By Yun-hua Chen.
The shooting took place before the full invasion by Russia and just before the pandemic started. When we arrived in Kiev, we had to go through special pandemic control measures. Everything was shut down. We were lucky to be able to finish the shooting, but then for one year we could not do anything.”
Maryna Vroda’s debut feature film Stepne, celebrated as the Best Director of Concorso Internazionale at the Locarno Film Festival, is awash in the cool tones of light blue and grey – a fitting chromatic spectrum that mirrors the canvas of a post-Soviet Ukrainian village during the winter months. This setting is frigid, frozen, sparsely populated, and imbued with a sense of desolation. It is also undeniably beautiful. Anatoliy (Oleksandr Maksiakov) returns to his hometown from a big city to tend to his ailing mother. Seemingly estranged from the village after years of living afar, he sifts through his old belongings, including portraits of Lenin and his childhood sweetheart. As he traverses his personal history – where memories intermingle with current encounters – the villagers contribute their recollections of the past in a way that approximates documentaries. Together, their narratives weave a rich tapestry of the collective Soviet experience, their stories reverberating across the area. Their expressions manifest in various forms, sometime conveyed verbally as they recount earlier hardships; other times through the melodies of folk songs from the bygone era; or merely sitting together in silent unity, their countenances narrating myriad tales. All the non-professional actors are villagers drawn from diverse areas, yet they collectively evoke an authentic sense of reflection upon their locale and the inexorable passage of time.
Within this communal cocoon, what is unveiled through Anatoliy is a place marked by departures and almost forgotten by the relentless march of time, technology, and globalization. In a long take, their grocery shopping transpires from within a car that functions like a mobile shop. We hear off-screen voices placing their order for essentials like sugar, salt, and bread and see a pair of hands busy handing out goods. Yet, the camera remains confined to the vehicle, withholding their faces from view and leaving their bodies truncated. This anonymous everydayness is highlighted by Andrii Lysetski’s cinematography, foregrounding each face with patience and tenderness when villagers share their stories.
Shot prior to Russia’s full-scale invasion, Stepne evokes a potent sense of nostalgia that resonates with our present-day context. Through its steady rhythm and unhurried gaze, the film emerges as a film firmly grounded in the realm of reality, an exploration of a bygone era and the individuals who s time. It is a film close to earth, about a bygone era, and those who still inhabit it.
This film seems to be as much about the characters as about the place. How did you choose the place?
The place has a particular significance for me. Geographically it is bordering Russia. It is also a region familiar to me because my father grew up there. When I was a child, I always spent time there with my grandmother and grandfather in the fields in that area. When I walked through these fields and yards, people talked with me. I could go to any neighbor easily. We were very connected. I was born in Kiev and grew up in Kiev, but this experience at a young age stays in my memories.
Initially there was no intention of making a film there. I was looking for a comfortable location for the crew, especially a place close to Kiev or any big city in order to make our budget 50% smaller; it is very expensive to pay for the crew’s accommodation if they are not sleeping at home. But then we couldn’t find an alternative that would give us this feeling. So, it was necessary. All the locations that you see in the film, including the exterior and the interior, are all in one region within a 50-km or maybe 20-km radius.
When did you shoot the film, and how long did you stay in the region?
No more than two months, I think. We did it very fast. We had at least 26 shooting days in one month, but with breaks, preparation time, and some rehearsals. I came down a few times from Kiev. We stayed there also for the casting of non-professional actors when we were selecting stories of people and interesting characters. I like it when people not only tell their stories but also sing a song or make a humorous remark. The shooting itself was actually quite short. Only the art department had to be there two or three weeks before the shooting to prepare for the film set, paint the walls etc. Although everything looks documentary-like, it is all carefully designed and under our control.
The shooting took place before the full invasion by Russia. It was in 2020 just before the pandemic started. When we arrived in Kiev, we had to go through special pandemic control measures. Everything was shut down. We were lucky to be able to finish the shooting, but then for one year we could not do anything. We could not edit the film in Germany; our co-production company is in Germany. The plan was to edit it in Germany, but everything was shut down. The university did not allow us to edit it there, so we had to take a very long pause. We were supposed to finish the film by March 2022, and then the full invasion started.
Do the villagers in the film come from the same village?
They are not from the same village. Some of them never met one another before. I chose them based on their connection with me. Sometimes it is an interesting voice, an interesting mimic, something visual, or their stories, and the feeling of everything together. Sometimes it also depended on if they were willing to be in the film and express themselves. I felt connected with them and opened myself to them as director regarding what I wanted to do and why. These villagers liked my idea and wanted to participate. They were co-creators. I would not say they were my actors; yes, they were also my actors, but there was a lot of trust, and it was wonderful.
I wanted to talk about treasure and heritage…. it is also a metaphor of a Soviet world that perished.”
This feels like a microcosm of a much bigger context.
Yes, I wanted to talk about treasure and heritage. I call it “treasure of life”. It is something universal, in an Aristotelian sense, like, what life is for, what is important in life to achieve. It is always connected with our parents who brought us to this life. It’s about our human connection, this higher-level existential question about ourselves. Firstly, it is cultural heritage, family heritage, discussion about values during the changes that the Ukrainian society went through, from a post-Soviet country to a democratic and European country. This moment of change is interesting to me because the western capitalist world doesn’t like the old world from the Soviet time. The current form of capitalism in Ukraine made Ukraine into something in-between, something like a grey zone. The change was brutal for this group of people, who are now retired, because they lived in the past and not in the future. It was quite difficult for them. They remain significant in terms of our culture and our heritage. It is also a system entwined with relationships. That’s why it is important to talk with one another and to discuss about the changes in our society.
For me, it is also a metaphor of a Soviet world that perished. There is this scene in which old people talked about their childhood, for example. On the one hand I wanted to show this moment of heritage and treasure when people open themselves up and share with us these difficult and funny moments. I think it is beautiful to see this human connection. On the other hand, this is related to what happened 100 years ago when the Russian revolution started in 1917 and the Bolsheviks took power in Russia. The oldest woman in the film also talked about the fact that people were very poor back in 1917. Then the person from Donetsk said that the army was always very active in the area. This monster of the Soviet Union was never actually sleeping. Now it is in Ukraine.
The film is very deeply rooted in the land and earth.
Yes, Ukraine is famous for being an agricultural land and I wanted to portray this in the film. When I stay abroad for too long, I start feeling that I miss some landscapes of my home. We are connected as human beings in that way, so I want to keep the connection with the land.
Did you think that the film has gained a different dimension after the outbreak of the war, as the themes of displacement and return have become even more laden concepts?
No, I don’t think so. For me, it is a tale. It is timeless. We don’t have any flashbacks. We always stay at the present in the film, but we have the feeling of travelling into the past. This is what is wonderful in this movie and what I wanted to catch. We travel through the stories and these faces. They are life documents. This tale is connected to the reality and with what is happening in Ukraine nowadays. I don’t know if it’s only for me or for other people too, but I try to touch this past because I wanted to talk with my grandfather who was in the Second World War and imprisoned by the Germany army at that time. I wanted to ask him how it is possible that the Russians are coming to us now. I don’t understand where this came from. From this tale I understood that it has actually never ended. It is always with us.
This post-Soviet people did not have a choice. In modern Ukraine, people don’t have much choices anymore. I remember that very often Ukrainians were blamed for not fighting in the Soviet time or not taking action, but when Ukrainians started to fight, they blamed us for being too aggressive and radical. I wanted to also ask, fight or not fight? Are Ukrainians radical or not radical? We haven’t fought for 30 years, so this is a generation that never fought. Today we are fighting.
We all pass away at some point, and we all choose what treasure that we are going to take or leave behind. The protagonist brings his cello back with him although it doesn’t work anymore, and it stays with him forever. There are some things that you obtain in life that cannot be taken away from you. At some levels, he lost many things, almost everything, but he created the portrait of his mother. This portrait is also his love to Anna, his appreciation for all these people, for the place. The moment of creation is stronger than things that pass away. It’s something that nobody can take away from you, and that’s part of human nature. Even if he cannot change the situation in the country and improve the financial and social status of people in the village, he still can do something, and he creates this beautiful portrait.
Someone said that it’s about heritage. You can buy many things, but that’s what you cannot buy. For me, it’s also about the moment of what remains inside us.
Yun-hua Chen is an independent film scholar. Her work has been published in Film International, Journal of Chinese Cinema, and Directory of World Cinema. Her monograph on mosaic space and mosaic auteurs was published by Neofelis Verlag, and she has contributed to the edited volume Greek Film Noir (Edinburgh University Press, 2022).