- The Northerners is a cycle of film essays with a focus on Northern individualism and tells the story of everyday life of three people that share no formal ties and live on the Kola Peninsula.
- The northern territories of Russia have never been densely populated. People have always struggled to make a living here, surviving on fishing and hunting. In the 20th century, as the natural resource potential of the North was unleashed, it's large scale exploration began. Through tremendous effort, production and infrastructure centers were erected, with people being sent to work in them from all parts of the Soviet Union. Some were guided by romantic motives, others were more attracted by the 'North' salaries. The idea was for people to live there temporarily, working in shifts. But as they say in Russia, 'there is nothing more permanent than the temporary'. The ambitious scope of North territory exploration sank into oblivion together with the Soviet Union, yet the stereotype of 'quickly earning a good buck and coming back' persists. It's amazing that many of those who came to earn some money ended up starting a family and settling in the harsh conditions of the North. Travelling around Karelia and the Kola Peninsula in search of filming locations, I was surprised to discover completely different people with incredibly similar stories: "I came to make some extra money. I though I wouldn't stay long, but I got drawn into it and ended up staying. I got married and don't want to leave... The North lures you in. Here it's all different." I got interested in the phenomenon. The more I spoke to these people, the more I started to wrap my mind around their special way of perceiving the world, their special rhythm of life, the way they treat themselves and others. They are not afraid to structure their lives around natural cycles, to speak concisely, to keep their word, to always help strangers, but never expect help from anyone, and never blame anyone. I guess that's what Northern individualism Key Kesey refers to in his Sometimes a Great Notion is all about. That's when I got the idea of creating a cycle of short novellas about different people that came to work in the North but ended up staying for good. Simple folk that I working overtime on their shift. It was difficult to make a decision on the format and the language. I wanted to avoid being overly figurative, and yet I didn't want to abuse the setting and tactility. And I thought that perhaps a film essay, similar to the corresponding literary format, would be just what we need. Let the narrative rhythm be in line with the observed, let the artistic tools be simple and minimalist, and let documentary observation coexist peacefully with staged elements. It didn't sound too bad, and our long-time colleagues from Toyota Russia supported the idea on the condition that our characters would have any one of their cars ever released. We were lucky to find such characters. Chapter 1. Igor. Igor is a Kola Peninsula polar aviation squad commander. He is on duty every three days. For the villagers living in the Arctic tundra, with no roads or infrastructure, he is almost the only means of communicating with the outside world. Going on vacation, getting fuel for a tractor, or shelves for the local library, or a washing machine, or just going to see one's loved ones: his social missions are always packed. "And then when something actually goes wrong... God forbid, a kid falls sick, or there is a fire... Then I got no choice but to fly out. If there is any visibility or flight weather at all... And you can see what the weather here is like," Igor sighs. He never wanted to be compared to his father, never wanted to spend his life like his old man, being thrown up and down in a helicopter over the tundra. Like all his mates from the Academy, he dreamed of big aviation and trans-Atlantic flights, but, as fate would have it, he ended up being sent to Murmansk to his father's squad. Tough 90's arrived, and planes at their provincial airport turned out to be in such low demand that Igor decided to switch to the helicopter. And it all worked out: his family, his career, respect from the community, something that's extra important in the North. You won't get far without respect here. It was no longer his father, but Igor himself that they were waiting for in these villages in the middle of nowhere, while his father worked as his dispatch operator. Igor isn't much of a talker. We can only guess what he is thinking about, standing there a few steps away from the buzzing crowds, watching people load his machine somewhere on the edge of the world; or watching his teenage son launch his quadrocopter, dreaming of big aviation.... Chapter 2. Vassily. High tides followed by low tides, the Northern wind followed by mist, the Polar day followed by the seemingly endless Polar night... Nature itself sets the rhythm of life on the Kola Peninsula. One shift followed by another, day after day, dry cargo ships replaced by tankers; tiny tug boats, like ants, endlessly pulling huge barges, steamers and ice-breakers, from the port terminals to the open waters of the Barents Sea and back. Marine pilots, navigation officers, captains, shore duty personnel... It might take them years to meet each other in person, yet their voices are there on the radio in any weather, travelling dozens of miles in pitch darkness through the impenetrable fog. There are no outcasts here. Brief orders, hellos, and jokes are exchanged. They have learned to pick up on every minute change in the intonations of their buddies, even through the broken signal/ Vassily became one of these guys, when he got sent here after serving with the sea fleet in 1995. Just like everyone else, he wasn't planning on staying long. He just wanted to earn some cash, build up some experience, and then sail off to somewhere where it's a bit warmer. But the end of the 90's crushed a lot of plans. The crisis, unemployment, and the once prospering Northern port found itself on the brink of ruin. "I had to find a way to survive, to feed my family, to support my kids... In other words, I got drawn in..." Vassily says. He took every odd job he could find. He went out to sea, and grew to be a tug ship captain. Now every three days his slightly burry yet confident voice joins in the port radio polyphony. "Plans?" Vassily smiles, "The sea has plans of its own." The sea feeds us, the sea gives us work, but it wants something in return... There is always a price to be paid. Chapter 3. Volodya. After serving in the army, Volodya swore to himself to never work as a porter, driver, or woodcutter. A smart village boy from somewhere in the Vologda region, he ended up in Kondupohju by accident. Back in the army, he met a girl over the phone, and as soon as he was demobilized, he went straight to her to try his fate. And he did. He got married. His plan was to make a bit of money and to take his wife to Saint Petersburg. He started off as a porter, but the pay wasn't good, so he found a job as a logging truck driver. His first daughter was born, but he still wasn't making enough money to make the move. Those in the know told him the timber company was looking for woodcutters and was willing to pay a good buck to skilled guys. Turns out that machinery in the Karelian taiga that had once replaced manual labour was useless when it came to rugged terrain, swamps and rocks. But years of automation meant there were almost no manual tree cutting experts out there, and those that were left were worth their weight in gold. "I had a go. Turns out I wasn't too bad at it," Volodya says modestly. He is now in charge of three woodcutting teams and multiple Lumberjack World Champion. Unlike our other characters, it's been a while since he actually needed to serve his time in the woods, but the taiga just won't let him go. Every morning he takes his workers to the plots himself. He then starts a fire and picks up his saw. Life in the taiga has taught him a lot, aligning his existence with its natural cycles: in the spring he feeds wild boar, in October he is out on the lakes, because there is an abundance of fish and you can't leave it too long, because November is the start of the timber logging season... "It's just that I quit drinking when Ulyasha. I've been sober for 9 years now," Volodya jokes, having breakfast in the kitchen of his spacious house. Perhaps so, but one can't help feeling that he feels far less at ease here, among all this luxury, than by his little fire in the middle of the taiga.
Contribute to this page
Suggest an edit or add missing content