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EN
The Baltic Sea has effectively separated the Scandinavian and Eastern European countries, especially in the period when this body of water constituted a part of the Iron Curtain and functioned for Scandinavians as an imaginary protective moat. From the East-Central European perspective, the Baltic Sea offered a hope of escape to freedom, encapsulated in the cinematic trope of the sea as a ‘blue boundary’, or a ‘horizon of hope’. But the Baltic Sea was also feared as a life-threatening border, as expressed in the trope of ‘Baltic noir’, a variation of the ‘Eastern noir’ trope (Mrozewicz 2018) – imagining the sea in nocturnal scenery as wild and under state control. The article discusses screen representations of the Baltic Sea understood as performative regioscaping practices (Chow 2021), offering insights into the memories and histories of human mobilities across the Baltic Sea beyond official narratives, as well as into the human relationship with the sea as both a cultural boundary and material body of water. As demonstrated by the analyzed film examples, Christian Petzold’s Barbara (2012, Germany) and Ilze Burkovska-Jacobsen’s My Favorite War (2020, Norway, Latvia), the Baltic Sea continues to be an important spatiotemporal node in the transnational re-telling of the region’s history and identity.
EN
The article discusses three documentaries made since 2000 by Scandinavian filmmakers: the Finnish director Marja Pensala’s The Eclipse of the Soul (2000) and two films by Danish authors: Boris Bertram’s Tankograd (2010) and Ada Bligaard Søby’s The Naked of Saint Petersburg (2010). All the films are portraits of Russian cities and their residents. In my study, I draw on concepts such as the “Russian soul”, private/public and bytie (the spiritual being)/byt (the daily grind), which, as I argue, are important aspects of all three films, and at the same time, useful tools for their analysis. Common to these documentaries is the fact that the authors direct their attention to the asymmetrical relation between the state’s position of power and its largely powerless citizens. The constitutive element of a city as such – being a public space, i.e. a space to which all people should have equal access and rights – appears largely distorted. As a consequence, the residents escape from their stark reality to create alternative, imaginary spaces – be it a lost paradise, like the underwater city of Mologa in Pensala’s film, a cosmic heterotopia, like the space of art in Bertram’s Tankograd, or a spiritual universe, like in Søby’s short documentary. In all these films, the directors’ point of reference – their cultural perspective – is emphasized as a filter, through which the Russian reality is perceived.
PL
Underwater, cosmic, spiritual. Russian cities in Scandinavian documentaries   The article discusses three documentaries made since 2000 by Scandinavian filmmakers: the Finnish director Marja Pensala’s The Eclipse of the Soul (2000) and two films by Danish authors: Boris Bertram’s Tankograd (2010) and Ada Bligaard Søby’s The Naked of Saint Petersburg (2010). All the films are portraits of Russian cities and their residents. In my study, I draw on concepts such as the “Russian soul”, private/public and bytie (the spiritual being)/byt (the daily grind), which, as I argue, are important aspects of all three films, and at the same time, useful tools for their analysis. Common to these documentaries is the fact that the authors direct their attention to the asymmetrical relation between the state’s position of power and its largely powerless citizens. The constitutive element of a city as such – being a public space, i.e. a space to which all people should have equal access and rights – appears largely distorted. As a consequence, the residents escape from their stark reality to create alternative, imaginary spaces – be it a lost paradise, like the underwater city of Mologa in Pensala’s film, a cosmic heterotopia, like the space of art in Bertram’s Tankograd, or a spiritual universe, like in Søby’s short documentary. In all these films, the directors’ point of reference – their cultural perspective – is emphasized as a filter, through which the Russian reality is perceived. Artykuł omawia trzy skandynawskie filmy dokumentalne: Zaćmienie duszy (2000) fińskiej reżyserki Marji Pensali, Tankograd (2010) autorstwa Duńczyka Borisa Bertrama oraz Nadzy z Petersburga (2010) w reżyserii duńskiej twórczyni Ady Bligaard Søby. Każdy z dokumentów to portret wybranego miasta w Rosji i jego mieszkańców. Odwołując się do koncepcji takich jak „rosyjska dusza”, bytie/byt oraz sfera publiczna/prywatna, istotnych dla samych filmów i stanowiących zarazem narzędzie analizy i refleksji, artykuł podejmuje przedstawiony przez skandynawskich twórców problem asymetrycznej relacji między skupioną w rękach państwa władzą a zwykłymi obywatelami. Sfera publiczna konstytuująca miasto, do której obywatele powinni mieć w miarę możliwości równy dostęp, jawi się w omawianych dokumentach jako wysoce skrępowana. Bohaterowie filmów tworzą w konsekwencji własne, wyobrażone przestrzenie: dokument Pensali ukazuje zatopione miasto Mołogę przekształcone poprzez pracę pamięci w utracony raj, w filmie Bertrama przestrzeń sztuki przetworzona zostaje w kosmiczną heterotopię, a w portrecie Ady Søby wędrówki po Petersburgu w towarzystwie jego mieszkańca obrazują metropolię jako duchowe uniwersum. W każdym z dokumentów twórcy zwracają uwagę odbiorców na kulturowe filtry, dzielące ich od portretowanej rosyjskiej rzeczywistości.
EN
Memory grids: Forgetting East Berlin in Krass Clement’s Photobook Venten på i går. Auf Gestern warten (2012) In the article, I argue that by means of qualities intrinsic to the medium of the photobook, the renowned Danish photographer Krass Clement (b. 1946) constructs a complex narration, which, on the one hand, seeksmeta-refl ection on the relationships between photography, memory, and the perception of reality, and, on the other, explores the post-GDR condition of Berlin and Germany. Venten på i går. Auf Gestern warten (Danish and German for “Waiting for yesterday”) includes both old and contemporary images, in both colour and black-and-white, but the book is neither (n)ostalgic nor documentary. Rather, I insist that Clement’s project epitomizes memory work and that its guiding principle can be understood through Rosalind Krauss’ concept of the grid. Th e grid is here inseparable from photography’s relation to memory and reality. I explore how the dialectics between remembering and forgetting, inherent to photography, is enacted by the book, and how it foregrounds the opaqueness rather than the transparency of the medium and perception. I also present how the universe constructed by Clement unfolds within the three temporal dimensions suggested in the title of the book: a present (post-ideological) suspension between the future and the past.
EN
The article offers a discussion of Sofi Oksanen’s novel Purge, focusing on the book’s strategy of evoking stereotypical narratives about Eastern Europe, such as the (postcommunist) fallen woman and (Russian) return home narratives, as well as related intertexts, primarily Lukas Moodysson’s film Lilya 4-ever. I argue that Oksanen constructs the plot around clichés in order to challenge them in a subversive fashion, first and foremost, in the name of recuperating the notion of Home. Related to locality and the feeling of being at-home, where the wholeness of the (national) subject is possible, ‘home’ is staged as an alternative to stereotypes, associated with transnational travel and the apparatus of colonization. A significant counter-narrative embedded in the novel – and hitherto rarely discussed – is the exilic perspective with its idealization of the lost and imagined home(land). In Purge, this is mediated through the main character’s postmemory. By means of a postexilic narrative, home is reconfigured as a ‘third space’ – neither fully ideal and (ethnically) pure nor adhering to the aforementioned stereotypical narratives. The positive valorisation of home, despised by some critics as simplistic and conservative, does not prevent movement and dislocation from being included in the new experience of home(land) emerging from the post-Soviet condition.
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