Robin Hessman's superb documentary My Perestroika takes a heavily compacted and yet deeply personal look at the growth of Communism from Lenin through the breakup of the Soviet Union to the election of Vladimir Putin. Structured not unlike a volume of Michael Apted's Up series, Hessman's film is also an act of intensive familiarization, an olive branch to a culture with which we spent the greater part of two decades in lockstep towards mutually assured annihilation. See, though the five figures Hessman chooses to focus on -- one an ex-punk rocker, another a single, working mother -- were all politically aware in their adolescent years and, in some cases, continue to be, the voices and faces we are introduced to here are no more preachy, judgmental, or hung-up on politics than your neighbor, co-worker, or local bartender.
Thus, My Perestroika distinguishes itself from the outset as a far more humanistic treatment of this still-touchy subject matter than a great deal of films that arrive in the US. Opening and closing on the annual First of September celebration (the first day of school in Russia), Hessman's film volleys between the past and present, using a generous assemblage of old pictures, newsreels, promotional footage, home videos, Marxist jingles, punk rock, and boatloads of propaganda in various forms, to reconstruct the popular culture landscape that these interviewees lived through. In turn, the interviewees emit their own personal histories of living under Communism while going about their extremely varied day-to-day existences, far removed and even a bit nostalgic for what one subject calls the "beautiful Soviet reality."
The film indeed captures that "beauty" and the pageantry of the salad days behind the Iron Curtain but also imparts that feeling of naïve bliss that is crucial and universal to childhood. Borya, a high-school history teacher and Hessman's most prominent subject, recalls the feeling that the "grass was greener" back then while his wife ruminates on seeing news footage of violence and crime in the West and blindly being thankful that such things would never happen under the Soviet system. Puberty fixes that right quick and it's easy to see the invigoration in the eyes of Borya as he talks about the importance of reading "The Master and Margarita" in his youth, or the passion lying under the cynical artifice of Ruslan, Borya's close friend and schoolmate, when he talks about the emergence of punk rock in the USSR.
In America, the artifacts might be changed -- "On the Road" in for "Master and Margarita" -- but the sentiment is exactly the same, as is the inevitable disappointment of growing older and seeing one's passions turn into uncaring industries. At one moment, we see Ruslan accepting an invitation to play with his old punk brethren at a reunion show and the mood is nothing if not devastating, as his old comrades insist that he needs to give up the ghost. For Ruslan, specifically, there is still a certain animosity towards America but it seems less for corrupting the cause than for our hand in globalization and our influence on Russian culture, which he boils down to "chewing gum and jeans." One has to laugh a little bit as he makes these pronunciations, taking shots of vodka with Borya, while in the next room Borya's family members watch episodes of South Park and DVDs of Pirates of the Caribbean.
The freeness with which Ruslan, Borya and the other subjects speak makes for an enthralling portrait of life in slow, somewhat optimistic transition, and Hessman's film is nothing if not an open door into the mindset of a generation we were largely asked to see as unified in corruption, if not evil. And still, when Hessman trains her camera on a subject like Olga (the "prettiest" girl in Borya's class), we are privy to an essentially timeless story of wherewithal and common sense tinged with melancholy. A single mother who started working for a billiards company after her fiancé was murdered in a stick-up, Olga represents something of the non-existent middle-class that she speaks of early on. Well-educated, steadily employed and largely dispassionate about politics, Olga is more in line with her classmate Andrei, who has made a fortune out of importing a chain of French male fashion stores to Russia.
As diverse as all these subjects are, however, they seem still unified by two sentiments: That Putin is an unsatisfactory leader and that he is immeasurably preferable to what they grew up under. My Perestroika doesn't romanticize anything, but one can unmistakably sense a beating heart at its core. Bereft of narration, animation, or biased political ends, Hessman's portrait is uncannily sincere about the confusion and ambivalence of being a kid brought up in the hopes of being recognized as a "Real Person" in the eyes of a political system, and the beauty and bewilderment of discovering that being a worker doesn't necessarily make you a cog.
Thus, My Perestroika distinguishes itself from the outset as a far more humanistic treatment of this still-touchy subject matter than a great deal of films that arrive in the US. Opening and closing on the annual First of September celebration (the first day of school in Russia), Hessman's film volleys between the past and present, using a generous assemblage of old pictures, newsreels, promotional footage, home videos, Marxist jingles, punk rock, and boatloads of propaganda in various forms, to reconstruct the popular culture landscape that these interviewees lived through. In turn, the interviewees emit their own personal histories of living under Communism while going about their extremely varied day-to-day existences, far removed and even a bit nostalgic for what one subject calls the "beautiful Soviet reality."
The film indeed captures that "beauty" and the pageantry of the salad days behind the Iron Curtain but also imparts that feeling of naïve bliss that is crucial and universal to childhood. Borya, a high-school history teacher and Hessman's most prominent subject, recalls the feeling that the "grass was greener" back then while his wife ruminates on seeing news footage of violence and crime in the West and blindly being thankful that such things would never happen under the Soviet system. Puberty fixes that right quick and it's easy to see the invigoration in the eyes of Borya as he talks about the importance of reading "The Master and Margarita" in his youth, or the passion lying under the cynical artifice of Ruslan, Borya's close friend and schoolmate, when he talks about the emergence of punk rock in the USSR.
In America, the artifacts might be changed -- "On the Road" in for "Master and Margarita" -- but the sentiment is exactly the same, as is the inevitable disappointment of growing older and seeing one's passions turn into uncaring industries. At one moment, we see Ruslan accepting an invitation to play with his old punk brethren at a reunion show and the mood is nothing if not devastating, as his old comrades insist that he needs to give up the ghost. For Ruslan, specifically, there is still a certain animosity towards America but it seems less for corrupting the cause than for our hand in globalization and our influence on Russian culture, which he boils down to "chewing gum and jeans." One has to laugh a little bit as he makes these pronunciations, taking shots of vodka with Borya, while in the next room Borya's family members watch episodes of South Park and DVDs of Pirates of the Caribbean.
The freeness with which Ruslan, Borya and the other subjects speak makes for an enthralling portrait of life in slow, somewhat optimistic transition, and Hessman's film is nothing if not an open door into the mindset of a generation we were largely asked to see as unified in corruption, if not evil. And still, when Hessman trains her camera on a subject like Olga (the "prettiest" girl in Borya's class), we are privy to an essentially timeless story of wherewithal and common sense tinged with melancholy. A single mother who started working for a billiards company after her fiancé was murdered in a stick-up, Olga represents something of the non-existent middle-class that she speaks of early on. Well-educated, steadily employed and largely dispassionate about politics, Olga is more in line with her classmate Andrei, who has made a fortune out of importing a chain of French male fashion stores to Russia.
As diverse as all these subjects are, however, they seem still unified by two sentiments: That Putin is an unsatisfactory leader and that he is immeasurably preferable to what they grew up under. My Perestroika doesn't romanticize anything, but one can unmistakably sense a beating heart at its core. Bereft of narration, animation, or biased political ends, Hessman's portrait is uncannily sincere about the confusion and ambivalence of being a kid brought up in the hopes of being recognized as a "Real Person" in the eyes of a political system, and the beauty and bewilderment of discovering that being a worker doesn't necessarily make you a cog.
