The man who saw an angel. The Man Who Saw an Angel

http://jlm-taurus.livejournal.com/22079.html#cutid1

Pavlenok:
It’s hard to say what had a stronger impact on the director’s fate—blasphemy or praise. I didn’t know Andrei Tarkovsky before the official aesthetes started a fuss around “Andrei Rublev” that broke him. But, trying to humiliate the master, they only achieved that in the eyes of the intelligentsia Tarkovsky became a martyr, and sufferers in Rus' were always worshiped. And during my three or four meetings, Andrei Arsenievich behaved distinctly aloof, he was not only buttoned up, but sewn up tightly, without making contact. I have never seen him otherwise. Only once, when additional money was needed for the filming of “Mirror”, and we were talking one-on-one, he opened up for a moment, catching America with some edge:
- But Coppola, having staged Apocalypse, received a fee for which he bought a hotel...
- We, Andrey Arsenievich, have a different social system, and hotels are not for sale. And your work is always paid at the highest rate we have.
He looked up at me for the first time and said in his dry and harsh voice:
- So we have a bad system...
That's where we parted. I added money for the production. It was extremely difficult to work with him. The slightest remark made on his script or film caused a storm of indignation among the cinematic community, and not only among us.

His paintings are a true school of excellence for film makers. And at the same time, he lived in his own closed world, showed disdain for the public and sometimes could say, looking into the audience:
- Look at yourself. Are you able to understand my film? And he constantly grumbled and attacked distributors about why his films were released in small quantities, and saw this as the machinations of the “boss.” But what can you do, his films were difficult to perceive, especially since in the vast majority of our cinemas the screen illumination, sound quality, level of amenities, and the acoustics of the halls were far from standard. The director's hard-won transparency and subtlety of image, the spiritual depth and elusive charm of each frame disappeared, the director's genius succumbed to the dullness of technology. And Tarkovsky became more and more irritable, completely impervious to criticism, and deified his own opinion. I remember the difficult and tedious discussion of the Stalker script in Ermash’s office. Even with a quick reading, one was struck by the wretchedness of the philosophy, the abundance of commonplaces and truisms of political truth, the excessive conspiracy and, if you like, the litter of the dialogue - not a script, but a radio newspaper. Sizov and I did not enter into polemics, and editor-in-chief Dal Orlov and Ermash, who took the initiative in the conversation, wasted their words. Tarkovsky was deaf to the admonitions. But, having filmed all the material from the two-part film, he declared that the entire film was a waste. It became clear that he was looking for a scandal. On Ermash’s instructions, I looked at almost seven thousand meters of unedited material and became convinced that Tarkovsky’s claims were unfounded. One of the best cameramen of Mosfilm, Georgy Rerberg, shot the film in accordance with the task set by the director. It was brilliant work. All the action took place in the pre-dawn hour, and how the camera crew managed to recreate on film the vibrant light of the coming day, maintaining the given tone throughout the entire film, was a miracle. In accordance with the established procedure, the director personally accepted each batch of film from the laboratory without a single comment. The acts with his receipts were kept in the laboratory. Most likely, Andrei needed a scandal. But it didn’t work out, a decision was made: to give Tarkovsky the opportunity to reshoot the entire picture. We allocated 500 thousand rubles, Kodak film, which we divided almost centimeter by centimeter into particularly complex and important shootings, and replaced the cameraman. Rerberg was reprimanded - for what? - after which he started drinking. The young talented cameraman Sasha Knyazhinsky, whom I knew from Minsk, repeated Rerberg’s artistic feat and re-shot the film in the manner prescribed by Tarkovsky. I took the time to compare Rerberg’s films with Knyazhinsky’s films. It turned out that it was shot one to one. What producer, in what country, would give such indulgence to the artist’s whim?”

Brief biography

(1932–1986), Russian film director, screenwriter.

People's Artist of the RSFSR (1980).

Born on April 4, 1932 in the village of Zavrazhye, Ivanovo region. in the family of the poet A.A. Tarkovsky. In 1951–1952 he studied at the Moscow Institute of Oriental Studies, worked at the All-Russian Research Institute of Non-Ferrous Metals and Gold, and went on a geological expedition to the Turukhansk region. In 1954 he entered the directing department of VGIK (workshop of M.I. Romm - V. Shukshin studied in the same group). In 1960, he defended his diploma with the short film The Skating Rink and the Violin (first prize at the International Student Film Festival in New York) - already in this lyrical short story about a little musician and his adult friend, Tarkovsky demonstrated his extraordinary command of the language of cinema. Ivan’s childhood (based on the story by V.O. Bogomolov Ivan). The piercingly tragic story about a teenager who went to the front (N. Burlyaev), with its contrasting contrast between the bright world of childhood and the dark realities of war, created a real sensation in world cinema (Grand Prix of the Venice IFF, 1962; prize of the San Francisco IFF, 1962; a number of other prizes). With an obvious attraction to the style of R. Bresson and A. Kurosawa, the young Russian director revealed the talent of a valuable, original-minded artist. Andrei Rublev (The Passion of Andrei) was completed, but was not released.

In 1969, the French company, which received the rights to distribute Rublev abroad, successfully showed it at the Cannes Film Festival (FIPRESCI Prize, 1969). After this, the film became the object of audience excitement in the USSR for many years, and Tarkovsky firmly established himself as the main “aesthete” and “nonconformist” of the Soviet screen. Solaris (based on the novel of the same name by S. Lem) are representatives of a technocratic civilization of the future, living in the artificial world of a space station. However, here too Tarkovsky carried out his idea of the original, “divine” spirituality of man, extending it beyond national and cultural boundaries (in the attributes of the film, Rublev’s Trinity coexists equally with the music of J. S. Bach and the paintings of P. Bruegel, and the composition of the final frame is literal quote from Rembrandt). In Cannes (1972), in addition to the Special Jury Prize, Solaris also received the Prize of the International Evangelical Center.

Mirror (1974), where his muse of philosophical and poetic reflection is not constrained by the traditional plot, but only finds the fragment she needs in the rich set of visual associations and memories of the artist - author and hero. The semantic structure of the picture turned out to be surprisingly multidimensional - along with the philosophical and poetic “codes” in some episodes, the note of political dissent was easily deciphered (the episode in the printing house, etc.). The film practically did not receive distribution and exacerbated the hidden confrontation between the director and the authorities. Trying on a new project, Tarkovsky writes scripts, gives lectures on directing, and stages Hamlet at the Lenin Komsomol Theater. (1977).

Stalker, published in 1979 (based on the story by A. and B. Strugatsky, Roadside Picnic; special prize of the ecumenical jury of the IFF in Cannes, 1982) looked like a compromise in some way: the menacingly mysterious and at the same time promising the fulfillment of any desires “zone” could be a hint of a crisis technocratic (otherwise known as “capitalist”) civilization, the meaning of the dialogues between the writer (A. Solonitsyn) and the professor (N. Grinko) could be interpreted in the same vein.

In 1980, Tarkovsky was awarded the title of People's Artist of the RSFSR. However, in reality the conflict has only deepened. Tarkovsky filmed Nostalgia in Italy. The experiences of the main character, cut off from his native roots, the writer Gorchakov (O. Yankovsky), practically “mirrored” his own state of spiritual bitterness and despair. Convinced that neither this film nor his further works would be properly appreciated in the USSR, Tarkovsky decided to stay abroad. Unfortunately, neither Nostalgia, awarded the Grand Prix for directing in Cannes (1984), nor Sacrifice, filmed in Sweden (special jury prize at the Cannes International Film Festival, 1986) - a messianic drama-prediction of an impending nuclear disaster, were discovered in Tarkovsky's work new horizon. The state of mental restlessness was aggravated by a serious cancer disease.

******************************************************************************************

Andrei Arsenievich Tarkovsky,

brilliant Soviet director. His films are rarely shown on the big screen and rarely understood, even now. Over twenty years of work in Russia, he shot only five films, however, foreigners still know the two main names of Russian culture: Dostoevsky and Tarkovsky.

For the director's anniversary, a retrospective is planned at the Cinema Museum, which will last until April 11, on the same day the Illusion cinema will take the baton. There will be screenings of films that Andrei Tarkovsky himself loved as a viewer in the 60s and 70s: these are the masterpieces of Ingmar Bergman, Akira Kurosawa, Luis Buñuel, Robert Bresson. In addition, this week Tarkovsky's films will be shown on the Kultura TV channel.

The director's debut in the USSR was Ivan's Childhood, a film that won the Golden Lion in Venice. Then “Andrei Rublev”, “Solaris”, “Mirror” and “Stalker” appeared.

There are three more in forced emigration: “Nostalgia”, “Sacrifice” and a full-length documentary with Tonino Guerra “Time of Travel”.

In order to understand how Tarkovsky was received in his homeland, there are enough dry facts: the film “Stalker” was released in 1980, only 196 copies were made. Three were allocated for the whole of Moscow, and in the first months, two million viewers watched the film in the capital alone. They continue to watch them even now. Time puts everything in its place, so today we can say that Andrei Tarkovsky’s films are commercially successful. Only their payback period is not the first week of rental, but the whole life.

Even eminent critics do not undertake to define what “Tarkovsky’s cinema” is - it is a separate world that was created as if in isolation from reality, while at the same time coming as close to it as possible. His contemporaries and compatriots did not understand him, but abroad they admired, extolled him and awarded him at various competitions. There was always a lack of admiration for the genius, perhaps that is why he chose, even after death, to stay where he could create - in Paris. On his grave in Sainte-Genevieve des Bois is written: "The man who saw an angel."

After Andrei Tarkovsky received an invitation to film a film in Italy in the early 80s of the last century, he did not return to Russia. “Nostalgia,” starring Oleg Yankovsky, was “apolitical,” but at the same time aroused suspicion. Therefore, when the director was offered to continue working abroad, he agreed. The USSR insisted on returning, but Tarkovsky refused - for which he was declared a traitor. The director's latest film, Sacrifice, was filmed in Sweden. Then health problems worsened: the disease won the fight against cancer...

He was an extraordinary person since childhood: an obvious leader who knew his worth. Howrecalled the director’s first wife, Irma Rausch , later, at the institute: “Andrey evoked complex feelings. Something was subtly visible in the appearance of this foppish metropolitan young man. I couldn’t figure it out, and we often quarreled because of the difference in worldviews. So that you understand this difference, I’ll give the following example: Andrei admired the way the scene of the rape and murder of the girl in “The Holy Spring” was filmed, and I liked the choir of dwarves in “Snow White.” Looking ahead, I will say that I understood a lot when Andrei introduced me to his father.”

Andrei Tarkovsky's father is Arseny Tarkovsky, a talented poet. As people close to the family say, they had a lot in common; it was possible to understand one only by knowing both. “I probably really looked at it later and realized what unites my father’s poems and Andrei’s films. They have the ability to awaken in a person something that he is only vaguely aware of.”

Polish director Krzysztof Zanussi, recalling a trip to America with Andrei, said that once at a meeting with an audience, a young American asked Andrei: “What should I do in order to be happy?” At first Andrei didn’t understand the question at all, and then he said: “First you need to think - why are you living in the world? What is the meaning in your life? Why did you appear on earth at this particular time? What role is intended for you? Figure it all out. And happiness?.. It will either come or not.” The American did not understand anything, and Zanussi noted that this was a very Russian answer.

In terms of the importance of the aesthetic element in the structure of the film, Tarkovsky’s creative heritage is comparable to that of S. M. Eisenstein. He achieved that the special, slow pace of his works, the richness of intra-frame space (landscapes, portraits, an abundance of significant details), actor's and author's monologues, color nuances and other expressive means of film language became obviously more important for the viewer than the plot intrigue of his films. It is important, however, that for Tarkovsky form was almost always a projection of his author’s idea. The role of his personality in the history of Russian cinema is unique: he remained the hero of the lofty myth of the artist-passion-bearer, director-preacher, capable of resisting the dictates of state ideology and commerce even in such an “industrial” art form as cinema.

He was not filming about something pretty - we are talking about harmonious beauty, about hidden beauty, about beauty as such. Picasso, instead of glorifying beauty, trying to glorify it, tell about it, testify to this beauty, acted as its destroyer, detractor, exterminator. The truth expressed by beauty is mysterious; it can neither be deciphered nor explained in words. But when a human being, a person, finds himself close to this beauty, encounters this beauty, he feels its presence, at least through the goosebumps that run down his back. Beauty is like a miracle that a person involuntarily witnesses. That's the whole point.

A. TARKOVSKY. LAST INTERVIEW

The text is based on the publication of Literaturnaya Gazeta dated April 8, 1987. Translation from French by L. Tokarev.

Both of my latest films are based on personal impressions, but have nothing to do with childhood or the past, they rather concern the present. I draw your attention to the word “impressions”. Childhood memories never make a person an artist. I refer you to Anna Akhmatova’s stories about her childhood. Or to Marcel Proust. We attach somewhat excessive importance to the role of childhood. The way psychoanalysts look at life through childhood and find explanations for everything in it is one of the ways of infantilizing a person. Recently I received an extremely strange letter from a famous psychoanalyst who is trying to explain my work to me using psychoanalytic methods. The approach to the artistic process, to creativity from this point of view, if you like, is even depressing. It’s depressing because the motives and essence of creativity are much more complex, much more elusive, than just memories of childhood and its explanations. I believe that psychoanalytic interpretations of art are too simplistic, even primitive.

Every artist, during his stay on earth, finds and leaves behind some piece of truth about civilization, about humanity. The very idea of searching, searching for an artist is offensive. It's like picking mushrooms in the forest. They may be found, or perhaps not. Picasso even said: “I don’t search, I find.” In my opinion, the artist does not act at all as a seeker, he in no way acts empirically (“I’ll try to do this, I’ll try that”). The artist testifies to the truth, to his truth of the world. An artist must be sure that he and his work correspond to the truth. I reject the idea of experiment, of searching in the field of art. Any search in this area, everything that is pompously called “avant-garde” is simply a lie.

Nobody knows what beauty is. The idea that people develop about beauty, the idea of beauty itself, changes in the course of history along with philosophical claims and simply with the development of man during his own life. And this makes me think that beauty is actually a symbol of something else. But what exactly? Beauty is a symbol of truth. I speak not in the sense of the opposite “truth and falsehood,” but in the sense of the truth of the path that a person chooses. Beauty (relative, of course!) in different eras testifies to the level of consciousness that people of a given period have about the truth. There was a time when this truth was expressed in the image of the Venus de Milo. And it goes without saying that a complete collection of female portraits by, say, Picasso, strictly speaking, has not the slightest relation to the truth. We're not talking about beauty here,

It seems to me that the human being is created in order to live. Live on the path to truth. This is why man creates. To some extent, a person creates on the path to truth. This is his way of existing, and the question of creativity (“For whom do people create? Why do they create?”) is an unanswerable question. In fact, each artist not only has his own understanding of creativity, but also his own questioning about it. This connects with what I am now saying about the truth that we seek, which we contribute with our small forces. The fundamental role here is played by instinct, the instinct of the creator. An artist creates instinctively, he does not know why at this particular moment he is doing this or that, writing exactly about this, drawing exactly this. Only then does he begin to analyze, find explanations, speculate and come to answers that have nothing to do with instinct, with the instinctive need to create, create, express oneself. In a way, creativity is the expression of the spiritual being in man as opposed to the physical being; creativity is, as it were, proof of the existence of this spiritual being. In the field of human activity there is nothing that would be more unjustified, aimless, there is nothing that would be more self-sufficient than creativity. If you remove everything related to profit from human activities, only art remains.

By contemplation I simply mean what gives rise to an artistic image or the thought that we develop in ourselves about an artistic image. This is all completely individual. An artistic image, the meaning of an artistic image can only follow from observation. If it is not based on contemplation, then the artistic image will be replaced by a symbol, that is, by something that can be explained by reason, and then the artistic image does not exist - after all, it no longer reflects humanity, the world.

A genuine artistic image must express not only the search for a poor artist with his human problems, with his desires and needs. It should reflect the world. But not the world of the artist, but the path of humanity to the truth. A simple feeling of contact with a soul that is somewhere here, above us, but here, in front of us, lives in a work, is enough to evaluate it as genius. This is the true stamp of genius.

There was a time when I could name people who influenced me and were my teachers. But now only “characters” remain in my mind, half saints, half madmen. These “characters” may be slightly possessed, but not by the devil; these are, as it were, “God’s madmen.” Among the living I will name Robert Bresson. Among the dead are Leo Tolstoy, Bach, Leonardo da Vinci... In the end, they were all madmen. Because they were looking for absolutely nothing in their heads.

They didn't create with their heads... They both scare me and inspire me. It is absolutely impossible to explain their creativity. Thousands of pages have been written about Bach, Leonardo and Tolstoy, but in the end no one has been able to explain anything. No one, thank God, was able to find, touch the truth, touch the essence of their creativity! This once again proves that a miracle is inexplicable...

In the highest sense of this concept, freedom, especially in the artistic sense, in the sense of creativity, does not exist. Yes, the idea of freedom exists, it is a reality in social and political life. In different regions, different countries, people live with more or less freedom; but you know the evidence that shows that in the most monstrous conditions there were people who possessed unheard-of inner freedom, inner peace, greatness. It seems to me that freedom does not exist as a choice: freedom is a state of mind. For example, one can be socially and politically completely “free” and yet perish from a sense of frailty, a sense of isolation, a sense of lack of a future.

As for freedom of creativity, there is no arguing about it at all. No art can exist without it. The absence of freedom automatically devalues a work of art, because this absence prevents the latter from expressing itself in its most beautiful form. The absence of this freedom leads to the fact that a work of art, despite its physical existence, does not actually exist. In creativity we must see not only creativity. But, unfortunately, in the twentieth century the dominant tendency is in which the individualist artist, instead of striving to create a work of art, uses it to highlight his own “I”. A work of art becomes an exponent of the “I” of its creator and turns, so to speak, into a mouthpiece for his petty claims. You know this better than me. Paul Valery wrote a lot about this. On the contrary, a true artist, and moreover, a genius, are slaves of the gift with which they are endowed. They owe this gift to the people whom they were chosen to nourish spiritually and serve. That's what freedom is for me.

Tarkovsky gave this interview to the Parisian weekly Le Figaro Magazine in October 1986.

Why I suddenly wanted to go to Paris... I don’t know - the decision came spontaneously and unexpectedly. I wanted to celebrate my birthday in Paris. Paris... even in the name itself there is some kind of courage and delight. It’s not for nothing that many people have found inspiration in these parts, and I want... I want to be inspired and finally start writing
.

We are sitting in a cafe in front of Notre Dame Cathedral. The mood is great! We have a guide and translator with us - he has lived in France for a very long time... he is telling us something. And suddenly I ask him: “Where is the famous Russian film director Andrei Tarkovsky buried in Paris?” I wasn't thinking about this at all five minutes ago. Why? Why did those distant years suddenly come to mind? My graduation, almost a gold medal, which I did not receive due to a bad mark in physical education and behavior... and moving to Moscow.

Moscow... Moscow, after the small village in the Ryazan region where I lived, opened the door to a new world for me, which for me, a 16-year-old girl, began with the apartment of the well-known film director Andrei Tarkovsky. I did not know and did not understand then what an invaluable role he would play in my destiny.

A short man with tousled black hair, just as I remember him now. I lived there until I got married. Already pregnant, sitting in this very French cafe, with tears in my eyes, I asked the guide to take me to the cemetery - to bow to Andrei and his wife. Bow and say THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR THAT TRACE THAT REMAINED IN ME.

Cemetery of Saint-Genevier des Bois. We walk along the path, and our hearts skip a beat as if we were going on a date, on a date with this brilliant man and his wonderful wife... and here is the monument, and on it is the inscription: The Man Who Saw an Angel. Well, hello, Andrey Arsentievich... Hello, Larisa.

I bow to the ground and see him alive. Him, nervously walking around the room, waving his arms, at moments when inspiration struck. And him, but completely different, gone deep into himself, whom I was very afraid of.

At that time they always had financial problems. They didn’t let me rent - there was no money. As a matter of fact, Tarkovsky was under severe stress. There was such a flickering back and forth. Endless meetings with the right people. I heard Larisa’s frequent stories about his many mistresses. Couldn't achieve property and social superiority - he got his hands on women. Playing the role of a defender-hunter was not very successful. Everything was on Larisa’s powerful shoulders.

At the same time, he was always anally devoted to his family. That’s what he said: “we have a real, full-fledged family.” His son made all the sense to him. He loved his homeland very much. I missed her. There was always a Russian person at heart, but he was never able to live according to Western laws.

He believed in mystical things. I remember one evening we gathered at a large table in the living room. We were talking about UFOs. Then I sat, listened, and was overcome with horror. I just couldn’t understand how Andrei saw them in Tuchkovo. He said that this happened during the filming of the film “Mirror”.

Sound search never gave Andrey peace. He felt that he was chosen, that he was different from others. He talked all the time about the Creation of the world, about God. I was looking for the truth. In his works he embodied, first of all, sound deficiencies. I tried to bring them out through films. Convey the meaning. When he went deep into himself, his gaze became hard and his speech abrupt.

Tarkovsky always said that he was very lonely, and he was often scared. At such moments he was so helpless. He asked Larisa not to leave his side. He always looked for the IDEAL in everyone. Much later, my friend Irina Pechernikova (the film “We’ll Live Until Monday”) told me: “Do you know why Tarkovsky accepted you, a girl from the outback? He felt in you the ability to love, the ability to sympathize. His Soul felt good with you"

Perhaps this was really so. I am beyond grateful for these precious years and memories. For the mark that Andrei Tarkovsky left on my soul. I remembered him like that, seeing this world completely differently from others.

Date of death - 1986, December 29. He was born in 1932. He was 54 years old. Is it a lot or a little? And why do brilliant people live short lives? His films remain, but film critics and other creative people write about them, but I just want to remember him as a person, as a person who played a role in my life.

Andrei Arsenievich Tarkovsky

Andrey Tarkovsky was born on April 4, 1932 in the town of the village of Zavrazhye, Ivanovo region. Father, Arseny Alexandrovich, is a talented poet and translator. Mom, Maria Ivanovna, is an actress, literary worker, who, together with Arseny, graduated from the Higher Literary Courses at the All-Russian Union of Poets. Both mother and father subsequently participated in their son’s work. My father’s poems are heard from the screen in several films by Andrei Arsenievich.

When the future famous director was only five years old, his father left the family. And they lived in Moscow, in Shchipkovsky Lane, in Zamoskvorechye. Here Tarkovsky studied at school, together with another now famous Andrei from the world of art - the poet Voznesensky.

According to the recollections of classmates, Tarkovsky already had a feeling of being chosen and aristocratic as a child. He was always neat and fresh among the boys; in his youth he dressed provocatively fashionably, although the family was very poor, especially after his father left. Andrei behaved relaxed, even communicating with teachers as equals. Apparently, the feeling of inner freedom was innate to him.

In 1951, Andrei entered the Moscow Institute of Oriental Languages in the Arabic department, but did not complete the course due to deteriorating health. In 1952–1953 he worked at the All-Russian Research Institute of Non-Ferrous Metals and Gold, then as a geologist.

In 1954, Andrei entered the All-Union State Institute of Cinematography. Mikhail Ilyich Romm becomes Andrei's Teacher. Andrei's friendship with Andron Mikhalkov - Konchalovsky results in joint writing of the script for Tarkovsky's first film - “The Skating Rink and the Violin”. This film became Tarkovsky's graduation work at VGIK.

The premiere of Andrei Tarkovsky's first full-length film took place in April 1962. The film “Ivan’s Childhood,” based on the novel by Vladimir Bogomolov, received the Golden Lion at the Venice International Film Festival that same year.

The film “Andrei Rublev” was shown in the out-of-competition program of the Cannes Film Festival in 1969 and received a special prize there, but this film was approved for international distribution only in 1973 by Sovexportfilm.

Likewise, Mirror, an autobiographical film completed in 1974, was cleared for export many years later.

“Solaris,” filmed in 1971–72 based on the novel of the same name by Stanislaw Lem, also caused a wave of attacks and objections from colleagues. "Stalker" is the last film made by Andrei in the Soviet Union.

Andrei Tarkovsky's grave
at the Ste-Genevieve cemetery
de Bois near Paris

In 1976, Tarkovsky staged Shakespeare's tragedy Hamlet at the Lenkom Theater.

In 1980, he was awarded the title of People's Artist of the RSFSR. In the same year, he became a laureate of the Italian David di Donatello Award in the nomination “For Contribution to Cinematography” for a retrospective of films.

The 50th anniversary of the director, whose films Bergman and Fellini admired, was not celebrated anywhere, not even at Mosfilm. Tarkovsky’s requests for work were ignored by Goskino, which led to the director’s departure to Italy, where he worked under contract on the film “Nostalgia.” Unable to film part of the film in Russia, he was forced to recreate his homeland against the backdrop of the Italian landscape. Those who knew Tarkovsky believe that separation from his homeland and son Andrei became the cause of his fatal illness. The director's son was allowed to go to his sick father only after a demanding letter from French President Francois Mitterrand personally to Mikhail Gorbachev. While still working on Nostalgia, Tarkovsky said that the hero of the film would be homesick, sitting in a gloomy room that looked like a hospital ward...

In the fall of 1983, Andrei Tarkovsky staged the opera “Boris Godunov” on the stage of London’s Covent Garden. A year and a half later, in 1986, his book “Sculpting in Time” was published. In 1985, he was preparing in Berlin for the filming of his last film, “Sacrifice,” which is often called Tarkovsky’s testament.

At the end of 1985, after completing the filming of “Sacrifice” in Sweden, Andrei returned to Rome already terminally ill. A year later, on December 29, 1986, the great Russian director died in a clinic near Paris. He is buried in the cemetery of Russian Emigrants in France, in the town of Saint-Genevieve-du-Bois. The inscription on the tombstone: “To the man who saw the Angel.”

Lenin Prize laureate (posthumously).

In 1993, the Andrei Tarkovsky Foundation established the “Andrei Tarkovsky Prize,” which is awarded once a year as part of the Moscow International Film Festival to “the best film in a competitive or non-competition program.”

Based on Internet materials