Otar IOSSELIANI: “Cinema can stop people from doing bad things and cheer them up”

Otar Iosseliani, the mocking, wise, intelligent and truly aristocratic sage of cinema, came to Kyiv to launch a retrospective of his films organized on the initiative of Anton Puhach, general manager of Multiplex Holding, and his international-relations deputy Oleksandr Shpyliuk at the newly-built Blockbuster entertainment center. The screenings, which took place with assistance from the French Embassy in Ukraine, were held in Blockbuster’s Cinema 1, named after this famous Georgian director.

Iosseliani’s appearance on a live TV show and his conversations with the audience and journalists were events that could have quickly been forgotten amid the fast pace of life had it not been for his remark that he would like to make his next film in Ukraine. Puhach and Shpyliuk, who keep close tabs on what’s happening in film today, advised Iosseliani to meet Oleh Kokhan, one of the most influential producers in Ukraine and the president of the SOTA Cinema Group.

This meeting took place at the end of the director’s visit in Ukraine and, according to Ko­khan, there are hopes that not only will the master return to Ukraine but that the credits of Iosseliani’s next film will feature the coveted phrase, Uk­raine/French coproduction.

After contributing several feature and documentary films to the treasury of world cinematography, such as Falling Leaves, There Once Was a Sin­ging Blackbird, and Pas­torale, which boosted the reputation of the wonderful school of Georgian cinema, Iosseliani became disappointed with the charm of the disappearing “thaw” and became a citizen of France. His move, however, did not change him and he continued to show filmgoers his penchant for playing with reality.

This wonderful world is free of falseness and full of bitter-sweet humor; observation is encouraged because this is the road to self-improvement. When he invites us to meet the journalist from There Once Was a Singing Blackbird, who seems to be flying through life, or portrays the complacent hobo minister from Gardens in Autumn, the cinematic master seems to be saying that the ability to be happy and free is a rare human gift,

In his personal relationships Iosseliani is also true to himself. He never resorts to cliches or quoting himself. He is honest and open, and eagerly engages in conversation on any suggested topic — if it interests him, of course.

You abandoned mathematics because you came to the conclusion that science has frequently led to both progress and tremendous harm. But art can also be a no less “murderous force.” All your films, from Akvarel and April to Gardens in Autumn are about one and the same thing. Can you explain the message you have been sending to filmgoers?

“If art is a phenomenon that brings joy to people, it cannot have a destructive effect, al­though with the help of words written on paper, one can lie, one can create filth, and one can deform the human psyche. The same applies to the screen because it is a blank slate — you can project anything you want on it: Swineherd and Shepherd, Trac­tor Drivers, Ivan the Ter­rib­le, or Office Romance — which are all very different movies, to put it gently. At the same time, we saw Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane and the films of Woody Allen, Jacques Tati, and Jean Vigo. Incidentally, Vigo made only one film, but in my opinion he is still the greatest artist that has ever existed in cinematography. There is another wonderful film, Miracle in Milan by Vit­torio De Sica.”

If I understand correctly, you are talking about the influence of cinematography on the viewer?

“You can only influence those who want to be influenced. You can teach a criminal to commit crimes better than he himself can. There was a trial of two rapists in Lyon. In the courtroom they said they had repeated what they had seen in Stanley Kubrick’s Clockwork Orange. Na­turally, these people had criminal tendencies, but they got their ‘recipe’ from the screen! At the same time, you can stop people from doing bad things and cheer them up, so that they do not feel abandoned and lost. But as a rule, these are decent people per se.”

You generally do not radiate all-encompassing optimism, but all your films are full of a great vital force and optimism. Where does this come from?

“I will tell you a strange thing: in spite of the chimeras and horrid characters described in Dead Souls, Nikolai Gogol was an optimist because he addressed his works to us. He knew there would be people who think the way he did, and he created a spectacular gallery of Nozdrevs, Korobochkas, Pliush­kins, and officials thirsting for compensation. Today, this is an overwhelmingly accurate portrayal of our society, irrespective of geographic and national differences. Is this not optimism in the face of Gogol’s everyday pessimism and pathological fear of death? Yet how much joy there is in him! All you have to do is recall the beginning of his Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka, where the clear moonlit night arrives in order to give people joy and a chance to sing Christmas carols merrily.”

I know that you never work with classic film scripts or production notes. How does your work proceed?

“There are two things that I never do. The first is film adaptations because if a work is good and worthy, it does not need to be illustrated. There are some hooligans who have begun filming two things that I really love — The Master and Margarita and The Life and Extraordinary Ad­ventures of Private Ivan Chonkin. Nothing can come of this: you have to read them. Unfortunately, people don’t read today. When I suggested to my 16-year-old grandson that he read at least Notre Dame de Paris (what could be simpler than this?) he refused, saying that he had already seen it. His statement practically killed me. Books should be read, not watched.

“Second, I do not film people’s life stories, no matter who they are — scoundrels like Le­nin, Stalin, and Hitler, or Sha­kespeare the genius — because the person has already departed with all his sufferings, remorse, or secrets, and one must not interfere with this. I could never make Andrei Rublev. This man lived his life, and he told the world everything that he intended to say through his icons. I would never make a film about Mozart, like Forman did, because he made a film about Mozart to show today’s licentious young people that Mozart was every bit a hooligan, like them. So take it easy: we are all Mozarts to some extent.”

But you don’t make autobiographies?

“Under no circumstances! I never even recount what I have observed in the lives of my comrades, friends, and neighbors. I simply invent parables and try to make them as close to real life as I need to, so that people will believe in these parables. I have written everything that I have ever made. And nobody can re­proach me that Anna Ka­re­ni­na is not the way I filmed her, and Lermontov was entirely different from what I showed on the screen.”

Your country is going through a difficult time now. Why, to quote Ashkenazi, are “the same mistakes so often repeated in history”?

“If you look at the history of one nation or another, nothing new has happened. We have been slaughtered, burned out, trampled, and raped — this runs through the entire history of Georgia. Some people say: oh, what a calamity has happened! Calm down, it was always like this. We are a small country with a proud and talented people. A country that tramples a small country feels that it is powerful. It is always numerically stronger and always more boorish, and simply raised badly. But can one demand nobility and gentlemanliness from the Russian leadership? Look at what slaves they are themselves! Behaving like scoundrels is their vocation, just like not behaving like scoundrels is a feature of English administration. To tell the truth, if we recall history, the English also behaved like hooligans, but then they packed up and quietly left the colonies.”

But the British Empire collapsed gradually.

“Yes, but they became ashamed, and if one feels shame, that is good!”

Is it possible to define the tragic nature of history and its tolerance?

“Well, if the French Revolution is considered the most tragic event in modern history, when the guillotine was working like a sewing machine, then celebrating the 200th anniversary of this event is a disgrace to the French administration. This anniversary should be declared a day of mourning. So many people were done away with, so much blood was shed.”

When you don’t have work in France, you live in Georgia. But the Georgian school of cinematography, which once captivated the entire world, is now a historical curiosity. Can the lost cultural values be restored?

“Today’s leaders have little interest in culture. For example, when France’s President Nicolas Sarkozy was announcing his cabinet, he simply lost sight of the minister of culture. When things go this way, then a lost cinema cannot be revived be­cause the cinema means people: propmen, painters, carpenters (special carpenters, I might add), cabinet makers, makeup artists, cameraman assistants, continuity girls, sound engineers, etc., — hundreds of professions. This has been irretrievably lost, and it is so difficult to teach this — almost as hard as teaching Russia about democracy.

“So these saintly people have been waiting patiently for the cinema to revive. This is the so-called middle stratum of film makers — wonderful enthusiasts, very noble people. They used to protect everybody — the Bondarchuks, the Sakurovs, the geniuses and the wrongdoers. And often they would make films in their place. It is this middle stratum, with its cheap passions and low tastes that created the Soviet cinema.

“At the same time, they were easily manipulated, so it was always an uphill job to form a decent team. That’s why I would do everything myself: write scripts, edit, make production notes, look through the camera, etc. My friend Georgy Shen­ge­laya also did everything himself; he was even his own cameraman. But the total disappearance of the middle stratum has endangered the very industry of cinematography. No matter who would come, they would make a film in his place, but today such a person will sit in the director’s chair, but there is nobody to shoot the film.”