A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Saturday, October 18, 2025

The Long Farewell (Kira Muratova, 1971)

Oleg Vladimirsky and Zinaida Sharko in The Long Farewell

Cast: Zinaida Sharko, Oleg Vladimirsky, Yuriy Kayurov, Svetlana Kabanova. Screenplay: Natalya Ryazantseva. Cinematography: Gennady Karyuk. Production design: Enrique Rodriguez. Film editing: Valentina Oleynik. Music: Oleg Karavaychuk. 

Sasha (Oleg Vladimirsky) has just returned home to his mother, Yevgeniya (Zinaida Sharko), from a visit to his father in Novosibirsk, a long way away from their home in Ukraine. His parents separated when he was very small, but now that he's a teenager, about to set out on his own, Sasha thinks he might just go live with his father. Yevgeniya, naturally, isn't very happy about this. That situation gives Kira Muratova's The Long Farewell its substance; there is no plot. It's a film that depends greatly on our empathy with the characters, and empathy was not valued very much by the Soviet ideologues who got Muratova into a bit of trouble. (The same attitude seems to be true of the right-wingers currently in charge in the U.S.) But Muratova and her two lead performers know exactly how to generate it in the audience, which makes the film such a quietly memorable one. Most of it deals with the fraying relationship between mother and son, as they get on each other's nerves, but there's a key scene that brings the movie's themes into focus. Yevgeniya is in the post office where she's asked by a man to write a letter to his family for her -- he has forgotten his glasses. As he dictates it to her, the things he says about being separated from them clearly resonate with her. Sharko, who was a celebrated stage actress in the Soviet Union, is marvelous. Vladimirsky, an actor whose career is otherwise undocumented on the internet, is equally good, with a presence reminiscent of the young Anthony Perkins. The Long Farewell is a slender but poignant film much enlivened by Muratova's sly finesse with the camera and in the editing room.