Chapter 1: Animation in Soviet and post-Soviet Reality

Early animation in Russia

Cinema has entered its second century. Russian feature film and the animation

tradition have recently celebrated its joint hundred years jubilee by acknowledging the

first Russian narrative film by Vladimir Romashkov

Ponizovaya Vol’nitsa

Stenka
Razin

) (Ponizovaya Vol’nitsa (Stenka Razin), 1908), the first animated stop motion

film

with

plot

Lucanus

Cervus

(1910)

and
the

first

animated

puppet

film

Prekrasnaya Lyukonida ili Voyna Usachei s Rogachami

(The Beautiful Lyukanida or

The Battle Between Stag Beetles and Long-horn Beetles, 1912), both produced and

directed by Vladislav Starevich (W

ł

adys

aw Starewicz).

The first Russian film studio 'had been founded as late as 1908’ (Parkinson, 1995:

71). The evolving domestic industry had to struggle with strong competition from

imported European films of that time. Nevertheless, 'starting with a silent era, Russian

cinematographers were at the forefront of discoveries in cinema' (Beumers, 2007: 1).

State censorship was not as heavy as it would be two decades later, and there was

some support and a favorable attitude towards cinema from the rulers. Significantly,

the new industry was not centrally controlled and was privately financed instead.

Further, the State generally was not actively involved in creating the ‘right’ type of

material for the masses.

The only exception was the period during World War I when patriotic propaganda
came to life and the Skobolev’s Committee was established. It had an 'exclusive right

to take motion pictures at the Russian front' and 'expended its activities in 1915 to

See new findings of Beumers’s on Shiryaev’s animated films (Beumers, Bocharov,

and Robinson, 2009) later in the chapter.

57

include the production of patriotic feature films' (Jahn, 1995: 155-156). Meanwhile

most of the home film market was loaded with melodramas many of which had a
tragic 'Russian ending' (Morley, 2007: 15) and Vera Kholodnaya’s passions.

As LeBlanc argues:

The true interest of the bourgeoisie is that the cinema should make up for what

people do not have in life. The pseudo-satisfaction they find there may be

sexual, political, emotional or metaphysical, there is something for all the

different kinds of alienation engendered by capitalism. The audience tacitly

delegates their power to change the world to the characters on the screen. The

famous ‘window’ that the bourgeois cinema is supposed to open on the world

is never anything other than a method of permitting the audience to live an

imaginary life within a non-existent reality.

(LeBlanc, cited in Rodowick, 1994: 86)

As for animation and its development in pre-revolutionary Russia, for a long time

Starewicz was considered to be a pioneer in this sphere with his '

a-la-Levsha

'

experiments with insects animated on screen. However, recent findings showed that

Alexander Shiryaev – a Russian ballet dancer – made animated films as early as

1905-1909 and, therefore, preceded Starewicz (Beumers, Bocharov and Robinson,

2009). Shiryaev’s films were not released publicly and, at least in Russia, the

beginning of animation is still considered to start with Starewicz’s films, which he

fanatically created in

kinoatelie

(film studio) of Khanzhonkov, developing new

techniques and methods for making and recording puppet animation.

After the revolution of 1917, when the new Bolshevik regime came to power, it

brought with it a brief period of freedom and a fresh cinematic Constructivist-

58

Marxist-Socialist approach. It was this time that gave rise to Eisenstein’s and
Kuleshov’s montage theories, Vertov’s experiments with camera and lens, and the so

called 'Soviet school'.

Generally 'in the 1920s animators were relatively free to experiment with the medium

that wasn’t yet reaching the masses' (Beumers, 2008: 159). Many experiments of the

1920s created by Russian enthusiasts became more acclaimed abroad than at home,

firstly because the freedom of experiments in their home country was gradually being

exterminated and was substituted with a government-regulated mass product (some

filmmakers of the early days, such as the above mentioned Starewicz, emigrated); and

secondly because Soviet people tended to escape from the gloomy reality of the civil

war by watching imported light entertainment films rather than home produced

products

(Gillespie,

2000).

True

that

cinema
was

very

popular

means

of

entertainment among Soviet people but the higher echelons of power quickly realised

that it could also be a very powerful tool of propaganda as well. This attitude would

not change in either Soviet or in post-Soviet times. Indeed the role of the media
should not be underestimated, and as Mary Celeste Kearney rightly argues:

The media are among our most powerful agents of entertainment, information,

and socialization. While older social institutions, such as the family, church,

state, and educational system, still play important roles in our lives, the media

have increasingly become powerful regulators of individual behavior and

social practices.

(Kearney, 2012: 3)
Almost

every

book

on

Soviet

cinema

cites

Lenin’s

famous

statement

on
the

importance of the seventh art to the new socialist state, or what Liehm and Liehm

59

termed as 'the ideological-propagandistic concept of film art, the pedagogical role that

cinematograph

was

given,

and

the

almost
mystical

faith

in

its

effectiveness

determined [...] its exceptional position' (Liehm & Liehm, 1977: 202-203). Taking

into account that Russia entered the twentieth century with almost eighty per cent of

its population being illiterate, the moving image was certainly a very convenient and

visual way for Bolsheviks to address the new Soviet citizens (Youngblood, 1992;
Christie and Taylor, 1991; Lawton, 1992). As Richard Taylor puts it in his Editor's

preface to Peter Kenez book on cinema and Russian society:

Soviet cinema developed from a fragile but effective tool to gain support

among the overwhelmingly illiterate peasant masses in the civil war that

followed the October 1917 Revolution, through a welter of experimentation,

into a mass weapon of propaganda through entertainment that shaped the

public image of the Soviet Union.

(Taylor, 2001: vii)

The film industry was nationalized on 27 of August 1919. Although there was a

temporary and slight deviation to commercial advertising in animation during NEP

(New Economic Policy), gradually a system of Soviet (socialist) cultural production,

which would function until the end of the USSR, was established. According to

George Faraday, the system was characterised by the following points:

1.

State monopoly: The Party-State assumed responsibility for all aspects

of cultural production, distribution, and exhibition.

2.

Bureaucratic

Control:

Each

sector

of
cultural

production

was

administrated through a system of bureaucratic institutions in which, in theory,

60

senior

management

exercised

complete

authority
over both

creative

and

organizational question.

3.

Aesthetic-Ideological Orthodoxy: All authorized cultural producers

were expected to conform to a single system of aesthetic and ideological

norms established by the Party leadership.

(Faraday, 2000: 52 - 53)

A succession of film industry state committees – the first one

Goskino

(the USSR

State

Committee

for

Cinematography)

active

1922-1924,
then

Sovkino

(Soviet

Committee for Cinematography), functioning 1924-1930;

Soyuzkino

1930-1963 and

again

Goskino

1963-1991 – decided what to produce or ban, what to show, what to

‘shelve’ and what ideological message must be delivered to the Soviet citizens. As

Haynes notes, 'Party officials demonstrated that, alongside teaching the illiterate to

write and read [...], they were also attempting to teach the population at large how to

read the films in line with Party doctrinal requirements' (Haynes, 2003: 10).

In the 1920s propaganda was for the most part transparent and explicit. The films

were honestly called

agitki

(agitation films) and carried ideological messages. Similar

to the first Soviet feature films most of the early animated films (called at that time

‘dynamic graphics’) were mainly types of

politagitki

– short films depicting in the

most favourable light the new government, ‘rule of proletariat’, class struggle or the

collectivisation campaign. A good example of these propaganda films are Vertov’s

Kino-Pravda

(Film Truth) – newsreels produced between 1922 and 1925.

61

Beumers describes early Soviet animation as ‘animations [which] do not allow the

animated world to incorporate events that could not happen in the real world’

(Beumers,

2008:

159).

Therefore,

they

stand

in
opposition

to

pre-revolution

Starewicz's works and also to later Soviet works influenced by the Party's policy and

Disney's fairytale stylistics.

The animation of that time had nothing to do with the future children’s animations

and fairytales on screen which would become one of the most potent and powerful

ideological tools to construct and deconstruct Soviet children’s identity, values,

behavior and pictures of the material world. Such animations would be developed

later. In the 1920s, 'most of the early Soviet animated films came out of political

manifestos and satirical vignettes; they were primarily caricatures and propaganda

works addressed to an adult audience' (Pontieri, 2012: 6). The era was characterised

by a rapid formation of the new socialist state that demanded active and well

understood ‘agitation’. Soviet cinema aimed at creating a beacon for what was a
massively uneducated audience. In this respect, the Soviet animations of that time

played a highly significant role in vividly articulating the urgent needs of the Party

through

educational

animations,

posters

and

political

caricatures.

Despite
quite

primitive

technology,

and

also

taking

into

account

the

animators’

predominant
backgrounds in design, animation of the early 1920s, nevertheless had some artistic

quality. 'Animation emerged as an independent art form that could create entire

stories for children and adults.' (Beumers, 2008: 155).

The first Soviet animation was a work directed by a renowned filmmaker Dziga

Vertov and was called

Segodnya

(Today, 1923, animators Volkov, Beliakov) – a lost

animation, produced in the

Kino-Pravda

series. Laura Pontieri underlines though that

'it was Bushkin who had a bigger role than Vertov in early Soviet animation'

62

(Pontieri, 2012: 10). In the studio 'Kultkino' a team of artists that included Bushkin,

Ivanov and Beliakov created the first Soviet series of short animated black and white

films that were mainly dedicated to supporting the Soviet state’s opposition to
capitalist

and

bourgeois

principles:

Germanskie

Dela

Delishki

(The

German

Business and Affairs, 1924) and

Istorya Odnogo Razocharovanya (Boris Savinkov)

(‘The Story of One Disappointment (Boris Savinkov), 1924).

Some animations of that time were created using a simple technique in which flat

two-dimensional puppets were cut out from thick cardboard and then placed on a

glass or a shooting table with a drawn background behind it. Alternatively they were

directly put on a hand-drawn background and moved to create motion. However most

films were basic line drawn animations that conveyed their ideological anti-capitalist
message with simplicity, clarity and humour, for example

Sovetskie Igrushki

(The

Soviet Toys, 1924) and

Yumoreski

(Humoresques, 1924).

Further, the development of animation in the USSR was supported by the creation of

the first experimental animation workshop at the State College of Film in Moscow in
1924. Among students there were soon-to-be well-known animators and at that time

graduates

of

VHUTEMAS

(Higher

Art

and

Technical

Studios)

-
Khodataev,

Syedyshev, Merkulov, Komissarenko, as well as female animators including Olga

Khodataeva, and the sisters Brumberg.

It is important to underline that female filmmakers have been historically more

present in the field of animation than in feature film production. Although the film

industry has been (and still is) widely considered to be a male dominated industry,

3
Some other examples of this type film are

Komu Chto Snitsa

(Everybody has Their

Own Dreams, 1924);

Sluchai v Tokyo

(A Case in Tokyo, 1924);

Kar’era MacDonalda

(MacDonald’s Career, 1925).

63

Russian animation, especially the production of fairytale films, has heavily involved
women animators. Later, this observation will be integrated in the analysis of the

films.

Returning to the first animation workshop, as a team working at the film studio

Mezhrabpom-Rus

, the above mentioned groups of artists strove for new ways to

overcome the technical complexities and limitations of hand-drawn films. Thus in

1925 for the first time Soviet animators used a so-called

albomnii

(sketchbook)

method. All the movements were divided into cyclical motions, which could be

repeated many times and this represented a considerable advance in the stylistic

complexity and sophistication that was available. One of the first Soviet animations of

this type was the film

Kitaj v Ogne (Ruki Proch' ot Kitaia!)

(China on Fire (Hands off

from China!), 1925).

Creating a soviet citizen, building a bright future

In 1926 at the film studio Mezhrabpom-Rus, established during NEP politics as a

private joint German-Russian venture, a team of artists Merkulov, Cherkes, Ivanov-

Vano and operator Kosmatoe began working on the first Soviet children's animated

film

Sen’ka-Africanets

(Senka the African, 1927). The animation was an adaptation of

a fairytale

Krokodil

(Crocodile) by the Soviet children’s writer Chukovsky. The film

was released in the beginning of 1927 to a positive reception in the press. Importantly

the film successfully attracted a young audience.

This success, along with the Party’s politics and academic critical support (Ulovich,

1927), encouraged other artists to start creating children's movies and animation.

64
Thus, in 1927 there were two children’s animations produced and again they were

based on Chukovsky’s fairytales:

Tarakanische

(Big Cockroach, 1927); and

Moidodir

(Moidodir, 1927). Then came a world-famous animation

Katok

(The Skating Ring,

1927). While the animation was made in a naive children's drawings style, it
conveyed a good sense of speed over the ice which was considered innovative at that

time.

Generally, animation production showed a stable growth towards the end of 1920s

and new film and animation studios were opening not only in the Russian Soviet

Federative Socialist Republic but in other Soviet republics as well. Thus, in 1927

'Ivanov (1899-1959) obtained permission from Sovkino [...] to organize an animation

department at Mezhrabpomfilm, the main Soviet film studio in Moscow' (Beumers,

2008: 155). By the end of the 1920s such ‘soon-to-be famous’ artists as Tsehanovsky,

Amalrik, Mizyakin, Belyakov, Babichenko, started working in animation. Developing

their own styles as artists they were also searching for new technological methods and

solutions.

This early period of Soviet animation manifested itself with a variety of genres and

formats. At the end of the 1920s, in animation, there was a new tendency to create
well recognisable characters that would feature in series of animations, such as Tip-

Top, Bratishkin, Buzilka (all proper names of the characters, albeit untranslatable).

These animations were on the border between children’s animation and political

propaganda, and carried a certain 'political or social message' (Pontieri, 2012: 18).

Animation at the end of the 1920s was of much higher quality than the films of just a

few

years
before.

The

Party

was

putting

the

emphasis

on

production

values,

considering
the

effectiveness

of

the

medium

as

means

by

which

to

convey
ideological messages to the young audience. The intention was also to draw more

65

people to watch the films, as films with higher production values were more

interesting and attractive to the growing population. Nevertheless, 'by 1928 the party

was expressing regular dissatisfaction with both the form and content of Soviet-made

features' (Haynes, 2003: 32); so a new approach was developed in which the content

became targeted in a more differentiated way.

The years 1928-29 saw the emergence of new films produced specifically aimed at

children. However, none of them was a fairytale. It would take another ten years for

the

first

national

fairytale

animated

adaptations

to
be

produced,

as

censorship

committees, following the party line, were first reluctant to allow folk material to be

adapted to the screen, as the stories were often seen as ‘atavism’, and a vestige of the

past and of the old regime. Folklore itself was widely criticized, thus Clark in her

work on Soviet literature cites Gorky who advocated the 'necessity of purifying the
literature language and expunging all regionalism, earthiness, and folkisms from

Soviet prose' (Gorky in Clark, 2000: 150).

A good example of the first attempts of the Soviet government to implement new

ideological politics in cultural products, created specifically for children, is the

animation

Samoyedskii Malchik

(The Samoyed Boy, 1928). The animation is based

on an original script and tells a story of a little Nenets, a Samoyed boy whose
adventures

bring

him

to

Leningrad

where

he

is

educated

to

understand
the

backwardness of his native people and their beliefs. The film is an ideologically

complicated piece of work as it, on the one hand, celebrates craft skills and local

customs, but on the other mocks religious vestiges of the northern peoples of Russia.

Laura Pontieri sees the animation as 'ambivalent', praising the 'immense' size of the

USSR and simultaneously controlling 'diversity' (Pontieri 2012: 17).

66
It is crucial to underline that by the end of 1920s the image of the child becomes a

central figure in the creation of a New Soviet Citizen (Balina and Rudova, 2008). As

for cinema in general during the 1930s decade 'more than one sixth of the entire

production of Soviet film studios, measured by title, was devoted to the young

audiences; in the years of the Great Terror, 1937-8, almost the only films made were

for children' (Kelly, 2007: 477). For the next two decades (1930s-1950s) animation

produced in the Soviet Union would be mostly made for children as well. Animation
for grown-ups emerges only briefly during World War II and later, in greater

proportion, during the ‘Thaw’ period of the 1960s.

During Stalin’s rule the ‘nurturing’ of a new Soviet citizen became more simplified

and standardized than it was in post-revolution years, with children’s cultural content

put on a ‘conveyor’. Thus Birgit Beumers follows Prokhorov in saying that at the All-

Union Party Conference in March 1928 'the ideological use of cinema for children
became a focal point' (Beumers, 2008: 156). However, it is exactly Beumers who

simultaneously exempts animation from ideological influence. Beumers argues that,

'Soviet animation was much less affected by ideological constraints and thus was able

to instill in children universal moral values of right and wrong and often make

subversive comments on contemporary society' (Beumers, 2008: 154).

Of

course

the
first

task

in

approaching

ideology

in

Russian

animation

is

the

formulation of the terminology. What exactly does Beumers define as 'ideological

constraints'? As argued earlier in the chapter, mostly Soviet cinema studies consider

communism and socialist realism as the main focal points, often excluding implicit

matrixes

such

as

gender

politics

that

are
present

in

those

ideologies.

Thus

contemporary research tends to set children’s material aside from the rest of the media

content produced (MacFadyen, 2005), assuming the ‘pure’ nature of such content. In

67

this newly developed trend contemporary Russian scholars somewhat differ from
their colleagues who worked during Soviet times, and who were involved in keenly

debating the cultural war between East and West through a rigid high-brow view of

Soviet reality both off and on screen. For example Liehm and Liehm (1977) argue

that 'the cold war atmosphere even dominated children’s films, filling them with

instructions to be watchful' (p. 67). Meanwhile, both schools of researchers are

similar in their approach to the ‘filtration’ of what ideology is, depending on the

epoch their critical works were produced.

However, the political message which films for children carried and continue to carry

nowadays do not differ that much from the content for adults, at least with regard to

gender representation. As outlined in the Introduction, only a few scholars have

elaborated on the gender issues in Russian animations, which in its turn highlights a

lack of adequate feminist studies concerned with the discourse of Russian animation.

Returning to the construction of the new citizen and a bright future, along with feature
filmmakers who discovered through film a ‘potential to construct a different reality, to

build through montage the perfect Utopia, and thus made it open to abuse for the

purpose of constructing a myth instead of an identity’ (Beumers, 2006a: 1), animators

were set to construct children’s identities both as Soviet citizens and gendered beings,

creating a children’s picture of the world often in a prescriptive manner. The massive

ideological project was launched at the end of 1920s. Films of that time were not

‘intended to portray ‘reality’ at all, but do in fact function rather well as modern fairy
tales'

sic

(Haynes, 2003: 68). Similar to feature films which ‘existed to raise the spirit

of the people, to set moral standards, to show ‘reality’ in positive and bright colours,

or to depict the path to the ‘bright future' ' (Beumers, 2006a: 1), animation became a

68

crucial part of a political cultural doctrine – Socialist Realism – officially adopted in

1930s and destined 'to dominate the Soviet arts to the very end' (Hutchings, 2007: 69).
Stalin’s Socialist Realism of the 1930s, which, according to Evgenii Dobrenko

(2007b), was destined to become the most effective sociopolitical tool of the Soviet

state, put the end to a turbulent post-revolutionary decade when filmmakers and

animators could still ask questions, criticize and mock the government. Starting with

the end of 1930s the machinery of propaganda began working at full capacity.

According to Haynes, 'socialist realism was introduced as a means to transcend the

apparent dichotomy between commerce and ideology' (Haynes, 2003: 24). Starting

with the 1930s all available media propaganda, employed by the State, began to form

a coherent manageable system that would extinguish creative freedom and create a

new type of a ‘human being’. However, most importantly, this ‘being’ was gendered.

Referring to the beginning of Stalinist culture Liehm and Liehm argue:

Stalinism and Zhdanovism played several fundamental roles in Soviet culture

and, particularly, in Soviet film: they destroyed the heritage of the old avant-
garde, branding it un-Soviet and hostile; they made of the nineteenth century

an aesthetic norm and a standard of taste, simplifying its romantic view of the

people, of folklore, and of traditions, its descriptive, narrative realism, and

transforming

them

into

sort

of
vulgar

pseudoromanticism

and

pseudorealism.

(Liehm & Liehm, 1977: 70)

Starting with the end of the 1920s and finishing with World War II 'cinema became

an apologist for collectivization, which went hand-in-hand with the suppression of the

69
individual and the personal, even up to the point of the displacement of private life as

a legitimate subject for portrayal on screen'

sic

(Stishova, 1993: 178). Feature films of

the 1930s were creating a 'vanished reality' (Taylor, 2007), playing both entertaining

and ideological functions 'to divert the mass audience of workers and peasants from

their difficulties and to offer them the hope that the future would be better and the

present sacrifices were not in vain' (ibid.: 79).

Similar to feature films, animation of the decade presents us with valuable media

samples of political ideological constructions of the period both explicitly, for

example in

Parovoz, Leti Vpered

(Train, Go Forward, 1932), or implicitly in

Skazka o

Tsare Durandae

(Fairytale about Tsar Durandai, 1934); the latter film being a blunt
critique of the country's imperial past. Over this time it was a medium that created

political and ideological implications and it was also well known for its use of so

called 'full animation' technique. Although during this period animated films were

mainly concerned with political caricature, it is still extremely interesting as

Skazka o

Tsare Durandae

(Fairytale about Tsar Durandai, 1934) (cf. CD, folder 1, track 1) is

the first animated film produced in Soviet Russia based on a compilation of traditional
fairytales plots and characters. It tells a story of a tsar who tries to win the love of a

tsarina with the help of a common man. The film is a twenty-minute black-and-white

animation, with sound. Significantly, it takes the form of a fairytale about class

struggle in which national mythology is utilised as a political tool. The film starts with

skomorokhi

who are medieval East Slavic troubadours. They sing, dance, play

musical instruments and compose dramatic performances such as fairytales, dancing

and

singing

some

entertainment

songs

prefaced

with

the

traditional

fairytale
beginning '

eto tol’ko priskazka, skazka v peredi'

('It’s just the beginning, the fairytale

is ahead’). The

skomorokhi

start by telling viewers that this will be a fairytale about

70

Durandai-the-Terrible (the name Durandai is consonant with

durak

- a fool) and
beautiful Tsarina Tetekha (though in the animated film it is a proper name, in Russian

language the word '

tetekha

' means a clumsy or overweight woman, and visually the

character is depicted in an unattractive manner), blacksmith Sila (which in Russian

language means Power), and a blind-maid Talani. As frequently happens in fairytales,

the Tsarina Tetekha gives her suitors three tasks. The figure of the tsar is caricatured,

as is his power and kingdom. He has short stature and a fragile body. His symbol of
power which is a

Monomakh

'

Cap is too big for him. Importantly for this research,

the tsar speaks with a very high pitched female voice, thus underlining his weakness

and femininity, which is set against a bass voice of blacksmith Sila - the servant,

representing here the working class of the country. This correlation of voice and
masculinity/femininity

is

also

something

that

will

be

encountered

later

in

representations of Baba Yaga, who was often dubbed by male voice-actors.

Although the film is not a part of the samples under detailed study, it is important to

have a brief discussion of it, as the representation of the Tsarina Tetekha in the film is

one of the first attempts to utilise national fairytale as a means of exercising gender

politics on screen. As will be shown, many examples of similar female representation

on screen occur as the field of animation develops. The films, most of them included

in this research, will follow some gender ‘canons’ established by

Fairytale about Tsar

Durandai

film. The Tsarina Tetekha is shown in a similar sardonic way as the tsar.

Although she is depicted in a very negative way, in the end of the film she wins over

the tsar and takes away his kingdom, emphasising the importance of the class struggle

over gender question in the post-revolution years. The Tsarina Tetekha’s shrill and

commanding voice would be borrowed by a future adaptation of Cinderella (1947) in

which the evil stepmother has similar vocal qualities and is even similar in her
71

physical appearance. The tsarina whistles like a man and her movements lack grace or

femininity. She is also much bigger in size than her bridegroom - the tsar. The twenty-

first century will see a similar representation of a female character in the popular

animation television series Masha's Fairytales, this time though the heroine will be

punished for her power and strength.

Another feature of the correspondence between the patriarchal relationship of female

appearance and character will also stand the test of time. As will be shown, the link

between character and appearance will be something that has been widely utilised by

animators throughout the century. The tsarina's appearance is far from what is defined

as beautiful in the patriarchal society and she is contrasted with the young maid

Talani, who is a slim young woman with long thick hair depicted in a submissive

position with her eyes cast down. (This is another prevalent aspect in the iconography
of

women

that

will

be

repeatedly

encountered

in

the

forthcoming

analyses).
Meanwhile the tsarina is overweight and curvy; she is a woman of power and when

she learns that the tsar did not perform the tasks himself, she throws him away and

punishes the blacksmith. The last act is actually reminiscent of the traditional fairytale

Slepoi i Beznogii

(Blind and Legless) which has a strong and independent female

heroine. (It is important to note that the last fairytale has never been adapted to the

screen). The tsarina's official seal is an imprint in black of herself, with protruding
breast similar to Paleolithic female statuettes, the face of a cat with exotic feathers on

its head. An animal (probably a lion) is beneath her. Even so the text reads

Tetekha

Prekrasnaya

(Tetekha-the-Beautiful) in a manner that is reminiscent of the character

of

Vasilisa Prekrasnaya

(Vasilisa-the-Beautiful) in national fairytales. Therefore,

Fairytale about Tsar Durandai

could be seen as somewhat a trendsetter for the future

generations of animated fairytales: a weak feminised figure of the tsar is combined

72

with masculinised, overweight and unattractive women in power who must be

punished or degraded, and meek young maidens who are praised and rewarded for

these qualities.

Returning to the development of animation in Russia, the Soviet animation of the

1930s was growing, enriched with new talented filmmakers and artists. The advent of

sound in cinema opened new paths for Soviet animation. One of the first sound

animated films was

Pochta

(Mail, 1930). While the film was originally made in 1929

the sound was added later in 1930. The animation was an adaptation of a Soviet poem

written by Marshak. The film tells the story of a letter addressed to the writer Boris

Zhitkov. The letter follows the addressee around the world, but finally reaches him
when he returns to Leningrad. The film became the first Soviet animated film to be

widely exhibited in cinemas. The innovative techniques utilised in the film include

unusual diagonal angles and the rhythmic organization of the drawings synchronised

with sound (Maliukova, 2006).

In March 1933 the first All-Union Conference

of

Animators

took
place.

This

conference had a significant impact on the future development of animation, as it

summarised the experience of the Soviet animators and identified a number of

specific activities that enhanced the production of hand-drawn films. The same year a

festival of American animation took place in Moscow. Disney won the hearts of both

the public and the industry professionals. However, as Kelly notes, Disney films were
regarded as 'unacceptable for Soviet consumption', but, nevertheless, would serve as a

‘model of technical perfection' (Kelly, 2007: 477). Regardless of the government’s

suspicion towards Disney films, as time went by Soviet animators would integrate

Disney’s aesthetics and blend it with their own.

73

Another technique which was destined to be widely utilised in fairytale films later and

which started its development in the 1930s was puppet animation. Ptushko was a
pioneer in this field in the USSR. His first puppet films include

Novii Guliver

(The

New Gulliver, 1935), which was a combination of a full-length feature film and

puppet animation, and the adaptation from the fairytale by Alexey Tolstoy

Zolotoy

Kljuchik

(The Golden Key, 1939). These films were a success both domestically and

internationally due to innovative technologies utilised in their production.

In

1936

an

animation

studio

Souzmultfilm

was

established

in

Moscow.
'

Mezhrabfilmpromfilm

was reorganized into two studios –

Soyuzdetfilm

(studio of

children’ films) and

Soyuzmultfilm

– an animation studio which received a ‘special

permit to produce animations for children' (Beumers, 2008: 156). Building on the
achievements of the previous years, Soviet animators of the 1930s were creating

content for children on a stable and regular basis. The new conglomerate was set to

become a recognizable brand and the largest studio in the USSR. The Studios’

prerogative

was

to

produce

didactic

films
for

children

and

youth

audiences,

combining educational and entertainment purposes. However, even the techniques

animators utilised were by now strictly observed and controlled by the government.

Thus, as Pontieri notices, ‘techniques such as cut-outs and puppet animation, in which

the director had to follow the entire development of the filmmaking process, were not
used again until the late 1950s.’ (Pontieri, 2012: 40).

The studio

Soyuzmultfilm

was making steady progress with technological aspects of

animation production, bringing colour into being with the first colour animated film

Sladkiy Pirog

(Sweet Pie, 1937). By that time the style of animation had developed

considerably. It had become more complex, with more animated elements in the scene
at any one time, the characters and animal figures being much more fully formed.

74

Importantly, by the end of the 1930s national fairytales found their niche. After the

First Congress of Russian Writers in 1934 and the influential speech by Maxim

Gorky, in which he had changed his position in regard to the folk tradition (Clark,

2000), the animation industry followed that lead. The first two adaptations of

traditional folktales were

Skazka pro Yemelyu

(Fairytale about Yemelya, 1938) and

Ivashko I Baba Yaga

(Ivashko and Baba Yaga, 1938). Both animated films will be

analysed in subsequent chapters.

The pre-war years were marked by a brief return of animated films for adults, all of

which carried political messages rather than just serving as entertainment. As Pontieri

argues, 'mythification of the past, exaltation of the present, and apotheosis of the
brilliant future found expression through new patriotic films' (Pontieri, 2012: 42). For

example the short film

Pobedniy Marshrut

(Winning Route, 1939) is about five-year

economic development plans and the growing power of the Soviet State. Another

example of the political agenda on screen is the film

Bojevie Stranitsi

(Battle Pages,
1939).

It

is

black-and-white

short

film portraying

the

Civil

War

in

Russia,
reminding the audience of the battles already won by the Soviet State. A similar

approach to Soviet patriotism was also inculcated in children’s animation, as in

Skazka o Soldate

(Fairytale about a Soldier, 1948). This film is also a part of the

samples under study and will be incorporated into the argument later. It illustrates

how during the war and post-war years animation was produced and utilised and the

ways it was related to the construction of the images of the motherland.

Unsurprisingly, the time during World War II saw less film productions. As Kelly

argues 'During the Great Patriotic War little attention was given to children’s cinema'

(Kelly, 2007: 477). Cinema in general was not on the priority list for the state, and

evacuated studios were not producing many films. 'Two brief periods of sharp

75

production decline, the post-Civil War years (1921-22) and the post-war Stalin years

(1948-51), saw fewer than twenty films a year completed' (Condee, 2009: 50).
Several years later at the end of the 1940s, though destroyed after World War II and

the repressions of the 1930s, the country was getting back on its feet. Meanwhile 'the

party ideology had become so oversimplified, especially in the fields of art and

culture. [...] All that was asked of art was that it be a weapon of day-to-day political

work.' (Liehm & Liehm, 1977: 47 - 48).

Post World War animation in Russia and Disney's spell

Although some scholars argue that the situation in the country after the war was

nothing but the screen image of reality presented to the world and the Soviet audience

(Beumers, Condee), one needs to remember that by the beginning of the 1950s, the

USSR had evolved from a mainly agrarian society with more than ninety percent of

the population working in agriculture into a major economy and industrial power in

the world. The postwar years brought the production of animation to a new level. This

period is considered to be the time when the Soviet style of animation finally
established itself. As Bendazzi notes, 'For fifteen years after the end of World War II,

Soviet animation was involved mainly in the production of children’s films, favouring

the classic technique of drawing on cells and the round American style' (Bendazzi,

1994: 177).

In the 1940s and throughout the 1950s there were attempts to utilise the newly

invented Walt Disney narrative and visual tools of animation. The traces of this are
clearly evident to filmmakers, experts and casual viewers alike. Thus the famous

animator Ivanov-Vano referred to this time as the ‘Disney Spell’ (Ivanov-Vano, 1984:

76

80). Eisenstein praised Disney in his emotional storytelling, naturalism, dynamism

and expressive movement on screen. He could not but admire synchronisation of

senses created by the American animator (Leyda, 1988). However Eisenstein was also

suspicious of Disney's creation of fairytale escapism and doubted that it could be

applicable to Soviet reality and objectives of the national animation.

It is important to note that Russian filmmakers did not blindly follow Disney-like

stylistics. Although they introduced Disney studio's greater degree of naturalism and

attention to detail and quality of the backgrounds, rotoscoping of movement, and of

course colour - nevertheless, they also searched for a traditional Russian ‘spirit’

(Pontieri, 2012; Beumers, 2008).

These attempts were actively discussed in writings

of that time. Eisenstein in his lectures underlined a necessity to detach from Disney,

and go with the line of Russian folklore (cited in Asenin 1974: 103). Thus, while

borrowing many elements from American animation the films remained very Russian

and in their visual style owed quite a lot to artistic traditions such as

Palekh

and

Belibin's drawings as in

Sestra Alenushka I Bratets Ivanushka

(Sister Alenushka and

her Little Brother Ivanushka, 1953).

However the films produced in the 1950s are significant for this research not only due

to their technical excellence and or technique but because the majority of the films

were created by female filmmakers both solely and in collaboration with their male

colleagues. Thus, two films were directed by Ivanov-Vano, and female director

Snezhno-Blotskaya:
Skazka o Mertvoi Tsarevne i Semi Bogatiriach

(Fairytale about

the Dead Princess and Seven Strong Knights, 1951); and

Gusi-Lebedi

(Geese-Swans,

For other examples of Disney's influence see films:

Lgunyshka

(Little Lier, 1941);

Skazka o Semi Bogatiriach

(Fairytale about Seven Strong Knights, 1951);

Alenkii

Tsvetochek

(Scarlet Flower, 1952); and

Gusi-Lebedi

(Geese-Swans, 1949).

77

1949). Another film

Sestra Alenushka I Bratets Ivanushka

(‘Sister Alenushka and her

Little Brother Ivanushka, 1953) was directed by Olga Khodotaeva. As this research

progresses it will identify repeatedly the close involvement of female directors in

Russian animation and, as stated earlier, this phenomenon would become an integral

part of the argument as it will shed light on the ways Russian women directors engage

with their own constructions of femininity on screen. The discourse on the traditional

male gaze and appropriation of femininity on screen has a long tradition, starting with

Mulvey, 1975. However, it has been argued by the Western scholars (Gaines, 1987;
Pilling, 1997; Law, 1997) that works created by women might challenge this reality.

Although we will return to this aspect later in the work, here it is important to

underline that the inclusion of the animator's gender is important in establishing

whether

the

point

made

by

Western
scholars

is

equally

applicable

to

Russian

animation.

Returning to the 1950s, on an ideological level post-war Stalin’s animation, as well as

Disney’s, had a ‘fleur’ of a ‘true happiness’, visual optimism and bright future. For
example, an urban fairytale mentioned earlier

Tsvetik-Semitsvetik

(Flower of Seven

Colours, 1948) is an adaptation of Katayev’s story, which has a bright triumphant

(and different from the original novel) final scene of sun-filled Moscow, happy Soviet

children, a rainbow, and of course the Kremlin in the background. On a stylistic and

aesthetic levels Disney’s influence was very strong until the Thaw of the 1960s. Even

the traditional national fairytales that were produced during the 1950s fell under this
foreign trend.

Another good example of the type of ideological messages which animation of the

period

sent

to

its

young

audience

can
be

found

in

the

colour

animated

film

Puteshestvie v Stranu Velikanov

(Trip to the Land of Giants, 1947). Here, the main

78
characters are a magical little boy and girl who travel by train and on foot across the

vast 'land of giants', which of course turns out to be the Soviet Union. The way in

which the little girl and boy get into the actual pictures of the book suggests that there

is no difference between representation and reality and the implicit suggestion is that

this film represents the truth! How different that is to the ways in which, say,

American animator Chuck Jones deconstructs the animated visual image.

As the trip to the Land of Giants unfolds, the male train conductor explains its
industry, riches, great construction and railways, while a colourful kaleidoscope of the

country's power is scrolled on the screen with high speed. The final scene states a

militaristic motto: ‘So that no one in the world, impinge our country and our dreams

we need coal and metal!’

As mentioned earlier, there was a vivid reluctance to produce adaptations of folk

material prior to World War II. The post-war years certainly gradually adopted a more
positive attitude. If in the 1920s-1930s the main ideological goal was to ‘destroy’ the

past, by the 1940s State politics allowed artists to return to Russian traditional tales.

The 1940s saw an increase in the production of this material and numerous national

fairytales were adapted to the screen:

Teremok

(Little Tower, 1945);

Skazka o Soldate

(Fairy Tale about a Soldier, 1948); and

Gusi Lebedi
(Geese – Swans, 1949).

While the main volume of animated folklore adaptations consisted of the fairytales

about animals, in comparison to earlier decades, there was still a significant number

of

magical

fairytales

that

were

produced
in

the

1950s.

Almost

every

year

Souyzmultfilm

released one and sometimes even two full-length animated fairytales

79

based on national material.

5
Generally, 'adaptations of fantastic tales become the main

trend [...] and the most successful among the young audience' (Pontieri, 2012: 47) at

that time.

Such established animators of the time as Ivanov-Vano, the sisters Brumberg, Olga

Khodataeva,

Alexandra

Snezhno-Blotskaya,

Al’marik,

and
Atamanov

adapted

classical literature and new Soviet fairytales to the screen by masterfully borrowing

from

traditional

art

motifs

and

styles

and
combining

them

with

technological

innovations. In terms of ideological analysis, post-war animations are seen by some

researchers as presenting 'magic not as a means of reaching a Stalinist utopia [...] but

as a way of redeeming a good behavior in children' (Beumers, 2008: 154). Thus, as

argued earlier, Soviet cinema scholars such as Beumers and MacFadyen often ‘de-
ideologise' magic on screen, ascribing to it educational purposes and an emotional

nature.

The educative function of the animated films should not be ignored of course and,

contrary to the previous argument, it is that same educational function that carries in

its roots the very ideological ‘feed’ of society. Moreover, as Soviet animators of the

1940s and 1950s were actively adapting Russian literature and folklore to the screen;

such appropriation of the national past and collective memory (in the form of
traditional fairytales adaptations) became a powerful tool through which to meet

certain educational goals that were infused with ideological messages for both the

1950s saw a massive influx of adapted fairytales. Overall six full-length films were

released: two in 1953

Volshebanya Ptitsa

(Magic Bird) and

Sestritsa Alenushka I
Bratets Ivanushka

(Sister Alenushka and Her Little Brother Ivanushka); two in 1957

V Nekotorom Tsarstve

(Once Upon a Time in a Kingdom) and

Skazka o Snegurochke

(Fairy Tale About Snegurochka); and two in 1954 and 1958

Tsarevna Lyagushka

(The Frog Princess) and

Krasa Nenaglyadnaya
(The Beloved Beauty) respectively.

80

young and adults alike. This is exactly the reason why animated fairytales must be

scrutinised. (The close intersection between fairytales and the (re)creation of the

national identity past and present will be discussed in the next chapter.)

Returning to the ‘golden age’ of Soviet animation, it was not only the visual part of

animation that was in the process of constant improvement after the war, but the story
and screenplay also finally received well-deserved attention as well. Many well-

known children's writers, including Bianki, Kassil, Marshak, Mikhalkov and Kataev,

collaborated with animators on adapting their own novels and fairytales by writing

screenplays for these productions. As the Liehms argue, 'the most secure support for

efforts to revive Soviet film in the late fifties and early sixties was the new Soviet

literature' (Liehm & Liehm, 1977: 206).

Adaptation became one of the most established forms. Among literary animated
adaptations of the post-war period, one of the first animated full-length feature films

is

Konyok-Gorbunok

(The Little Humpbacked Horse, 1947) directed by Ivanov-Vano

and female director Milchina, which is based on a well-known tale by Pyotr Yershov.

The colour film presented a highly skilled and artistically distinguished piece of work,

and was critically acclaimed by winning several international prizes among which
was a special prize at the Cannes Film Festival in 1950. It was also sufficiently

popular to be remade in 1975 by the same director (Ivanov-Vano) and studio.

Generally, animations in the post-Stalinist period were 'perennially popular' (Kelly,

2007: 479). The main trend as underlined by most scholars was that in the cinema of

the 1950s the focus was on the 'lack of conflict' (Liehm & Liehm, 1977; Beumers,

2008). Although that is true with regard to the animation of the period it is also the

case that Russian scholars have argued that from its inception, Soviet animation
81

generally followed a creed of non-violence in its storylines so that in the 1950s it

simply adhered to that well-established tradition. Interestingly one of the first ‘

a-la

Tom-and-Jerry’ chase and slapstick animations would appear later in the series about

the Wolf and the Rabbit

Nu Pogodi!

(Just You Wait!, 1969 - 2006). At this point it is

extremely

important

to

flag

that

this

research

identifies

deviation

from

the
established academic view on Soviet animation. As will be presented in detail in

chapter four, the link between violent episodes in animated fairytale films and the

gender politics of screen representation will become clear.

The Thaw and animation

In the 1960s in spite of the isolation provided by the so called Iron Curtain and the

continued ‘progress’ to the ‘bright future’, most of the researchers of Russian cinema
agree that the doctrine of Socialist Realism underwent a significant change and 'the

nature of that hegemony, as expressed in the doctrine of Socialist Realism, changed

and developed over time: what was unacceptable in the 1930s might, for instance, be

taken for granted in the 1960s' (Taylor, 2006: 34). As Plakhov puts it, 'the 1960s were

a time when people were drawn to films that did more than tell a simple story [...]

their

(films)

appeal
stemmed

largely

from

their

extraordinary

powerful

visual

language.’ (Plakhov, 2007: 151).

Similar developments in cinema took place in European cinema at the time which
Giannalberto Bendazzi has termed a 'timid revolution' (Bendazzi, 1994: 177). 'In

Russia, these innovations led to the emergence of an intellectual audience that craved

82

films which we would today call ‘art-house’' (ibid). Moreover, it was also a time of

technological and scientific breakthroughs, space exploration and rapid increase of

military conflicts.

How did animation react to such dramatic changes? Animation finally came to the
center of attention in the 1960s-1970s and was 'regularly publicized in the Soviet

press' (Kelly, 2007: 478). However, the period of the naturalistic style of Disney was

gone, probably also due to the Cold War escalation. Kelly argues: 'By the late 1950s a

genuine spirit of innovation and excitement had made itself felt in children’s cinema'

(Kelly, 2007: 478).

First of all, the number of animated films increased significantly during and after the

Thaw. In a manner that was similar to the Disney conveyor method of production, the
Soviet animation industry produced a high volume of films during 1960s-1980s.

Secondly, for the first time in many years animation for grown-ups appeared again on

the screen. Films mocking the vices of society such as

Semeinaya Khronika

(Family

Chronicals, 1961) or

Bolshie Nepriyatnosti

(Big Troubles, 1961), to name a couple,

were

in

abundance

at

that

time.

Although

some

films

were

still

aesthetically
exercising the Western influence, some adhered to the newly established minimalistic

trend, which would become popular during the decade.

Along with a general decline of interest towards old styles of animation, there was a

significant disfavour towards magic and traditional fairytales on screen. Only two

adaptations of magical fairytales were produced in the 1960s decade:

Podi Tuda Ne
6

For evidence of Western influence in 1960s films see

Semeinaya Chronika

(Family

Chronicles, 1961), which stylistically somewhat resembles Warner Bros animation in

its stylization of anthropomorphic figures.

83

Znayu Kuda

(Go There I Don’t Know Where, 1966), and

Snegurka
(Snow Girl,

1969).

As Andrei Plakhov states about the 1960s:

A growing number of people aspired to the exotic and the unusual, instead of

being

drawn

to

the

familiar,
entertaining

and

predictable

plots

of

the

blockbusters [...] People went to see films even if they could not entirely

comprehend them [...] Yet audience longed for aesthetic pleasure and tried to

decipher the visual metaphors contained in these films.

(Plakhov, 2007: 152)

Apparently, an old seemingly well-known Russian theme could not perform as an

exotic intellectual aspiration. Moreover the new artistic and liberal freedoms of

Khrushchev’s Thaw in the decade preceding the new artistic aesthetics of the 1970s

was 'burning' the old idols of Russian traditional fairytale on screen (Woll, 2000).

Some scholars have commented that the new wave was not apparent in animation as it

was in feature films (Pontieri, 2012; Bendazzi 1994). Thus Kelly notes that the films
for children were still ‘well intentioned and dull' (Kelly, 2007: 478). Nevertheless,

from a cultural point of view the Thaw was characterized by a certain degree of

liberation in all spheres of Soviet life and culture. Totalitarian mythology underwent a

substantial change during this period; even so it continued to perform its duties, if

somewhat mechanically, to the end of the 1980s.

As Liehm and Liehm (1977) note:

After years of terrorism, cultural terrorism included, the aims were far more

humble: if not the truth, then at least no lies; if not an advance with the artistic

84

avant-garde of the world, then at least not a retreat to the ranks of the

reactionaries of art; if not a reality as it is, then at least not a reality painted

pink.

(p. 70)
They go on to argue that during the Khrushchev era 'the political leadership was

interested in finding better spokesperson for its policy, whereas the artists took the

degree of freedom they were granted as an opportunity to speak for themselves and

contrast their experience with the official version.' (ibid.: 219). Indeed, along with

their feature film counterparts, Soviet animators also enjoyed a relative freedom,

although it took them many more years to start expressing themselves more openly.

Pontieri characterises the period as a departure from 'fairy-tale worlds of Stalinist

animation’ as an attempt to ‘bring the audience in contact with reality'

sic

(Pontieri,

2012: 55). Such a tendency towards a new-style of realism is apparent in the

animation of that time in general and also in fairytale adaptations and animations with

fairytale elements when fairytale characters function outside the original context of

the story. Examples include

Vovka v Trediaviatom Tsarstve

(Vovka in a Faraway

Kingdom, 1965),

Pro Zluyu Machekhu

(About an Angry Stepmother, 1966) and

Konets Chernoi Topi

(The End of the Black Swamp, 1960). All of these animations

depict traditional folklore characters in this new light. In the first film a lazy

schoolboy is magically transported into Russian fairytales and learns the value of
labour. The second animation is a contemporary take on a traditional fairytale about

an urban Baba Yaga, an evil step-mother and hardworking step-daughter and the

consequences of laziness. The last film depicts the hard life of magic fairytale heroes

85

(Baba Yaga, Leshiy, etc.) who find themselves in an age when nobody believes in

magic.

As mentioned earlier, an influential stylistic trend of the time was 'limited animation'
(Pontieri, 2012: 78). Pontieri also argues that this trend was set in opposition to the

Disney’s realist style and came to the Soviet Union from Yugoslavia and the Zagreb

School of Animated Films (ibid.). The graphic and minimalist style had the effect of

carrying animators further and further away from the old somewhat rigid and

prescribed forms of ‘magic’ on screen, and it was also cheaper to produce.

By the 1970s the situation in cinema started to change. Firstly, because 'Soviet cinema

was no longer a purely ideological institution; instead it became the most profitable
branch of the Soviet culture industry' (Prochorov, 2007: 136). Secondly, 'in the late

1970s, more commercial films gained prestige and ultimately put aside the success

that art-house cinema had enjoyed in the 1960s' (Plakhov, 2007: 152).

While some Western critics tend to undervalue the artistic quality of films produced

during this period, as Kelly rightly argues, ‘there is an interesting divergence between

the films that appeal most to adult critics and those recorded as favorites in memories
and oral history' (Kelly, 2007: 477). Most of the animated films created after the

Thaw and before the collapse of the USSR have become the classics of Soviet and

now Russian animation that are still well-known, loved and watched widely by

contemporary Russian viewers and include:

Krokodil Ghena

(Ghena the Crocodile,

1969 - 1983) and

Nu Pogadi

(‘Just You Wait!’ series 1969 – 1993), to name just a

couple. The cultural diffusion of the characters was so strong that, for example,

Ghena the Crocodile was even put on Soviet postage stamps.

86

As for the main characteristics of the time, Pontieri argues that the 'tendency towards

poetic', which started prevailing over 'social criticism' (Pontieri, 2004: 170). She goes

on to say, that 'towards the end of 1960s, animation developed a lyrical genre, a pure

manifestation of the artists’ subjective vision' (Pontieri, 2012: 2).

Others researchers agree with the rise of the ‘individual’ inner world of characters

depicted on screen, as an opposition to a collective one so popular before the Thaw.

As Beumers puts it, 'in 1960s -1970s the collective has collapsed' (Beumers, 2008:

154). Such a sharp shift could not but bring a feeling of confusion to both individuals

and society more generally. According to Beumers 'in animations child’s loneliness

becomes a focal point' (ibid). To cope with these unsettling feelings, grown-up
cinema indulged in light entertainment, while children were ‘comforted by magic

creatures' (ibid), like Ghena and his friend Cheburashka.

Before the collapse: animation of the late Soviet period.

Although the cinema was still considered a tool of ideological control, the industry

continued producing media content that became the classics still watched by the

Russian

audience

in
the

twenty-first

century.

As

for

ideological

control

and

censorship, this was the time of events in Eastern Europe and the USSR’s invasion of

Czechoslovakia. Therefore, the key point was to maintain the status quo, without
controversy or debates, and no search or discoveries, became the guidelines for the

tough regime after 1968. 'The use of literature that was once an important source of

inspiration, was also sharply curtailed' (Liehm & Liehm, 1977: 324).