Sergei Parajanov / radar.am
Sergei Parajanov (January 9, 1924 – July 20, 1990) was an Armenian who «was born in Tbilisi, lived and gained fame in Ukraine, and was imprisoned in a Russian jail for Ukrainian nationalism.» It is a festival of a man, a genius, a daredevil, an aesthete, a collector, and a rebel — director, screenwriter, actor, artist, sculptor, costume designer, makeup artist, and choreographer.
In his youth, he resembled Charlie Chaplin; in his mature years, he looked like a white-haired sage. The creator of the famous film Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, he was a master of collage. He responded to pain and grievances with love. He sought never to miss the beauty around him and was intolerant of anything dull. He lived as though he were filming an unparalleled movie about himself.
FATAL VERDICT
A prickly silence filled the courtroom as everyone awaited the verdict for Sergei Parajanov. The investigation had dragged on for four months and had reached a dead end. An anonymous letter from Petrychenko had led nowhere. The accuser insisted that the director was a deviant and that his Kyiv apartment was a veritable den of vice.
He claimed that Parajanov raped men or coerced them into consent. Additionally, the defendant was accused of nationalism, illegal trading of icons, spreading pornography, and a laundry list of other charges.
The trial lasted three days. Throughout, the accused never took his eyes off his ex-wife, Svetlana, silently pleading with her not to believe the slander. She embraced him with her heart. Finally, the verdict was pronounced. The courtroom instantly darkened, and a downpour began. Thunder roared authoritatively, trying to drown out the lies. Lightning tore the sky to shreds. The rain beat down furiously. The windows had to be closed, and lamps turned on to finalize this ridiculous case.
At that fateful moment, Sergei looked every bit the handsome figure — a courageous, sincere, and incomprehensible genius at fifty. The director was sentenced to five years in a strict-regime labor camp. Among real murderers, rapists, and tyrants. He swallowed the bitter pill of injustice, and as soon as he was behind bars, he wrote to his son: «Surenchik, during all our time together, I never had the chance to tell you how much I love you».
Exile and isolation weighed heavily on him, but he managed to rise above it. He gained respect, opened an art school, and corresponded with Federico Fellini and his closest friends. His letters were full of errors, and he rarely dated them. Sometimes, he would ask for large woolen shawls adorned with roses to be gifted on his behalf. He often complained about his ailing heart, which led him to avoid the groups that gathered to drink chifir (a strong prison tea).
Instead, he collected foil lids to craft future silver «thalers» (pouring resin into the foil and engraving images of notable figures) and created collages. He also wrote screenplays. Once, while sweeping the yard, the prison warden passed by with a sarcastic remark: «Inmate, you’re working without any spark». The prisoner took the comment to heart, and the next time he saw the warden, he promptly set his broom on fire. He continued his simple task but now, with the much-desired spark.
He often reflected: «Ukraine is my homeland, my second homeland. There, I created my first masterpiece, Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, where I became a genius and my son was born. Ukraine gave me everything, and Ukraine destroyed me».
THE TRAGEDIES OF KRIVORIVNYA
Before Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, Parajanov had already made eight films, but they were all shot in the style of socialist realism. They appeared too optimistic, lofty, and ideological. The characters gathered sunflowers, carried wheat in buckets, admired young animals, dried hay, and got married. The First Lad, Ukrainian Rhapsody, and Flower on the Stone were not successful, but with Shadows, everything fell into place.
Such films were often called «commemorative» because they were produced for special occasions (in this case, to mark the 100th anniversary of Mykhailo Kotsiubynsky’s birth). But Parajanov surpassed expectations and created something extraordinary instead of just another routine movie.
To begin with, he moved in with Ivan Chendei, a compiler of Transcarpathian folktales. For a month, Parajanov slept in Chendei’s office, teaching his colleague how to write screenplays, though he didn’t touch a pen — he wasn’t familiar with Ukrainian grammar.
The filming took place near the village of Krivorivnya, where Kotsiubynsky had gathered his material. It was said that the mountains became the common thread since the Hutsuls were mountain people, just as Parajanov, an Armenian, was. He was a free, original, and unconquered soul.
The film crew stayed at a local hotel, but Parajanov lived with an ordinary Hutsul family to fully immerse himself in the culture, language, and traditions. He lived as they did, eating banush (a traditional Hutsul dish) and eagerly attending baptisms and weddings. He would somberly follow behind funeral processions, absorbing the widow’s lament. He listened to the songs and the mournful cry of the trembita.
He also wandered through the village, collecting spinning wheels, beds, and yokes. His passion for antiquity was no surprise, given that he was the son of an antique dealer. The Hutsuls adored him, gifting him icons and embroidered shirts. He repaid them with Kyiv cakes and cooking lessons on how to make stuffed grape leaves. To one centenarian grandmother, he even gave a bottle of authentic French perfume.
The film began with tragedy. White, fragile snow, a falling fir tree, and a lively young boy in red. From the birds’ vantage point, it seemed less like a frightened child and more like a moving blot of blood spreading out. Then came the cry of the trembitas. The wild dances of the fierce and the prayers of the humble. A church darkened with soot from candles. Inside it — silver singing, silver staffs, and wands.
The neighborly feud continued, ultimately leading to the great tragedy. Wherever you looked — there were shadows cast by fir trees, scarves, and flocks of sheep and rams. The film was filled with such metaphors: the bluish-tinged mountains, silver leaves, Palaagna on a horse with her skirt lifted, blood flowing in streams, and transforming into red stallions.
There was little dialogue; emotions were conveyed through events, broken sunlight, and guttural songs. To record the songs, the most talented vocalists were brought to Kyiv’s studios. Even the trembitas (traditional Hutsul horns) made the journey. It’s remembered that the director himself personally carried these three-meter-long «sticks» into the airplane cabin.
HOW POMEGRANATES BLEED
The premiere proved to be fateful, marking the end of the artist’s future. One of Parajanov’s friends, Ivan Dziuba, used the event (with an audience of eight hundred) to draw attention to the arrests of intellectuals, sparking a storm. Protesters were fired from their jobs, Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors was shelved, and work on the film Kyiv Frescoes was frozen, leaving the director without any means of livelihood.
The poor soul initially wandered, wrote letters, and knocked on doors. Over time, he withdrew into himself and his home, not wanting to hear or see anyone. Eventually, he went to lick his wounds in his childhood courtyard in Tbilisi and from there to Yerevan, where he birthed his next masterpiece, The Color of Pomegranates.
The new film was even more original. Objects played equal roles with actors: pomegranates bled, old books soaked under rainstorms, manuscripts were eagerly read by the wind, and a snail licked a woman’s breast. Actress Sofiko Chiaureli played five roles, and the leaders of Goskino nearly lost their minds.
In the end, they concluded that the public didn’t need such madness, and once again, the film was shelved. Sergei returned to Kyiv, where he begged for work for nearly two years, but instead of a film set, he ended up in Lukyanivska Prison.
THE BELOVED WOMEN OF SERGEI PARADJANOV
He truly loved three times. His first love struck him during his student years at VGIK. One day, he went to a department store to look at shoes and met a saleswoman named Nigyar, a dark-skinned girl with slightly almond-shaped eyes. The young couple began dating and eventually married, but they overlooked one crucial thing. Nigyar and her family were Muslim, while Sergei was Christian, which led to significant religious conflict.
At first, her father demanded a hefty dowry from the groom; then her brothers got involved. They urged her to leave the outsider, threatening her in various ways. When the girl firmly said «no», they pushed her under a train. (According to another version, they stabbed her multiple times and left her on the railway tracks).
Parajanov took the death of his beloved very hard and preferred never to speak of it. He graduated from VGIK, moved to Kyiv, and fell in love with the city. He admired its chestnut trees, lilac gardens, and the strange, dancing language spoken there. He found work at Kyiv’s film studio and threw himself into filmmaking, falling in love again.
This time, his chosen one was the daughter of a diplomat, Svetlana Shcherbatyuk. Delicate, with refined features and a slender waist. The couple had a son, Suren, but the marriage didn’t last long. Svetlana was frightened by her husband’s eccentricity, unpredictability, and tendency towards adventures and improvisation. He could go to the market, engage in a loud bargaining match, and secretly steal a couple of peaches or even a chicken.
He believed that a harp suited his beloved (it didn’t matter that she couldn’t play it — just sitting and strumming the strings was enough). He constantly surrounded himself with acquaintances and strangers, so the house was always full of people, some wandering around in their underwear, participating in impromptu performances.
After six years, Svetlana’s patience ran out, and she took their son with her, though their relationship remained warm. Every Sunday, the former couple would still have lunch together. After Parajanov was fired, the screenwriter proposed to her again, but this time she refused.
The third time, he became infatuated with a young actress named Zoya Nedbay. He shaved, put on his best outfit, and went to propose. A few hours later, he returned utterly dejected, vowing never again to indulge the whims of his own heart.
PRISON, «BIDZIZINKAS», AND CARNIVAL
Sergei Parajanov spent four years and eleven days behind bars, emerging a broken man. He was released early thanks to the petitions of his friends abroad, particularly Lili Brik and directors Andrei Tarkovsky and Federico Fellini. Parajanov expressed his gratitude to Lili in his unique style: he sent her a bouquet made of barbed wire, adorned with his prison socks instead of flowers. He later had a peculiar conversation with Andrei. As the two men sat at a table, Parajanov remarked, «You’re a good director, Andrei, but not a great one — you’ve never been a homosexual or spent time in prison».
He was known as a «carnival man» because he turned everything around him into a spectacle. He slept in short bursts, wherever he could (once even napping in a prop coffin), and ate in tiny portions. He was always on the move, constantly rushing somewhere. Every Sunday, he visited the circus and was a devoted fan of ballet and opera. He rarely read books, and his home contained only one — Moydodyr, a children’s fairy tale. He was seldom alone, likely because he feared solitude.
Throughout his life, Parajanov created beauty from trash, rags, carpets, old hats, feathers, and pomegranate seeds. Even during meals, he would arrange his cutlets on the plate in the shape of a Christmas tree. He was considered a great fantasist and storyteller. He lied constantly, but always in a creative way.
For example, he wore a beautiful robe, claiming it once belonged to the 18th-century military leader Nader Shah. Eventually, it was revealed that his neighbor had made the robe from scraps of fabric. On another occasion, he told a tale of how, as a child, he had to swallow diamonds during house raids and sift through his morning stool to recover them.
Parajanov saw the world differently. In one of his films, instead of a clock, a boy was shown swinging back and forth, representing the ticking of time — «tick-tock, tick-tock». He revered pregnant women as saints. He called tangerines bidzizinkas, ate kutia (a traditional Christmas dish) every year from a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon, and loved walnut cake. He would decorate his New Year’s tree with baby booties. In his letters, he signed off as «Uncle Sergei» and dreamed of visiting the Louvre to make a film inside the museum.
The man was always buying, reselling, and gifting things. He spoke loudly and emotionally. His small two-room apartment on Victory Square was transformed into a retro museum filled with antique mirrors, candlesticks, and sideboards. He gathered like-minded people at his home and cooked dinner daily for 10-12 guests, often serving Armenian, Georgian, and Ukrainian dishes. He barely drank alcohol. Every Saturday and Sunday, he would head to Kyiv’s flea market to hunt for new antiques.
He loved to shock with extraordinary actions. He might decorate his home with red apples (which would be scattered everywhere: on the floor, bed, and table), cut a deep neckline into a knitted sweater, or rent a «Chaika» car to give a friend’s daughter a ride — she dreamed of sitting in such a prestigious vehicle. He always found unique ways to celebrate his birthday.
Before his last birthday, he wandered the streets, inviting random passersby to his party. Around a hundred people showed up. Parajanov quickly adapted, placing his guests on the staircase, which he had covered with carpets. He arranged bottles of wine and rode up and down the elevator, giving loud toasts. The guests happily drank along.
In the end, he grew tired. The toll of three arrests, fifteen years of exile, and a severe lung disease weighed on him. He underwent surgery in Moscow, where they removed one of his lungs and gave him hope that he would live, but his health continued to decline. The genius was slowly fading. In one of his last interviews, he admitted, «It is a great honor for me that I lived in Ukraine and loved this land. And when I was exiled from this land, I left my heart here. I am a highlander who loved the vast Ukrainian steppe».
