A Horror Education: Viy

I’m an avid movie watcher, but I’m always wanting to discover more about cinema. Over 21 years I’ve seen thousands upon thousands of films. Obviously I have seen plenty of acknowledged classics as, over the past 15 years, I’ve dug into the horror genre, but there are also many that I have missed, largely because I’ve been busy seeking out the more obscure and offbeat end of cinema. However, there are gaps I need to address, so, throughout 2012, I’ll be watching and reviewing 52 acknowledged Horror classics, from throughout the history of the genre (the earliest film on my list comes from 1915, the latest from 2009) in an effort to become a more rounded horror critic (to say nothing of one who can say ‘Yes’ to the question “Have you seen Night of the Living Dead?”)

I hope that, throughout the year, you’ll join me on this trip through the genre, and share your own thoughts on the films I’m seeing.

Why is this on the syllabus?
Viy, made in 1967, was the first horror film to be made in the Soviet Union, which in itself makes it an extremely important film, as the Soviet Union was responsible for much groundbreaking cinema in the art form’s first years, but their horror cinema is that we don’t hear much about. On top of this, Viy belongs to a time when much of the soviet bloc was exploring surrealism, and it fits right in to that movement. However, the main reason I wanted to include it here is simply that I have heard it loudly acclaimed over the years as something of a lost classic.

What did I learn?
That reports were pretty much right; this is something of a minor classic.

Viy begins with three young seminary students taking brief leave. One, Khoma Brutus (Leonid Kuravlyov), spends the night in a barn, but soon finds himself confronted by the old woman who owns it. This old woman turns out to be a witch, and she uses her powers to control Khoma, jump on his back and ride him like a horse through the night sky. When they crash to Earth, Khoma beats the witch, but she transforms into a beautiful young woman (Natalya Varley). On his return to the seminary, Khoma finds he has been summoned to a village to say prayers over a young woman who has recently died and who requested him as her dying wish. Naturally, when Khoma arrives he finds that the young woman is the witch he beat to death, over three nights, as he prays for her, Khoma is beset by stronger and stronger attacks from the witch.

Viy is a film that deals in atmosphere rather than in viscera. The surreal events that seem to dog Khoma are confined for the most part to the night time (and are vanquished by the crowing of a rooster), but as the film goes on the day time also develops a threatening tone. While Khoma isn’t being attacked by the supernatural on his third day in the village, there does seem to be some force that is determined to keep him there. The visuals are, in some respects, basic (this is 1967 in the Soviet Union, let’s just say the back projection isn’t brilliant) but they are always effective. Credited directors Georgi Kropachyov and Konstantin Yershov and ‘artistic director’ and special effects designer Aleksandr Ptushko give the film a very distinct style.

The film is at its best in the scenes of Khoma praying for the dead girl. Right from the first moment he is attacked by her, confining himself to a scared circle as the attacks increase in intensity night by night. The imagery here is extremely creepy, with standout moments and images in each of three sequences. On the first night, as the girl rises and gets out of her coffin, Khoma draws the sacred circle, and we get a very creepy moment in which the girl feels her way right around this magical barrier, mere inches from the terrified seminarian. The third night is the most spectacular, and the film’s absolute standout sequence, as creatures are called forth from the walls to attack Khoma. The costumes have a slightly homemade quality (that said, they are still more convincing than the shit demon from Dogma), but the designs are still incredibly striking. The demons are genuinely nightmarish – not some cliche vision of a horned hellbeast, but much more surreal, much more strange. They made me recall the sequence in Peter Jackson’s Heavenly Creatures where the clay figures that Pauline and Juliet have made become nightmare visions.

Even at just seventy minutes the film can feel slow between these scenes (though just as often it throws up something so odd you can’t help but be intrigued, like the sequence which has Khoma, unprompted, doing a dance in the village square), and it takes a little while to get going, but the second half is incredibly compelling in its oddness.

In a way I wish I knew more of the story behind this film; about the story it’s adapted from, about the people who made it and about the times it was made in, because surreal film was in many ways as much a reaction to its time and place as social realist film is. On the other hand, that might break the spell, and that would be a real shame. If you haven’t seen Viy, seek it out, it’s a strange and compelling little movie, filled with images that will stick in your head long after the credits roll.