Intensive mode in conditions of isolation

After the latest Giedrė Žickytė's work we can already speak about the trilogy dedicated to the parallel, informal culture. Underground artist Artūras Barysas-Baras was the protagonist of the film "Baras" (2009). Then followed the flamboyant parade of the rock band Antis ("How We Played the Revolution, 2011). Current film "Master and Tatyana" is about the photographer Vitas Luckus, who never managed to fit in with the canon of art photographers during the Soviet times.

This trilogy has one strange thing in common. It's – the animals! And not just any animals, but wild and exotic ones. Here, for example, we learn that Baras loved the circus and the zoo. And at the same time we see how this artist treats the caged animals to some cigarettes. Luckus had given a lion cub to his wife as a present; Simba lived for some time in the Luckus' apartment. Excess of freedom behind the walls, behind the cage bars, when deficiency and boundaries can become an advantage – such is the underlying theme of Žickytė's trilogy. Antis (Duck) is, of course, a more prosaic bird. But it's enough to remember the figurative meaning of this word ("false news spread by media"), for it to attract the field of meanings of phantasmagorical, grotesque and often deceptive life.

Documentaries by Žickytė are simple, sober, unpretentious, combining archival material with the memories of contemporaries. On the other hand, the director is not avoiding cultural mythology, so she complements the well-established within the culture narratives with brighter, more elaborate plots. After the last year's retrospective exhibition of Luckus work, quite a few venturesome, dangerous stories associated with him emerged. That mythical trail continues also in this film. Luckus' friends wistfully remember the ambitious parties, the vagabond lifestyle of the unrecognized classic, and that amazement that they encountered after entering the luxurious bohemian apartment of Luckus family for the first time.

But no less important than the mythical stories, I found the eternal question of perception and evaluation of the artist's status in the society. It's a pity that in the film it is somewhat drawn into the background, but it emerges here and there, often accompanied by a bitter and even painful intonation. As is known, during his lifetime, Luckus had not been properly recognized. Without clear objective reasons (non-compliance with the Soviet canon), unsubmissive Luckus' character is remembered; tension can be felt between Luckus and Antanas Sutkus, who was the chairman of the Union of Photographers at the time and who had to combine friendship with his duty; there are hints of envy of the colleagues. But what could be the recognition at that time? Albums, solo exhibitions, prizes? But the canon is formed far beyond the official opinion and evaluation. Rather, it should be said that there is more than just one canon, and in certain circles Luckus was and remained at the top of the hierarchy.

Another important apprehension again comes to mind already beyond the film's discourse. I have in mind the paradox, that that parallel, unrecognized culture was not completely autonomous world beyond the political structures. On the contrary, it was linked with the official culture through the intersection points; it was possible to belong to both cultures at the same time. Looking at somewhat later times, we can remember Algirdas Kaušpėdas, the character of the film "How We Played the Revolution" who was an architect, active member of legal organizations, or Margarita Starkevičiūtė's story how the Komsomol people risked organizing rock concerts in order to get some cash for their own parties. Perhaps only in case of the most radical dissidents we can talk about straighter, purified posture. By the way, Baras, despite his somewhat untidy appearance or image, for me still seems very solid, harmonious personality, who turned the Soviet ideology and constraints into excellent setting for self-expression.

In the words of Antanas Sutkus, all of that was schizophrenia cubed. However, if we dismiss the medical meaning, such an approach could be very productive if we try to grasp the practice of life and survival at that time, when the same person could be pushed to the outsiders' class, but occasionally be officially published, be unappreciated top class artist, but receive fabulous fees for applied, commissioned photography.

In this regard, Luckus was immensely vivid resident of such world in which the parallels intersect and in which it is possible to have diverse status at the same time. As we learn from the film, this was a man who could easily find his way into any strata of the society, who communicated with the most prominent artists, criminal elements, cream of the government. Of course, we can also see just a certain type of personality, features of which are especially highlighted by the time Luckus lived in. The film is almost silent on the work of Luckus, except for the words of praise from his friends. However, there are plenty of photos, and from them erupts the collage of such reality which is assembled from coincidences and is disintegrating in all directions. "Self-disrupting world" – Donskis named so the times of Sąjūdis in the film "How We Played the Revolution".

And what about the story of Master and Tatyana, that great love, raised to the title of the film, with a whiff of the cruel romance? It is well known that Bulgakov's story defies being easily transferred to the screen or on stage. Fortunately, thanks to the subtlety of the delicate Tatyana, and, apparently, the director, the film manages to stay away from the traps of women's magazines' style. Just from the photos of Tatyana radiant with cine-genicity, from double portraits of her and her husband, another film in the film is assembled.

In fact, Tatyana played an important role in preserving Luckus' archives and, after a few decades lived in America, bringing them to these times, when the place of the photographer in the canon is being reconsidered. Films of Žickytė's trilogy are completed with images of neat present reality: illuminated avenue on a wet winter evening, glass business centres, clean space of an art gallery. And, i must admit, question comes: is this really the right time and the right place for people who are ahead of their time? Is there such a thing at all as the right time and the right place for these people? After all, an open and free society after flashes of short interest so easily returns to the mode of sluggishness.