By
Yuri Shevchuk for Telekrytyka
February 1, 2006.
Translated from
the Ukrainian by Marta D. Olynyk
The January 2006 decision of the Ukrainian
Government to affect a gradual transition to dubbing foreign-made films
into the Ukrainian language touched off a stormy debate in the media.
The loudest to protest it were the vested interests, subsidiaries of
the Russian film distribution monopoly, who like to call themselves Ukrainian
or national distributors. Up until today they have run their own show
in Ukraine with acquiescence of the government, making sure that no Ukrainian-made
film was screened in Ukraine, and the entire film distribution was a
tool of continuing Russification, uncontrolled, unchecked, and typically
brazen. As a result of this hard-to-believe anomaly, millions of Ukrainians
have been deprived of the opportuity to see Ukrainian films in their
nation’s theaters. A New Yorker could see Ukrainian films
at the Ukrainian Film Club of Columbia University, a citizen of Kyiv
had nowhere to go. Yuri Shevchuk, the founder and director of the Ukrainian
Film Club of Columbia University wrote his analysis of the situation
with the foreign film dubiing for the leading Ukrainian media
web publication Telekrytyka. Below is the English translation of his
article done by Ms. Marta Olynyk.
There is a new scandal
brewing in Ukraine: they’re destroying Ukrainian films. In the
fifteenth year of independence Yekhanurov’s government has approved
a plan to convert the dubbing of films produced overseas from Russian
to Ukrainian. Twenty percent of the total number of films will be dubbed
into Ukrainian by September 2006, 50 percent by January 2007, and 70
percent by July 2007. Why 70 percent and not 100 percent? Because,
according to the statistics, this is the proportion of Ukraine’s
population, which has declared itself Ukrainian. Thus, in addition
to satisfying the cultural needs of Ukrainian-speaking citizens in
their own state—which until now have been stubbornly ignored—this
decision is supposed to ignite healthy market competition between Ukrainian-language
and Russian-language films and, finally, to put an end to the linguistic
violence being inflicted on most of the citizens of Ukraine. But all
this depends on whether the decision remains on paper, which is often
the case.
However, it appears
that all these potentially optimistic developments are not to the liking
of those who are loudly protesting against the government’s “arbitrariness.” It
turns out that there are more critics of the plan than supporters.
This is no surprise, as Ukrainian film distributors obviously have
a lot to lose: for starters, the government may actually begin
implementing its own decision, and then the Ministry of Culture will
stop issuing licenses to distribute Russian-language films.
Before I begin examining
the objections of critics who oppose the plan to dub films into Ukrainian,
I must make one thing perfectly clear: at present Ukraine does not
have its own film distribution system. No matter what film distribution
offices may call themselves, all of them are, according to the logic
of their business activity, branches of the Russian film distribution
monopoly. Until now the logic of their activity was such that Ukrainian
films were not permitted on the screens of Ukraine and are not permitted
to this very day. If I am wrong about this, maybe someone will write
and tell me: where and when a widely distributed Ukrainian film was
screened for at least two or three weeks, instead of the usual one-time
special screening? Just subject James Cameron’s film Titanic to
these conditions and I guarantee you that it would not make more at
the box office than the unfortunate Prayer for Hetman Mazepa,
which the implacable friends of Ukrainian films always trot out with
great satisfaction to bolster their thesis that Ukrainian films are
not profitable.
The so-called “Ukrainian,” or
rather “national,” film distributors (but from which nation?
Nobody knows) have nothing whatsoever to do with Ukrainian cinematography,
culture, and the Ukrainian state project. To them all this is just
empty words and annoying chatter, which is preventing them from making
money. These “national” film distributors use Russian-made
copies of foreign films that are dubbed into the Russian language,
thereby saving themselves a lot of money. They pay Russian companies
for the right to screen these films, and the rest, as they say, is
just demand and supply — the harsh logic of capitalism in the
age of primary accumulation of capital. Too bad, they also say, that
the other corollary of this situation is continuing Russification—of
language, culture, and mentality — our one and only priority
is to make money. This kind of film distribution scheme is “cinematographic
gas”: films for nothing. Only a fool would refuse such a gift,
or a cunning nationalist. In Moscow they pay for dubbing with money,
and in Kyiv — with crippled human souls. And since souls do not
have a monetary equivalent, the film distributors/protestants and their
sympathizers don’t even talk about them.
There is nothing
strange about this type of behavior. It fits in wonderfully with the
theory of rational choice, which every self-taught political scientist
knows. It states that every social actor maximizes his own convenience
to the degree that circumstances allow it. Russian film distribution
has long reigned supreme in Ukraine, as brazenly as though it were
in its own backyard. Now circumstances are showing a tendency to change
in favor of limiting these entrepreneurs’ freedom of activity.
The backyard is rebelling. I don’t know about anyone else, but
it is difficult for me to sympathize or even support the activity of
such a “Ukrainian” film distribution system. When you read
the wails and protests, you ask yourself: to whom are these people
appealing for support and sympathy? Surely not to those whom they have
been robbing for decades in broad daylight, putting on a nice face
while playing a very dirty game? Or maybe to simpletons, who are supposed
to swallow their inane fabrications about the government’s forced
Ukrainization, violence, and undemocratic behavior? The “national” film
distributors themselves are aware of the moral flimsiness of their
situation in Ukraine; that is why there is such nervousness bordering
on hysteria.
In the world’s
markets films are adapted to the needs of a concrete consumer: they
are translated from the language of the original into the language
of the consumer. This translation, depending on the particular features
of the market, viewing habits, and other factors, is done in the form
of dubbing, subtitling, or a voice-over that retains the original voices.
Until now Ukraine and the other former colonies of Moscow were exceptions
to the rule, a cultural and intellectual anomaly. To this day Ukraine
does not have its own independent film market. Thus, the government’s
decision on dubbing is designed to put an end to this anomaly inherited
from the colonial past and to create a film market in Ukraine.
Let us pause a moment
to examine the concrete objections of the government’s opponents
to this question. Their argument is an economic one. It turns out that
film distributors are financially very weak and in no position to lay
out money for dubbing. Thus, these film distributors, particularly
small- and medium-sized companies, would immediately go bankrupt, leaving
our viewers at the mercy of powerful American competitors, who obviously
can afford to spend money. As a result, Ukrainians will be deprived
of access to everything that does not fit the category of Hollywood
blockbuster, meaning independent, arthouse, and experimental films,
and generally non-American films.
I don’t care
who pays for Ukrainian-language copies of films—Kyiv, Moscow,
Hollywood, or Bombay. The main thing is that they should exist. Powerful
Russian film distribution companies would also be financially capable
of spending the necessary funds for dubbing if they are so interested
in the Ukrainian market. But I have doubts about the nature of their
interest. If there is less revenue from all the cinemas in Ukraine
than from movie theaters in Moscow alone, then preserving cultural
and hence political hegemony over the territory that they consider
their sphere of influence is more important than the pitiful amount
of several million hryvnias.
The new rules of
the game, which foresee the implementation of the Ukrainian cabinet’s
resolution, would foster the emergence of a real market as a factor
of progress complete with free competition and richness of supply.
They would destroy the current monopoly, which is primitive, aggressive,
and lethal to all sorts of innovations. In this scenario, the selection
of films for distribution would reckon with the true commercial potential
of films, its ability to attract the widest possible number of viewers,
and not just with the fact that a film, no matter how dubious its quality,
is ready for distribution just because it is in Russian. Then more
British, Spanish, Polish, French, and Czech films would appear on the
market, and viewers would have the chance to watch international films
not reflected through the distorted lens of the Russian film distribution
industry. How is this not an argument in favor of those who worry so
touchingly about the high artistic quality of the film repertoire and
support the principles of free competition and market?
There is another
interesting economic argument. It turns out that the lion’s share
of revenues from films distributed in Ukraine comes from the predominantly
Russian-speaking eastern and southern regions. Thanks to them the “Ukrainian” film
distribution industry is keeping its head above water. I assume that
many film lovers don’t go to the movies simply because they do
not want to watch American, French, and Italian films in Russian. (It’s
hard to keep from laughing when you hear Robert de Niro, Dustin Hoffman,
Alain Delon, Catherine Deneuve, or Carmen Maura speaking Russian without
blinking an eye. This is as funny as Alla Demidova, Renata Litvinova,
or Nikita Mikhalkov speaking English, French, or Italian.)
The advent of Ukrainian-language
dubbing may give a huge impetus to movie theater-going in Ukraine’s
western, central, and even eastern regions. Proponents of the argument
about the unprofitability of films in western Ukraine are not relying
on some sort of sociological research on the consumer potential of
the Ukrainian-speaking parts of Ukraine. Meanwhile, this potential
may turn out to be a large one.
Particularly significant
is the psychological argument that says that viewers themselves do
not like films in the Ukrainian language. They find them unnatural,
risible, ridiculous, or something along those lines. The people that
say this are transferring their own Ukrainophobia and antipathy to
the Ukrainian language to all moviegoers in Ukraine. Thank you for
your frankness, ladies and gentlemen, I get it. But I have news for
you. In democratic societies people who advance the superiority of
one culture over another are simply subjected to social ostracism and
are isolated like an infectious disease. In this sense Ukraine is still
far from being a democratic society. And as for the supposed rejection
of the Ukrainian language by film audiences, one should not rush to
any conclusions. Instead, we first need to see how audiences will respond
in the next two or three years to high-quality Ukrainian dubbing.
A long time ago
the fine translation of American television series into Ukrainian persuasively
corrected the fabrication about the alleged linguistic Ukrainophobia
of the domestic film audience. The Ukrainophobes are not moviegoers
but those who represent them in this manner.
Aesthetic concerns
are also expressed. You see, right now in Ukraine there are no good
actors, and the few that exist rarely speak good Ukrainian. So dubbing
that would be done with their own resources would make a horse laugh.
This is undeniable. The general culture of language among actors is
catastrophically low, and mastery of the language is not considered
the first obvious requirement of an actor’s professionalism,
as it is in other cultures. If you don’t believe me, then just
go to the Molodizhnyi Theater on Prorizna Street, or the Academic (sic!)
Ukrainian Drama, where you will certainly hear so many Russian phonetic
features littering the language spoken on stage there that you could
easily imagine you are anywhere but in a Ukrainian theater.
This problem also
exists in films. The Ministry of Culture and Tourism requires that
the film projects it finances are in Ukrainian, but our film people
are unable to speak good Ukrainian, so they use either bad Ukrainian
or they make increasingly more “silent” films in which
you won’t hear any sort of language at all.
The requirement
to dub films into Ukrainian, under the conditions of its consistent
and inexorable implementation, will create overnight a serious demand
for talent—Ukrainian-speaking talent—and dozens if not
hundreds of jobs. The fact that today it is difficult to find professional
actors in Ukraine does not mean that we don’t have talented people
who could quickly master the necessary profession. Overnight demand
will create supply. The vacuum that is being artificially maintained
by the situation that has existed since 1991—in fact, since 1896—and
not because of the “elemental market force” but because
of the brutal and continuous policy of Russification, will be very
quickly filled up with new talent. This will happen not through the
government’s administration but a change in those very market
conditions and the liquidation of the grotesque anomaly whereby the
cultural needs of 70 percent of the population are insolently ignored.
There is nothing
comparable in other European film markets. Dubbing films into Ukrainian
is a step toward European democratic values. This is a sign of respect
for the cultural needs of millions of Ukrainians. In the Spanish province
of Catalonia, whose population is less than seven million, no one questions
the advisability of releasing films in the Catalan language and subtitling
foreign films in Catalan. But that is a province of Spain, and we’re
talking about independent Ukraine. How can you compare the two!
Ukrainian-language
dubbing will quickly create not just demand but supply. Finally, in
universities where specialists in cinematography—directors, screenwriters,
actors, etc.—are being trained, they will seriously begin teaching
the Ukrainian language, and students will realize that mastering this
language opens up career opportunities in Ukraine. Isn’t this
what is scaring those who, contrary to all the demands of political
correctness, cannot stop themselves from making faces whenever they
demonstrate their idea of what Ukrainian-language dubbing should sound
like?
It is strange that
in discussions of the government’s decision almost no mention
is made of another, significantly cheaper, alternative for resolving
this question: foreign films, with the exception of Russian ones, can
be subtitled. Everyone knows that this is done in the US, Canada, Great
Britain, Spain, and Poland, and even more often in France whose film
policies Moscow liked to copy at one time. One could hardly expect
cinemaphiles to watch films by Fellini, Almodovar, Godard, or Woody
Allen in a dubbed version. Even the highest-quality dubbing is not
capable of conveying the luxuriant cultural flavor of these artists.
Ukrainians read no worse than other nations. However, I am not proposing
to substitute subtitles everywhere for dubbing. Dubbing is a wonderful
way of affirming the Ukrainian language, and under no circumstances
should this method be rejected, all the more so as our viewers are
very much accustomed to it. But for arthouse productions, experimental,
low-budget, and non-Hollywood films subtitles are the optimal method
not only from the economic but aesthetic-creative standpoint.
It is difficult
not to agree with those who are calling on the government to go beyond
administrative measures and materially demonstrate the seriousness
of its intentions. The government should allocate funds to create Ukraine’s
own powerful resources for dubbing and subtitling films—foreign
films into Ukrainian and Ukrainian films into English, French, Spanish,
and other world languages—and, of course into Russian for the
Russian market. It would be ideal if these steps were taken not by
the government but Ukrainian industrialists or, let’s say, the
newly created Association of Film Producers of Ukraine, which has a
vision, a sense of obligation to its own people, and a mission that
will benefit future generations. The transition to Ukrainian dubbing
will become a paradigmatic change for cinematography and generally
for Ukrainian culture. This will create favorable market conditions
for the emergence and development of the Ukrainian film market, and
a bountiful spiritual milieu for creativity on the screen and in literature. |