Krzysztof Zanussi in Conversation with Yuri Shevchuk

March 24, 2005

The celebrated Polish filmmaker discusses history, Ukrainian identity in film, the revival of the Ukrainian language, Polish-Ukrainian-Russian relations, the Ukrainian filmmakers Illienko, Muratova, Tomenko, and theater director Zholdak, and much more in an interview that took place on March 24, 2005 in New York City with Yuri Shevchuk, director of the Ukrainian Film Club of Columbia University.

YS: What links you to Ukraine? 

KZ: My interest can be explained by my fascination with Rus’ (historical name of the Great Principality of Kyiv in the 10th – 13th centuries, also known as Kyivan Rus’—ed.) as a cultural and historical phenomenon. At a certain moment, I began to look critically at history, because we had been forced to accept false views of history, which we attempted to reject. The Hungarians approached the problem of historical truth in a very interesting way, in terms of their relations with the Slovaks, in which I see a real analogue to the relations between Poland and western Ukraine.  In my view, this was something similar to Silesia, where the Polish or Slavic element was ousted by the Germans.  I observed similar processes and compared them with the Spanish conquest of the Moors on the Pyrenean peninsula.

YS: What specifically interests you in Ukrainian history?

KZ:  I have been interested for a long time in the question of why certain nations have succeeded in history and others haven’t. Some were able to accomplish their goals, while others were not as successful. I am still making unexpected discoveries on this subject.  Once I was in the German city of Aachen, which was one of the later capitals of the Holy Roman Empire.  Then I went to Kyiv, and there I understood that it is entirely possible to compare the two cathedrals located in each city - the Cathedral of Saint Sofia in Kyiv and the Charlemagne Cathedral in Aachen.  Both were built at approximately the same time. The only thing is that the St. Sofia’s Cathedral in Kyiv is incomparably larger and grander, because the Rus'ian (i.e., Ukrainian—ed.) civilization of the time was much stronger compared to the civilization of Charlemagne.  This was in Ukraine, which many in Western Europe cannot find on the map to this very day.  Such changes in historical fates, the rise and fall of civilizations, elicit strong emotions in me.  I don’t want to be a member of a losing nation.  For that reason I closely follow the destinies of those peoples who have lost.  For the most part, Ukrainians have lost in the most direct sense, but now have gained their historical opportunity.  Until recently, however, it appeared that Ukrainians had lost it irretrievably, but suddenly this opportunity presented itself! Such things are incredibly interesting to me.

My interest in Ukraine also comes from my wife, who is descended from the Czetwertynski line and related by blood to the Szeptycki (Sheptytsky) family. At a certain moment, the Szeptyckis felt themselves to be more Rus'ian than Polish.  This Rus'ian princely dynasty split in two, one part of which gravitated towards Poland and the other towards Rus'.

YS: In what way is the issue of national identity connected to film?

KZ:  I wanted to find among my Ukrainian colleagues in filmmaking their national identity. From my first contacts I tried to draw out of them some sort of purely Ukrainian traits, but they didn’t understand me.  For them, the capital was Moscow and Ukraine was little more than a Russian province. It is this mindset that they brought to their films. Ironically, the first person who revealed a strong sense of Ukraine was an Armenian.  This fellow, like me, was very much interested in Ukraine.  He spoke Ukrainian very well, even better than my Ukrainian colleagues.

YS:  Are you talking about Paradzhanov?

KZ:  No, Paradzhanov is Georgian.  For me, the Ukrainianness of Paradzhanov had something touristy about it. It was the Ukrainianness of a tourist.  Of course he had his own aesthetics, but in my view he did not demonstrate a very sensitive ear for the local culture.

Last September, just before the revolution, before your elections, I unexpectedly received an award in Ukraine from your vice-premier, who is a historian and apparently distant from Kuchma.  We had a long conversation.  He had read somewhere that every time I met with Ukrainian filmmakers I tried to convince them of the need to demonstrate their Ukrainian uniqueness, not their similarity to Poles or Russians.  “Show me how you are different.  Who is your hero? How can I tell that he is not a Pole or a Russian, but specifically a Ukrainian?” I would say.

Here, for example, is something that happened with one of my Ukrainian students. I love to tell this story because anyone who knows it will say that only a Ukrainian could have done that.  In 1992 a group of film students from Ukraine came to study with me.  In our classes I told them about the necessity to remove from their consciousness the so-called “Soviet man,” or “sovok” (pejorative reference to a person of Soviet mentality—ed.), because this “sovok” is in every one of us.  One of the traits of the “Soviet man” is his inability to dream; he is passive and agrees to everything.  One student said that this was actually good, because why should you dream if all you get from your dreams is disappointment?  Yet I persisted in asking what he would dream about if he were to dream?  He said that he would dream about the West, even if he couldn’t travel there because he didn’t have enough money for a bribe to get a visa.  That’s why he didn’t even want to hear about the West.

Several days later, I tell my Ukrainian guests that I am going to have a party in my garden, and there will be Western diplomats, ambassadors. I encourage the student to approach a diplomat. ‘Even if he refuses, you should still try.’ I tell him.

At the party my student approaches the German Ambassador and, like a zombie, says, “I want visa.”  The ambassador becomes flustered and asks what my student is after.  I say, “You heard him, he’s asking for a visa.”  The ambassador then made a mistake, for which I love him to this day.  He said to me, “Krzysztof, can you vouch for him that he won’t stay?  I’ll issue him a visa as an exception.”  I reply, “Listen, I invited twenty Ukrainians here whom I have never seen before in my life.  No one gave me any guarantee that they wouldn’t stay or that they wouldn’t slit my throat. I don’t know anything about them.  And you are worried that Germany will fall apart if one Ukrainian stays?”  He blushed and said, “I’ll give him a visa.”

So my student hitchhiked his way to Germany.  This is what began to convince me that his mentality is not the same as that of Poles or Russians.  When I offered to give him a few Deutschmarks, he answered that he wouldn’t accept; that with his Cossack pride he would go as he is, taking only a little food for the journey.  Later he told me how he had rejoiced like a child when he arrived in Berlin, how he sang and embraced passersby on the street, and was even arrested for trying to kiss a pretty policewoman on the Europa-Zentrum Square.  After three days he returned completely changed. Now he too believes that one can and must dream.

YS:  What does this story tell you about Ukrainian identity, if anything?

KZ:  In my view, such a thing could not have happened with a Russian.  In a similar situation, a Russian would not have expressed his joy, but would immediately have said, “And what about Russia, my great Russia? What are these Germans to me?’ At the same time, a Ukrainian thinks differently. He experiences the joy of a simple discovery.

This story got your vice-premier interested. He expressed the view that Ukraine needs to create a distinctly Ukrainian national idea. What, I ask, again like the Russians?  The need for a national idea is itself a very Russian way of thinking. It is high time Ukrainians recognized their own uniqueness, experienced their own specificity. Why, for example, does a Portuguese not kill the bull in a bullfight, while a Spaniard feels compelled to kill it. You must, after all, take a closer look at yourselves. Russia took away your mirror and you have not yet taken a good look at yourselves at all.

We, Poles, also played a marked card against you; we also did not help you to discover yourselves. Instead, we sought to conquer you.  We did the worst thing possible to you. We took away your elite, having Polonized it at a time when the Ukrainian people would not be Polonized. 

That is why today I am taking a closer look at Ukrainians.  That is why today I am interested in Ukrainian cinematographers.  I would prefer that they not make films imitating the poetic realism of Illienko, which I feel is false.  These films are shown at festivals, but at the same time I see that the Ukrainian public does not understand them, that they are not really for it.  This is true of Illienko’s film about Hetman Mazepa.  It says nothing to Ukraine about what she truly is.

*         *         *

Y.S.: In that case, what type of films should Ukrainian filmmakers be making now?  On what subjects?

 K.Z.: My students from Lviv told me how they had staged Ionesco in the basement of their experimental theater.   In response I asked them, “What does that have to do with the here and now, with that universal marketplace or the hardships that you are experiencing today, with that wretched and helpless Ukrainian village, with those who today are struggling to awaken and discover their self-identity?”

I tried to convince them of the urgent need to produce plays and films that would depict the qualities of the Ukrainian hero, or what is current, the yearnings of the nation, the Cossack spirit, the nation’s bitterness as well as optimism, an optimism that did not appear to manifest itself in earlier historical times and which now must compensate for lost time. That’s what I think and I wish Ukraine the best of everything.

 Y.S.: Lately, Polish-Ukrainian relations have improved considerably, not only on the level of capital cities and the social elites, but also on the ordinary human level. What possibilities for continued improvement do you foresee?

 K.Z.: It seems to me that a very important task for my generation consists of finally coming to terms with our historical past and considering our responsibility to history, so that we will fare better in history. As a matter of fact we are bound by specific obligations toward Ukraine.

Whenever I travel to Vinnytsia, where my wife’s family comes from, I attend public gatherings in the local library.  They are attended by huge crowds. Suddenly I learn that about 600 people from that region went to Poland to learn about democracy. This was entirely a local initiative. The significance of this is not that people went to Poland. They are drawn not to Poland but to the fact that in its villages the mayor is answerable to his constituents, not to some other higher authority.  They saw how this has an impact on life; they visited the economically depressed and not exactly exemplary provinces of Lodz and Piotrkow.  They were struck by the fact that the villagers there do not hesitate to voice their opinions. Ukrainians are drawn to and have a drive for self-government. No one from Russia would ever come to learn similar things because such a drive does not exist for Russians. They believe that it is necessary to defer to higher authorities.  Their thinking is far more hierarchical. Meanwhile, in Ukraine there is a persistent spirit of freedom. This is precisely what made the Orange Revolution possible.

Y.S.: Did the revolution come as a surprise to you?

K.Z.: No, I was glad that it succeeded because it could have failed. I recall how many of my politician friends said after Kuchma’s victory [election] that this was the end for Ukraine, that he would bring about another, final, merger of Ukraine with Russia. I did not agree with this view.  I saw a virtual analogy to homeopathy where, as in homeopathy, the nation needs a bit of poison to develop antibodies to fight it. I think that without Kuchma there would not have been the breakthrough that is now forthcoming. He was crucial in helping people see the definite threat to Ukraine’s very existence. Only then did that energy surge forth to propel the people to Ukraine’s defense.

I don’t know if the putsch staged by Yanayev (in 1991) was not necessary for Russian democracy.  We should perhaps regret that it was so short-lived.  Maybe if the putsch leaders had been successful for a longer period of time, democracy in Russia would have eventually evolved in a better way. However, nothing in history vanishes absolutely and forever. The same thing happened in Ukraine.  Soon, great disillusionment will inevitably emerge.  The people think that a new administration has arrived with unlimited powers over everything. That will not be the case.  Perhaps the new government will be able to point history in a different direction or even restore the people’s long-lost faith. What is now of primary importance for this country and its people is to actively seek a galvanizing, indispensable opportunity for self-realization.  To this day Ukraine has not yet realized itself.

Y.S.: And Russia?

K.Z.: Tragic as it may be, Russia still has not realized itself. It likely went farther in its historical development; it had greater successes; it held its own destiny in its own hands in significantly greater measure.  What good is all this when today the Russian is forced to go to America to develop a career whether as a scientist or an athlete or in the sphere of arts and culture.  There exists in Russian civilization, in spite of its mighty potential, some flaw that prevents it from realizing itself. Why are Americans not standing in line at Russian consulates to get visas? Those who bear responsibility for Russia should be seriously disturbed by this. I am not responsible for it, although I also wish the Russians well. Their expansionism is a genuine misfortune for them. Russia is forever spilling over its borders, thereby missing chances to do anything worthwhile on actual Russian territory; after all, they have everything it takes within their own land.  Why is it necessary for them to constantly spill over into Ukraine for whom, other than raw materials, they have nothing good to offer? Maybe, Russia should break apart and become more masterful as a country. Perhaps then it would be in a position to guarantee its people better conditions for self-realization. It is possible, but I don’t know this. How can you keep on believing in Ivan Kalita and be driven to keep hoarding and hoarding everything?  What did they gain from this hoarding mentality?  At this point in time their hoarded booty gives them nothing.

Sometimes in discussions with Russians I ask them in which language, in their opinion, did the people of ancient Kyiv speak, not likely in Muscovite Russian.  It may be Russian that is a dialect of Ukrainian and not the other way around. Culture and civilization existed in Kyiv.

Y.S.: Getting back to the subject of cinematography, what Ukrainian films have you seen in the past ten years and what do you think of them?

K.Z.: Of the very few that I did see, none made a significant impression on me. The Ukrainian film industry is fighting for its survival. I was intrigued by students’ films. In them I see cause for hope.

Y.S.: Do you recall the names of these young cinematographers?

K.Z.:  For example, the films of Taras Tomenko, who has been a guest in my home.  I see that he has not been very fortunate as far as favorable conditions for filmmaking are concerned.  He long ago earned the right to have at least one full-length feature film.

Y.S.: During the screening and discussion of his films at the Ukrainian Film Club of Columbia University in March 2005, he said that he already has a screenplay for a full-length film.

K.Z.: The screenplay was ready five years ago, but to this day he hasn’t had an opportunity to realize it.  Speaking more broadly about Ukrainian films, when I was observing attempts to make Ukrainian historical films, I saw that their creators lacked stylistics and an understanding of what should be told in those films. In effect, they were being made according to Soviet principles, meaning that they should be acceptable in the same way as they might have been during Soviet times.  But today it is crucial to relate and portray something completely different.  That is why I told them that I would be delighted to see a Ukrainian Till Eulenspiegel.  Every free country has its Eulenspiegel, so I would like to see the Ukrainian one.

Y.S.: Meaning a hero who would portray the general human quest for freedom and at the same time embody a distinct national archetype?

K.Z.: Precisely, a Ukrainian Eulenspiegel, and not another Russian Petya.

Y.S.: Was there a period in Polish filmmaking similar to the one that has been experienced in Ukraine since independence, i.e., the availability of talented people and creative resources, but a dearth of financial means for self-realization?

K.Z.: Such a moment occurred as recently as two years ago.  At that time a neophyte liberal had become the minister of culture. After declaring that the marketplace determines everything, he withdrew all funds for the support of cinematography. He was ousted within a few months, but not before causing a good deal of harm.

Y.S.:  What advice would you give to individuals like Taras Tomenko, who find themselves with no financial support?

K.Z.: In order to survive, one needs to work even harder and not spread oneself too thin.  I have heard accounts of how hard it is to survive; however, on the other hand, they need to mobilize themselves and find ways to work on projects in cooperation with others, because they cannot do it alone. They need to look for funding abroad. On the other hand, of course, it is challenging to do a national project when you are funded with foreign money…

Y.S:  Is there an interest in Poland in such cooperative projects with Ukraine?

K.Z.:  Jerzy Hoffman actively sought ways of doing such projects. I give Hoffman credit for his great efforts in purging the creative works of Henryk Sienkiewicz from the lies imposed by others. It was his new reading of Sienkiewicz that altered the insulting, for the Rus’ians, depiction of the Polish-Ukrainian struggle.  To be more exact, the struggle was of the Rus’ians against the Poles: at that point they were not calling themselves Ukrainians yet, but Rus’ians.  Hoffman simply had to do something together with the Ukrainians. In any case, the potential for carrying out Polish-Ukrainian projects is out there.

Y.S.: Do you know anything about the Franco-Polish-Ukrainian efforts to make Taras Bulba, which, word has it, will be produced by Gérard Depardieu?

K.Z.: I haven’t heard anything about it, but I think this is very good, and I wish they would make such a film.

Y.S.: You mentioned inviting Ukrainian students to your home…

K.Z.: I have a huge house in Warsaw.  These invitations are a private undertaking of mine. To date, I have hosted more than 600 individuals from all over the world.

Y.S.: Are there any young Ukrainians among the students in your filmmaking school?

K.Z.: No, I only consider such private undertakings a serious matter. What they pay me for, to teach at the film school, does not matter.  A person does not learn by attending lectures at film school.  One must not confuse academia with an artist’s studio.  Art needs to be taught in ways other than academic ones. The fact that art is taught at universities now suggests forgery in place of the genuine study of art. Art has to be learned through osmosis.   Academic institutions with their mandatory regulations do not provide for that.

Y.S.: Could you please elaborate on this alternative way of teaching filmmaking?

K.Z.: I am not the only one practicing such an approach.  It is fairly well known throughout the world. I simply gather around me people from all kinds of places. My first guests from Ukraine were invited through the Polish consulates in Lviv and Kyiv: “Mr. Zanussi extends an invitation!” As a result, sixty total strangers responded. I had asked all of them to write short autobiographical essays and then I selected twenty.

Y.S. What were your selection criteria?

K.Z.:  It was important for me not to have a drug dealer, a booze smuggler, or some cool dude looking for a disco.  My goal was to gather young people under thirty years of age, who would have something in common with art.  An example: the now famous theatre producer, Zholdak, was a student of mine. Once, I went to see his play in Paris to show my support.

Y.S.:  Did you like what you saw?

K.Z.: It’s not what I like in theatre. It has too little truth and too many special effects. But he is a young producer. You do things like that when you are young.

Y.S.:  Do you remember any other Ukrainians whose creative work you are familiar with?

K.Z.:  I have so many contacts around the world that I can’t recall specific names right now. I know many. For instance, there is this young girl, who heads a young filmmakers’ society. I can’t recall her name, but I do remember her face. She had me teach a youth class.  Students who attended my master class turned out to be interesting and creative, but, again, very uncertain of their identity. All of them had their sights locked on Moscow, the reasons being, as it were, that this is where the money is and where careers are made. I wish so terribly much for them to have alternatives. Careers can be made in Moscow, but they can also be made in London or Paris. They need to realize that there is a wide spectrum of opportunities out there, and they are not pre-destined for just one option. They must rid themselves of that inbred, colonial way of thinking.

Y.S.: In our previous conversation you mentioned Bohdan Stupka…

K.Z.: I cast Stupka in a television film called Skylark.  I thought to myself that it would be a nice language twist.The film is based on a play, which was deliberately written with a certain artificiality. Its characters are the British occupation authorities. I thought to myself that the main Brit would have to be played by someone with a foreign accent in order to revive the Poles’ memories of the occupation.  Stupka with his accent, I thought, would be amusing; it would look like we had been occupied by the Ukrainians. He has a typically Ukrainian accent, which is different from the Russian accent. He gave a good and effective performance. Recently, I hired an actress he had recommended for my latest film. Her name is Tetiana Shliakhova. She went to Montevideo with us.

Y.S.: What do you think about the “Molodist” (Youth) Festival?

K.Z.: It is a wonderful festival because it is vibrant, truthful, and so small—it doesn’t spill over.  Had it spilled over, it would have died. It has certain energy.

Y.S.:  Do you see this festival developing and its prestige growing in the future?

K.Z.: The most important thing is for the festival to continue to take place and present to audiences in Ukraine new films that otherwise they would not have an opportunity to see because of everything being either so Americanized or Russified.

Y.S.:  A heated debate is underway regarding the plight of Ukrainian cinematography. According to the predominant opinion, one should not make films in the Ukrainian language because, allegedly, no one in Ukraine will watch them…  

K.Z.: If one followed this logic, one should not use the Ukrainian language because greater languages exist. Maybe everyone should learn Russian, but wait! We’ve already tried that. Then why not learn English right away — that would be even better! Obviously, this is stupid. One cannot render national identity without the language. True, there are nations with a national identity but no language of their own — Ireland is an example.  But that would not work for Ukraine because Ukraine has a poorly developed identity.  Ukraine has survived an overly-long occupation by its neighbors. In my opinion, those who think that films in Ukrainian should not be made are simply saying that the films they make are of no interest to anyone. Had anyone had an interest in those films, people would go to see them; people would watch them, regardless of what language they were in. It cracks me up that I have to speak Russian in Ukraine because that makes me easier to understand. I tell my interviewers to ask their questions in Ukrainian. My ear is trained in Ukrainian and I understand this language very easily. I would like very much for the Poles to make their contribution to honoring the Ukrainian language. I know that today it is rising from the ashes.

Y.S.: A controversy recently arose around the recent Kira Muratova retrospectiveorganized here in New York. I wrote a polemical article criticizing the organizers for presenting her as an exclusively Russian director.

 K.Z.: She is from Odesa, which is obviously a very Russianized city; however, I would re-identify her, for this is usually done regardless of the artist’s will. Poland has the world-renowned writer Joseph Conrad whose works to some extent imply a Polish way of thinking. And although he was more British than Polish, we can say he belongs to us as well.

Y.S.: What do you think of Muratova’s films?

K.Z.: Well, I find them very exciting, though they are very sad sometimes. But she is a first-rate talent.

Y.S.: Sad?

K.Z.: At times she seems to have a very dark view of the world and people, but this is allowed in art.

Y.S.: What is your latest project about?

K.Z.: I have just finished working on the film Persona Non Grata, which is co-produced with Russians and Italians. It is about diplomats. I believe it would be interesting for Ukrainians as well, for it tells about our tense relationships with the Russians. Two weeks ago in Moscow I was asked about “Polish interference” in Ukrainian affairs. My answer was, “I can’t see why it surprises you. You should have gotten used to it after 400 years.” I don’t see Ukraine’s relations with other countries as interference in Russia’s domestic affairs.

Y.S.: Does Polish film have good prospects to win a wide audience in Ukraine and achieve at least part of the popularity that it enjoyed in Soviet times?

K.Z.: This is impossible at the moment, for you don’t have a distribution system. Ukraine hasn’t set up anything like a system that, say, the Germans have in the form of a network of so-called municipal cinemas, which protects its cinema production from the American monopoly. In democracy, it is essential to protect one’s market from monopolies. Russia has improved the situation somewhat, for it began to actively assist with film distribution.

I remember during Gorbachev’s time I spoke at a congress of Soviet cinematographers. At that time all of them were obsessed with the problem of creative freedom. I told them they already had freedom, but what was really important was to protect the system of distribution. Nobody understood me then and said I was pessimistic. A couple of years later they lost all their movie theaters together with the whole system of distribution. In those days the Russians couldn’t believe they could be betrayed by their own audience and that it was important to secure their distribution system in administrative terms.

Ukraine should create a system that would allow a plurality of offers and would primarily show European films, and I don’t mean only Polish ones. There are huge cultural riches that Ukraine needs. It can’t be eternally divided between Russia and the United States and see only two images of the world. In searching for itself, Ukraine should have much more, so that it would be possible for Ukrainians to watch Irish film, for example, or to learn about the issues that the Dutch have to deal with in their everyday lives. With such a weak national consciousness, which is now manifested in the state of Ukrainian culture, Ukraine should be very careful not to become a victim of the market, and avoid becoming gradually enslaved as well. Here the state plays the role of a regulator and should not leave such things to the mercy of fate.

Y.S.: Are there actors that you particularly enjoy working with?

K. Z.: Certainly, I have very faithful actors and these are people with whom I have worked in the West. I have worked with Jessie Carol as well as with Max von Sydow, Sarah Miles., and Robert Powel. I also have my actors in Germany, with whom I often work. In Poland I closely collaborate with Maja Komorowska and Zbigniew Zapasiewicz. Although Daniel Olbrychski is not my actor, but Andrzej Wajda’s, we have worked together a couple of times. Jerzy Sztur has also played in my films a number of times.

Y.S.: When you write screenplays, do you already have particular actors in mind?

K.Z.: This is the case most of the time. I love writing scripts for particular actors; this is always very captivating for me. Very often after working with an actor in some bit part, I later give him or her a bigger role. Now I am very interested in working with the Ukrainian actress Tetiana Shliakhova with whom I recently worked in Montevideo. She doesn’t know about my interest. I saw that she has a very strong potential and also speaks little Polish. I thought, finally I have to write a role for a really decent Ukrainian and not a role that can be played by any Russian or Romanian. To do this, I have to seize an appropriate situation that will match the role.

Y.S.: Can you tell me more about Ms. Shliakhova?

K. Z.: She is from Kyiv, a very talented, striking, and intelligent young woman. What I also liked about her was that she hurried back to Ukraine from Montevideo, saying that she should be there because the election was underway. I was pleasantly surprised by this feeling of responsibility for Ukraine and the completely non-colonial mentality of this actress.

Y.S.: Is there anything in your films about Ukraine or Ukrainians?

K.Z.: Yes, actually there is. This is a matter of personal pride and a fact that should interest film historians. I was the first director under communism to depict members of the Ukrainian Uniate Church (Byzantine-rite Ukrainian Catholic Church allied with Rome—ed.) in a Polish film. This film is called No Matter Where You Are (Gdzieskolwiek Jest). It was made in 1987, with Julian Sands and Rene Soutendijk in the leading roles. Our government got angry, saying, ‘Why do you have to show this - the Russians will go berserk, such things are prohibited in their country. Why show that Poland honors the Greek Catholic Union?’ Certainly the episode with the Uniate Church priest lasted only for a couple of seconds, but I did that on purpose in order to remind people of these things. The film is set in the part of Ukraine that was under Poland during the war. There is a very sick person, who is visited by a Ukrainian Catholic priest. I could have easily substituted a Roman Catholic priest but then the atmosphere would have been different. Then I was asked, “How can it be that a married man is a Catholic priest?” I answered that there is a Uniate Church in Slovakia, Romania, and Poland. There were three such different churches in all.

Y.S.: I get the impression that the Ukrainians’ church union with Rome is of great interest to you.

K.Z.: You now have such an extraordinary church leader, Lubomyr Cardinal Huzar, a man of exceptionally charismatic and broad intellect. I see him being attacked within the Catholic Church because by the breadth of his vision he is ahead of his times at least by half a century. He says that all churches can unite and it is not about the exceptionality of the Union but about the necessity to get rid of inter-religious hatred. Why should Christian churches compete with each other? That is such a bold idea.

Here is another interesting story about the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church. The remains of St. Josafat (Kuntsevych), a Ukrainian Greek Catholic saint, are in St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome. Once I was shooting a film together with Russians for Russian television about the origins of Christianity. They invited me to be a narrator in that film. The director was a respected Russian professional called Khotynenko.

Y.S.: A Ukrainian?

K.Z.: It would be better to say a Ukrainian renegade, for although he is Ukrainian by birth, he feels more Russian. And I told him that I was an Italian renegade myself, for I felt more Polish than Italian. Russians with Ukrainian roots are often particularly hostile towards independent Ukraine. During the shooting in Rome I took the whole Russian crew together with Khotynenko to the sarcophagus with the remains of St. Josafat, saying, there’s nothing doing if your name is Khotynenko; that must be your saint.    

Y.S.: As far as I know, your attitude towards the Union is more of an exception than the rule among Poles.

K.Z.: It is only now that we are finding out how the Polish Commonwealth treated the Union (of Brest, 1596—ed.) and how Uniate bishops were not allowed to take their seats in the Senate. In other words, the Union pact was violated. We don’t talk much about it these days.

When the Ukrainian students were visiting me in Poland, they asked me to show them the place in Warsaw where Ukrainian hetmans were executed. I didn’t know anything about this place and called my friend, Professor Geisztor, director of the Warsaw Castle Museum, and asked him whether this had really happened. He told me about the place where Ukrainian hetmans were indeed executed. So the Poles are not that innocent either.

Y.S.: You have just said you are an Italian renegade…

K.Z.: Sure I am. My ancestors came from Northern Italy, Veneto Province, near Venice. They came to Lviv, or Lemberg, as it was then called, to build a railroad. That’s how we appeared in Poland, where my father and I were born.

Translated from Polish into Ukrainian by Yuri Shevchuk, and from Ukrainian into English by Mila Brushkovska, Andriy Kononenko, Anna Tomiak, Svitlana Carson, and Natalia Zheleznova, Ukrainian Film Club at Columbia University www Translations Workshop.

Copyright: Ukrainian Film Club of Columbia University, 2005. Reproduction of the text is strictly prohibited without the prior written permission of the copyright holders.