The Routledge Companion to European Cinema

Gábor Gergely, Susan Hayward, Gábor Gergely, Susan Hayward

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781032136714
• eBook ISBN: 9781000512335
• Topic: Ciencias sociales
• Subtopic: Estudios de medios

Presenting new and diverse scholarship, this wide-ranging collection of 43 original chapters asks what European cinema tells us about Europe.

The book engages with European cinema that attends to questions of European colonial, racialized and gendered power; seeks to decentre Europe itself (not merely its putative centres); and interrogate Europe's various conceptualizations from a variety of viewpoints. It explores the broad, complex and heterogeneous community/ies produced in and by European films, taking in Kurdish, Hollywood and Singapore cinema as comfortably as the cinema of Poland, Spanish colonial films or the European gangster genre. Chapters cover numerous topics, including individual films, film movements, filmmakers, stars, scholarship, representations and identities, audiences, production practices, genres and more, all analysed in their context(s) so as to construct an image of Europe as it emerges from Europe's film corpus.

The Companion opens the study of European cinema to a broad readership and is ideal for students and scholars in film, European studies, queer studies and cultural studies, as well as historians with an interest in audio-visual culture, nationalism and transnationalism, and those working in language-based area studies.

PART I A first dialogical clusterEuropean cinema speaking about Europe: Through explorations of sexualities, identities, migration and the crisis of modernity

1 Post-communist nostalgia in new Bulgarian cinema as a social critiqueMediated post-communist nostalgia

Antonina Anisimovich

DOI: 10.4324/9781003027447-3

This essay looks at post-communist nostalgia tropes in the film The World Is Big, and Salvation Lurks Around the Corner (Stephan Komandarev, 2007). What follows is an exploration of its critical potential towards the present, in the Bulgarian context, by combining a textual film analysis with a thematic analysis of audience focus groups. As we shall see, the existence of some traditional nostalgic tropes in a cinematic text is not necessarily a sign of the desire to go back to that time, nor should it automatically be considered as a positive attitude towards the past. Indeed, screenings of the film in small groups, followed by moderated focus group discussions will show that there is a more nuanced and balanced dialogue about the problematic past and the post-1989 transition.

The focus group method seems to be the most suitable for this research, as it generates information about attitudes, beliefs and reactions of a group rather than individuals, while the group dynamics reveal the process of collective memory shaping (Gibbs, 1997). Thus, audience research in the form of focus groups not only provides some insight into the specific ways in which the audience interact and engage with historical representations on screen but also helps evaluate the role of cinema as a collective memory mediator.

It would be a mistake to attribute nostalgia exclusively to the need to escape the problems surrounding the transition. Since the critique of the transition is often based on an idealistic version of the past that never actually happened, nostalgia also reveals its constructive potential in offering an alternative to the present. As Mineva notes, a nostalgic narrative proposes a ‘dream for a better society’ (2014: 173), challenging the hegemony of the present and imagining an alternative future. The utopian nature of nostalgia makes it clear that we need to use the term post-communist rather than post-socialist nostalgia in the Bulgarian case. This particular form of nostalgia is seen as an indication of a lack and a longing for something that was never really there in the past and yet is still absent from the present (Koleva, 2012).

Addressing the context of the former Eastern Bloc, Gigova suggests that post-communist nostalgia has the potential to specifically challenge global capitalism, which ‘many Eastern Europeans have failed to “domesticate”’ (2013: 542). In this context, the emergence of nostalgia can be perceived as a constructive (even if reactionary) commentary on the present, while this present essentially fails to meet the expectations of the people after the fall of the regime. Seeing nostalgia solely as an escapist tool denies it its political and critical value. However, if we perceive nostalgia as a ‘resource for working out alternatives to (post)modernity’ (Koleva, 2012: 156), we can identify the specific aspects of modernity that are being criticized. Thus, this chapter looks at new Bulgarian cinema as one of the possible platforms that could encourage dialogue and debate about the conflicting images of the past.

Film analysis of the opening of The World Is Big, and Salvation Lurks Around the Corner

Cinema is seen as a ‘site of articulation’ (Grainge, 2003: 12), or a field of negotiation of the different versions of history, and a place where opposing views on the past and the transition can clash and interact. If memory is always mediated (Radstone, 2005: 135), then the specific articulations of memory can provide an insight into the ways that the past relates to the present and how the memory of this past is constructed. An extract from The World Is Big, and Salvation Lurks Around the Corner was used as a starting point in the focus groups in order to evaluate the potential of the film to initiate a discussion and negotiation of nostalgic leanings.

In a non-linear narrative plot, the film tells a story of a young Bulgarian family that leaves Bulgaria illegally in the 1980s. The married couple and their little son escape and spend some time in a refugee camp in Trieste before they finally are allowed to enter Germany. Fast forward some 20 years; they are involved in a car accident, where only the son, Sasho, survives but loses his memory. After learning the news, his grandfather travels to Germany from Bulgaria. Having seen the life that his grandson is leading (a tedious job, a small lifeless apartment), he convinces him to travel to Bulgaria by bike together, hoping that Sasho would regain his memory and remember who he was along the way.

The opening of the film tells the backstory of the protagonist Sasho, who is also the narrator of this particular scene. Sasho introduces his parents and his grandparents one by one, talking about the life that he and his family had in socialist Bulgaria. In the first frame of the film, the protagonist announces: ‘My life started on 15th of September 1975. Somewhere in the Balkans where Europe ends but never starts’.

His narration continues when he introduces his grandmother Sladka trying to find sugar in the shops in order to make some cakes and pastries to celebrate Sasho’s birthday. It was evident from the following sequence that there is a lack of sugar in the shops: people are queuing in front of grocery stores to get even the basic household goods. Nevertheless, the following depiction of the life in Sasho’s hometown is quite idyllic: a street in a small town with cobbled pavements and traditional Bulgarian houses, the sun is shining, the street leads to a picturesque view of a mountain, and a group of elderly men is gathered around a table playing backgammon in a summer café with a terrace. Sasho’s grandfather is introduced as Bai Dan – ‘Dan – short for Iordan, Bai – as an expression of respect for someone who is very good at backgammon, the master of backgammon’.

Despite the apparent shortage of goods in the stores in the town, everybody seems happy and cheerful, everybody knows each other, and the town looks safe and peaceful. The next scene shows a family dinner celebration of Sasho’s birth, everybody is smiling and laughing, and Sladka manages to find sugar after all – the table is full of all kinds of traditional pastries and cakes. The camera approaches the family, and the scene ends with a close-up of the happy baby Sasho.

Twenty years later, the scene is marked by a radical change in colour and sound –the colours are colder, and the family is in a car sitting quietly. They are now in Germany; the motorway is wide and clear; some western pop music is playing on the car radio. Other than that, no one is speaking; they look sad and tired.

Overall, the extract indicates some idealization of the past, in particular, judging by its visual style (tinted, bright smooth colours), as well as the humorous take on the past focused on the mundane everyday life under communism. The colour scheme used for the film is the typical ‘historical’ filter, as seen through a tinted sepia lens. The light is smooth, and the colour scheme is limited to warm beige, yellow and brown tones. While commonly used to portray the past in a romanticized way, sepia-tinted images of communism could be considered a radical act rather than a nostalgic reactionary tool. As Anikó Imre suggests, these more varied and nuanced representations of the everyday life under communism are challenging the dominant stereotypical representations of the communist countries as a ‘joyless, oppressed bloc uniformly yearning for freedom’ (2016).

As Fevry notes, ‘sepia cinema’ is ‘profoundly ahistorical’ (2017: 64), or blind to certain historical events, even if it takes place in a certain period and some historical events are directly referred to in the narrative. Thus, instead of looking closely at the ‘grand historical narratives’ within the state or national framework, these films focus on the private and domestic domains.

In The World, a similar logic is present since the narrative develops around a very intimate storyline of one particular family. I would argue, however, that the film does not reject history altogether. Instead, through focusing on the private and the everyday, it bridges the gap between the complex and uncertain political and social implications of the transition in one particular family.

It is through the personal narratives and family relationships that the audience could relate to the ‘grand narrative’ of history. The narrator of The World is born in 1975, a period of relative economic stagnation but general political stability (Zhivkov had already been the leader of the Bulgarian Communist Party for more than 20 years), when, as the narrative suggests, a rationing system was in place. It seems that the most crucial moments (including 1989) in the history of Bulgaria are hinted at, but not represented or reflected upon explicitly. For example, the infiltration by state security agents and the total surveillance is hinted at through the scene in the café when Bai Dan is spied on by a seemingly innocent regular customer. The very fact that the state security closely followed Bai Dan because he was involved in the uprisings in Prague, also narrates the historical milestones through a story of one family.

Further, the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the fall of the Berlin Wall are presented as events in the background that all happened when Sasho and his parents had already escaped Bulgaria. Despite being in the background, these events are still vital to the narrative development, since it is the situation in the state, including repressions, corruption and lack of freedom that pushes the family to emigrate, and it is the fall of the regime that finally allows Sasho to return to Bulgaria and cross the borders of the EU freely on his way. Thus, the subtlety and internalization of the process of memory-building do not create a barrier that is ‘blind to history’, but rather, suggest a much-needed connection between the individual and the collective. It is possible that this role of films with clear nostalgic tropes is to ‘mobilise a family memory that appears more efficient than State memory’ (Fevry, 2017: 64) in the process of coming to terms with the past. The instruments that are used for this mobilization are the particular sound and colour that allude to the traditional values and family, for instance, sepia is a direct reference to old family photo albums.

Another trope used in sepia films is the specific, and sometimes excessive, focus on the material details of everyday life, once again reconnecting the private and the collective through mundane, recognizable objects. The ‘Exemplary Home’ plaque is one such object instantly associated with the order and safety of a typical communist home that is kept in order. This is a plaque given by the local council to particularly clean and nice-looking houses in socialist Bulgaria. A further example of the material objects on-set that refer to the past includes the traditional Bulgarian pastries, which, during socialist times, were served in small Bulgarian cafes or sladkarnica’s, as well as sweet lemonade. This association framework is also relevant for the younger audience who can still remember it through their parents or grandparents.

The location is not explicitly stated in the narrative, but from the panoramic shots of the town, it is clear that the flashback scene was filmed in Karlovo, a small, picturesque town situated in the Central Balkan National Park. Even on the visual level, Karlovo also seems a logical choice to represent a haven, or a rural escape from a big city – an idyllic small town where time stops.

On the other hand, it seems that the choice of location is significant, for the overall narrative of Bulgaria’s rich history and traditions is used to restore memories and the identity of the protagonist. Karlovo is an important town in this respect, not only economically (it is known for the production of rose oil – a traditional Bulgarian export), but also historically, as it is promoted for tourist purposes as one of the earliest Thracian capitals (Karlovo.bg). Another historical reference that contributes to the status of Karlovo as the ‘historical town’ is that it is also the birthplace of Vasil Levski – one of the most admired national heroes, who initiated the process of the ‘national liberation’ from the Ottoman rule in the nineteenth century.

The idyllic scenery and historical references are accompanied by a corresponding sound –the background music of the opening scene is light folk, using musical instruments that are typical for the Balkans, such as the kaval, a flute played by mountain shepherds. Spiritualism is highlighted as a traditional value, which also includes the high importance of family values. The scene of the happy family celebration communicates closeness, togetherness and warmth. It can be argued that this is not related to the communist period in Bulgarian history, but rather to the time in the life of the protagonist. In other words, this is nostalgia for his childhood rather than for socialism itself. This might be true, however, it seems that within this episode in the past, not only Sasho is comfortable and protected, but also his whole family is happier and connected.

The feeling of togetherness is also represented in the scene, where Bai Dan is introduced playing backgammon in the corner café. The closeness of this social group is striking, and the café itself is the heart of the local community, it is lively and friendly, a place where everyone knows each other well. At the same time, the depiction of the café contributes to the traditionalist hierarchy of a small Bulgarian town, because it is exclusively male and of the same age group, thus not very inclusive but rather, traditionally patriarchal. The sense of community is a typical nostalgic trope, especially in a film about the socialist past characterized by a more collectivist orientation.

A simple system of hierarchy also characterizes this particular example of a male traditionalist local community – the man who wins the game is ‘crowned’ as the King of Backgammon. Generally, within the group, everyone treats others with respect, playing by the rules and there is no ‘bad blood’ in the group, despite the ongoing competition. Later in the film, Sasho is initiated by being introduced to the rest of the men – he enters the game, and even though everyone in the local neighbourhood knows him, he is accepted fully as a member of the group only after his first win. This scene also alludes to an idea of a simpler time with a strict hierarchy, where respect and order are in place.

At the same time, it is clear that this hierarchy e...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half-Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• List of figures
• Contributors
• Introduction
• PART I A first dialogical cluster: European cinema speaking about Europe: Through explorations of sexualities, identities, migration and the crisis of modernity
• PART II A second dialogical cluster: Cinema and its industry, national transnationalisms: Actors, studios and cross-overs
• PART III A third dialogical cluster: European cinema and the myth of a unifying and pluralist Europe: Through explorations of borders, genres and histories
• Index