AkadeemiaEurozineAkadeemia2012-09-24Abstracts for Akadeemia 9/2012Estonian Film 100 / Year of Estonian FilmThe current issue is dedicated to the centenary of Estonian film and is part of the yearlong jubilee programme "Estonian Film 100 / Year of Estonian Film". The most essential activities of "Estonian Film 100" are restoration and updating of Estonian film heritage, creation of opportunities for studying and raising awareness of film history and wide-scale promotion of Estonians film at home and abroad. The birthday of Estonian film is considered 30 April 1912 (New Style) when the first short film by Johannes Pääsuke was shown at the Illusion cinema in Tartu. The film was about the stunt flights of the Russian test pilot Sergei Utochkin above Tartu a few days earlier, on 27 and 28 April 1912.Peeter Torop
National cinematography and culture
The centenary of Estonian film poses many questions related to the economic, cultural-political and aesthetic aspects of Estonian film. The article provides an overview of the most essential documents influencing the situation of Estonian film. One of the conclusions drawn from the analysis of documents is that Estonian film can secure the status of both national and internationally recognised film art only if a critical level of investments is surpassed. The versatility of Estonian film culture and its economic efficiency presuppose greater investments into the area. Part of the film culture is also digitalisation of cinemas in which there is a great backlog in Estonia.Another complex of problems concerns developing of awareness of Estonian film as national film at different levels. This presupposes much more systematic studies of the history and aesthetics of Estonian film and distinction between different levels of research. The first level is separate analysis of feature films, animation and documentaries. The second level is generalisation of the whole film production as Estonian national film, finding a common denominator for it. The third level is studying the relations between film and culture and interpretation of film art in the context of cultural identity. Film art is part of Estonian culture and research into it and better organisation of filmmaking is not only a problem of filmmakers but of Estonian culture as a whole.Ilmar Raag
Gesamtkunstwerk
The article discusses some features of present-day Estonian film. The first and most important of them is the somewhat bad reputation of Estonian film in the Estonian public space. The reaction to the problem cannot be only a promise to make better films in the future, as the impact of reputation is broader than the concrete phenomenon itself. The first statement might be that Estonian film criticism is limited and does not include the general cultural and communication context -- first of all, the analysis of Estonian film viewers and their attitudes is lacking nowadays. It is interesting that, compared to films, Estonian television serials do not get such a strong bashing in the press and social media, although they are essentially a similar phenomenon. One of the main differences between television serials and films is the greater volume of television serials. Estonian television serials have become an everyday phenomenon, while each Estonian film is still an extraordinary event. An essential role also belongs to viewers' shift of perception -- all films are perceived as "art house films", although actually there are also comedies, detective films and films for children. Another difference is the television serials' closer connection with viewers, as their survival depends on ratings. Estonian films, however, are financed on different principles, and there are no fixed categories for financing of culture. Naturally, this also influences filmmakers' thinking.Maarja Saldre
Estonian screen versions of literary works
The article provides an overview of screen versions of literary works among Estonian full-length features. Literature and cinematography are subsystems of culture, which never function in an isolated and hermetic way but are organically related between one another and with other art forms. The precise formulation of these relations, however, is complicated. In Estonian film history, it is not possible to draw a clear-cut border between screen versions of literature and films not based on literary sources. There are numerous examples where the film author's endeavour differs from the mental connections the literary work creates in cultural memory. Neither is the self-definition of the screen version as a separate text type always quite clear, and references to connections with the literary source text can be found in the heading of the film, its titles and advertisements, but the connection need not always be explicitly expressed.The overview covers the films released from 1923-2012. Its three subchapters deal with three different socio-political and -cultural stages in Estonian history. Primarily, an answer is sought to the question which texts are chosen as basis for screen versions, not how (with what kind of poetic solutions) they have been filmed. When the Republic of Estonia declared its independence in 1918, its first filmmakers hoped that the stories narrated by national film art find their sources namely in Estonian literature. Despite high-flying plans, the only full-length screen version made was Johannes Loop and Konstantin Märska's Jüri Rumm (1929), based on a novel published under the little-known pseudonym Hans Varessoo. In the Soviet period, films with a literary source accounted for more than a half of full-length films. In the 1950s, ideologically correct plays and novels were adapted to the screen under the supervision of film directors sent from Moscow. In the mid-1960s, the most essential period of screening of Estonian literary works began when several film versions of literary classics were released with the central endeavour to strengthen people's ethnic peasant roots. Since the restoration of Estonia's independence in 1991, the proportion of screen versions of literature has continually decreased. A new tendency is making use of foreign authors -- from the West, particularly from the Nordic countries -- and filming of (recent) best-selling books, like in Hollywood. In conclusion, throughout times, the choice of underlying texts for Estonian screen versions has served the strengthening of national identity in one way or another -- during the Soviet occupation it was concentrated on the originality and roots of our culture; during independence, however, common elements with other European cultures have been searched for. Lennart Meri
The Secrets of Tallinn: Script of a two-part documentary film
The text has been dated to 1967. The Old Town of Tallinn (which became a UNESCO heritage site in 1997) has been described playfully, poetically and romantically. It is noteworthy that no such uncommonly nuanceful and innovative script for a documentary had been written for the Tallinnfilm studio before.Jaan Ruus
From word to kineme: About the background to Pikk Street and The Secrets of Tallinn
The opportunities offered by social changes (the so-called Khrushchev thaw in the Soviet Union) began to freshen the creative atmosphere of the Estonian film studio Tallinnfilm in the mid-1960s. As dull and monotonous documentaries continued to show the achievements of Communist work, for example the construction of Mustamäe dormitory suburb, Lennart Meri's proposal to make sightseeing films about the medieval Old Town of Tallinn (Pikk Street and The Secrets of Tallinn) was found to be most welcome. As the Old Town was included in the programme for tourists, and the authorities had declared it worth seeing and preservation, no political requirements were presented.The discussion of Pikk Street at the art council of the studio in 1966 shows breakthroughs at the studio at both mental and ideological levels. A recurrent topic in the discussion was that the film had no accompanying text. At that time, documentary films customarily had an explanatory text that, in addition to providing elementary information, also set things right ideologically. Here, however, the soundtrack was filled by music by Kuldar Sink (1942-1995) -- enthusiastic experimentation with sounds. The minutes of the discussion of The Secrets of Tallinn have not preserved in the archives. As the result was even more unexpected than Pikk Street, the discussion at the council may have been even more heated.Lennart Meri's scripts, worded in good literary language, offer an opportunity to ponder on scripts in general. The script is not independent creation. Its words create imagines and meanings like literature, but the words also attempt to be translations into quite a different language, the language of the film, creating images that have been called kinemes. Anyway, the script of The Secrets of Tallinn contains an alluring element that can entice the filmmaker to become a co-creator.Arvo Kruusement
The more you do, the better you know how to
Arvo Kruusement is the winner of the Estonian 20th century popular film award. Film viewers rated his Spring (Kevade, 1969) as the most beloved Estonian feature film of all times. This popular screen version of Oskar Luts' novel was followed by its sequels Summer (Suvi, 1976) and Autumn (Sügis, 1990), all of them directed by Arvo Kruusement. The trilogy is unique in the history of world cinematography as the same actors play the same characters in different periods of life. In television serials made over years, it sometimes happens that the characters grow and age in the embodiment of the same actor, but in the history of feature films, this is exceptional.The interview also reveals the peculiarities of filmmaking in Estonia under the dictate of the Soviet Union and the Moscow Cinematography Committee. For those involved, the nerve-racking work was an inevitability, the memories of which have become a curiosity for the new generation. In order to get permission for making an Estonian-minded film, one had to manoeuvre between one's ideals and the directives coming from the corridors of power.Arvo Iho
I and Film
The film director and cameraman begins his memories with his childhood experiences -- when a child, he was fascinated by Tarzan movies and was left quite breathless by the Czechoslovakian film Romance for the Cornet. This spurred him on to study at the Russian State Institute of Cinematography in Moscow to become a camera operator. At that time, Moscow and Leningrad were the only world cities accessible to the peoples of the Soviet Union. Although the country was ruled by Brezhnev and the KGB, the spirit of freedom was fermenting in young people's heads and hearts However, film of particularly poor quality was given for school assignments, and backwardness in film technology was also great. For example, the best Soviet sound film camera weighed 92 kg, while Arriflex BL weighed only about 17 kg.Film school graduates need 4-5 years before they learn to render images seen by their minds' eyes to the screen. Filmmaking is like the music of a large orchestra where each participant has a part to play. A good director has to be a leader who joins and animates everyone. The camera operator's creativity is expressed in painting with light, shadow and colours.From 1975-1984, Iho worked alternately as a camera operator for documentary and feature films. With director Leida Laius (1923-1996) he completed three documentaries about the beginning and end of human life: A Human was Born, Childhood and Traces on Snow. These were followed by feature films The Nest of Winds and Corrida (director Olav Neuland, 1947-2005) and Tattoo, Ideal Landscape and Arabella, the Pirate's Daughter (director Peeter Simm). Arvo Iho gained international fame with the film Well, Come on, Smile about children's grim life at an orphanage (director Leida Laius, script by Maria Sheptunova). The Heart of the Bear (2001), the most expensive Estonian film at the time it was made (14.5 million Estonian kroons) deserves particular attention. The film attempts to render the mystical spirit of Nikolai Baturin's large-scale novel and the primeval power of Siberian scenery. Iho's last major work is the feature film Gooseberry, made in Russia. Now he works as a lecturer at the Tallinn University Baltic Film and Media School. Valentin Kuik
Forbidden fruit
The director, scriptwriter and author received his first film catharsis by breaking the rules when he sneaked to a showing forbidden for minors. All of us descend from our childhood -- the exciting expectation of wonder has not disappeared even today. Now, however, this expectation is not accompanied by the fear of punishment for the breach of the ban but by the fear of getting disappointed. Catharsis that you were secretly expecting is usually not achieved; the fine humour promised in the blurbs turns out to be banal buffoonery. Devices that were praised as clever images turn into clichés, degenerate into continual repetition. Still, the real nature of film is to capture what differs from the norm, the curiosities that people usually do not see or do not venture to look at.Bans are an inseparable part of culture. Fortunately or unfortunately, not everything is as unambiguously simple about bans as it seems at first glance.Toomas Hõrak
Almost untold stories
The art director, who has worked for the Estonian film for 30 years, formulates his creed: working for the movies is a lifestyle; it presupposes unconditional devotion, renunciation. He particularly admires the devotion of Jüri Sillart (1943-2011) who was the camera operator of Nipernaadi (1983) and The Dead Mountaineer Hotel (1979) which belong among Estonians' favourite films. The latter, now already enjoying the status of a cult film, gathered 17.5 million viewers in the Soviet Union. The essay also looks at the Russian classic Alexander Kaidanovsky (1946-1995) and the Brit Paul Newman. Although cooperation with them remained in the stage of preparatory work and did not take its final shape on screen, it still contained intriguing rudiments for scripts.Kristel Kotta
The formation of the film concept of The Last Relic (Viimne reliikvia) -- a processual viewpoint
The Last Relic was directed by Grigori Kromanov and produced by the film studio Tallinnfilm in 1969. Even though The Last Relic has been a source of countless citations for media in Estonia and has been analyzed for more than 40 years after its release, its production process has not been exhaustively studied yet.In this article, my goal is to examine the production process to determine how the film's narrative changed in different scene versions, and what or who affected the process. Five different narratives of The Last Relic have been preserved in the department for Tallinnfilm (Nr R-1707) in the Estonian State Archives from 1966-1968: three literary scripts, the director's script and the production project which was used during shooting. The five storyline versions of The Last Relic have different concepts. Changing, adding and deleting episodes as well as the dynamics of features, actions and relationships between the characters play a role in defining the idea of the planned film.The changes were prompted by the studio's rejection of the first script version. Starting from the third script version, the connection of the storyline with the Livonian War disappears and, through that, the Russian theme as well. The film deals with the relationship between the rebelling peasants and the German upper class. In the third script version and in the production project, the social theme is more explicit than in the director's script and the finished film. A similar difference could also be drawn between the connotations of the theme of "free man". Particularly in the second script version as well as in the director's script and the film, Gabriel presents himself as a free man, an adventurer. However, in the latter cases, he acts more for his personal reasons than for the political and ideological power he serves. In the second case, he is a "free man", a rebel against social order, as he fulfils peasants' orders and the opposite side declares him an outlaw. In the third script version and the production project, Gabriel is a rebel. The studio interpreted the "free man'' theme in the director's script as socially undesirable individualism. As a character, Gabriel went through roughly the following changes: an ideologically pro-Russian, an adventurer, an ideological rebel, a philosophical rebel, a philosophical adventurer.Katre Pärn
Mirror of the soul in close-up: The use of the close-up in Leida Laius' screen versions of novels
The close-up is one of the most essential and, for meaning creation, one of the most complicated cinematic techniques. By blowing up small details, it is simultaneously big and small; it is both a part and the whole; a cut-out fragment that imposes itself as an integral sign; it depends spatially and temporally on the preceding and following shots but also acquires self-contained autonomy. Being, on the one hand, the depiction of a concrete phenomenon, it is capable to transmit abstract meanings, but primarily it is the visible that represents the invisible; it has to be simultaneously perceived and understood. The article deals with the realisation of the meaning potentials of the close-up in three screen versions of novels filmed by the Estonian director Leida Laius: Milkman of the Manor (Mäeküla piimamees, 1965), Ukuaru (1973) and Master of Kõrboja (Kõrboja peremees, 1978).The article studies how depicting characters in close-up gives them a face, an individuality, singles them out from the mass. As can be expected, the main characters are shown in close-up in all the films, but the same applies to minor characters, too. The close-ups of the latter often have a symbolic rather than a narrative role. It is noteworthy that Laius does not use the first close-up to introduce the main character but to introduce the most essential images, subtexts and dramatic conflicts of the film. The close-up also gives access to the character's soul. Internalising close-ups present the character's notional reactions, feelings and thoughts. Great feelings that are simple to read from the face, however, are preferably presented in medium or long shots, as it can be noticed that, when presented in close-up, intense feelings lose their individuality and become abstract or grotesque. Along with depicting situational emotions and thoughts, the close-up also functions as an indicator of the more permanent features of a character. Thus, showing a character in close-up or avoiding doing so functions as a marker of the character's openness or introversion. An even more essential factor in character creation is lighting -- the tonality, direction and contrast of light in the depiction of characters influences the interpretation of the character's psychological depth, strength of character, innocence, etc. In all the films of Laius, lighting has a significant role in character creation, but it is particularly important in close-ups, making it possible to surpass individuality and to create timeless, universal characters, like Minna in Ukuaru as the "concentrated image of the Estonian woman".Thus, the films under discussion show how playing with different parameters of the shot enables Laius to realise the different meaning potentials of the close-up -- from concrete and material to abstract and symbolic, from subjective to universal. Integration of the theme and poetics in the close-up also demonstrates the role of the director at the orchestration of the elements of both content and form.