumice i strahove od samoće kod oca. Kada sin treba da se okrene sebi i ode da živi u drugi grad, otac se našao u strahu od samoće. Sin razapet između potrebe da bude sa ocem i potrebe da nastavi svojim putem u jednom trenutku pozove druga i kaže: " On je moj otac, a ovo je moj drug, ja ga jako volim!", ostavljajući bez teksta Oca jednako kao i gledaoce. Prirodan kraj ove skoro nestvarne romance.
Film je prepun imaginarnih slika koje se spajaju u jednu skoro mitološku priču o opterećujuće jakoj ljubavi oca i sina.
Inaće kroz film se konstanto provlači neka jedva vidljiva homoerotičnost, koja nas obasipa od početka do kraja priče. Zaista majstorski urađeno!
Ukoliko želite da se upoznate sa fantastičnom trilogijom Andrei Shchetinina, pogledajte filmove "Russian Ark" i "Mother and Son" koji predhode ovom filmu.
Eto toliko o filmu, bolje da ga odgledate sami nego u društvu. Neke stvari koje ova priča može pokrenuti u vama naprosto nisu za podijeliti sa bilo kim!
Sokurov's From Russia With Man-Love
By Fernando F. Croce
In this age when the media's interest in homosexuality scarcely extends beyond queer-eye, is-he-or-isn't-he winks, it's no surprise that so many critics have tried to pigeonholed Father and Son as a "gay movie," much to the irritation of its creator, Russian director Alexander Sokurov. (Repeatedly asked about his latest effort's alleged homoeroticism last year at Cannes, he reportedly tsk-tsked a roomful of journalists on how dirty-minded their side of the globe has become.) Either way, the label has stuck (it had its first U.S. showing at the Boston Gay and Lesbian Film Festival last May), but the film is hardly a queer work in the sense that pictures by Fassbinder, Warhol or Jarman are queer works, though those artists' influence is apparent in the first shot: heavy breathing against a black screen, followed by close shots of intertwined, sinewy male limbs.
The opening suggests man-love, though its eroticism is spiritual -- the Father (Andrey Schetinin) comforts his Son (Aleksey Neymyshev) after a nightmare, and Sokurov frames the sculptured bodies as soft-edged, amber-toned pietas, the first example of both the auteur's painterly visual style and his questioning of established notions of masculinity. Reductive as it may be, the gay interpretation is more than understandable -- ruggedly handsome Schetinin and teenage-dreamy Neymyshev are strapping specimens, photographed ethereally in all their shirtless splendor, gazing into each other's peepers and caressing each other's faces when not lifting weights on their building's rooftops. The film further fans the flames by grounding the sliver of a plot upon jealousy and separation anxiety, as the arrival of a bereft young buddy, left behind by his own dad, threatens to push Father and Son apart.
It's fascinating to compare the film to Andrei Zvyagintsev's The Return, another Russian import also dealing with father-son relations. Zvyagintsev shares with Sokurov a painterly sensibility (the estranged father's first appearance sprawled in bed recalls Mantegna's Dead Christ) and a preoccupation with Nature (absent in Father and Son, except for glimpses in dreams), though his movie's boot-camp itinerary is far more conventional than Sokurov's, with the father's abusive behavior torturing his standoffish sons only to be sentimentally celebrated at the end. Looking back, I believe Zvyagintsev has a paternal relationship of his own to deal with, namely with Andrei Tarkovsky, that grand albatross wrapped around the neck of every young Russian artist. The Return is full of allusions to the late genius, and the characters' ambiguous relationship may mirror the director's with his ghostly father figure, with the movie a way of both acknowledging and exorcizing his presence. Equally mysterious but far more autonomous, Father and Son drenches its opacity in a depth of expression that lifts the familial relationship onto a cosmic plane.
Moviegoers who know Sokurov only from the crowd-pleasing technique of Russian Ark have no ideal what a demanding director he is. Though that picture's one-camera-movement-through-the-ages extravaganza forged a wondrous anti-montage statement that Hitchcock, Ophüls, Rossellini and Preminger would have killed for, the stunt flattened the complexities of both Russian history and the filmmaker's own art. Sokurov's follow-up is a return to the profound transcendentalism of Second Circle and Mother and Son (to which the new movie plays companion piece), works of overwhelming aural-visual emotion where the loss of a parent equals nothing less than the death of the world. Like those films, Father and Son challenges and maddens, its liquidity of image and thought dovetailing into the deepest well of emotion. "A father's love crucifies. A loving son lets himself be crucified," says Neymyshev, bringing the film's Biblical dimension to the fore. His later comment cuts even closer to the bone: "This is my father. And he is my friend. I love him very much." A statement of breathtaking simplicity in a film of breathtaking complexity.