Original subtitles

When I was little,

during the Soviet Union,

I adored Thursday evenings.

Everyone gathered together around the TV

for an evening of Armenian films.

The screen was grey before 8pm.

At 8pm, the film would start!

It's strange.

Visions I did not expect.

A moment in the shadow, under the light.

Follow me

on a journey into the past,

in the footsteps of Armenian cinema.

My Armenian Phantoms

A film by Tamara Stepanyan

I can remember

dreaming of being a pioneer,

tying the small red neckerchief...

But my dream didn't come true.

My brother had the neckerchief,

My cousin had it too.

I was very jealous of them.

I remember that.

People always gathered at our place.

They would make a circle and dance all night long.

I was raised in a family of artists.

My mother plays the cello.

And you, Dad, were an actor.

I looked at you and thought:

me too I want to belong to your world.

But the Soviet Union collapsed,

and so did the world of my childhood.

I was 12 when we left for Beirut.

Far from my homeland, I became a film director.

There used to be a city here in ancient times.

A big city...

There were many people here, many stories...

The king had a bride.

When he had to go to war,

he called his people and told her in front of them:

"Wait for me

"as much as your love will allow...

"If you don't wait for me, my victory will be for nothing."

So the king spoke, and he left

The bride remained and waited.

A year passed without any news from the king...

The rumor was that the king was dead.

Only the bride waited for the king.

Every evening, people would see her enter this temple

and make fire.

VIGEN STEPANYAN 1952-2021

I am in front of Hayfilm, Dad,

or rather, whatever is left of Hayfilm.

You worked here,

and so did my maternal grandparents.

My grandfather was a dubbing director.

My grandmother was his assistant.

During the Soviet Union, almost all Armenian films

were produced in this very studio,

under conditions of strict censorship

for around 70 years.

"Red Armenia."

The Red Army entered Yerevan in 1920.

Armenia was in ruins.

Our Armenian nation lived through a very big tragedy

in 1915, because of the Genocide committed by the Turks.

Films about the Genocide were banned by the Soviet bureau.

The Soviet Union didn't want a confrontation with Turkey.

But the Genocide has always haunted Armenian cinema.

In "The Honor," the first Armenian silent film,

the reason for the disaster is the earthquake.

In the film "Why Does the River Make Noise?"

Atanes is taken captive in Turkey during the war.

The river Araks separates him from his homeland.

Under the gaze of Soviet border guards,

he dreams of returning to his homeland.

This scene, with Mount Ararat in the background,

is truly mighty… the symbol of lost Armenia.

There is nothing about the Genocide in this film,

yet all Armenians cry softly,

while watching this scene.

The Soviet Union needed 60 years

to agree to make a film about the Genocide.

"Nahapet."

You really loved this film, Dad.

Having survived the Genocide, Nahapet and Noubar

are trying to return to life

by forming a new family.

The fate of the Armenian people

is linked to catastrophes: the Genocide, earthquakes, wars...

It is the history of our people,

who always rises from ruins.

Go, Nahapet. The oxen have stopped.

Stalin's fist squeezed the studio tightly for more than 20 years.

His demand was to make cinema

an instrument of Soviet propaganda.

"Zangezur" by Hamo Bek-Nazaryan, 1938.

- Your mother! - I saw her.

My wife!

My father!

A film about the birth of Soviet Armenia.

The national army attacks communist partisans.

The nationalists take hostage

the families of those who support the Red Army.

My mother!

- Until when should we protect the gorge? - Until the Red Army joins us.

- We need to retreat. - Get up! Let's go!

Stop! Have you lost your mind?

Leaving the position means letting the Red Army be destroyed.

Do you understand?

Keep your positions!

Don't you dare to shoot!

Shoot, Makich. Shoot, my son!

Your waters sing to you...

It was the time of Stalin's great purges...

The first scriptwriter of "Zangezur," writer Axel Bakunts,

was executed before the shooting of the film.

Stand up, brave Armenians,

so that our ancient land thrives,

Exterminate the packs of wolves,

so that our ancient land thrives.

Look, Dad!

It's the unveiling of Stalin's statue in Yerevan in 1950.

Look who I found!

Your mother, Tamara!

My grandmother!

She participated in World War II.

She's the only woman here...

She's standing in the front row, proud.

Soon you will be born,

and Stalin will die.

In my childhood, I used to sleep next to my grandmother.

I was raised next to this strong woman.

In the evening, she would often tell me about the war.

She was 18 when, together with her sister,

she signed up for the Party to go to war.

Fascinated, I listened to her in the darkness.

After her death in 2010,

I took my camera and went to find her war comrades.

My first film was born: "Embers."

Our generation lived in difficult times during the war,

but we always kept hope alive.

We believed, we believed in justice, truth, Communism.

We studied Marxism-Leninism.

We believed in all of it!

And then, after Stalin died,

it was very difficult for us.

We were suffering:

how could the person who led the entire country

pass away.

We believed in Communism, and then everything collapsed.

Come here a moment!

- What do you want? - Come here.

Take a picture.

Tamara, come sit between us.

But I don't know how to take a photo with this!

Come. I'll show you.

So you look here.

It's like seeing Tamara during her first years in university.

Come here.

Do I look like her?

You look like both Tamara and Vigen. The look in your eyes...

Look at me. Dad, isn't it dark like this?

Dance, my little Tania!

In the 1960s,

a new wave came...

"Hello, It's Me" by Dovlatyan

the first Armenian film selected to participate in the Cannes Film Festival.

You see,

this is the feeling of liberty,

a feeling we have always missed! I understand it all. You miss Lucia.

My dears, you shouldn't carry the past on your shoulders.

It's a heavy burden.

And now what?

This wave of freedom reached the Armenian mountains.

"We Are Our Mountains" by Henrik Malyan.

Hello, boys!

Hello, Comrade Lieutenant! Welcome!

Comrade Lieutenant, won't you take a photo of us?

Why not? I will.

A Soviet policeman comes to the mountains

to interrogate a group of villagers,

who butchered and ate

the sheep of their neighbour Revaz.

I'm going up to the mountains. It seems some villagers have butchered sheep.

They are very capable of it, Comrade Lieutenant!

They are useless people, thieves!

Take care, Comrade Lieutenant. They can butcher people too!

A cat for sure they did!

It's up to me to judge.

A wonderful scene, where the policeman and the villager swap roles.

The villager becomes the judge, and the policeman becomes the accused.

I am the judge.

The accused is the lieutenant.

I put myself in the shoes of Avag.

If we don't punish you now,

tomorrow you will commit a bigger crime,

and maybe you won't get caught,

which is why you should be arrested now.

Yes.

Please arrest me,

because in prison we can shower every 10 days.

You will give me food 3 times a day, give me magazines.

It's not up to you to tell us your verdict.

Answer: Do you plead guilty?

Yes. Arrest me.

The court has decided to

sentence you to execution.

Why?

In Malyan's "A Piece of Sky,"

three prostitutes come to the city of Gyumri.

The main character is a naive young man,

who lives with his aunt.

He falls in love with one of these girls and decides to marry her,

rejecting the opinion of Society.

I'll take you home now.

Take your belongings and we'll go.

Home?

Why?

I want to take you away from here.

My poor one...

I don't want you to stay here.

Torik, why did you make the girl cry?

None of your business!

Don't cry, my angel.

I'll take you home.

I'll treat you like a queen.

"A Piece of Sky" would be Malyan's last film.

His subsequent scripts were rejected by the censors

and left unfinished.

Our film is about love.

It celebrates love.

It is about the fake and real concept of love.

It's about the right to choose,

the right to happiness.

And without trying to sound pathetic,

our film is about freedom.

Ever since my childhood, I've been impressed by the last scene,

when the main character proudly rides the cart across the entire city

with his beloved wife and aunt in it.

I wanted to be as free and daring as him.

Sergey Paradjanov was one of the most famous

Armenian film directors in the world.

An Armenian from Georgia, Paradjanov

together with documentary filmmaker Pelechian,

was the ambassador of Armenian cinema to the world.

Paradjanov made only one feature film in Armenia,

"The Color of Pomegranates."

For Paradjanov, it was a return to his Armenian roots.

Paradjanov reveals Armenian cultural treasures,

which were very far from being Soviet.

The film was harshly criticized,

and then the film was released with editing done by someone else.

Under Brezhnev, the rebellious Paradjanov was imprisoned for 4 years.

I worked and suffered under 3 despots.

The despots were in the Kremlin.

And today, perestroika is seeking

the cardiogram of the times

Perhaps a book will appear dealing with all those years,

like a cardiogram.

The Soviet films of this era, and not only mine,

are like a cardiogram of terror.

They are cardiograms of fear:

the fear of losing your film; the fear of starving.

Do you remember, Dad?

Mom and you, you took my hand, and we went to the Opera House.

It was summer. It was very hot.

There were thousands of people,

and everyone had cloves in their hands.

I was impressed by the sight of so many adults crying.

It was July 20, 1990.

The funeral of Sergey Paradjanov.

It's a pity he didn't live to see the collapse of the USSR.

Will you sign it or not?

"Nostalgia,"

one of the last Soviet Armenian films,

is about Stalin's oppression,

about the tyranny, the torture, the deportations...

Listen to me, old man.

I've found a way out for you.

You kept speaking of your family, your sons, your grandchildren.

You will die, and no one will know where your corpse is!

Come on! Sign it, and that's it!

Will you sign it or not?

Well?

Now that's good.

Put the pen in his hand.

Arakel...

Oh, finally! What a nightmare! We are done with you.

Arakel, did you find the way?

Can you accompany me?

In the world of cinema,

almost all women were in the shadows.

They glided gently through these corridors.

Women worked at dubbing, editing,

or in developing labs,

just like my grandmother Rima.

There were no female film directors.

There were no women behind cameras.

Actresses playing lead roles were few.

It was men, who were the film stars.

The first Armenian film director, Hamo Bek-Nazaryan,

often portrayed women as victims of the

cruel traditional patriarchal society.

She has beautiful legs.

No, I think she is bow-legged.

She doesn't limp.

She has good teeth.

She isn't sick.

In the film "Pepo," the sister of the main character Kekel,

has to marry a man she doesn't love.

It's her own hair.

The merchandise is good.

Bek-Nazaryan's cinema was profoundly feminist.

He had a unique way of filming the lack of respect toward the woman

and their desperate suffering.

In the film "The Honor,"

the woman hit by her father

will go on to be killed by her jealous husband.

I am innocent...

In the film "Zareh," the head of the village

abducts a woman.

How should a woman who was a victim of violence be filmed?

How should a woman humiliated by society be filmed?

As a film director, I would have really liked to ask Hamo Bek-Nazaryan this question.

Bagrat Hovhannisyan's film "Autumn Sun"

is truly unique and appealing,

because the woman dares to rebel

against the patriarchal society.

Since you are standing here, all ready,

and you have nowhere to rush to, can I ask you a question?

A pragmatic question: You're tired. Why?

Are you starting again?

Didn't I tell you to take the horse?

Did I or didn't I?

How would I know there would be no taxis on the way back?

- You had to use your brain. - I have no brain.

That's why you are where you are.

- Are you starting to fight again? - You're a child.

Do your childish things.

Or did you think of finding a car?

You wanted to sit next to the driver?

Good job!

Go on! Shout. Throw a shoe,

so that I can say you are a man...

and not a stork!

I've been surrounded by strong and independent women.

My grandmother Tamara

was a lecturer at the Polytechnic University.

My grandmother Mimi was at the studio all day long.

My mother would go on giving concerts all over the world,

but when she came back home, I would lie down next to her

and listen to her play cello suites by Bach.

And you, Dad, were rarely home.

You were always at the theater

or on film sets.

I can vividly recall the shooting of this film,

in which you played an Italian mafioso.

You spoke Italian to us at home all day long,

and we laughed.

You were a rising star, Dad.

It was 1989.

You were finding your own place

in this film industry,

which revolved around several male film stars.

My dear friends,

let us drink to our forge!

To our small fire! May it always be lit!

Let the sweat always be on our foreheads!

May we fight against the fire, against the iron,

to keep our honour high!

May our arms always be full of force!

With open foreheads, may we all sit together,

and not lower our gaze, when we look at each other!

Manhood! Honor!

And a modest table like this!

You knew them well.

They were your elder brothers.

This is Sos Sargsyan.

I remember, Dad, when he would come to our place,

he would drink to your friendship and to Armenia.

And then he would slowly say with a hoarse voice:

"My dear little Vigen, bring the backgammon, so that I can win a game against you."

Please pay attention. I will now take a photo.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10...

You adored Khoren Abrahamyan.

How proud you were to have started your theater career by his side!

"The Song of First Love"

is what made him famous.

It is a film which shows how the career of an artist

can cause a a man to distance himself from his values

and from his family.

- Quiet! He's sleeping. - Let him wake up.

Do you want to eat?

Oh, how much I don't want to come back here!

No one understands me in this house.

Everyone is unfortunate in their own way!

How horrible!

How fed up I am!

Go to bed.

Who are you telling to go to bed? I'm not a child!

Stop it.

Stop it?

Any woman would have been happy to talk to me!

I am an artist!

You should understand that!

What matters most to me is my mood!

I am talking to you about art and you...

What's all this noise about?

It's nothing, Father.

We’re a couple, we’re just talking.

Go to bed, Father.

Go to bed? How dare you tell me to go to bed?

Go to bed yourself! And don't you speak!

Not a sound!

What is it?

- It's good. - Who? Me?

Yes, the colors, looks nice, the camera.

Bro, I'll tell you something.

Film director Tamara Stepanyan

is a big problem for Armenian cinema.

Do you remember?

When I told you that I wanted to become a film director,

you were very afraid that I wouldn't succeed.

You told me that it is a profession for men.

My desire to become a film director...

when did it start exactly?

I was 7 years old when I acted in a film by Edgar Baghdassaryan,

where all the characters were children.

I was fascinated by the director's work.

He had turned the film set into a big playground,

where we, the children, were playing a war game.

Limitless capabilities and freedom.

More so, the late 1980s were a dramatic period.

Madam, to which cemetery?

The old one, my son.

There was war in Nagorno-Karabakh,

and the Gyumri earthquake

destroyed the lives of 25,000 people in a matter of minutes.

In 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed.

The 1990s...

the first years of independence...

Everyone thought that independence would bring prosperity

but the opposite happened.

No gas,

no electricity,

no water.

Bread was rationed.

These were "the cold and dark years."

Many artists had to leave the country,

including us, Dad.

Upon leaving my grandfather and my grandmothers,

I asked them to promise me

to write a letter to me every week.

I remember the Saturday evenings in Beirut, Dad...

Armenian artists like you would gather together at our place.

You would write nostalgic songs and sing them,

and my Mom would play the cello.

And me, I would listen.

The days passed slowly, and so did life.

Outside, the rain came down with gray joy.

The shadow of the candle flickered on the wall in silence.

At night, your open wings were gently growing.

Blue bird,

tender bird.

I stayed.

Blue bird, magical bird.

Mom and you came back to live in Armenia.

As for me, I stayed in Beirut, where I studied cinema.

For my graduation film,

I wrote a role for you.

I came to Yerevan and filmed you in your office.

How are you, Dad?

Good morning.

What are you doing?

Wait. Wait a minute.

The story of our family closely resembles that of the Armenian people.

A story of separation, immigration, and reunion.

"Wine", the first film by Bagrat Hovhannisyan.

Andrei Tarkovsky was the artistic director.

During World War II,

a young boy wandered around the train station every day,

waiting for his soldier father to return.

Vahik!

Quick, quick! Come!

They are waiting for you. Your father!

Dear Sahak, come. Let's go home.

Return.

Search.

Memories.

Loss.

Oblivion.

Waiting.

Meeting.

Is it possible?

Is it possible to forget?

Is it possible to return to the past?

Is it possible?

Those who return are ghosts.

I am Hamo Jalalyan from Dilijan!

I am Hamo Jalalyan from Dilijan!!! I am Hamo Jalalyan from Dilijan!!!

Am I becoming a ghost like you?

What are you singing?

No cross or statue...

A simple plot of land.

In a deserted field, all alone in silence,

He is lying down without anyone paying attention.

In his wounded chest with innumerable injuries,

An invincible tempest of noble ideas.

No more whispers.

His tired head on the chest of his motherland,

He doesn't hear the painful world cry.

His soul is sleeping...

The bright and ardent stars

light up his tomb.

The smell of herbs,

the odor of incense.

I realized it quite late

that I had a father in cinema.

Dad, I know you will understand me.

I mean an Armenian film director,

whose successor I would like to be.

Frunze Dovlatyan.

The Prince of Nostalgia.

Often, Dovlatyan acted in his own films.

He played the main character in the film "The Lonely Walnut."

Dovlatyan’s films are like poems

about Armenian identity,

about the journey and about the roots.

The ghosts haunt us everywhere.

Sona!

In any case, someone comes here regularly.

Dovlatyan’s obsessions are familiar to me.

I see myself in them.

Me, who always wants to return…

Having spent years in Lebanon,

I moved to Paris.

I am filling the gap of being far from Armenia

by making films there.

This scene reminds me of our farewells, Dad.

It was the same scene, in the airport.

Come. Let's go.

- This is food for the road. - Goodbye.

Moreover, Dad, he looks like you.

Your friend, director David Safaryan,

sent me the making of his film "28-94 Local Temperature."

It's one of your last films.

It is extremely painful for me to watch these images.

You were supposed to act in my feature film.

You were waiting for it impatiently.

And you were proud of me.

Hello.

Have you come?

- Are you tired? - Yes, I am tired.

- Then sleep, sleep. - I will sleep.

My journey is coming to an end.

Sos Artashesovich, Dad, I will leave for now.

Thank you for having welcomed me into your circle.

But I will be back,

to my home.