By Diana KLOCHKO, Tetiana POLISHCHUK, Valentyn
PUSTOVOIT, and Anatoly LEMYSH, The Day
He is a noted Ukrainian film director and script writer who calls himself
a jack-of-all-trades, specializing in documentaries, musicals, dramas,
operas, benefits, and galas. Oleh Biyma is a recipient of the Taras Shevchenko
State Prize and awards of prestigious festivals. His productions Night
Followed by Day, The Sin, and Crime with Many Unknowns
caused quite some public interest.
After the Love Island series he became known as the godfather
of Ukrainian erotic films. He has been with the Ukrtelefilm Studios for
27 years. Biyma did not give way to despair as Ukrainian cinematography
found itself in deadlock. He continues to make films, content with every
little accomplishment, making do with unbelievably low budgets.
The Day: Mr. Biyma, it has become traditional among the Ukrainian
filmmakers to blame all their failures on today's economic and other hardships.
Of course, we all know that Ukrainian cinematography as a nationwide creative
process has ceased to exist, yet films are still being made and some of
our film directors (you in the first place) continue working. Is the current
situation that desperate? Do you think that at least an oasis could be
made in this creative desert?
O. B.: Yes, the situation is extremely difficult. Creative personalities
who worked ten years ago - I mean Vyacheslav Kryshtofovych, Roman Balayan,
and Yuri Illienko) - and who truly glorified Ukrainian cinematography are
now totally disoriented; they can't find their place in our times. It's
like a train shown in slow motion. It seems to be moving, yet is always
late. I think that we are simply unable to revolutionize ourselves, including
professional self-evaluation.
A new creative cohort must appear. I can sense a tremendous potential
in all of us, but we are still in the phase of accumulation of energy and
material. Historical and psychological turning points often beget a unique
language of cinematography. Take Serhiy Paradzhanov (Sarkis Paradzhian).
He seemed to be making primitive pictures and suddenly came up with brilliant
productions. Like Hres today, he rallied round himself so many talented
individuals and made them show their best. I mean Mykolaichuk, Skoryk,
Yakutovych, Kadochnikova, and Illienko. At first Paradzhanov wanted to
produce a classical screen version of Kotsiubynsky's story in the spirit
of socialist realism, with the traditional assortment of colorful pastoral
scenes. It was the cast and crew that made Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors
what the film is today. Especially Ivan Mykolaichuk. He appeared in the
sky like a shining meteor and burned out before reaching the ground. He
was ahead of his time. And of course Yuri Illienko's brilliant camera work
(although we tend to forget people remaining off-screen, except in the
credits). Traditionally, the picture's success is attributed solely to
Paradzhanov, but it is also true that his films were harbingers of the
Ukrainian poetic cinematography in the 1970s. It became a banner, a calling
card, bringing forth countless followers.
The trouble is not that we have few new productions these days. Our
colorless oppressive daily life cannot stimulate brilliant outbursts of
talent. Today's traditional heroes are either crazy or bandits. I consider
one of my major tasks as a film director to discover new unexpected personalities.
The whole world is searching for fresh talent and heroes, but no one wants
them in Ukraine. I disagree with Kryshtofovych who said once, "If you want
to screw up your production, hire a Ukrainian cast." That's a hypocritical
and pretentious statement.
The Day: Don't you think that Ukrainian cinematography is
stagnant not only because there is no one to create genuinely captivating
images?
O. B.: I do. We are all learning a new lifestyle, I mean living
and working receiving token money. I suggested to Mykola Mashchenko that
five film directors be selected who will make several low budget but good
films over a short period. The films will sell and we will have some working
capital. In the meantime they are looking for 50 million to finance Hres's
Taras Bulba and 80 million for Yuri Illienko's Ahaspher (Ahasuerus,
The Wandering Jew). Asking for high budgets could cost real opportunities
for development.
The Day: You have experience in making low-budget movies.
How do you find sponsors?
O. B.: I manage without sponsors. The expedition for my last
Passion series had no budget, period. I mean we were flat broke,
so I borrowed $3,000 from friends and we rode to the Kachanivka nature
preserve and Pereyaslav-Khmelnytsky. We shot one episode in ten days while
the orchards were still in bloom. That summer a TV channel bought the Love
Island and finally there was some money at Ukrtelefilm. We grabbed it and
proceeded to complete Passion. Three days of shooting on winter location
did it. The film was ready. Just imagine: three episodes cost us $25,000-30,000.
Yes, I specialize in low-budget pictures, but only because I have no alternative.
Of course, there are many projects still to be carried out. Half a year
ago something happened that would make a good thriller. There was a project
called Rebirth, three films to be made based on Ivan Bilyk's historical
novels. The author visited President Kuchma together with Bohdan Stupka,
and from I know he promised $30 million, but then paperwork and red tape
started and the documents got lost in the bureaucratic maze.
The Day: Would you say that our intelligentsia can do something
to resist the power of bureaucrats? Can these people produce enough initiative
to create a more positive, optimistic background for our life?
O. B.: No, not the Ukrainian intelligentsia. There are very few
of them, and they are very disunited. I hate to say so, but Ukraine is
yet to raise its own unique intelligentsia and make it recognized abroad.
Yes, we do have strong potential, but it is just now gaining strength.
I mean our boys and girls. Older people do not seem to pay much attention
to them, but they will grow up and we will all be very surprised at their
impact. True, they will make different intellectuals free from our reflective
nature; they will be hard and pragmatic, like steel.
The Day: Critics differ on your Love Island, but they
agree that it is your calling card.
O. B.: I consider this work my masterpiece. It's the highest
I will ever rise, but the film is ahead of its time. It's a bomb that failed
to explode. The series was aired in the worst possible time slots and practically
without any promotion, as though they wanted to reduce the audience to
a minimum. No, they did not shelve it, but way they ran it was meant to
kill it. I'm not going to dwell on its budget which was nil (we were told
there was no money and nobody helped us). Then it was ready and it transpired
we could not have prime time. That's the company's policy. And all that
talk about reviving Ukrainian cinematography is just pretty words.
The Day: In other words, is it worth even trying to influence
this policy?
O. B.: Oh yes, it is. We must do something about it, especially
considering that there is no true policy in Ukrainian television if one
is to understand policy as a system, well-balanced and logical, all that
we cannot find here, hard as we try.
The Day: Love Island turned out among the first national erotic
films. What do you think of erotica as a component of Ukrainian culture?
O. B.: I think that what we have now is just the stepping stones
to national erotic culture. Of course, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch is the
undeniable leader in the field. I worked a lot in Halychyna, making documentaries
and feature films. I consider this part of Ukraine its erogenous zone,
particularly Hutsulshchyna. It suffices to recall their folk songs, legends,
and fairy tales. There is much passion and energy there and practically
every line is symbolic. In fact, Western Ukraine is very special with its
mixed blood - Polish, German, Hungarian, Romanian, Czech, and Jewish. And
the population seems to have picked the best from the lot; that's why they
are so different from us, so much more European. You know, I love Ukraine.
I wake up in the morning hating it and go to sleep at night loving it.
The Day: Who do you consider your predecessor in the love
theme in Ukrainian cinematography?
O. B.: Paradzhanov and his Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors.
Also Dovzhenko in his Earth has a nude scene. Although I do not consider
their films erotic. Here the viewer's anticipation of what is still to
take place is most important, like paraphrasing Ekvelian who said that
anticipating suffering is more terrifying than suffering itself. Visconti
has always been my favorite film director. His nerve is close to me.
The Day: There is a drawn-out sense of time a la Tarkovsky
in Ukrainian cinematography. Is there any dynamism, energy, outburst?
O. B.: This sluggishness is found not only in Ukraine. I would
say it's a mentality. I mean let it be whichever way it comes out so long
as it is interesting. Such giants of world culture as Proust, Joyce, Faulkner,
and in the movie-making domain Alain Resnais, Krzysztof Zanussi, Bergman,
and SchlЪndorf also took their time, yet both critics and audiences were
delighted. This is the problem here, but the night is still young.
The Day: In your pictures you rely on classical nineteenth
century Ukrainian literary works not generally known to the audiences.
And they turn out as your own versions rather than screen adaptations of,
say, Ivan Franko, Olha Kobylianska, or Marko Vovchok.
O. B.: I have always tried to avoid screen adaptations as such.
Every reader perceives a story or novel in his own way. I try to use works
that are little known if at all but with a strong emotional coloration.
In The Trap I have a hair-raising scene in which Stalsky (the principal
character of Crossing Paths) gets killed. What I am after is the
mood and motivation, not a summary of the plot.
The Day: You must appreciate writers who can convey that special
tragic touch to a love collision, mostly by using folk motifs.
O. B.: I can't say that I have an idol among these authors. Perhaps
Lesia Ukrainka. Her works and those of Franko and Vynnychenko offer different
ranges of human destinies. Quite often Ukrainian classics use a style best
described as sackcloth and ashes with lots of moaning and groaning. In
reality we Ukrainians have an enviable ability to adapt, survive, and be
hardened by ordeal. We have excellent literature, yet our authors are practically
unknown elsewhere in the world. It's a shame. They should be made known,
even if slowly, step by step. Also, a Ukrainian film director using non-Ukrainian
material is not likely to make any significant breakthroughs.
The Day: How do you go about casting?
O. B.: Impulse is very important at the outset. I am easily impressed
by ideas and once I'm into something I get carried away. Then it is important
to approach the whole thing logically. I am proud to say that actors practically
never refuse the parts I offer them. And I never make them take screen
tests. There was Bohdan Stupka for The Trap, no one else, and I
wrote the script based on Ivan Franko's Crossing Paths specially
for him. The trouble was that Stupka did not share my enthusiasm at first.
"The thing is banal," he told me, "why do it at all?" But then he read
the script and changed his mind. The plot turned out to be interesting
and there was vast room for his singular talent. The actor worked for peanuts
and directing him was easy and difficult at the same time. In The Sin
things got very bad by the time we were half way through. We got into an
argument and all because of one scene which we considered of principal
importance. We saw it differently and neither would give way. It was either
go along with me or call it quits. Finally we reached a compromise, making
two variations.
The Day: With every other picture you seem to have fewer stars
in the cast. In the West no producer would ever give you money without
well-known names in the credits. Stars make movies popular. You have apparently
chosen a different approach, relying on young blood, haven't you?
O. B.: The Trap marked a turning point in my career. I
stopped inviting actors from Moscow. In my productions I rely heavily on
Ukrainians in the cast. We have very rich resources to draw upon, and I
mean different age groups, different generations that remain untapped creatively.
There are many promising figures among the senior students of the Kyiv
Theatrical Institute. One can only pity them, for there are so few films
made. Will they live to see their moment of glory? Most importantly, will
they have the courage and patience? For me the main thing is the way an
actor conveys an image to the audience, his sense of the character's inner
driving force, how inadequately he can respond to a given situation. And
whether this actor is a star or an unknown is of minor importance. Our
school is much stronger than in the West in terms of technique, inner accomplishment,
and histrionics.








