Letters to His Wife

WITH THE EARLIEST DATING TO 1946, during the production of the spy film Secret Agent (1947), the following letters by Boris Barnet cover the period in which he made his eight final films—several of which screen as part of Boris Barnet, A Soviet Poet—before his tragic death in 1965. They appear here in English for the first time, translated by Ted Fendt, together with the original introduction by filmmaker and critic Pierre Léon from their publication in Trafic, Fall 1997, and illustrations by Barnet. We thank both Ted and Pierre for their generous assistance.

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These letters from Boris Barnet to his wife, the actress Alla Kazanskaya (whom he cast in Bountiful Summer in 1950), appeared in the October 1996 issue of the Russian journal The Art of Cinema with a few edits (indicated here with bracketed ellipses). In 1964, Barnet was full of enthusiasm for a script whose main character was Lenin; his wife says he worked a great deal on it. At the last minute, the head of Mosfilm took it over: why should Barnet shoot a film about Lenin? The project was abandoned. Not long after, Barnet received a script by Mikhail Maklyarsky (who had already written Barnet’s Secret Agent), The Ambassadors’ Plot (“terrible,” according to Kazanskaya), which he agreed to rework. He left for Riga to shoot the film, but fell into depression and hung himself on January 8, 1965, in his hotel room. —Pierre Léon

December 6, 1946

Alyonushka, my sweet, my dear!

It is only the second day that I have begun to come out of my “NEW” period of the dark night of the soul, of depression, of despair, of stupor, of torpor and other rubbish. Why does all this happen to me (you remember, I already told you about this)? I don’t know. Things are too complicated (even for a practiced Freudian) and in too great a quantity. Still, I think everything comes from the fact that I chose my profession poorly. (This is not what I should have done in life!)

But as they say, you have to fight fire with fire. The first day of shooting [for Secret Agent] was set for today, December 6. Since December 4, I’ve spent all the strength of my will power to try extracting myself from this state of blasphemy. I succeeded at last. In vain! Here I am back at square one. We have not done a single shot yet! And we won’t do any for several days. For a mass of reasons. In the daytime, there is no electricity, which is indispensable when one wants to build sets in a dark studio. And not at night either. Sometimes we are given power from midnight to two o’clock in the morning. […] When there is electricity at night, the neighbors turn on their radios with such ferocity that I can’t read or sleep.

One of these nights was especially awful. We had power until six o’clock in the morning, and until six o’clock in the morning the radio did not stop screaming. Today, thank God, everything is calm, my ideas are less gloomy, good sense and reason are beginning to stir in my head. […]

There is one thing that chills my heart when I think of it—my debts. Forgive me, my darling, but what do you want me to do? There is no money in this wretched boutique of swindlers and the trifles I borrow daily (between 50 and 70 rubles), we spend in the “belly of Kyiv” with Doussia. Forgive me for being so prosaic, but I do need to give you the reasons for my regrettable conduct (one obtains nothing with the ration tickets). (I’m no longer drinking!) And now I’m getting angry from writing this gibberish! I hope to scrape together some money in the next few days and send it to you. Don’t be upset and don’t believe, I beg you, that it is negligence on my part. In fact, this all reminds me of this story: “Make do this winter and in spring, I’ll take you to my place.” Okay, enough grumbling! Last night, thieves scaled the gutter up to the balcony (on the second floor) to go into [Boris] Dmokhovsky’s (who is in Moscow at the moment).

We chased after them! Without catching them! What a laugh we had! Doussia almost exploded in terror.

[…] Since yesterday, I’m busying myself a little with the script. I’m trying to understand its main directions. Sometimes, I feel excited, but in general I always come back to the old idea that this “exploit” will perhaps remain unknown in the eyes of the world. That’s how it is. There is nobody to hear my “speech.” Perhaps I’m wrong? I try to persuade myself of it and once again I feel like working.

My God! I’m trembling! My lampshade just exploded. I put in a 200-watt bulb, the shade heated up and

And immediately a mass of unpleasantness. (The neighbors found their radio!!!)

…The power is going to be cut off. It is already late. I’m going to bed while there is still light, to read a little, and then—to sleep. Will I manage to close my eyes?

I drank lots of coffee. I’m exhausted, but I’m not sleepy. Thanks for your letter. Good night, my dear friend.

I miss you so much that I’m trying (forgive me) to think of you less. And the more I try, the more I think of you.

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Kyiv, January 21, 1947

Alyonushka, my dear, my sweet!

Don’t be upset if I have not written for a long time. After you left, I began filming (at night!). […]

Following the Ministerial Council’s decision, me and my entire crew made the “solemn” commitment to cut our shooting schedule in half!! We are threatening to shoot this film in five months rather than 10!! This would not be hard to do under good conditions, but as the studio is completely disorganized, and we lack equipment, props, costumes, furniture, actors, electricity, discipline, money, and so on, etc., it’s rather arduous. [Pavel] Kadochnikov [the actor who plays Major Fedetov in Secret Agent] just left for Moscow and we are again in a temporary shutdown. During this time, I shot 300 meters of film (out of a total of 2,800). The actors are very good and the cameraman’s work is magnificent! Which means I’m rather in good humor… and that I want to work. (Finish this film as quickly as possible, and basta.)

…Don’t ever get angry because I don’t write to you (enough). It isn’t that I don’t think of you, but because I don’t have the strength and my nerves are on edge.

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April 14, 1947

Allushka, my sweet, my dear

I understood only yesterday why I had not written to you. I am going to try to explain everything, and you, my darling, try in turn to understand and forgive me. I have often left the house, disappeared, shut myself away in myself… I divorced three times, partly due to my “conduct,” but essentially because, at that time, I could not do otherwise. And this kind of thing always happens to me while I am in the middle of work, when I can think of nothing else than this wretched art of cinema, which I hate and which, no doubt, I love at the same time. I am always crushed beneath the weight of responsibility, seized in fact by fear before the success or failure of the undertaking. The irrepressible need for total freedom and independence (from everything and everyone)—the possibility to get up at night to do what I like when I like—is certainly both a physical and psychological need; it descends on me all at once, independently of my will, during the most crucial periods of my work. Obeying this explosion of my nature, I begin calming myself down; for a period of time, I work better, and then it starts again. I torment myself because I realize this is all absurd, the present as well as the past, and that I behaved badly in causing you pain (if only by my silence).

The desire to soften my mistake and write just a letter is impeded, firstly, by neurasthenia and, secondly, by the desire (pathological, again) to delay an unpleasant explanation in order to clarify things, and I do not like this kind of explanation. Each day brings new troubles and my vain efforts to imagine, first, your worries, then your legitimate anger, and finally your perplexity and sadness have completely exhausted me. I invent a thousand little activities to forget it all. It works at first, but a moment comes when it becomes impossible to continue living this way. All that remains is to throw oneself into the water, or sit down at one’s desk and write a letter. I sat down at my desk and I wrote you this. If you’ve understood me, I don’t need to ask you for forgiveness, but if you have pretended to understand me and you are dissimulating your resentment within you, well, what do you want—either you will understand me later and you will forgive me or… or I don’t know.

Once again, I am going to try to tell you what “I am.” I completed 75% of my work. And here I am in a difficult and crucial moment. I must think of my work 24 hours a day. I sleep for two or three hours. I shoot by night, I edit by day, the best things slip through my hands, the best ideas, because here or there, there is somebody who does a poor job, because I am terribly exhausted and that prevents me from taking care of all these details… because I don’t have money—as you can you see yourself, it is difficult not to give into temptation and, rather than calmly sitting down and writing you just three warm words, like a normal human being, to continue to twist and turn like a demon and push the letter off to tomorrow. It is by continuously “pushing off” to tomorrow that I end up no longer writing you at all. Forgive me, my adored little girl.

Write me quickly. What if we began a correspondence?

Alyonushka, I love you so much.

I believe the film is interesting. We’ve had two screenings of everything that has been shot—I had a wild success. Loukov was there, roaring with pleasure. Call him so he can tell you himself.

Forgive me for sending you so little money (have you at least received it?). I will send you more when I’ve gotten the advance—it was promised to me.

Now, it is time to go back to work!

Boris

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July 10, 1949

Allonka, my dear

I’ll answer first (I’ll try to answer) all of your questions, only afterward will I talk about myself… No, that’s not it. To the contrary, it will be easier! If conditions are optimal and if everything goes well, we will not finish reworking the script before mid-August (or even late August). Currently, we are working on a “project” of modification, and if this project is accepted by the artistic council, we will go to Kyiv to rewrite the script. It would be good if you could spend part of your vacation in Kyiv at the House of Writers [likely the apartment complex RoLit —Trans.]. You could take advantage of it to fulfill your little “desires.” A dress (two, even), a pair of slippers for daytime and other trifles. […]

The animals live in (almost) perfect harmony. Kouzka wants to play with Poupka; his favorite game involves climbing on Poupka, biting her and walking perched on her back. Poupka strikes Kouzka, after which she climbs on the furniture, unreachable by Kouzka, and Kouzka is consumed by bitterness and envy. I decided to bring Kouzka to Kyiv, he’s too cute and kind.

[…] It is noon. It is Sunday. I feel like taking the train and going fishing at the Pakhra. I’ll need to bring my rubber boots because it has rained for two weeks straight; not rain, downpours! With storms and even snow. It’s funny. Okay. Kisses, my poor dear, my darling! You’re a darling because you’re a darling, and I love you infinitely, and, poor one, because you don’t even have a pair of slippers for daytime…

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1959

Allonka, my dear!

I’m in a hurry, one more.

I believe I’m guilty of offending you. I was unable to undertake in time the “sage maneuvers” to obtain money (once more because I was in a hurry), and I won’t arrive before the festivities… Allonka, my friend, borrow two thousand rubles and, around the 10th or 11th, I will send you the payment, plus the two thousand…

Two days ago, I sent a new portion of the footage to the lab in Moscow [for the 1959 film Annushka]… And here I am again on hot coals while, like everyone here, I have the feeling it is good.

On my crew, there are only complete brutes or sleepwalkers, like [Georgy] Natanson, the assistant director, or [Gannady] Poloka, the assistant, but marvels too. Like the set designer, [Artur] Berger; without him, I was lost! Each time I arrive at a new shooting location, the sets he offers me are practical, well conceived and, above all, they match precisely what was imagined. That had never happened to me in my 35-year career as an illusionist. The cameraman is young and inexperienced, but conscientious and rather likable. It’s true that (the first days especially) he was put to the test with me, but he benefited from it. As they say, he’s learning on the job, and the results can be seen. I’ve even detected some friendly intonations. Now to the actors. [Irina] Skobtseva was very pleasing in Moscow. I have not yet seen the footage we shot. I believe I managed (without too much effort) to rid her of all her good manners, and, oh miracle of cinema, she has almost become a simple good woman—Annushka. She has modest talent, but she is not stupid and (another miracle of cinema) she is very likable and hard working. Yesterday, after shooting a scene, [Boris] Babochkin left for Moscow. We parted on very good terms, which only very rarely happens to him recently, it seems. With great surprise, I discovered he was singularly unprofessional. He has no craft, no schooling, no technique. You cannot set anything in the rehearsals, like with a little kid. I’m forced to shoot following the method of “my God, let us have at least one good take.”

It turns out God exists and I was able to shoot at least one good take of each shot.

And if God really exists, I will send you money. I must resolve myself to bankrupting myself on telegraphic transfers.

I miss you a lot. As soon as I’m back in Moscow, I’ll marry you. In any case, I beg you to give me your hand.

Kisses.

Your fiancé.

P.S. I will be in Moscow around the 17th-20th for the wedding.

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Riga, December 23, 1964

For Olga, my daughter

Olyushka, forgive me, my little dear!

It was more worthwhile to do what I did rather than “smoke myself out” and rest on my laurels.

I’ve lost faith in myself, but I believe you, my darling, who are so intelligent, you will find courage in yourself and you won’t judge me.

Allonka, what I say to Olia applies to you too.

Sorry! It’s all my fault. I’m guilty of offending you, but instead of responding with my actions and showing responsibility, I’ve “fled.” If I had had more strength and more faith in myself, I would not have fled.

How I would love for you to have, ahead of you, bright and happy days.

Boris

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I am entitled to a republican pension (that’s what I was told in Moscow by the Committee). Think of it when it is necessary to take care of Olia’s material affairs.

B.

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Alla, Olyushka, my dears, my darlings. Don’t resent me. What is there to do?

The awareness of the pain I am causing you, the unexpected shock, complicates my final “procedure.” The fear of causing you this pain is more terrible than everything, but, as they say, I am “cornered.”

Alla, you must go to the Committee: I am entitled to a republican pension—it is very important for Olya, for the pension for her. I beg you, don’t believe I am settling the score with this thing one calls life because I am a “poor wretch” and pitiable. I’m over 60. It’s time.

Boris

P.S. I’ve had a hard time holding out until January 8th.