Judging by the announcements, this fall the Belarusian television audience will finally see the series "Half an Hour Before Spring." The nine-part film about Vladimir Mulyavin and the ensemble "Pesnyary" was filmed two years ago, but it was first shown on Russian TV and streaming channels. Although the film was mostly shot in Belarus by a joint group of Belarusian and Russian filmmakers with money from the Belarusian government, the Russian audience got to see it much earlier. Most likely, this happened because Belarusian actors from the so-called "blacklist" were involved in the film.
In the version that is currently available online, some of the unreliable artists are blurred, while others are cropped. But this series still got lucky. The much-anticipated and heavily advertised film "Kupala" currently has little chance of making it to the screen.
Another pirated copy of it has appeared online. The film from the National Film Studio "Belarusfilm" was created back in 2020, but its official premiere has not yet happened. This is not surprising — the first cinematic biography of Yanka Kupala is full of, to put it mildly, inconvenient details for today's Belarusian authorities, such as mass repressions and the terror of the secret services. There is a scene of dispersing a demonstration in the center of Minsk by the tsarist authorities, the work of the editorial office of the once-cult and now banned newspaper "Nasha Niva" is shown. In general, presenting such a film in Belarusian cinemas or on TV channels now is practically unthinkable.
What unites both projects is not only the regime's attitude towards them. The films about two legendary figures, iconic for Belarusian national consciousness, fell under censorship. A huge number of myths have emerged around Yanka Kupala and Vladimir Mulyavin and his "Pesnyary." Moreover, their creativity and biographies have themselves become part of a larger Belarusian national myth, the self-awareness of modern Belarusians. That's why new films arouse special interest, although they are very different in essence.
Cinema has played a role in shaping national identity in many countries. The most prominent example is Hollywood. The young American nation was being formed at the dawn of its establishment. Immigrants from different countries were creating and adapting to a new society; many were not proficient in English, but cinema as a visual art helped shape common values and teach the language.
For Belarusians, national cinema did not exist for a long time. In fact, the concept of the nation itself began to form not at the beginning of filmmaking in the BSSR. The main historical figures of the national pantheon were carefully ignored by Belarusian Soviet cinema for a long time, and some have still not appeared on screen. Those that did appear were firmly inserted into the ideological schemes of the totalitarian state. For example, "Kastus Kalinovsky" (1928) by Vladimir Gardin and "I, Francysk Skaryna" (1969) by Boris Stepanov, despite their cinematic merits and professional level of their time, did not go beyond the conditional red flags of class understanding of history. Those who, like Vladimir Bychkov and Vladimir Korotkevich with their "Life and Ascension of Yuras Bratchyk" (the story of the creation of this film is a separate, extensive story), wanted to go beyond these red flags, were harshly suppressed.
After Belarus gained independence, filmmakers found themselves outside the confines of censorship for a while. "Birds Without Nests" (1996) by Vitaly Dudin, a biographical film about Larisa Heniush, and the 1995 adaptation of Vasily Bykov's "On Black Lakes" directed by Valery Ponomarev followed a different, national conception of history that no longer relied on the ideological postulates of the former imperial center. However, they went unnoticed by the wider audience. Moreover, they were created hastily, during the hungry years of crisis for the entire post-Soviet cinema.
"Kupala" and "Half an Hour Before Spring" were designed for a different level of spectacle and at a different stage in cinema's existence. Both projects were conceived long before the brief period of Belarusian political thaw from 2015 to 2020. However, both were financed by the state and received approval from the authorities during that time. Although their concepts differ significantly, they both are biopics.
The film "Kupala" was shot at the National Film Studio "Belarusfilm." The idea of bringing the image of the People's Poet to the screen had long been in the air, but it was only in early 2018 that the project received full support from the state.
The director of the film, Vladimir Yankovsky, did not hesitate to take on the task—he was already an experienced filmmaker. However, he had not yet directed such large-scale historical films. With the help of two assistants, Yankovsky quickly wrote his version of the screenplay using fragments from an earlier version by another author and, with some difficulties, filmed and edited the movie.
Apart from the mentioned works by Vitaly Dudin, Valery Ponomarev, and the significant film for Belarusian cinema "Occupation. Mysteries" by Andrey Kudinenko, Vladimir Yankovsky's film "Kupala" is the first truly nationally oriented major film project of independent Belarus. In that sense, it will be of interest primarily to Belarusians and is designed for them. From an artistic and professional point of view, the film has both merits and flaws, but it is undoubtedly worth watching and discussing.
The film takes a considerable amount of time to narrate a series of well-known facts from Yanka Kupala's biography. The authors use a throughline plot invented by Yankovsky himself—on the evening of his death in the Moscow Hotel, sixty-year-old Yanka Kupala dialogues episodically with his mother, reminiscing about his life. Thanks to this essentially Hollywood technique, "Kupala" becomes a kind of textbook not only on Yanka Kupala's biography and creativity but also on Belarusian history in the first decades of the 20th century.
The film "Kupala" runs for two and a half hours, naturally not covering all stages of Yanka Kupala's life. The fragmented plot, evident didacticism, and even caricature in some places, along with the omission of certain uncomfortable or controversial historical moments, make this film appear imperfect against many other contemporary films. However, the audience's perception of it will hardly be determined by these circumstances.
The main strength of "Kupala" lies precisely in the portrayal of Kupala himself. More specifically, the character created by Latvian actor Nikolay Shestak. In many ways, this character coincides with the image of the People's Poet that has settled in the collective consciousness: romantic, noble, and a victim of totalitarian regime. It seems that this is precisely the case when the cinematic portrayal is closest to the real personality of the historical prototype.
Although director Vladimir Yankovsky tries to ground the somewhat elevated narrative tone in some episodes, the national romanticism of the film sometimes appears enthusiastic and naive. Similarly, the abstract, phantasmagorical interludes between the film's episodes also seem artistically excessive.
In other countries, similar biographical films were released decades ago. However, that was in other, more fortunate states where national cinema began to form almost from the advent of the Lumière brothers' apparatus. Belarusian Soviet cinema had an ideological character, almost devoid of national characteristics. The national hero in Belarusian cinema arrived nearly a century late, and now filmmakers are trying to make up for lost time as quickly as possible. "Kupala" is not the worst start considering all the circumstances.
The creators of "Kupala" tried to break away from stereotypes, but they didn't succeed everywhere. The genre itself, a romantic film about a national hero, implies the creation of such stereotypes. And in their attempt to make Kupala and his era more spectacular, the authors couldn't resist using different, not Soviet but national-romantic templates. This is quite natural: in cinema, the hero is not who he was in reality but who the audience wants to see.
In this sense, Vladimir Yankovsky's film benefits from the excellent choice of the lead actor.
Nikolay Shestak, a native of Riga with Belarusian roots, not only portrays but undoubtedly feels Yanka Kupala, expressing the national genius on screen. Thanks to Nikolay Shestak, the cinematic Kupala does not appear as a bronzed figure that Alhierd Baharevich struggled with in his postmodernist "Kayam Lupaka" or Vladimir Neklyaev in the recent novel "Hey Ben Hinom." In this sense, all the artistic and conceptual shortcomings of "Kupala" are overshadowed by its main task: Yanka Kupala was envisioned in the film as a symbol, but with Nikolay Shestak's portrayal, he comes across as a living person.
Compared to "Kupala," the series about Vladimir Mulyavin looks like an exercise in a different kind of sport.
It's not just about the nine episodes versus one in "Kupala." In terms of the scale of production and the skill of the directors ("Half an Hour Before Spring" was directed by three directors in turn), both films are quite comparable. Both scripts can't be called perfect, and the characters are multidimensional in both.
In the series "Half an Hour Before Spring," Vladimir Mulyavin is played by three actors of different ages. The main performers—Gleb Kalyuzhny as young Mulyavin and Artem Volobuev as adult Mulyavin—are Moscow actors. In this retro drama aimed at the entire Russian-speaking audience, the symbol, on the contrary, was supposed to look like a real person. And following the laws of the serial genre, the plot here leans towards personal, if not intimate, life. There are also atmospheric details—creators tried to depict the Soviet era and several of its stages. Belarusians may find scenes involving the leader of the BSSR, Petr Masherov, most interesting, as he was the main supporter of "Pesnyary" during the stagnation Brezhnev years.
Despite being lively and featuring immortal hits from the iconic group, the telebiography of Vladimir Mulyavin ultimately appears as a commercial attraction for nostalgic viewers. Produced by Belarusians but for the Russian media business, the story apparently didn't intend to portray Mulyavin and "Pesnyary" as part of Belarusian national culture and identity. Therefore, the film, formally a joint production, is perceived as Russian. It's curious to see how censored the version of "Half an Hour Before Spring" will be in Belarusian official broadcasting.
Kupala and Mulyavin—two symbolic figures interpreted so differently by different authors—are likely to appear on screen again. Although such appearances are being hindered. Nevertheless, we have once again reached a time when cinema has become something more than just entertainment. Films are increasingly evaluated not only based on spectacle and artistic merits but also by completely different parameters. Still, as one classic said, prohibition in cinema is the best advertisement. So, enjoy watching!
 фота imdb.com.jpg)
.jpg)