A recent longread in GQ provides a rare glimpse into the film project by Ilya Khrzhanovsky that has managed to cobble together funding for a five year Stalin-era installation in a small Ukranian city. The slow trickle of anecdotes related to this project have intimated that this is not your average film set, but this essay on “The Movie Set That Ate Itself” is the first clear expose of what is actually happening over there at “the Institute.”
Khrzhanovsky has been making a film about Nobel Prize-winning physicist Lev Landau, who navigated the Stalin era with considerable panache. But in order to accurately recreate this era, Khrzhanovsky has embarked on a task of world building that involves its own language, currency, and a fanatical attention to wardrobe detail. There are stiff fines for deviations from this time warp and Khrzhanovsky “the Boss” (not “director,” as referring to him as such will result in a fine) has become adept at eliminating those who can’t commit to the Institute with withering disdain. I am not going to spend time recounting the madness here, which may actually produce an interesting film. The article is very well written and deserves to be read in its entirety.
Khrzhanovsky hints at the philosophical implications of his Stalin era cultus, and seems especially delighted to have re-cultivated snitch culture so well. But I can’t help but think of Von Trier’s Dogville that in a similar, but opposite way, is built on a set intentionally crafted to shape our experience of the film. The difference being that it only takes Von Trier a few rolls of masking tape to sort out the boundaries of Dogville‘s world. I suppose I am more attracted to Von Trier’s approach, as underblown as it is, because it understands cinema better. Hats off to Khrzhanovsky for the epic collective performance art, but cinema doesn’t require such intense recreations of history in order to represent or explore history.