Photo: still from the film.
Before the start of summer, we watched “Scarecrow” again with the younger children. Spontaneously. Well, they saw him again; It was the first time for them and it was the first time for me. There was no reason: none of them experienced bullying, shaming, gaslighting, trolling, neglect, or whatever you want to call it. I desperately wanted to show you this movie. And that’s why.
“Scarecrow” is one of the best (if not the best), most truthful and touching pictures about the relationship between children and adults. About relationships between children. About compassion [как бы вынужденном] betrayal, incomprehensible childish wisdom, the vital value of trust, understanding and total incomprehension, vulnerability and compassion.
Literally at a subatomic level, Rolan Bykov examines the unique ability of children to demonstrate the entire spectrum of qualities that a person contains: from sophisticated medieval cruelty (which is why there were, are and will be videos of beatings behind garages) to forgiveness of the New Testament. . Unlike us, children do not always know what they are doing and they do it as honestly as possible, unconsciously. At the request of the heart. Causing worse damage than Hymers. In a seemingly “fair” teen drama, Bykov, who moved away from the terrible aesthetics of “White Bim” (that’s what should have been banned, give us our souls!) and the uplifting “Wounded Animals,” created the grandiose panel, not at all childish, where the following is written with impeccable taste: – the whole horror of moral pressure – the severity of dependence on the team – a destructive feeling of guilt – the excitement of the touch of a hand, which, as It seems at that age, there is nothing more important – inexplicable and uncontrollable hysteria from screams from within – a feat of defiance and protest – unarmed teenage blackmail – a great feeling of homeland and connection with ancestors – Idealism doomed to failure: pleasant shame at birth and feeling of something big inside, bigger than ourselves (“And she answers: “Dimka is the groom and you are the bride.” And I liked it, it was nice. Is that bad? )
How did the director manage to extract so much crystalline naivety from a little girl? How could Orbakaite, treated kindly and raised in the family of the most popular Soviet singer at that time, show such a level of mercy and virginal purity? After all, she was already… yes, already! – 12 years old. The age at which a girl wants to show off and wag her tail, both in front of others and in front of herself and in front of the mirror, not to mention the movie camera. Why didn’t Kristina later meet any conductor (with all due respect to Svetlana Druzhinina) who could tune this instrument of the soul with the same brilliance? Maybe time has passed. What a great actress we lost while “a migratory bird flew in the sky” and the faded love of carrots blossomed. Perhaps Bykov kept the key as a souvenir. Maybe the tasks are different now. Unfortunately, today’s filmmakers have never dreamed of such a level of work.
Now, every neural network that poses as a producer or scriptwriter continues to produce series formulated about psychotrauma, to which drama and, supposedly, all of life are subordinated. The boy/girl was bullied in childhood; The boy/girl now has problems. Let us lament and cry together. Oh. How subtle, how complex, how profound! Ranging from “Method” and “Psycho” to “Cheburashka,” “Khrustalny” and other “Triggers,” we watch it from morning to night. Close-up, moving music, flashbacks. Did you evoke catharsis? Cool. It’s like that. We all emerged from our parents’ shelters, both with talents and injuries. Mom, we are all seriously ill. And we all want love. There is only one nuance. The further we advance, the more we will resemble, oh horror, our fathers, even if they were anti-examples and even enemies.
Unfortunately, this is true. Even if you try hard to correct yourself, overcome your injuries, profess self-development and spend money in other exquisite ways, running away from reality, genetics cannot be abolished. You can’t turn the blood back. Evolution presupposes exfoliation, abandonment of previously acquired complexes and grievances – read: working on oneself, and not cultivating them, sucking on them and trampling on the place called “mother’s butt”. I will tell you a big secret: for every slap from a mother in the world, there are about a billion examples where a person got worse and more painful; Just don’t say a word to the writers and producers! All. This. We passed. Nothing new. There’s nothing unique behind this, sorry if I’m disappointed. This cannot justify any maniac or simply a moral monster. You can’t explain everything in life with this alone. Fortunately, man is not so primitive. And there are always seven billion other examples where the circumstances and traumas were much more monstrous and unbearable.
And in life, in general, there are more important things than personal pimples, which are now accustomed to be pressed with such care and pleasure before the eyes of the public. Yes, narcissism is a seductive but poisoned cross. The temptation to hold on to it is great. But if you hide it behind a complete history, it is completely deadly. There is nothing more painful than feeling sorry for yourself on a schedule, forgetting about the pain and problems around you. No matter how much someone winds a bunch of gestalts around themselves, combing one’s hair and savoring one’s wounds is distilled selfishness, a detailed observation of oneself as unhappy. And that, of course, makes it special.
There is such a funny image about uniqueness. Test: “Do you consider yourself original?” Yes, 99%, no, 1%.
Thus, far ahead of his time, Rolan Bykov gave a master class to all the psychologists and gestalt therapists at his mother’s home, who have now proclaimed the cult of trauma (“Grandpa, don’t humiliate yourself!”). In this sense, his stepson’s plaintive book “Bury Me Under the Socket” turned out to be a failed exam; Except for egocentric complaints, forced speculations and snot on the fist, there is, alas, nothing.
Bykov did not engage in such childish nonsense. He went through life, lived his way from the caustic satirical “Seven Nurses” (“Wherever you sit on me, you will get off!”) to the farewell “Scarecrow” (“Somehow I got bored of you. I know! I’m glad, I’m leaving tomorrow!”), having made a heartfelt film and masterfully climbed – not without the help of melody dissector Sofia Gubaidulina, who watched the film 12 times before writing the music – under the child’s ribs without psychological templates. It simply and clearly revealed the emotion and vulnerability inside a child. I emphasize, without having children: at the age of 65, the war-burned director had one hundred percent acquired the directorial vision of a sniper , with whom, three years before his death, he could and could say the most important thing – the nature of each person gives the opportunity to choose.
Every person has the right to despotically demand principles, correctness and consistency from those around them and to remain completely alone in this ideal universe of boycotts, like the Iron Button.
Photo: still from the film.
Or make deals with conscience, like the cowardly weather vane Somov, the skinner Valka, or the professors who imitate slow empathy. Or go beyond the human line, make fun of the weak and enjoy it, like almost all 6 “A”. Or always whining and pressing your knee into the tear glands of those around you, earning easy points, like Pavel Sanaev.
Or, forgiving in a Christian way, rise above all the abominations of ordinary humanity, and develop a big and warm, though scarred, heart like Bessoltseva. An unbearably beautiful scarecrow in a world of mutilated beauties. PS: The children liked the movie. They worried and cried. Together. But HOW does Christina say? “After all, I am his closest friend…after all, he loves to be loved and admired. He thought he was a hero, but then he didn’t know he was a coward! Where does a little person have so much tact, intelligence and compassion? Where.
