One might think, after the gloomy films of Constantine Lopushansky (Russian Symphony, Letters from a Dead Man) and other supporters of the genre usually called futuristic fantasy with element of horror, that the fashion would have faded. Russian cinema and video viewers prefer the technically perfect American scare movies to our boring and indistinct mix. In contrast with the old Romantic stories about men-fish and astronauts, however, the heroes of many Russian films of '90s continue their agonizing, hard traveling across «The Zone», and if they leave the surface of the Earth, they do so only to hide in another planet's gloomy caves or dungeons. Often the action of these pictures takes place under some dictatorship. On the land and in the air the «services of liquidation» move, armed with lethal weapons. For photography dirty and deserted streets are chosen, with decayed houses, the walls of which are covered with mold as turbid water slowly drops from the ceiling. Hysterical characters with matted hair and eternal bags under eyes rush about the ruined labyrinths and sandy ridges. They may keep silent for a long time, staring into cracked mirrors or, contrariwise, burst out in endless superintellectual monologues. Here dark old oaken doors creak vilely and swampy puddles stick underfoot (a variant: the unsteady sand is creaking). The beautiful and mysterious women from time to time throw off their covers, and their naked bodies shine in the semi-darkness...
Central scenes of such films are episodes of contact with the strange and forbidden Zone where, in imitation of Andrei Tarkovsky's works (Solaris, Stalker), a lot of extraordinary things happen to the heroes. There is uncertainty at every step: malicious mutants, werewolves, dog-cannibals, maniacs, and so on.
The motives «inspiring» authors of this «Russian fantastic movie-land» are understandable. They want to create something epochal on the theme of humankind's responsibility for its actions on the planet; to condemn the principle of «the end justifies the means»; to think about the problems of ecology and nature, psychology and intellect. As a rule, however, philosophical concepts are hardly visible through the steam of cinema clichés, rented for the occasion.
The authors of such films often claim famous literary origins. But their modest «based on» postscript only affords an opportunity to make a middling movie out of any original story or novel once it is provided with meaningful pauses. These, deprived of a psychological basis, serve only to lengthen the picture.
It's hard for even talented actors to play in these films, because their heroes are submitted to the firm laws of the marionette. It's easier for less-gifted actors but that, obviously, doesn't add artistic pluses. Perhaps only cinematographers and designers feel themselves free there, hoping to surprise spectators with defined compositions, whimsical plays of light and color. Unfortunately, poor budget are quite clearly evident. The technical backwardness of Russian cinema is obvious in the productions' primitive shooting; their horrors don't frighten. Fantasy today can't be made with ancient means: the gap in effects, tricks and technology is too great between Russian «fantastic movie-land» and any of the works of Robert Zemeckis, James Cameron or John Carpenter.
One way out for Russian fiction is as old as cinema world - studying the films of Spielberg and Lucas - but the disorder of our economics does not evoke optimism...
Alexander Fedorov, 2001