In the name of Matilda

The human face

Billed as a big-budget historical romance, Matilda fails to impress. The script is weak and the music and editing are, at best, par. These shortcomings unfortunately distract the viewer from the plot, which is built around a very fascinating story. The film aims to tackle the sacrifice that had to be made by the monarchs. Western audiences have already been exposed to this topic en mass, mainly through such productions as The Crown or The Tudors which, in different ways, tried to unveil the human face of the British monarchy throughout the ages. In the same vein, Matilda attempts to present the dilemmas of a young crown prince (later Tsar Nicholas II) by putting his love affair with Polish prima ballerina – Mathilde Kschessinska – in the foreground. As a result, the audience sees how – influenced by his close circles – the last Russian monarch had no choice but to give up his love and enter into an interest-based marriage with Princess Marie of Hesse. He chose this path even though Matilda did everything to convince her “Nickie” that love was more important than the throne.

In British history, the alternative version of Nicholas II’s biography is the fate of Edward VIII. The eldest son of King George V abdicated the throne in 1937 to pursue his intimate relationship with an American woman, Wallis Simpson. Unlike Edward VIII, the Russian monarch known for his weak character and indecisiveness was unable to resolve his dilemma. In the end, he lost them both – Matilda and the throne. This gripping element of the tsar’s life was obviously brought up in the film, as the title indicates. Yet it was approached in such a superficial manner that Matilda resembles more of a Disney production than historical cinematography – one of Russia’s great specialities. Matilda is thus uninteresting as a film. The scandal surrounding this production, which erupted in 2016, is much more interesting than the film itself. In fact, Matilda has become a reflection of all sorts of political, social and identity-related miseries that are eating up Russian society today.

Discussion about freedom

Matilda’s critics argued for the need to halt the film’s premier and distribution in Russia. As is often the case, the criticisms had no effect. The film’s release took place in spite of the critics mainly because the lion’s share of its budget came from public sources (namely, the ministry of culture). Vladimir Putin and Dmitry Medvedev themselves were among those who helped calm down the controversy surrounding the film. However, Uchitel, the film’s director, still has strong opponents. The most vocal and visible is Natalia Poklonskaya, a member of the State Duma and former prosecutor in Crimea. Other critics who have joined her include nationalist and Orthodox organisations and even the clergy. The list of their accusations, issued just after the trailer was released (long before the premiere), included: offence to religious sentiments, disrespectful presentation of the institution of Russian authority, the promotion of questionable moral values and historical inaccuracies. The prosecutor’s office took the case under investigation but could not find enough evidence that the film breached Russian law.

Admittedly, the argument that there are factual errors in the film holds true. Matilda is not free from scenes that are either loosely related to historically documented events or are products of the director’s imagination, or reflect some vague hypotheses. What is more, even though it has been confirmed that Nicholas II had a relationship with Kshesinskaya, it remains unknown what this affair was like and whether it continued after the Tsar’s wedding which took place in 1895, shortly before the coronation. Thus, all of Uchitel’s theories presented in the film should be treated as artistic licence, while attempts to deprive the director of this right should be viewed as a form of censorship. It is therefore unfortunate that the scandal that erupted around the film has not provoked a wider discussion on the limits of artistic freedom in Russia. There is clearly a pressing need for such a debate, which became even more visible with the recent banning of the satirical film The Death of Stalin. However, it is since the draconian punishment imposed on Pussy Riot that an atmosphere of fear, which pushes artists towards acts of self-censorship, has intensified. Many fear that if they represent views that are not in line with the official ideology they will, for example, not continue to receive state funding or have radicals attending their events. Not many artists can become independent or enter joint productions, as the above-mentioned Zvyagintsev did.

The controversy surrounding Matilda, especially the argument that it is offensive to religious Russians, reveals even more about Russian society today. For Russians the film presents not only a story about the tsar, but also of a saint – which Nicholas II became in 2000. In Russia, the cult of saints is very strong, with the border between sainthood and lack thereof being more fluid than within Catholicism. Figures such as Stalin, even though not officially recognised as saints, are privately worshipped and have their own icons. Metaphysics also plays a very important role which could be seen in Aleksey Fedorchenko’s Celestial Wives of the Meadow Mari. This phenomenon was also well described by Jadwiga Rogoża, a Polish expert on Russia, who wrote that “On Russian TV there is a plethora of programmes with clairvoyants, fortune tellers and all kinds of magicians. Russian newspapers offer tons of advertisements for their services. Educated people often admit that they consult fortune tellers and collect amulets. All these seemingly do not contradict the declarations of the Christian faith.”

These phenomena also explain the peculiar sensitivity that Russians (especially those who identify with nationalistic values) have towards criticism of their saints. At the same time, many Russians seem to have forgotten that Nicholas II was made saint not because of his virtuous life but because of his martyrdom. Therefore, it is not entirely convincing to argue that speaking the truth about a saint’s misdeeds is forbidden. No film would ever be made about those who became saints after they were sanctified – with the clear example of Saint Paul. In this regard Matilda is not as blasphemous as (according to some) Martin Scorsese’s fantastic The Last Temptation of Christ. Yet, the critics call Matilda a “Russian Charlie Hebdo”.

Genie out of the bottle

Putin has an ongoing love affair with Russian nationalism. Quite worrisomely, the nationalistic demons seem to be now slowly escaping beyond the president’s control. Moreover, analysts of terrorist threats in Russia, who mostly point to Islamic fundamentalism, should also look at Orthodox radicals. Without a doubt, the Kremlin has been fuelling nationalistic and xenophobic moods. This is especially true since the 2014 annexation of Crimea. The Russian public sphere is full of hate fabricated enemies, such as those depicted on public television. This trend is also reflected in society, which lacks a diversity of views and only allows room for one version of patriotism. Those who have different opinions are thus pushed outside the mainstream debate. Such was the fate of Yury Dmitriev, a historian and head of the Memorial Society’s branch in Karelia, whose trial was clearly meant to impede his research into Stalin’s Great Purges.

Fearing an eruption of social discontent, Putin attempts to generate and manage fear. Militaristic and xenophobic slogans are successfully smuggled into the public debate and move the axiological centre to the right. Consequently, there is a noticeable radicalisation among para-military groups (such as the Cossacks) and extreme Orthodox and monarchist organisations, which are already inching closer to what is regarded as the mainstream. This trend will further strengthen as the central authorities get weaker and lose their grip on the radicalising groups. As the Kremlin loses control, it may even be accused by these groups of excessive relativism, as was the case with Matilda whose critics accused the government of allowing a defamation of the Orthodox saints.

Simply put: the instrumentalisation of basic, although popular, feelings has strengthened the groups which are gradually taking over the role of spreading fear. How else, if not through the prism of an increasing self-determination of these extremists, can we interpret the recent knife stabbing of Tatyana Felgenhauter, a radio journalist with Ekho Moskvy? Or the attacks that were most likely related to the release of Matilda – namely, the firebombing of Uchitel’s office in St Petersburg on the day of Kshesinskaya birthday. In Moscow cars were burnt near the office of Uchitel’s lawyer and somebody spread leaflets demanding that the director “burn” for making Matilda. In Yekaterinburg, near one cinema where Matilda was to be screened, there was an unsuccessful fire bomb attack which was probably related to the film’s opening. Managers of local cinemas received threats that their establishments would be burned down should they decide to screen the film.

When considering this matter, I recently asked Wacław Radziwinowicz, a Polish journalist who spent years in Moscow as Gazeta Wyborcza’s correspondent, whether the Kremlin controls the Orthodox extremists. Answering my question, he responded: “The Orthodox church is not subordinate to one centre. It is dispersed. Thus, if the church has no control over the extremists, how could the Kremlin? In addition, these extremist groups have the backing of some secret service officers who are regular churchgoers and defenders of ultra-conservative values. In other words, the Kremlin has no tools to control Orthodox extremists”.

Natalia Poklonskaya. Photo: kremlin.ru (CC) commons.wikimedia.org

The best symbol illustrating that the genie is out of the bottle is the earlier-mentioned initiator of the protest against Matilda – Poklonskaya. The truth is that Poklonskaya would not be in Russia had there not been the annexation of Crimea. Before 2014 she was a prosecutor in Crimea; today she is a part of Russia’s political establishment. According to an October 2017 survey carried out by the Russian Public Opinion Research Centre, 17 per cent of Russians supported Poklonskaya’s call for banning the distribution of the film, 48 per cent wanted the film to be screened, while 35 per cent were undecided. It is difficult to say for certain why almost half of those surveyed disagreed with Poklonskaya – was it support for artistic freedom? Or did they think that you cannot base a full opinion on the film by just viewing the trailer? Or were they interested in seeing the film that cost the Russian taxpayers 25 million US dollars? A few days before Matilda’s premiere, as many as 58 per cent of those surveyed had heard about it. Undoubtedly, this is a significant number. In the end, the film was screened in countless cinemas throughout Russia. Soon afterwards, the scandal started to slowly fade.

Irony of an unknown history

Matilda raises yet one more important question. Namely, what is society’s attitude towards its own history? Indicatively, the film’s premiere took place on October 25th 2017 – the day which marked the 100th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution. This had a special meaning considering the fact that Russian cinematography almost did not notice the anniversary. It is further evidence that the Putin regime has not established one cohesive vision of Russia’s past. As a multi-national state, Russia faces serious challenges as how to accommodate the memories of the different nations that make up today’s federation. This is particularly difficult in the case of those nations that experienced persecution, or even extermination, from Russia or were forced to become part of the expanding Russian state. An example of such tensions is the commemoration of the Defender of the Fatherland Day (previously Soviet Army and Navy Day) which is celebrated on February 23rd. It also marks the anniversary of the 1944 deportations of part of the Caucasian population (including Chechens) to Central Asia. This heinous crime (ordered by Stalin) was committed by nobody else but the “defenders of the homeland”. The Russian state has also been making it difficult for some non-governmental organisations whose work is aimed at uncovering historical truth by increasingly depriving them access to state archives. Outside the country, Russian diplomats deny documented historical facts such as the existence of a secret protocol to the Ribbentrop-Molotov pact that in 1939 stipulated the division of Central in Eastern Europe between Moscow and Berlin.

As last year clearly illustrated, there also is no cohesive narrative when it comes to Lenin, the February Revolution (which abolished Tsar Nicholas II) or the Bolshevik Revolution. With the condemnation of a popular rebellion against the authorities, as one of the foundations of the Putin regime, there is little room for official praises for the Bolshevik Revolution. At the same time, the authorities appear to be leaning towards a new narrative which encompasses the whole series of events between 1917 and 1922 as the Great Russian Revolution. This period is presented without any particular assessment, but rather through the prism of cold calculation. These changes in interpretation also make society’s assessment of Tsar Nicholas II difficult and facilitate ineffectual disputes.

For those who want to experience the ultimate historical irony that lies in the dilemmas that are currently tearing Russian society apart, I recommend a visit to the State Museum of Russia’s Political History in St Petersburg. This institution, located not far away from Aurora, the battlecruiser which reportedly signalled the beginning of the Bolshevik Revolution, operates in a building that before the revolution was owned by Kshesinskaya. This beautiful bourgeois villa was later used by Lenin as the revolutionaries’ headquarters. Today, it houses an exhibition that is completely deprived of a cohesive narrative, softens edges and evades difficult matters. 

Translated by Iwona Reichardt

Zbigniew Rokita is an editor with the Polish bimonthly magazine Nowa Europa Wschodnia and author of the upcoming book Królowie Strzelców. Piłka w cieniu imperium (Kings of the pitch. Football in the shadow of an empire).

Film, Matilda, Russia, Society