"The Postman's White Night" Film Review: Lost Against Death

Stills from The Postman's White Night

Director: Andrey Koncharovsky

Writers: Elena Kisereva Andrei Konchalovsky

Starring: Timur Bendarenko / Irina Imolova / Alexei Tiapitus

Genre: Drama

Country/Region of Production: Russia

Duration: 101 mins

Rating: ★★★ ☆

Plot: Based on real people and real events. In the small Russian villages forgotten by the process of modernization, people live a primitive life isolated from the world, and the postman is the only bridge between the village and the outside world. One day, the postman's beloved woman fled the village and ran to the city life, and the mail ship's motor happened to be stolen, and the postman's life was completely disrupted.

comments:

On a stage in Venice that combines fiction and fiction, and embraces meticulously polished precision and free improvisation, Andrei Konchalovsky's "The Postman's White Night" is perhaps the most fascinating debut of his personal post-Hollywood era. The film sets the camera in an isolated village in northern Russia, adjacent to the magnificent Lake Klozero, and allows a group of untrained local villagers to play themselves, contributing a completely "original" performance. For Russia's marginalized groups, who were in the post-Soviet era and were not moved by change, this film is a gentle and subtle style painting.

Koncharovsky teamed up with former journalist Elena Kisereva to write the script, weaving a flexible storyline around the central character of the postman. In the story, the postman drives a steamboat between the village and the nearest post office on the mainland, as the only bridge between the village and the outside world, which seems to be stuck in the times.

Behind the literary magnate Chekhov, who once wrote in a deep melancholy and comical tone about the decay of Russian aristocratic society, was the rapidly changing world of the late 19th century. Today, in the early 2000s, Koncharovsky has turned his attention to the other side of Russian society. This warm and contemplative gaze, from a certain point of view, seems to be Chekhov's mirror reflection.

The remote location, poor roads, and extreme lack of infrastructure mean that many of the small villages similar to those in the film have long been forgotten by the aggressive contemporary Russia. Young people flock to towns for better opportunities, the older generation dies silently, and these small villages, which live on their own in a remote corner of the border, have disappeared sharply and silently.

This lament of the lost times sets the tone for the story of postman Lyokha. As the lead actor Alexei Tiapitus himself is a real postman in the village, his abundant emotions, natural leisure, and unhurried faint sorrow perfectly mask the fact that he stands in front of the camera headlessly without acting experience. He wandered the vast lake in an airboat, visiting friends and neighbors, delivering mail, and even helping with pensions and necessities like bread and light bulbs.

Two years ago, the postman Lyokha was a spontaneous man who clamored to quit drinking, flirting with beautiful women, nagging with the baskets, listening to the incessant complaints of strange old men, and joking with drunks and lunatics. Most of these little people who rely on farming or fishing to survive have long relied on the help of vodka and are completely numb in this desolate life.

When the postman delivers a letter to the woman he silently loves, Irina Imorova, one of only a few professional actors in the film, he misreads the possibility of a romance from her mere act of kindness. He also developed a lovely rapport with Irina's son Timour, teaching the boy, who lacked paternal love, how to fish and plow the fields. But none of this brought the postman closer to Irina, who had already decided to flee the village in search of the long-awaited urban life.

An even bigger dilemma for postmen is the theft of the steamboat's motor. When he could no longer perform his day-to-day duties, the postman became a person who was suddenly stripped of his identity, and life became meaningless. As he sets out to find thieves or change motors, the frustrating quest causes the postman, who is struggling in and around the city, to hallucinate, dreaming at night of a gorgeous Russian blue cat breaking into his room.

There are also many intoxicating ethnic elements that run through the film, most notably when the postman and Timour wander to the reed-covered estuary, he tells the story of the swamp witch Chichimora, a classic Russian fairy tale that frightens the little boy. The film also shows a sharp and poignant remembrance of the past, when the postman returns to the long-dilapidated middle school building, the patriotic hymns sung by children are like ghost echoes in time. In addition, the film also gives a quick glimpse of the "outside world" of this isolated island: some projected on the twilight TV show, which is the only sustenance of many villagers for a long night; others are hidden in distant military facilities suddenly shooting missiles, full of surreal meaning. This funny visual effect seems to have won the biggest laughter for this film, but the humor of this film is actually more embedded in all kinds of strange villagers, an old drunkard, or a miserly ghost may have a laugh point and surprise.

The Postman's White Nights was shot using two RED digital cameras, during which the cinematographer hid them in many scenes to capture the unpolished dialogue of the "actors" on set, and their unconscious empty conversations often superimposed on an extraordinary humorous effect.

Compared to the conclusion, the story chose to move on. Konchalovsky poured out his enthusiasm and generosity to examine this bizarre enclave, where a slightly loose narrative was no longer important.

Surrounded by large areas of weeds and woodland, the square log cabins, the silent stretch of still water on the surface of the water... The scenes in this film are perfect. It's also rare to enjoy a film made in such a meticulous composition. When the postman stands by the lake and begins one of the most melancholy meditations in the film, the deep-focus lens is given a sense of place and belonging. Similarly, there is the hypnotic Long Steadicam shot, slowly advancing around the postman's steamboat, the roar of the motor slowly fading out, replaced by the electronic music of the composer Eduard Artemieve.

At the end of the film, all such pictures are endless, repeatedly showing the place of death abandoned by the times, and the little people still cling to the way of survival that he cherishes but is so difficult.

Source: The Hollywood Reporter