Part of series
The first decade of the new Millenium was the most peaceful and prosperous time for Ukraine. Gopniks were dying out slowly but surely, criminal rates lowered. A hedonistic way of life became accessible for a short while, provided you or your parents survived the 90s as a middle class. I did not and was still dirt poor. I couldn’t settle for consumerist copes. I dreamed big.
After finishing school my first urges were to rest from having to listen to pretentious elders, to check whether something can be done to improve my pathetic physical condition, and to thoroughly prepare for the VGIK exams. I needed the money and gyms were still unsafe places, more fit for aspiring racketeers than a healthy reimagining of your body. So I got a job as a loader in the electronics warehouse. One of its three co-owners was the father of my sister's bestie. That's why I wasn't fired in the very first week. HR manager wrote "weak" next to my surname in the salary schedule list, obviously wanting to get rid of me, but he was overruled. Although nepotism saved me this time, my co-workers weren't as understanding. They constantly whined that they have to deal with more refrigerators and washing machines because I get tired faster than them. They proved to be much more cultured in expressing their displeasure than my classmates, however, since not a single fight happened during my eight-month stay there. Still my unbeaten record of uninterrupted stay at daily job. My physical strength did not improve at all. My palms were still as feminine as that of a violinist. But I used this time to upgrade from mainstream movies to arthouse, watched a lot of Bertolucci and Godard. Wrote a movie screenplay, one of VGIK's requirements for enrollees of all kinds back then. Took acting lessons.
Che Guevara said: be realistic, ask for the impossible. In my case, the impossible was the UCLA’s film school. It was still unclear whether I’m a genius. It was obvious I have no money or connections for that. I made inquiries and even applied for a green card but that was a lottery I did not win. Kyiv’s establishments had only a TV director diploma to offer. VGIK had the proper movie director specialization and that’s what I wanted. So there I went.
Differences between Kharkiv and Moscow weren't as gigantic as they were between any other regional center and Moscow. Kharkiv dwellers were urbanites, even the ones from working-class districts. The tone was noticeably different. Muscovites were money-oriented, fast, disliking all types of outsiders. Caucasians were far more numerous than I expected. They successfully occupied the fruit market niche but were in constant danger of racist attacks. Even Slavic "guests" were always treated to the favorite saying of native Muscovite - "Moscow is not made from rubber". Meaning you can't stretch it indefinitely, it is already overpopulated.
My first thought was to find my relatives since if you're reading this series in order, you should remember that two of my grandmom's siblings were there. First I found a woman called Svetlana, the daughter of an unremarkable worker from the Rubin TV plant. She offered me a room in her former husband's apartment at Petrovsko-Razumovskaya station. The pay was fairly low but the guy was an alcoholic. Relatively calm one but nevertheless. He was earning a living by bringing tap water to the nearest flower kiosks. Somehow it was enough to be drunk every day and also eat modestly. I hesitantly relocated to the place of my choosing after a month with him. He was prone to dangerous drunken falls and I was scared he might die this way and I will be accused.
Before that, I met Belousov and Antsiferova, our celebrity couple. They lived just one kilometer away from the Kremlin, in the communal apartment in the building where the Japanese embassy was formerly located. In a few years, they will exchange their room for two separate apartments on the outskirts of Moscow. Belousov was curious why I sucked at math in school if the Jews always excel at it. He knew I was only 1/4 Jewish and had no Judaic upbringing whatsoever, and still, that's how he chose to view me from the get-go. He expressed hopes that Russia will someday be like Germany because that was his favorite European country. He saw some minor crime being committed over there and saw that police arrived within four minutes. And, according to him, that was the pinnacle of statecraft - fast police. Antsiferova preferred to talk about how Alla Pugacheva brought down her career as a singer. Their son was friendly but distant. He will succumb to some neurotic illness in a few years and will spend his adult days as a hikki. Anyways, the meeting was fairly useless - they did not help me in any way. Nor did they say anything supremely wise.
The place which I rented independently was both lucky and unlucky. Lucky in a sense that was practically the center of the city, Sokol subway station. Unlucky in the sense that it had four more guys living there. So I effectively traded one alcoholic for one half-Tajik, one retired colonel, one shady casino worker, and one student. The guy who rented us that apartment wasn't its owner, he was profiting from overcrowding that place. I had no luxury of looking for other options, money wasn't endless and exams were close. So while I was preparing, I had to endure the Tajik tales about the unique river near Dushanbe, the only one in the world which flows upwards, from the dale to the mountain peaks. My screenplay received a good mark and the average marks on math subjects in the school diploma had no negative effect on commission. Unfortunately, Marlen Khutsiev, a fairly famous Soviet director and VGIK rector at the time, was as confused during my live performance exam as UnHerd editors were confused regarding my submission to their site. What did he expect, I was at the peak of my teenage neuroticism: shaking, sweating, and trembling from fear. After botching that task free enrollment was out of the question. And I did not consider contract enrollment, the sum was enormous.
I hung around for a while more, thinking to try again next year. Worked as a crowd scene actor at Ostankino. It is possible to see me at the New Year's celebration program of that year. Near Boris Moiseev, with whom I talked a lot and knew that he's straight and not gay at all, way before he confessed this in public. Or on a criminal show "Domino principle" with Elena Khanga, where I talked quite frequently and live, sharing whatever opinions directors wanted me to share as a supposedly random audience guest. If anyone ever finds that footage by chance, I will be very grateful. Apart from Moiseev, I talked a little with Woody Harrelson, Vladimir Zhirinovsky, and many other celebrities who frequented that place. I also found a scene where I could finally talk about arthouse movies and not feel myself like a Martian while doing so. In Kharkiv, I was dragged down by the desire of others to keep it straight and simple, I was often ridiculed for taking interest in obscure stuff. In Moscow, I wasn't all that special. There were boys who could analyze Godard better than me, girls who could impersonate Renata Litvinova's mannerisms better than her. It was a subculture, of course, with a very limited number of people in comparison to the sheer numbers of the general population in Moscow. But it existed. It won't exist in Kharkiv until me and Mykola Ridny start a few short-lived Antifa cinema halls in the late 00s.
The pay for that job wasn't at all satisfactory and only allowed to cover the rent and modest rations. Then one day I found a photo of an Uzbek family in an old and empty wardrobe. Those were previous tenants, and there was a phone number of the legit owner of an apartment at the back of that photo. Tajik saw me finding it and realizing that fact. Had he not, I could've maybe contacted the owner myself. I did not want to spoil relations, however, and Tajik was objectively a better talker. So I entrusted him with ousting the middleman and rearranging the rent to our favor. He rearranged alright. Except the owner did not like the crowd numbers at all and told him to thin them. He and his buddy the casino worker were physically stronger than me and that student. While the colonel was too old to influence anything. Out we went and they two stayed. A casino worker even tried to loan the money from me as a parting gift. That's the nature of Russian gopniks - if they feel they're in control, they will try to squeeze the last drop out of you and then pretend you're friends and everything is alright, to prevent formation of revenge thoughts.
After declining his loan request, I went straight to the railway station and returned to Kharkiv with empty pockets, a pressing need to rethink the future and intact virginity. I was in the mood for something nihilist and romantic simultaneously, and Takeshi Kitano was like that. He became my number one role model between 20 and 25 years of age. Thus, I thought, if I can't be a director, I will at least understand what he says and maybe will meet a few Japanese along the way. So I went to a local pedagogical university, foreign philology faculty.
University was 70% female and finally, I could rest from the pressure of male competition. Entering it was way easier than VGIK. Most teachers immediately started to say that I chose the wrong place and that with essays like mine I should've chosen journalistics or something like that. I refrained from sharing what I just went through. My possibilities as a lover were destroyed quickly, during the third lesson on physical culture. The cursed teacher had to loudly say for everyone to hear - "we got a weak boy but that's okay". That wasn't okay with the girls and my attractiveness immediately plummeted.
While I was studying, the aforementioned Orange Revolution happened. In my university group, I was in the 20 percent minority of those who supported it from the very beginning. I did not share its nationalist or liberal values. But I was a Westernist and saw both Ukraine and Russia as European countries. And I absolutely had it with the existing Kuchma regime. Those folks were sure they are destined to rule forever. They built a society with zero upwards mobility and a prison culture as a foundation. So when Yushchenko issued the call to gather on Maidan in Kyiv, I went to the Kharkiv office of the now defunct party Nasha Ukraina the very next morning, putting my education at risk. There I met three other men, aged 18 to 40. As early birds, we were given $200 each by the party functionary and were promised 100 more when we get to Kyiv. I was appointed financier, ie I got the 800 and distributed it between the guys. If I knew how this will end - I'd kept everything. Now, the money question was very sensitive at the time. With Orangeist leaders seeking altruist fanaticism from their supporters and Kuchmist loyalists saying that Maidan stands just for money. It stood not just for money but some gained financially from it, such simple truth was dismissed by both camps. When we got to Kyiv we were hosted in a private clinic, where I stayed for five or six days. Then the guys started reminding me that it was my responsibility to get the remaining 100. So I went to the clinic owner to talk. He was not alone but with a woman, a child, and a cop who was his personal friend. The matter seemed mundane to me, after all the party functionary in Kharkiv was giving out the money openly. The hysteria that ensued is hard to describe. He started accusing me of being a pro-Yanukovych provocateur, a nearby woman "remembered" that I was apparently not enthusiastic enough on Maidan, and the cop started trying to physically remove me from the room. The situation reminded me of Moscow too much and I started crying. The woman asked whether I am a man and the cop almost began a fistfight. Minutes later I was thrown out of the building. Guys who encouraged me to talk remained there and haven't said a word in my defense.
The situation was unpleasant but I cherished the fact that I was able to witness and learn the numerous political technologies which were in use there. I safely returned and finished my education. Failing in the task which brought me there in the first place - I haven't learned Japanese, just like 80 percent of my peers. Our joint Chinese-Japanese group produced just two specialists in said languages. The rest remained content with various levels of English. I proceeded to work at a vast variety of jobs throughout the rest of the decade, not staying anywhere for more than six months. From the bookstore where I met my future and former wife to the bearing plant where my grandmom got her Hero of Labour order. I eventually upgraded my English to the level which allowed me to become a freelance translator, my main source of income to this day.
Was I a loser in this decade? As an adult, I can't make up my mind. On one hand, I failed at all the grandiose endeavors I dreamed up for myself while watching movies. On another, as my peers were accepting their modest lot in life and were becoming cable guys and car mechanics, I was seeing quite a lot, was continuously testing my ceiling and was meeting quite a few high-level people.
By 2009 it became apparent that a new wave of political turbulence is on the horizon. I saw the strengthening of Eurasian revanchism in Russia and insensitive Ukrainian nationalism in my own city. I decided that a working centrism is needed. Not in the style of spineless pacifists, but one which relies on distinct historical continuity. One which is Westernist, Eurocentrist, kind to the poor people and weak men, neither Ukrainophobic nor Russophobic, not Anti-Semitic.
So I bought and read Trotsky's complete set of works, the most important books by Lenin and Marx, Mao's Little Red Book, and quite a few French existentialists of the 1970s. With this baggage, I started infiltrating the post-Soviet leftist scene. What have I found there - look up in the next chapter about the 2010s, First Blood and Me.
Favorite movies at the time: Battle Royale and That obscure object of desire.
Most listened songs at the time: Du Hast, Wishmaster, The Enemy, Her Ghost in the Fog.
Favorite books at the time: One hundred years of solitude, Generation P, Executioner.
I think hopniks is a more correct spelling. It's an onomatopoeic word.