Elem Klimov - Proshchanie aka Farewell (1981)-Cinema of the World

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Elem Klimov - Proshchanie aka Farewell (1981)

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As the white-raincoated officials from the mainland emerge from the mist we get the feeling of the doom that is to overtake the little island of Matyora and its people. It is to be flooded to become part of a vast Siberian hydro-electric project. We switch immediately to the people of the island and their way of life, which is depicted with great understanding of their essentially happy existence rooted in a love of nature and of traditions which go back to pagan origins. In a film with such tragic implications there is, however, much gaiety which makes more poignant the inevitable ending. The island is sacrificed to progress. Engineers come and go. Arrangements are made for the evacuation which must take place. There are those, however, who prefer to remain in their homes and face death in the shadow of their ancestors.

Klimov made the film in 1981, having taken it over from his wife Larissa Shepitko who was killed in a car accident. She had also written the script in collaboration with Klimov's brother Herman. It was based on a novel by the Siberian writer Valentin Rasputin. As with so many of Klimov's films it did not meet with official approval and was shelved for many years until his spectacular assignment to the powerful position of head of Soviet cinema under the glasnost policies of Gorbachov.

Klimov, hitherto noted for his satirical and critical qualities, proves himself very sympathetic and understanding to the village life he depicts in this film. It is visually rich in its gallery of peasant faces, and the village life is portrayed with warmth and liveliness. Music plays a part in the lives of the people and there is a joyous village festival in which outside influences impinge on the supposedly isolated ambience of the peasants. Television is not unknown, of course, and the exploration of other planets, as well as boogie-woogie, are part of their knowledge. But to them the mainland across the vast expanse of water is hostile to their community life together. The brutal demands of progress will not respect their feelings.

The destruction of their graveyard arouses them to action. Soon the first departures take place. Little details build up. The old lady searches frantically for her cat. Another, after locking up her house, looks back anxiously as a pile of logs collapses. The houses are closed up, and small domestic objects are rescued. Some of the houses are burnt. One house is washed and cleaned as if it was going to last for ever. All these things take us into the mind of the tragedy.

Watching the film one recalls the great traditions of the earlier Russian film-makers like Eisenstein and Dovzhenko whose spirit informs the film at so many points (the rough peasant faces and the toilworn hands who draw their strength from the land). The beauty of nature and its seasons, the poetry of rain and shine are photographed with loving care and given extra meaning to the sadness of the film. Matyora, deserted, faces the vast expanse of water which will in due course engulf it and something of value on this earth will disappear.

Liam O'Leary

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Ron Holloway: When you took over the film adaptation of Valentin Rasputin's novel Proshchanie s Matyoroy (Farewell to Matyora), begun by the late Larisa Shepitko, you changed the title to Farewell as a homage to your wife. Did you find it necessary to change the original concept for the style of the film?

Elem Klimov: We have to keep in mind that the original thoughts and ideas about the making of Farewell to Matyora belonged to Larisa and her friends. So, after their deaths – after the entire film crew had died in a tragic car accident in 1979 while shooting on location – these thoughts and ideas vanished with them. You cannot put a concept for a film down of paper, or put the original design into a simple drawing. It's not to be found in a screenplay either. So that's why – after their deaths – all this vanished with them. And that's why we had to start from scratch. We had to make a film in a very short, limited space of time. We had to change the script, to choose a new style. This is not to mention that I was holding meetings with the cameraman and the production designer while under the stress placed upon me by the death of my wife. It's best not even to recall the feelings I had at that time.

In any case, all that I've mentioned affected the quality of the film. And I'm very critical of it. Just as I'm sure that if Larisa had made Farewell to Matyora, it would have proved to be a much more interesting film – simply because she had carried the thoughts about this film around with her in her head for a long time. She was ready to give birth to the film, not just to shoot it. In the end, we were not able to do more than what we did. And I think we did the right thing by dedicating this film as a memory to dear lost friends, while addressing ourselves at the same time to the problems discussed and described by Valentin Rasputin in his novel.

Ron Holloway: The critics in the Soviet Union came down pretty hard on Farewell. What was Valentin Rasputin's comment upon seeing the film?

Elem Klimov: I feel uncomfortable in repeating what he said. For actually he was very complimentary about the film. You see, when Larisa went to him for permission to adapt the novel to the screen, he really did not want anybody to make a film version from it at all. This was because he viewed it as an unusual form of literature. Something very subtle and done in a refined style. Alexei Demovich, an excellent critic, referred to Farewell to Matyora as "twinkling prose." It's something you can't really touch, or hold in your hand. Cinema, on the other hand, is a rough visual art. How can you then transfer "air" to the screen? How can you express the depth of feelings, of internal monologues, on the screen? That's why it was very rewarding to me when Valentin Rasputin said he liked the film and praised it. Although I myself know that Farewell was far from perfect. And that it could not be compared to his novel.

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