All language subtitles for Tarkovsky Andrei The Exile and Death

In Search of Lost Time

The Exile and Death of Andrei Tarkovsky

Any artist attempts to depict
the inner life of human beings

as convincingly as possible.

That's what all of us strive after.

I discovered that within
all these years

I concerned myself with
one basic subject.

And generally the same kind of
problems interest me.

Even though I made various
different films,

all of them came into existence

for one major reason.

The idea was to report on

the inner dichomoty of human beings.

The dichotomy of animus and material.

The discrepance between spiritual
ideals and the necessity

to persist in a material world.
This dichotomy is of importance

because all problems which we have

throughout our lives basically
accrue from it.

"July 10th, 1986: Eschelbronn.

Since the evening of July 7th I
stay at an anthroposophic clinic

in Germany, near Baden-Baden.

I have augmented temperature,
fever and cough,

much heavier than in the past.

The doctors told me that

I'm in a state of remission.

And that in no case I should undergo
further chemotherapies.

I'm really feeling miserably."

"He was pretty alone here.

Nobody spoke his language.

He himself didn't speak German, barely
English, no French, quite well Italian.

His wife handed him over, then
she didn't return.

But he also wanted to be alone
with himself.

He was happy about the records
I brought him

and enwrapped in the music.

Bach, Bach, Bach.

He didn't want anything else.

And reading: He leafed through the pages
of Italian newspapers in a lethargic way.

He demanded literature of
German Romanticism,

and re-read the few books that were
available in Russian translation.

His proxity which had remained in Paris

divulged that he would already
be recovering.

Because which producer or film subsidy
gives money to a terminally ill man?

He was well aware of his condition,
and so was I.

Both of us knew that we wouldn't
get to realize our plan

to work on a documentary project

about the questions of existence
for an exiled artist.

And to try to find answers in regards
to his own example.

It all began with longing,

a longing for Italy and all the feelings

which he associated with that country.

With the wish to once again be able
to make films.

With the thought to earn some money.

His notes from Moscow contain a
long list of outstanding debts

and his bad feelings about them.

He who spent the most wonderful
years of his life

as a surveyor out in nature

was looking for a country

full of myths, magical places
and landscapes.

He was searching for it with
a romantic soul.

"We were all together at his home
at Mosfilmovskaya Street,

family and friends came by.

I was there together with my husband
and my daughter.

To be honest, I didn't think that
it would be our last encounter,

and unfortunately I also didn't
estimate it as such.

We couldn't even make it to the airport

due to other obligations.

That was the last time we met

and after that we only had phone calls.

I remember that on this day Andrei was

already getting into the mood
for his work.

He was a bit worried

about the screenplay for "Nostalghia"

and about the possible conditions
which awaited him

over there in Italy.

I got the impression that this was
a man who went abroad

in order to be able to work
under good conditions.

But not someone who forever left
his homeland and family."

"I remember his farewell party,
a lot of people were there.

many friends visited him and
it got very late.

That evening Oleg Yankovsky came,
and lots of others.

There was also an man from
Italian television,

but unfortunately I can't
recall his name.

We sat at the table the whole
evening and got to bed very late.

The next morning at 6 or 7 we
accompanied my father

to the airport Sheremetyevo. There
we saw each other for the last time.

He took a plane which went to Rome.

After that we never met again,

from then on we only talked to each
other on the phone."

On the very first page of the
first diary from Italy

he pasted this picture of a ship.

With sails full of wind

heading into one single direction.

Away from the affliction which didn't
allow him to realize his ideas.

Five films in twenty years, acclaimed
everywhere, international prizes,

except in the very country that meant
so much to him

where they were instead constrained
and dispraised.

That's where he wanted to escape from.

He was allowed a temporary abscence
for the duration

of directing a film project in Italian-
Soviet co-production.

Bagno Vignoni: a spa bath from the
middle ages

on top of a Tuscan hill.

A place with he can't forget after
his first stay.

He spends various weeks here.

Near these sounds,

this light and this water.

He will make this place the center
of his film.

Thoughts about it from his diary:

"Would it be good if they killed Gorchakov

haphazardly on the street?

Maybe he should die of a heart attack.

He generally has a an ailing heart.

Right now we're considering

what we should leave in the film.

The madmen with the horse,

the Madonna del Parto,

Bagno Vignoni together with the sickness,

the dream, the man on the bicycle,

the beginning at the hotel,

Bagno Vignoni, just a bassin,

rather shabby, intimate and provincial.

Everything takes place at the hotel
near the bassin.

That means one would need to elaborate

on the atmosphere of the place

with all its details."

"He first came here in 1981. He made
a couple of shots

which RAI broadcasted in the
following spring.

In autumn he returned to make the film
called "Nostalghia"

which was shot almost exclusively
in the hotel "Le Terme"

where he himself stayed as a guest
in Room No. 30

and where we maintain a due respect and
esteem for this great man.

He lived a very humble life.

He had a lot of understanding
and a certain elementariness

as I've seen in no other man
of his status.

He wasn't simply a friend to me,

he was both a friend and a brother."

At "his" landscapes in Italy and
"his" places

he takes pictures with a Polaroid camera.

Only few of these don't bear evidence

of perishableness and degeneration.

"What actually is art?

The good or the bad?

Does it come from God or the devil?

Does it generate from the potency
or the weakness of man?

Is it perhaps a pledge for
human coexistence?

A picture of social harmony?

Is that perhaps its function?

It is something like a love confession?

Like a confession of dependency on
other human beings.

It's a confession, an unconscious act

which at the same time

mirrors the actual meaning of life.

Love and sacrifice.

Mankind hasn't created anything altruistic

except the artistic image.

And perhaps the meaning of human existence

is indeed the creation of works of art.

The arstic act which is purposeless
and altruistic.

Perhaps in it gets revealed

that we were created in God's own likeness.

I often think that those are right

who say that aristic creation

is a condition of the soul.

Why? Maybe because man attempts

to imitate the creator.

But is that right? Isn't it ridiculous

to imitate the creator whom we serve?

Our sin against the creator is that we

make use of our freedom to fight against

the evil in ourselves.

To get rid of all barriers and grow
spiritually

and overcome our low position.

May God be with me! Send me a teacher!

I'm tired of waiting for him.

I aspired the "Nostalghia" screenplay

to contain nothing insignificant

or beside the point

which could have distracted me

from my main concern which is

to report on a condition of a man

who gets into conflict

with himself and the world.

A man who is incapable

of striking a balance

between reality and desired harmony

and who therefore feels nostalghia

which not only originates from

his geographical distance away from
the home country,

but also a gobal mourning about
integral existence.

I was dissatisfied with the screenplay
for quite some time

until finally a metaphysical unity
came into being."

"Where am I? If not in reality

and not in my fantasy.

I'm making a new arrangement
with the world.

So that hat the sun may shine at night.

And that there may be snow in august.

The big things are going to end.

And the little things are going to remain.

Society needs to merge into a unity again.

And can no longer remain splittered.

One just has to observe nature to discover

that life itself is pretty simple.

And that one has to return to the point,

that particular point in time,

at which you've chosen

to follow a wrong path.

We need to return to the elemental
principles of life

without polluting the water.

What kind of world is this

if a madman needs to tell you
"sane" people

that you should be ashamed of yourselves.

And now let the music play...

From the first day I had a deep
contact with him.

We had no common language at all.

He spoke a little Italian, I spoke
a little Italian.

But he spoke no English, and
I spoke no Russian.

And obviously he didn't speak Swedish.

But his intentions were clear.

We communicated with our eyes,
bodies and gestures.

You had to be observant in a

special way, and not look around.

You had to look him in the face
all the time.

If you did this, then he was someone

who could express himself very well.

He had an ability to guide
and enjoyed doing it.

But he didn't dominate you.

He just gave hints and suggestions.

He created a platform for the actor
to move around freely.

You felt free because he gave you
inspiration.

Acting wasn't easy for me, together
with him in the first film

because I exaggerated the character.

I was used to express as much as
possible of a character.

But he didn't want that much expression.

He wanted to keep the secrets.

He wanted to leave the audience

in a mood of activity and curiosity.

Not to explain too much

of the characters or situations.

He was always hunting like that,
hunting expressions,

hunting not only expressions of
faces and actors,

but also the expressions of nature.

He could stand before a wall
that was full of sign

and expressions of time.

He could see that the wall
had a history.

He could stand like this
for 5-10 minutes

finding many mysterious signs
on the wall.

He was looking for something,
I don't know what.

Often when we were visiting landscapes,

especially when there was some water
in the landscape,

he loved water, then he deviated

seperate rills, and created
a new landscape.

He was always out looking for things,

it was a way to search

and create at the same time.

When I first saw the material
of the finished film,

the darkness of the images
surprised me.

The whole material corresponded
to our mood and

frame of mind while recording it.

But to accomplish such a task
I didn't even aim for.

Though it seems symptomatic to me
that the camera

reacted irrespective of my
concrete intentions

to my inner state of mind
during the filming.

And as such to the torturous
long separation from my family,

the abscence of habitual living
conditions,

a kind of production that
was new to me,

and last but not least
the foreign language.

I was both surprised and delighted
that the result

gave clear evidence that my conception
to use cinematic means

in order to create an imprint
of the human soul

and thus reach a truly unique
human experience

was not just a spawn of
idle thoughts,

but undeniable reality."

"One has to visit his father...

For three years now the jacket
is hanging in my closet.

I will drive to Moscow and
don it right away.

I go nowhere, I don't see anyboby."

"I studied the grass, opening
my note book,

And the grass began to ring
like a flute,

I caught the correspondences
of sound and color

And when the dragon-fly started its hymn

Moving through the green tones
like a comet,

I knew that any dewdrop is a tear

I knew that in any facet of its huge eye

In each rainbow of the brightly
rustling wings

Dwells the word of the prophet

And I discovered by miracle
the secret of Adam.

I loved my labor, this masonry of

Words bound by their own light

the riddle of vague feelings

And the simple answer of the mind.

In the word 'truth'

I perceived the truth itself.

My language was truthful

like spectral analysis.

And the words just lay there
under my feet.

And I would also say:
my interlocutor's correct

I heard a quarter of the noise,

saw half the light.

Yet I did not offend either
my loved ones nor the grass

Nor did I insult the earth
with an indifference.

And while I've been working
on the earth, accepting

Its gift of cold water
or fragrant bread,

The bottomless sky stood above me --

Stars were falling on my sleeve."

"The countenance of the world
has changed.

Nobody doubts that.

But I ask myself how it could happen

that after thousands of years
the world

would get into such a
horrible situation.

It seems to me that man
needs to alter

his inner world before
he can attempt

to change the countenance
of the world.

That is the problem.

This process has to be a parallel one.

To develop in a harmonic way.

And it mustn't be deviated
by other problems.

Our gravest present error is

that we want to indoctrinate others,

but are unwilling to learn ourselves.

That's why it's hard for me
to talk about

whether I can change things
with my art.

In order to attempt changes
with my art

I myself need to change.

I have to become more profound
and spiritual.

Only after that I can be of use.

How can we attempt changes if we
don't evaluate ourselves?"

I wanted to report on the Russian
form of nostalghia,

the state of mind which is so
specific about our nation

and which we as Russians feel

when far away from home.

In it I saw my patriotic duty,

as I feel it and understand it.

I wanted to talk about the
fateful bond

of Russians with national roots,
past and culture,

native soil, family and friends.

The strong bond which they
won't get rid of throughout

their entire lives, no matter
where destiny may lead them.

Russians aren't able to easily

realign and adapt to the altered
living conditions.

The entire history
of Russian emigration

gives evidence that Russians
are "bad emigrants"

as they use to say in the West.

Their tragical inability to assimilate

and their awkward attempts to adapt

to a foreign lifestyle are widely known.

How should I have assumed
that this condition

of desperate sorrow which
dominates the film

would become the fate of my own life?

How should I have imagined
that I myself would have

to suffer from this illness
till the end of my days?

"While shooting this film I realized

that I would be able to
express something distinctive

which I didn't in my previous films.

Thereby I expanded into myself.

I became aware that a film

can make the inner life of
its author visible."

Rome, the first station of his exile.

Together with his wife Larisa

who had followed him in Sept 1982

he lived in the Via di Monserrato.

His diary entries from that time

give evidence of how torn we was:

"May, 25th: A very bad day.
Heavy thoughts. Fear.

I am lost. I can't live in Russia,

and I can't live here either."

"May, 26th: On the 31st I need
to fly to Milan and meet Alano.

Berlin called. Someone wants to
produce "Hoffmanniana".

I demanded $50.000 in cash, but
isn't that too little?

In Moscow rumors are being spread

that I underwent an upset in Cannes.

I swear to God, those are
the last drops."

"May, 27th: Larisa and I
talked to Moscow.

They're spreading rumors everywhere

that I failed in Cannes.
Malicious agitation."

"May, 30th: Franco called and reported

that it won't work out with the cottage.

Once again we remain without shelter,

we don't know what to do."

"June 2nd: Today I returned from Milan.

I'm utterly exhausted. I met
with Abado, we had good ideas.

But I' tired. Totally exhausted.

We have no shelter, we need to work,

decide on something, somehow act.

but I'm doing nothing.

I'm waiting for something."

What happened in Cannes?
The festival with its

marketing hype and vain ado
that repulsed him,

but with its Golden Palm
that meant so much to him.

He wrote in his diary:

"I haven't yet found the countenance

to put into words what happened there.

Everything was terrible, and
the details can be read in

the press releases which published
a lot about the festival.

I own many of these press releases.

Very tired. The film left
a huge impression

and got awarded with three prizes.

They congratulated me.

All the time Bondarchuk was
against the film.

They had delegated him directly
to the festival

in order to discredit my film,

even though the film functionaries
from Moscow

had assured me that Bondarchuk
would at least be loyal.

They talked so much about it
that I came to realize

they intentionally sent him
to Cannes to harm me.

For that I wouldn't win the prize
which might

have augmented my chances
to work abroad.

Bondarchuk caused exceptional
damage, but also Bresson

who declared he wanted either the
Golden Palm or nothing at all.

At a press conference I had to
make the same declaration,

so that our chances in front of
the jury would be equal."

That of all people Bresson whom
he admired like few others

had to become his adversary
and that both ended up

not winning the main award,
but being compensated

with a quickly invented prize
for creativity

deeply hurt him. This scene
with Robert Bresson

and Orson Welles as the
award presenter

mirrors his hurt feelings.

"I don't know up to which point
is is known in the West

what happened to us throughout
these past years.

I'm afraid only a few people
actually know about it.

When I travelled to the West
and made the film "Nostalghia"

for Italian TV, Larisa and I didn't
even think about remaining here.

We never considered to not return
to the Soviet Union

after the job would be done, but
our government,

especially Goskino, the state-run
film board,

or more concretely a man named
Jermasch, did everything

to not just destroy our relations,
but to prevent

any opportunity that we might
return home.

We did get allowed to participate
in Cannes

and represent the Soviet Union,

but for the jury they delegated
the director Bondarchuk

that didn't happen on demand of
the Cannes Festival director,

the Soviet Union demanded it for
not having being nominated in 1983.

It became clear to me that
delegating Bondarchuk

who turns pale and faints
whenever he hears my name

out of enviousness, was not
just a coincidence.

I knew that he came there to
give me a hard time.

But when I learned that he was
fighting against

"Nostalghia" in the jury, and
tried to impede

it would get awarded or mentioned,
I realized the Goskino director

had sent him solely to destroy
the success of our film in Cannes.

I was baffled, hurt and distressed,

because I had made a film about a man
who can't live outside the Soviet Union,

but regardless Goskino did everything
to compromise me

in front of the festival,
the audience and the press.

I realized that back in the Soviet Union
I would be forever without work

and I already knew how terrible it is
to be left without work there.

San Gregorio, a little mountain village,

50 kilometres to the east of Rome.

The seclusion as a next life station.

Here Tarkovsky wants to buy a house,

an old, small and ruinous tower

in an enclosed park area.

"July 6th, 1983: The accommodation
is very narrow and meager.

The kitchen is tiny.

But what else should we do?"

"July 11th: We relocated to
San Gregorio

in order to be closer to the house

that we want to buy,

and be able to supervise the repairs.

I hope we won't miss out on this
good opportunity."

"July 12th: These days Lara and I
are extremely tired

and don't feel well. For three days

we didn't get finished

with unpacking the bags and boxes.

Tomorrow we need to make
the last effort.

May God help us and give us
the strength."

The months in San Gregorio

are a very busy and creative phase.

In Cannes the Swedish Film Institute
had offered him,

to rewrite an old draft for a film
called "The Witch".

The newly planned film should
now be named "The Sacrifice".

It's full of ideas, Hamlet,
St. Antonius, E.T.A Hoffmann.

He wants to make up for missed
opportunities,

and here, as always, there are
money troubles.

The renovation of the little tower
doesn't work out.

"He always picked me up.
He came by and said:

"Let's drive some place."

And we got into the car and
drove up the mountains.

Or we went out to pick
blackberries or flowers.

All these things. He didn't enjoy

to live around too many people.

He wanted a recluded life, you know.

Maybe he also met with my family
just because we were friends.

But that doesn't mean he was unsocial,

he always greeted everyone who
came by, also the children.

And then he wanted to do something
with the village band,

he estimated these things. He told me
that he loved the music.

But then he went away and it was
all out. He had also wanted

to make clothes for the village band.

I remember him saying: "Now I want
to design new clothes for them."

He also wanted to buy a house,
I promised to arrange that.

It should be a small house, here
in San Gregorio, near the statue."

"Wouldn't it be lovely to occasionally
take a rest?

To turn toward some other conception
of the meaning of life.

The East was always closer to the
eternal truth than the West.

But the Western civilization dispatched

the East with their materialist attitude.

The West cries out: "Here, look at me!

Look how I suffer and how I love!

Look how happy or unhappy I can be!

Me, me, me!!!"

The East doesn't say a single word

about itself. It entirely loses itself

in God, nature and time.

And it discovers itself in everything."

"It is a foreigner, very close to me.

It is a man who in every moment

had some sort of ambition to

create the world again and again.

A man who wanted to create

the rain, the clouds and the
expressions on people's faces.

A man who always wanted to create
new things.

In his presence you came very close

to the miracle of life.

He was always thinking about it.

And at the same time he was joking,

laughing, playing, a lot of coquetry.

He liked himself, his own body,
his own face.

He knew very well how to

express himself in the ambience.

Because he was a very open-hearted man.

Naive, like many artists.

He was a very artistic and parodoxic man

in the sense that he could be

unreserved, mysterious and playful.

He had also such a tenderness,

he was touching you physically

in a very nice way."

"I never seen another director
comparable to Tarkovsky.

From the first rehearsal on he said:

"Let's stage this scene with music.

He didn't give any particular instruction.

I asked him: "But which position
to start with?"

And he answered: "No, I just want to hear."

So we did it with music, and slowly

he began to make fine adjustments,

corrected the movements of the actors
and together we improvised.

But always with a clear idea in mind.

We obviously talked for a long time.

And sometimes he had an ingenious idea,

as for instance when Boris sleeps

inside the Russian map, and children play,

others aren't allowed on stage.

That was ingenious and we decided that

the idea has to be included in a film.

And in the second scene with Dimitri
and Pimen,

a very difficult scene with
two men talking,

I told him that he would need to

come up with something, and he thought
about it for days.

until he had an extraordinary idea.

Very slowly he turned the lights down.

and the actors on the stage began
to move slowly

The audience first didn't understand
what was happening.

And then suddenly when Pimen tells
that the Zar has killed everyone,

the light comes in and the bodys

of the dead appear on stage.

and among them the Dimitri who has
also died.

That idea was absolutely brilliant.

He always asked me about my opinion,
and if a scene would work with music.

He had a great respect for music,
as it is unfortunately

not often the case if a film director
decides to stage an opera."

I wasn't easy to get an interview
with Tarkovsky.

I had to approach him indirectly

through his assistants and long
conversations on phone.

And then came the condition that

Tarkovsky wanted money, he wouldn't

give the interview for free, but
he wanted 800 Swiss francs.

I didn't have this money and it was
tough for me until a friend helped out.

I flew to London and arrived
behind the schedule

at one of these terraced houses
in a suburb of London,

and a person of short stature
opened the door,

very unfriendly and covered in
a blanket,

telling me he didn't expect me,

and that he wasn't willing
to talk to me.

But I had the money and put it
on the table,

and Tarkovsky had to talk to me.

He felt humiliated and hated
me for it,

he always put that blanket between us,
and told he he was ill

and wanted to have nothing to do
with journalists.

And that all he has to say he had

already expressed in his films.

And that journalism itself would be a

profession of minor value.

And he asked me why I didn't stay at
my husband's side

as it would fit a decent woman.

And as I do many diagnostic interviews

as a psychologist, I decided that
since I had prepared everything

for that interview, I now had to
make him talk.

And I chose that doorway regarding

the relation between man and woman,

and first of all I made it clear to him,
that I didn't

come to him as a journalist, but as
a human being who feels connected

to him through his films, and he
started to warm up a bit,

because he wanted to hear compliments,
and then I attacked him and said:

"In your films the woman has no
momentum, but is merely a satellite

of the man, she has no right to exist
for herself

as a human being, but always exists

by virtue of her love for a man.

And then Tarkovsky spread his radical,
chauvinist ideas

telling me that a woman has no personal
inner world and also shouldn't have it,

and her inner state of being should
dissolve enirely in that of a man.

But the man should keep his
inner world to himself.

And we fought with our viewpoints,

but then I understood that Tarkovsky

demanded from a woman what he himself

couldn't give, because in my opinion

he was incapable of loving.

And I also asked him: "Why don't
you love yourself?"

And he admitted that it was

very difficult for him to love,

and that it would be hard for him

to make sacrifices, but that
a woman were

a symbol of life, the myth,

the good and the beautiful,

and therefore she should be

the one who gives love."

"The question is a very simple one:

Where do you find the spiritual energy

that is the source of your creative work?

Where are you rooted?"

"My roots are that I dislike myself."

"But that doesn't answer my question.

Where do you draw...?"

"Yes, that's my starting point that
motivates me to pay attention

to other things, it makes it possible
to make steps away from myself."

It permits me to not find energy in

myself, but in what surrounds me.

I certainly can't claim to find

that energy in myself."

"One more question."

On invitation of various cultural
institutions

he visits West Berlin in late 1983.

He gives lectures and faces up to
discussions.

He lives in Glienicke on the outskirts

of the city that remains foreign to him.

"Berlin is a devastated city.

Some buildings could be preserved,

as we know, but it's terribly ruined.

And the city didn't get rebuilt.

Just the tenements got repaired
and new houses were constructed.

I sense the city as suppressive, it's
obviously not the city

it was back then. This Berlin is new,
and there's a feeling

in the air, as if war hasn't ended yet.

Some kind of psychological climate."

He simply couldn't stand the Berlin Wall,

it was very difficult for him from an
emotional point of view.

And all that related to our
personal difficulties.

This wall was also between us.

Impressions are always something personal.

It also depends on your situation

when you visit a city, and I think

that was his case.

He had one of those typical

emotional responses to the city.

He always claimed in Berlin he would

sense the whole atmosphere, poverty

and misery of the immediate postwar period.

He said that he felt it with his skin.

That distressed him quite a bit, and he said

he wouldn't be able to

live permanently in Berlin.

That life here wasn't for him.

He could only work here with exertion,

he was always strained and nervous."

He makes the city endurable for himself

by visiting the museum, Dahlem

and Charlottenburg Palace.

The adoration for German Romantic

literature and painting since an early age

leads to strong emotional responses.

Already in Moscow he had written
a screenplay about E.T.A. Hoffmann.

Here at Charlottenburg Place he wants

to realize the project, while talking

a stroll, he decides on shooting locations.

But for the time being there's Sweden.

His next film: "The Sacrifice".

Also based on a idea that occupies
his mind with for years.

"Tolstoy held the view that in order

to serve the the people and

really be an outstanding personality

one would need to improve oneself.

To turn toward one's inner being.

Only then one would be able to make
a sacrifice.

This problem is very important.

And for me it's fixed that

for my upcoming film I only want to be

concerned with that particular problem."

As the shooting location he decides
on Gotland, an island as close

as possible to Russia, a landscape which
equals that beyond the horizon.

"The film highlights that if we don't

want to live like parasites
on the body of society,

nutured by the fruits of democracy,

that if we don't want to become

conformists and idiotic consumers,

then we have to dispense with a lot.

And we have to start with ourselves.

We're quick to blame others,

the society, our friends,
but not ourselves.

On the contrary, we like to
indoctrinate others,

give speeches about how to behave,

want to be prophets, but have
no right thereto,

because we attend least to ourselves,

and don't follow our own advices.

It's a dramatic misunderstanding

if one says: "That's a good person."

Because what's that today, a good person?

Only if one is willing to sacrifice oneself,

one can claim to influence the
general process of life,

there's no other way. The prize is to pay
is our material wealth.

One at least has to live as one talks,

so that the principles are not just
idle talk and demagogy,

but turn into reality."

July 10th, 1984: Palazzo Serbelloni in Milan.

He came from Sweden to declare on an

international press conference

that he would remain in the West.

"It's the ugliest moment of my life.",
he says

Blimov and Rostop�vich sitting at his side

notice him being muddle-headed and nervous.

In a roundabout way he describes his

failed attempts to find an agreement with

the Soviet film board which resulted in

them affronting him and leaving his
letters unanswered.

Cold silence, he states, was also
the reaction of Party functionaries

when he asked for the departure of his
13-year old son

and his 82-year old mother-in-law.

Resulting from all that, I had to realize

that they hate me, he said. If they had
just answered him once,

then he wouldn't have decided to abandon
his home country.

He stated that it's a tragedy for him, and
that they have disowned him.

When a journalist asks him in which country

he would want to live, Tarkovsky answers,
he hasn't decided yet.

"If one asked him why he stayed here
anyhow, he answered:

"In order to hurt them."

"They", always "they".

But these are people that can't be hurt.

There's no way to change their minds.

I don't think one should act solely

out of pride, the pain he had to go through

due to the loss of his familiar environment

in which he had lived for almost 50 years

stand in no relation to the dream of

living in the West.

He did find some kind of contentment,

but once and again he told me,

that here in the West a spirituality
in the way of thinking was missing.

He thought there was a primitivity
of thinking,

a petty bourgeois mentality
which he couldn't stand.

He became steadily unhappier, and his resumee

was that there was no paradise on earth,

that man was born to be unlucky

and destined to misery and sadness
since right from the beginning."

"I undoubtly don't want to live with a clear

idea of what life has in store for me.

In that instance life would have lost

any kind of meaning. Because if I know what

will happen to me, what meaning is left?

I'm obviously talking about my own,
personal destiny.

These words are surrounded by an aura
of enormous sublimity

in front which man stands as a child.

A child which is vulnerable and

defenselesss, but still gets protected.

Everything got arranged in a way that

our knowledge is incomplete, so that we

don't blemish eternity, and a hope remains.

Because not knowing means hope.

Not knowing also means sublimity,

because knowledge is ordinary and cheap."

He got invited to the St. James Church in

London to hold a lecture about the apocalypsis.

He talked about himself, the Book of Revelation

became his personal matter.

His life had become apocalyptic in his opinion.

"Blessed are those who read

and listen to the words of the prophecy,

because the time is near."

He related those words directly to himself.

Winter of 1984/85: Once again in Berlin.

He rarely leaves his tenement
in the Hektor Street,

at the Paris Bar he meets up with

the few people he wants to have around.

Making plans and plans. He wants to make

a film about Rudolf Steiner
together with Alexander Kluge.

There'no progress regarding "Hoffmanniana".

He realizes that money rules the film business

in Germany, an obstacle for poets.

Ullstein publishes his book "Sculpting in Time:

Reflections on art, esthetics and poetics of cinema"

It mostly consists of texts which

he had already written in Moscow.

He feels ignored at the Berlin Film Festival.

He assumes it has been decided
to sacrifice him

because of the East-Western
festival relations.

He is often depressed and argues

with his wife, he feels tired

and isolates himself in his
furnished tenement.

He's still leading a portable life.

"February 27th, 1985:

Berlin is a terrible city.

I need to abandon it as soon as possible.

They insulted me on the festival.

They interacted with me as they do in Moscow.

My flight is on March 1st.

There's an absolute lack of clarity

in regard to a possible collaboration

with the Germans."

At last Gotland, at last the work on
his film "The Sacrifice".

Here they're filming the final sequence.

He leaves the impression that he wants to

put everything into this single film:

the denunciation of the materialism,

the impiousness and lack of spirituality

of our age, also a denunciation of his wife

whom he seriously regards as a witch,

his love-hate relationship to her

for whom he raises a questionable monument

in this film with the portrayal of a

hysteric and self-serving egocentric.

He is like obsessed, his emotions alter
by leaps and bounds.

At times he is happy, warm, friendly, then
again repellent, cold and mean.

"March 6th, 1985: The Swedes are
lazy and slack,

and only care about fulfilling formalities.

One has to start with the shooting
at 8 o'clock,

and not one minute later,

and that around nature. It's probably
the only country

in which working on a film equals

the work of public servants, without
even thinking about

the circumstances of creation,

which doesn't allow space for any kind

of reglementations. And the same viceversa,

they work really badly."

"Now you can come and help me, my boy.

Once upon a time, you know, an old monk

lived in an Orthodox monastery.

His name was Pamve. On a mountain he

planted a barren tree, just like this.

Then he told his pupil, a monk called

Ioann Kolov, that he should water
the tree each day until

it came to life. Put a few stones
there, will you?

Anyway, early every morning

Ioann filled a bucket
with water and went out.

He climbed up the mountain
and watered the withered tree

and in the evening
when darkness had fallen

he returned to the monastery.

He did this for three years.

And one fine day, he climbed
up the mountain and saw

that the whole tree was covered
with blossoms.

Say what you will, but a method,

a system, has its virtues.

You know, sometimes I say to myself,

if every single day, at exactly the same

time, one were to perform

the same single act again and again,

just like a ritual,

unchanging, systematic,

every day at the same time,

the world would be changed.

Yes, something would change.

It would have to."

"This house at the sea mirrors the story

of our own rural house, and the characters

in that film are drawn from our lives.

The little boy, that was me.

In the film, the main character dearly

loves the boy, and talks to him

about various serious issues,

whose meaning the boy doesn't
even understand.

These kinds of conversations also

took place between my father and me,

while I was little, and we often went
out for a walk.

He always told me something.

A lot of different, interesting stories.

At times I understood him, at times not.

But it was always interesting to listen.

That remains in my memory

for my entire life,

those conversations during our walks.

I think that he also remembered it,

and made use of it for his film."

"Are you ready or not? Sven? Erland?"

"I remember he was looking for a place

where he could shoot the dream of

the catastrophy. In the scene there

was a bridge with many people crossing,

together with the cinematographer

and the producer he searching all the places

in Stockholm for a fitting shooting location.

But he didn't find anything.

And then one morning he came and said:

"I found the place for the catastrophe."

We shot the sequence, and he put the camera
about 10 metres from where

Olof Palme was murdered six months later,
and he shot toward

the direction of the steps over which
the murderer disappeared."

And I asked him, because it was
such a shock for me,

how he had found that location, and whether
it were a presentiment.

And he answered that some places are made
for catastrophies.

And that this were such a place.

He possessed many gateways for

comprehending history, politics,

and human behaviour which were

of a dramatic rather than an
intellectual nature.

He was an intellectual man, very
intelligent, with a clear mind,

but he also another sort of instrument,

which was very well developed."

- "What is it?"
- "No, no, no."

- "Stay calm."
- "No, no. I can't"

"I can't. I can't. I can't!"

I remember many times he would sometimes

call me and say: "I had a dream."

And then he told me about his dream.

For example, once he dreamt that he

was lying dead on a bed, and saw his

wife sitting at the edge of the bed.

And when she turned around it was

somebody else. And those who watch

the film can see the realization

of that dream, when Adelaide turns around,

and then we see the witch Maria.

And another very complicated scene which

was left out even though we shot it,

is also based on a dream he told me,

in which he was dead,lying on a coach,

and lots of people were coming into
the room and they were

kneeling as some kind of sign of respect."

"September, 29th: Stockholm.

Everything is terribly difficult.

I'm so tired. I just can't continue
without being with Androuscha.

I don't want to live anymore."

"November 8th: Today I had a
terrible, sad dream.

Again I saw a Northern lake,

apparently somewhere in Russia, at dawn.

At the shore on the other side there were

two Orthodox monasteries and churches of

immense beauty, and I became so
sad and sore.

"November 10th: For the time being no news

concerning Androuscha. Tomorrow I have

a second meeting with Palme.

In Rome, Larisa and I were at the foreign
ministry, they want to help us.

We visited a lawyer and senator who has

excellent connections to the government.

Andreotti asked to wait a couple of

before undertaking steps regarding

the invitation of our family members.

Bad news are coming from Moscow.

Terrible days, a terrible year,
may God help me."

"November 18th: I'm sick. Bronchitis

and something absurd with

the back of my head. The muscles

press in the nerves which causes

neck and shoulder pain. A cough.

The snuffles. And at the same time I

need to do the sound editing

for the film. Time goes by..."

"November 19th: I went to a masseur.

Because of the permanent stress

my shoulders and back are in bad shape.

It looks as if I need to undergo a
little operation at my right

clavicle. He says it's dangerous
to leave it like this.

I talked to Moscow, but there are
no news to report on.

At the film institute the work makes
no progress without me."

"November 24th: I'm seriously ill.

Terrible tensions between me and the

producer because of the film's length

of 2 hours and 10 minutes.

The conversations between Gorbachov and
Reagon have finished.

There's a hope for next year."

"November 30th: Dreadful bickering

because of the film's length. I'm ill.

I had to make a general blood test,

and undergo x-raying of my lungs.

The results aren't known yet."

"December 10th: The doctor told me

that on Friday 13th - he chose
a good day - I would have to

visit a specialist in respiratory medicine.

I received a demanding letter from
the director of the film institute,

and responded him in a cold tone that
I can't understand his attitude.

That he may either want a film by Tarkovsky,
or some kind of commercial 1h30m film."

"The older I get the more mysterious

the human being seems to me. It seems

as if he deprives from my observations.

That means my value system collapses,

and I begin to lack the ability to
make conclusions.

On the one hand it is good if a

value system collapses.

But can it be good if all systems

break into pieces? May God protect me

from losing everything."

"What do I suffer from? A new outbreak

of tuberculosis? A pneumonia?

Or maybe even cancer? I will get to
know on December 13th."

"I'm ill and lying in the bed.

Painful aches in my lungs. Today I

saw Vasili Schukshin in my dream,
we played a game of cards.

I asked him if he were currently
writing anything.

"I write, I write." he answered
distracted, his thoughts

concentrated on the game of cards.

And then I think the other players
stood up, and one of them said:

"Now is the time for accounting.",
in the sense that the game was over,

and the final scores had to be counted."

"December 12th: A couple of days ago

I was lying in the bed though not asleep.

Suddenly I could see the inner of my lungs.

Or rather the part of one lung which had

a hole with coagulated blood in it.

Before I never had such visions.

I'm in a very bad shape. Heavy cough

and a painful ache in the lungs. Headache."

"Deceber 13th: This is really a "black friday".

I went to the doctor in the clinic. They were

very attentive and friendly to me.

Perhaps a bit too much. They made an analysis

aside their usual working time. Apparently

Slava Rostropovich had used his influence.

There's something in my left lung.
The doctor said that

it's either a pneumonia which
is likely wrong,

since the dark spot didn't disappear

after I took antibiotics, or a tuberculosis,

or a tumor. He asked me at which
part I would prefer

an operation in the worst of cases.

I'm thinking that maybe I shouldn't
consent to an operation.

It's just tantalizing, without any results.

Afterall it's the lungs, and not

the breasts of a woman.

They also took bipsy samples of the

mysterious swelling on my head

which suddenly appeared a month ago

without any evident cause.

They tested me for tuberculosis,

and want to clear it up until Dec 20th.

But somehow I'm prepared for the worst.

This vision I had when I saw my lungs

in front of me seemed like a cavern

rather than a tumor, though I'm not
entirely convinced.

I don't know how this tumor would have

to look like, I just have the impression

that all around the wound was clean,

nothing malignant. I should have taken
out a life policy while in Italy.

Now it will likely be very difficult."

"December 15th: Man lives with the

knowledge that sooner or later he will die.

But he doesn't know when, so he postpones

that moment until an undetermined date.

That helps him to go on living.

But now I know it, and nothing can

help me to keep on living. That's tough.

But the most important is Larisa.

How should I tell her? How should I

deal her such a blow with my own hands?"

"December 16th: Today I spent the

entire day at the hospital.

They sliced the swelling on my head

and separated a part for the analysis.

But the doctor says the results of

the analysis were bad. And that there

were no way to cure the swelling, or

if it's of a certain type, with a

probability of 80 %. But it all seems

like my situation is really bad.

How should I tell it Lara?"

"December 21st: On the 23rd I got a flight

to Italy, I'm taking all my things with me.

Day after day I'm feeling worse.

Boris Paternake was right when he told me

that I would only make four more films.

Do you remeber the psychic seances at Rerik?

Only that Boris Pasternak didn't
count correctly.

He knew that I would make

seven films, but he also included

"The Steamroller and the Violin"

which shouldn't be counted.

But he wasn't at fault."

"Florence, Christmas of 1985:

At last a private tenement, with

furnitures of one's own.

The city offers me the tenement

gratuitously, the mayor is proud

to have Tarkovsky here."

At last a stabalizing element, but
he feels no joy.

There's too much pressure, the consistent
thinking about his illness.

And the film which matters so
much to him, and which

he regards as his most important one,
needs to get finished.

In his first draft of "The Sacrifice"

the male main character had cancer.

His artistic work a mysterious

projection of his own destiny?

"A poetic image which I conceived someday

becomes a concrete reality, it
materializes and gains

influence over my life, irrespective
of whether I like it or not.

Obviously the acquaintance with such
a reality that originated

without conscious personal interference

though having its seeds in the imagitary world

of that person who ultimately
becomes its victim

is not convenient at all.

On the contrary one perceives oneself as

an instrument or a pawn. Ones stops
being a personality

in an autonomous, self-reliable sense,
feels divided in halves and like a medium.

One is no longer disposes of oneself.

If life follows the ideas which one
develops, then those ideas aren't

one's belongings, but mere messages
which one receives and delivers.

In that sense Pushkin was right
when he stated that

every poet, every artist is against
his will a prophet.

He undergoes medical treatment in Paris.

The diary which he now begins is titled:
"Martyrolos" - tale of woe.

The doctors in Sweden made the diagnosis
he had only three more weeks to live.

He was seriously ill. I received

a phone call and was aked to bring

him into contact with Prof. Schwarzenberg.

I immediately made the contact.

He suffered a lot and was very tired.

He already had advanced cancer.

He had metastases in the bones.

The next day he got hospitalized
for treatment.

I'm not a doctor, but a short time
after that he already felt better.

At the time when he moved into
my house, where he lived for

a couple of weeks, he was much better.
The treatment helped

that he didn't suffer, and he could
start to edit his film

which took him various weeks. That

means during those weeks he could

work and finish his film, which
obviously meant a lot to him.

He even began to make plans for

another film which he wanted to
dedicate to the lives of the Saints.

And then there was the arrival
of his son.

We had all tried to achieve that his
son and mother-in-law

would be able to make it here.
He hadn't seen them

for four years, during which he
desperately fought to get them out.

I myself went to the Soviet ambassador,
and gave him a letter

written by Prof. Schwarzenberg which

described his state of health.

Around the same time the French

President Mitterand wrote to Gorbachov,

and a few days later we received the
confirmation

that his son was allowed to come
to France,

and I had the opportunity to be present
when he arrived.

He was a teenager whom Andrei hadn't seen
for four years.

When I arrived he asked me about everything

that was going on in Moscow.

He was worried about our rural house,

and steadily made renovation plans.

I got the impression that he suffered

a lot from nostalghia.

In general he missed everything,

our tenement in Moscow, the people,

he had a lot of interest and asked me,

but didn't show it directly.

He strove to withhold in order to

give my mother who was suffering
just as much

a good example, because it was even
harder for her to oppress her feelings.

He strove to restrain himself, but it

was certainly tearing him apart
on the inside.

I know about this because I also
feel nostalghia,

and it must have been even harder
for him, since he spent

almost his entire life there,

worked there and dearly loved Russia.

No doubt he suffered and worried a lot.

After weeks of exhausting chemotherapies

he leaves France. Since long he felt

aligned to anthroposophy and its doctrine.

He had the sensation that his cancer

was a sickness of life.

In this anthroposophic clinic
in South Germany

he hopes to regain his strength.

The doctors in Paris told him that

his condition were well enough for him

to make films again in the future.

But he himself sees it differently,

even if he hasn't entirely given up hope.

In conversations with doctors he

here prepares himself for dying.

"July 13th 1986: Eschelbronn.

Yesterday I went for a walk, and

suddenly a craving overcame me

which I now can't explain myself.

I took my shoes off, and walked with

my bare soles of foot on the ground.

And that with augmented temperature,

cough and rheumatism. I lost my mind.

Saddening thoughts are spinning
round in my head."

Over and above he catches a pneumonia.

He is rarely able to leave his room.

When I visit him, we occasionally

take a walk, with caution, not too far.

It's the time of new political
developments

in the Soviet Union. We talk about it,

he doesn't believe in real change.

If he could imagine to return someday soon?

He doesn't give an answer.

When he leaves Eschelbronn I receive

this drawing from him. The tree of hope,

the allegory from the last sequence

of his film, has got its leaves.

He has drawn me his grave, with

picture puzzles that are difficult
to interpret.

An eye glances in between the roots,

his sister owns a picture on which he
appears as

a young boy sitting in the roots
of a huge tree.

He never wanted puzzles to be solved.

Barely transportable he returns to Italy,

to the sea, at first to Ansedonia,

then to this place in Cala Piccola.

Those weeks seem unreal. The sick person

lies in his room on top of the tower,

and wants to be left alone, except

for visits of his son and a mason

with whom he discusses plans for
a house which

he would like to construct in Tuscany.

He argues with his wife who doesn't
know or probably

opresses the intuitiveness of
how ill he really is.

Below on the sun terrace they behave

as if on vacation. Friends and

acquaintances come to vist, enjoy the sea,

and children are playing.

Elsewhere friends collect money
for the terminally ill man.

In the long run there's no way
to push reality aside.

The pain grows, he can barely
move himself,

he needs to get transported
back to Paris.

"No, I didn't get the impression
he would be away for long,

as it had been before. He went
to the hospital in order

to receive treatment. He didn't
mention anything.

And even when I talked to him
over the phone while he was

in Paris, he didn't say anything
special, just that

everything would turn out all right.

He wanted to live, drew the plans of
the house which

we wanted to construct, talked to us
about the future,

and his new plans. I had the
impression that he wanted

to forget about his illness.

He himself never talked about it."

"December 5th, 1986: Paris: Yesterday

I underwent a third chemotheraphy.

I feel terrible. To get up or just
straighten up is impossible.

Schwarzenberg is at a loss since he
doesn't know

what that terrible pain is caused by.

The film was screen with success in UK,
and also in the States.

The reviews were incredibly good.

The Japanese also organize some
kind of aid fund, but

they have to explain them why such
a famous director is that poor."

"December 15th, 1986: Hamlet.

I'm in bed all day without
straightening up.

My abdomen and back hurt. Also the nerves.

I can't move my legs. Some lumps.

I feel extremely weak.

Am I going to die?

Hamlet? But right now I don't have
the strength for anything.

That's the problem."

Andrei Tarkovsky died on December 29th

in a Parisian hospital.They buried him

in a cemetery for Russian immigrants

in Sainte-Genevi�ve-des-Bois.

In Search of Lost Time

The Exile and Death of Andrei Tarkovsky

by Ebbo Demant

I thank the Tarkovsky's family,

Christiane Bertoncini and Natan Fedorovsky