VSEVOLOD ZELENIN: myth design, cinema, and politics
Vsevolod Zelenin / Photo from personal archive
SHORT PROFILE
Name: Vsevolod Vladimirovich Zelenin
Date of Birth: September 12, 1969
Place of Birth: Melitopol, Ukraine
Profession: psychologist, myth designer, political coach
Myth design is the practice of constructing a new reality with the aim of influencing social processes and the individuals within them. The result of this practice is the emergence of a myth, as the term itself suggests — a myth as an integral part of a society’s political ideology, a myth as a means of manipulating human consciousness. Artists have often been recruited to create such myths, and one of the key instruments for this purpose has been, and still is cinema.
We discuss how myths are created, by whom, and the role cinema plays in this process with Vsevolod Zelenin — a prominent Ukrainian political psychologist, art historian, and coach.
Andrey Alferov: Let’s start with the basic question — what is a myth?
Vsevolod Zelenin: A myth is an allegorical reflection of people’s ideas about the universe and the events that take place within it. Myths have always existed. They are an attempt to explain, through imagery, the processes occurring in society and nature. For ancient people, who did not have the abundance of information we possess today, myths provided explanations for natural phenomena, often attributing them to the actions of divine forces.
For modern people overwhelmed with information, there is still a need for some kind of reference point to help them understand where they live, what is happening to them, and which processes they are involved in. In other words, once again, we find ourselves in a situation where we need myths to provide simple, allegorical explanations for the complex processes surrounding us.
A. A.: In a historical context, when did cinema and myth first intersect?
V. Z.: I believe cinema itself grew out of myths. For example, from the myth of the Lumière brothers — a social myth that framed the creation of cinematography. The very first plots were a kind of myth design aimed at reflecting social conflicts.
From my perspective, cinema simply continued what had already been happening in drama since Ancient Greece, where mythology was originally enacted due to the absence of technical means — in the form of theater and mystery plays. Cinema brought all of this onto the big screen.
A. A.: In your opinion, which historical examples should a modern myth designer study when developing and shaping a myth through cinema? What can be considered the gold standard?
V. Z.: The gold standard is to rely on archetypal scenarios. The task of a myth is to create a naming system and convey, in modern language, those ancient scenarios that have existed before. The more precisely a director or screenwriter is able to capture the essence of human nature described already in the Bible, the stronger the result. In fact, the Bible is pure myth design — full of allegories, metaphors, analogies, and parables.
A. A.: Is the creation of a myth always a conscious process, or are there other examples? In other words, can a myth emerge as a byproduct of creating a work of art?
V. Z.: It depends on how aware a person is of their ideological task. It’s like in Viktor Pelevin’s book Generation «P»: the main character, Vavilen Tatarsky, doesn’t want to take on the job of a copywriter, complaining that he knows nothing about mass consciousness. And he’s told: «You yourself are part of mass consciousness, you embody it».
Another example is our own Sergei Parajanov. He was deeply rooted in the understanding of nature, history, and ethnography, which allowed him to so vividly reflect all this in his adaptation of Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1964), even though he was neither a Hutsul nor even Ukrainian. I cannot say for certain whether he pursued any ideological goal. But I believe he simply sensed the nature, the organic essence of the Hutsuls, and embodied it with all his artistic power.
A. A.: And what about Dovzhenko and Eisenstein?
V. Z.: They set themselves a very clear task — or rather, such a task was clearly set before them. For example, when they made Alexander Nevsky (1938), it was done with a specific ideological goal (even the music was composed with that goal in mind) — mobilizing the population for war.
And not just war in general but war against Germany. In the Soviet Union, however, the ideological apparatus was often controlled by mediocrities. Not every act of myth-making was entrusted to great artists like Dovzhenko and Eisenstein. We saw an enormous amount of primitive, cheap myth design…
In Ukraine, I observe the opposite tendency: the desire to break free from the Soviet ideological yoke often leaves us struggling to find any clear ideological or worldview-based agenda in artistic works. It’s almost impossible to find one.
Take, for example, the drama A Prayer for Hetman Mazepa (2005). All the elements for success were present: a substantial state-funded budget, a brilliant director — Yuriy Illienko, practically a classic of Ukrainian poetic cinema. And what was the result?
A premiere at the Berlin Film Festival, an international scandal, and zero synergy for society. Only a few intellectuals benefited from it — and not even all of them. The rest of Ukraine simply passed by Mazepa. The theaters were empty. Six years earlier, there was The Barber of Siberia (1999) by Nikita Mikhalkov.
You can judge as a director how skillfully it was made. But in terms of public response, the film hit the mark: according to sociological studies at the time, the number of people in Russia wanting to emigrate dropped 3.5 times.
And that was the late 1990s, a difficult time, just the start of the 2000s. But after watching the film, people chose to stay. You can have any opinion of Mikhalkov, whose current geopolitical ramblings are unbearable, but he managed to create a film — an act of poignant myth design about love for one’s homeland, however imperfect it may be.
A. A.: I’ve always been curious: how does power work with an artist? The Bolshevik authorities understood that in order to create a myth, they needed to recruit great artists — Eisenstein, Dovzhenko, Dziga Vertov… Stalin personally worked with all of them. But how does this happen today? Did Yeltsin personally give Mikhalkov his task?
V. Z.: I don’t know. But I do have an idea of how this happens in the civilized world. Take how Auguste Rodin was commissioned to create his famous project, The Gates of Hell. That was a state commission. Rodin was tasked with creating a French pantheon at the end of the 19th century, following the Franco-Prussian wars and a shift in the state’s paradigm…
In general, myth design is a very important aspect — it creates a social convention, leading to a unified perspective, a shared consensus in society, and a common strategic understanding. That’s why the artist and the state form a very important tandem. Throughout history, the relationship between art and power has given birth to some of the greatest works of architecture and literature.
A. A.: Can we move to a more recent historical example? I’m referring to Kazakhstan, which, in modern history, has created a myth about itself through cinema.
V. Z.: At the time of its formation in 1991, Kazakhstan was in a very difficult state. First, it needed to integrate a population that had been purposefully resettled there during the Soviet era, starting in the 1920s. People were moved to a land that had previously been devastated by the Russian Empire.
In the 19th century, the conquest of Kazakhstan had only just been completed. The local aristocracy was essentially wiped out. That’s one part. On the other hand, Slavic colonists were being settled there. In addition, there was a demonization of Kazakh statehood. I’m simply describing the challenges myth design had to address there.
What we know as the «yoke» actually translates from Chinese as «state». The word «yoke» was demonized just like the word «horde», which, in fact, means people, nation, or state. Moreover, myth designers there had to somehow unite completely different ethnic groups and cultural layers.
What did they build their current myth on? First and foremost, on the mythologization of the personal narrative of their leader. The very term elbasy — «leader of the nation» — comes from perfectly normal Asian sources. The same approach was used in Singapore, China, and India. It’s quite natural for Asia.
The myth designers there mythologized Nursultan Nazarbayev’s biography, weaving his life path — as that of a hero — into the story of the nation’s formation, from his childhood to his rise to power .
An incredibly powerful work with semantics and symbolic capital… They took the very best and created a series of highly artistic works. I recommend everyone watch them who wants to understand what community design truly is. The task was not to create a cult of Nazarbayev’s personality but rather a cult of the country through the biography of the head of state. In other words, something that would unite everyone, form a shared vision of «who we are, what we are like, where we are headed, and what our path is in transforming from a Soviet republic into an independent state».
A. A.: How did they succeed? Why had no one else in the post-Soviet space thought of this while they managed to?
V. Z.: I wouldn’t say no one succeeded. Myth design — though not through cinema — was developed, for instance, by the Belarusians. A good example is the myth of Belarusian quality, preserving the high Soviet standards of food production. Armenia as well… But Armenia took more of a path of deep historical archaization through Tigranes the Great and the idea of Greater Armenia.
They needed to justify the territorial gains acquired during the collapse of the USSR, including Nagorno-Karabakh. And so they began to promote the myth that Armenia once stretched between three seas — the Mediterranean, the Black, and the Caspian; that the present-day country is just a small fragment of that once-great nation. I must say, Armenians are talented myth designers. Even during Soviet times, their coat of arms featured Mount Ararat.
This greatly angered the Turks, who even sent a note of protest since Ararat still lies within Turkish territory. To which Lunacharsky replied: «Your flag features the moon, the crescent. But the moon doesn’t belong to you either».
A. A.: Are there any examples of failed myth design projects?
V. Z.: Yes. The Armenians made such a mistake with regard to Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan, in turn, has been building its own myth — one that is powerful and skillfully constructed. In fact, it was this myth that led them to victory in the war.
The Armenians I speak with admit that they made a mistake: instead of creating an expansive, aggressive myth, as they did, they should have built one focused on internal well-being, the interests of the country, and national unity.
Because of this, they lost territory and geopolitical prospects. From their perspective, today’s Armenia occupies one of the smallest territories it has held in the past 300 years. This is a very strong example.
А. А.: Does quality matter? I’m asking because the Kazakh films about Nazarbayev sometimes resort to outright lubok . Despite the vivid imagery, symbolism… But the film Nomad is of an entirely different quality. This is already a major Hollywood-style production on a grand scale…
V. Z.: Myth design, just like any form of art, has different genres. For example, there’s a need for a table song, symphonic music, church chants, and wedding songs. This lubok is very good and understandable even in a semi-fairytale form, familiar since Soviet times. Such myth design resonated well with rural Kazakhstan…
They created continuity, an understanding of how Soviet Kazakhstan transformed into modern Kazakhstan. In other words, they created a natural progression, a telescopic logic of the historical process.
When a project like Nomad , was being created, the thinking was in the direction of an artifact of national pride — something that could be referenced. It was meant to create an impression, whether on an American, a French person, or a Ukrainian. All done in the best traditions and at the highest level in terms of special effects. This is Hollywood-style transnational quality. A completely different task.
It’s a pity that in Ukraine, no one has set clear ideological goals for creating films aimed at fulfilling a similar task. Zakhar Berkut (2019) or The Guide (2014) could have served this purpose. But both of these examples were more about the self-expression of individual artists who pursued their own ideological goals rather than the ideological goals of society.
A. A.: Can we informally call Nikolai Gogol the first myth designer of Ukraine?
V. Z.: Yes. Along with Shevchenko and Lesya Ukrainka. These are our three main myth designers. Lesya Ukrainka, with her Forest Song, created a powerful image of otherworldly entities. The combination of mysticism and everyday life — that, of course, is thanks to Gogol. And Shevchenko — he created the image of the country itself. His Kobzar, even in its structure, lays claim to nation-building, to the understanding of who we are, what we are, and why we exist.
Soviet propaganda did a great deal to turn Shevchenko into a highly unified figure across the entire USSR: his monuments were erected in every Soviet republic and even beyond. They wanted to create an image of Ukraine based on what Shevchenko had laid down.
In my book, I mention the names of the people who worked on this and who calculated and planned it. They selected only the appropriate poems for the school curriculum, deciding which should be promoted and which should be downplayed.
Not to mention how many films about Shevchenko have been made …
And all these films are about the same thing — about Ukraine’s hard fate. As a psychologist, I observe quite a few pessimistic, emotionally heavy notes. I believe that today, we are reaping the consequences of Shevchenko’s myth design. Whenever anything happens, we immediately fall into this ressentiment — this constant weight of Shevchenko hanging over us.
That’s why we should not focus on what we say about Ukraine but on what kind of discussion and what kind of dialogue Ukraine is engaged in. And how to create the conditions for this dialogue, to unite in one discourse Shevchenko, Babel, Gogol, Prokofiev, Bandera, Kovpak, Bulgakov, and Shukhevych. They were all here.
Until we begin to search for a discursive space where all of this can coexist, we will constantly be throwing something away — and by doing so, weakening ourselves. In modern myth design, this is called censorship. What should we censor? What should we prohibit? If we go down this path, how will we be any different from Russia, where, for example, the works of Gogol that touch on Ukraine are now banned?
A. A.: What kind of script could be written, what kind of film could be made about Ukraine to bring all these people and archetypes together? What blocks should such a creative film consist of?
V. Z.: One where people, characters, despite their differences, would be ready to hear each other. Where they would have the opportunity to communicate. And then Ukraine would begin as a state. Because a state begins with national dialogue — a dialogue of culture, spirituality, and ethnicity.
With moral strength, which consists, among other things, of historical memory, belonging to culture, and respect for representatives of other cultures living on our territory and beyond. Respect for our own history, respect for our own sons and daughters. Should we bring our boys back from captivity? Yes!
But Gogol and Bulgakov must also return from Russian captivity. The main task of myth design is not only to create unity in society but also to form a core of national identity capable of reproducing itself through works of art and cinema in particular.
A. A.: In your book, you have an amazing thought: «History is the truth that becomes a lie, and myth is the lie that becomes the truth». Could you explain how this negative, at first glance, connotation works — a lie that becomes the truth? It feels somewhat like cheating. At least phonetically. How does this work? How does this substitution begin to happen?
V. Z.: Right before our eyes, the events of 2014 are turning into legend — an ideological reinterpretation of the events on Maidan, as well as everything that happened to Ukraine in the 1990s and 2000s. And so many additional interpretations are being added that they blur the meaning and historical truth beyond recognition.
As for the lie — it’s more in the sense of Baudrillard with his simulacra. We first create an image that is so good that, according to Plato, it cannot help but materialize.
A. A.: It’s said about cinema that it is a lie that better helps us understand the truth of life because the camera lies 24 frames per second. In this sense, I believe cinema is the most convenient tool for creating myth — and the history of the USA is a good example. America created cinema, invented, so to speak, cinema in order to create itself.
V. Z.: Of course. There’s a reason their film industry is called the dream factory. Myths roll off the conveyor belt and are exported around the world.
The term itself first appeared in 1931, at the height of the Great Depression, and is attributed to writer and historian James Truslow Adams, who coined the phrase in an effort to encourage his fellow citizens. By the «American Dream», Adams meant the dream of a country where each person’s life would be better, richer, and fuller, where everyone would have the opportunity to attain what they deserve.
This dream is difficult for the upper classes of Europe to understand. It is not only about cars and high salaries, but about a social order that allows every man and woman to achieve what they are naturally capable of… Adams’ formulation, which referred to the text of the American Declaration of Independence of 1776, was almost immediately embraced not only by Hollywood — read: by the American elites — but also brought to life on screen.
It’s a Wonderful Life or Forrest Gump, Star Wars or The Avengers, Rocky or the Oscar-winning Nomadland — all of them are about the same thing: the central American myth. Hollywood also created the myth of the most important American city — New York — turning it, quite literally and without exaggeration, into a capital city. Every time the fate of the world hangs in the balance on screen, the «Big Apple» appears.
For New York is a whole world, canonized by cinema. Thanks to cinematography, New York has become and remains not only a role model for all cities of the world but also the ideal setting for disaster movies. And when September 11 happened, it was Hollywood that came to the defense of its city, introducing an unofficial ban on certain images and plot lines featuring New York. Sony, for example, had to pull the trailer for Spider-Man, which showed a helicopter caught in a web between the Twin Towers.
Just two months after the tragedy, in November 2001, the White House gathered 47 representatives of major film and television studios to discuss how certain topics should be presented in the media after the events of September 11. Among these topics were support for American soldiers and explaining to the public that the war in Afghanistan was being waged against terrorism, not Islam.
The White House emphasized that they were not asking for propaganda but that sincere, well-presented information was important for the ultimate goal — success in the military conflict. And Hollywood did not refuse, understanding its responsibility to the country. For myth-making is its domain.
Editor’s note by Andrey Alferov
A. A.: And the USSR? What role did cinema play there? All those films about pig-keepers and shepherds, Kuban Cossacks, showing how sweet life was in the Soviet countryside (though in reality, it was far from that) — how effective were they?
V. Z.: That was actually an example of non-myth design. Because it lacked any foundation for state-building. It was an example of ideological lubok, whose task was to compensate for the consistent failures in social construction. In other words, Stalin’s slogan «Life has become better, life has become merrier» was never actually realized.
The attempts in the 1960s–1970s to rehabilitate the White movement, such as the TV series His Excellency’s Adjutant, were a different matter. They tried to reconcile Soviet and anti-Soviet, pre-revolutionary elements within society. However, these attempts were unsuccessful because they failed to offer a vision of a real future. They didn’t create an alternative — a myth about a unified Soviet people. National movements and national viewpoints still remained. And in the end, the Union collapsed.
A. A.: What is the difference between myth design and propaganda?
V. Z.: Very simple: as soon as we start to take sides in myth design — this is right, and this is wrong — we fall into Manichaean thinking. As soon as we lose the broad perspective by taking someone’s side… Bert Hellinger said: «The moment we say that God stands behind us, we become fascists». It’s no coincidence that the Nazis had Gott mit uns written on their belts. In such a situation, we stop creating works and begin to fight for minds. You see what I mean? That’s no longer myth design. That’s pure propaganda.
A very good example of myth design in cinema is the Soviet series Seventeen Moments of Spring (1973), where the Nazis are portrayed as people with whom a dialogue is held. They were humanized for the first time and turned into myth. Jokes about Stierlitz and Müller instantly appeared. This is a myth design in development.
One of the properties of myth design is that it invites participation, co-creation. People get involved, becoming co-authors. They feel the urge to add something of their own. This is a kind of inclusion. The exclusive version is called informational terrorism. Its task is to destroy everything except what the group behind it considers correct.
A. A.: Your words about informational terrorism make one think that we live in an era not so much of myth design as of propaganda because nowadays, we see the crude imposition of one point of view and the destruction of others, despite all the outwardly declared freedoms.
V. Z.: Unfortunately, the modernist era continues. It hasn’t fully ended yet. The task of modernity is to find a single «correct» view and impose it on everyone, modernizing and developing it further. This view is usually exclusive, poorly tolerant of other viewpoints, and often intolerant.
A. A.: In this context, the question arises: where and in which countries is the profession of myth designer most in demand today?
V. Z.: Britain. They strongly support creators who produce something distinctly British, reinforcing an existing myth. One example is Mr. Bean. Rowan Atkinson, who plays him, is a typical intellectual. Yet he has created such an archetypal, even mythological, image of the British simpleton. The state gently and very subtly encourages such things.
A. A.: And James Bond? How much has the Bond franchise influenced and continues to influence the myth of Britain? Is it a national brand? After all, Bond serves Her Majesty but saves the world…
V. Z.: You’re absolutely right, this is pure myth design — from the very first second, from the book it all began with, to every single film made about Her Majesty’s agent’s adventures. Bond is a mythological hero, absolutely British in character, essence, and his way of interacting with the world and the state.
A. A.: Is it easy to destroy a myth? How strong is its… immunity?
V. Z.: A myth can only be destroyed asymmetrically. The more furiously you try to destroy it, the more people begin to believe in it. It’s like in Christianity: as long as Christians were persecuted, the beliefs of their pagan persecutors faded into the background. In other words, Jesus defeated Heracles — and Zeus as well. Myth and anti-myth interact with each other. The stronger the attack, the faster the internal battle of the myth arises.
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