DOI issue:
Nr. 1
DOI article:Maxim, Juliana: Downcast colossus: communist architecture in Romania's post-communist cinema
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.51715#0017
architecture as a markér of communism or of com-
mun! sm overthrown? Of civic pride or civic shame?
Or is the building, perhaps, a neutral background,
available for endless appropriations, easily becom-
ing the décor for an impromptu salsa performance
[Fig. 5]? The semantic flexibility of the architecture,
its impassible ability to stand as visual symbol of, in
turn, communism, anti-communism, and, ultimately,
capitalist globalization, is ambiguously liberating in
the film, and corrosive of the possibility of a single
master narrative.
In the film’s closing minutes, we witness the lights
going out in the now silent studio. Cut to the city
outside: it is dusk, snow is falling, and instead of the
poster of the civic center, the static caméra records
with equal insistence the snow falling against the
façade of a crumbling housing bloc [Fig. 6]. As the
dialogue has slowly undermined any possibility of
a mythical memory, our assessment of architecture
changes from a space saturated with official meaning
to one that seems empty of any at ail. History has
become a confused web of stories, and architecture,
unmoored from any single historical or political as-
sociation, has returned to the natural cycle of days
and nights and weather conditions — very much like
Lenin’s colossal statue has lost any trace of its original
context and returned like ail ruins to the éléments,
the sky and the water. In this long, sustained clos-
ing shot, we are reminded that in a disenchanted
world, even the most dejected architectural remains
still hold the possibility of expérience, such as the
intimate wonder of fresh snow.
Cristian Nemescu’s short “C” Block Story (2003)
casts communist architecture in an even more re-
demptive light. The film is about two intertwined
love stories, both triggered and fulfilled by the
forced proximity of everyday life in mass housing
blocs, and the ability to hear voices without seeing
the interlocutor — the ultimate condition of close
habitation and thin walls.
By mixing communist spatial practices and cul-
tural practices that appeared with the post-1989 tran-
sition to capitalism, such as phone sex, the scénario
re-casts the anonymity of the housing block into
intimacy. The sweeping motions of the caméra reveal
the serialized, monotonous and drab spaces of mass
housing as brim-full with passion, desires, fantasies,
whispers, glances, their density tantalizing rather
4. Inside the télévision studio. In the background, an example of Remanias
civic architecture builtunder communism. Stillfrom 12:08 East of Bucha-
rest, 2006, dir. Corneliu Porumboiu. Photo: Archive of the author.
5. Inside the télévision studio: a salsa performance. Still from 12:08
East of Bucharest, 2006, dir. Corneliu Porumboiu. Photo: Archive
of the author.
6. Snow. Still from 12:08 East of Bucharest, 2006, dir. Corneliu
Porumboiu. Photo: Archive of the author.
than constrictive. The film is best understood as
a project for eroticizing the blankness and monotony
11
mun! sm overthrown? Of civic pride or civic shame?
Or is the building, perhaps, a neutral background,
available for endless appropriations, easily becom-
ing the décor for an impromptu salsa performance
[Fig. 5]? The semantic flexibility of the architecture,
its impassible ability to stand as visual symbol of, in
turn, communism, anti-communism, and, ultimately,
capitalist globalization, is ambiguously liberating in
the film, and corrosive of the possibility of a single
master narrative.
In the film’s closing minutes, we witness the lights
going out in the now silent studio. Cut to the city
outside: it is dusk, snow is falling, and instead of the
poster of the civic center, the static caméra records
with equal insistence the snow falling against the
façade of a crumbling housing bloc [Fig. 6]. As the
dialogue has slowly undermined any possibility of
a mythical memory, our assessment of architecture
changes from a space saturated with official meaning
to one that seems empty of any at ail. History has
become a confused web of stories, and architecture,
unmoored from any single historical or political as-
sociation, has returned to the natural cycle of days
and nights and weather conditions — very much like
Lenin’s colossal statue has lost any trace of its original
context and returned like ail ruins to the éléments,
the sky and the water. In this long, sustained clos-
ing shot, we are reminded that in a disenchanted
world, even the most dejected architectural remains
still hold the possibility of expérience, such as the
intimate wonder of fresh snow.
Cristian Nemescu’s short “C” Block Story (2003)
casts communist architecture in an even more re-
demptive light. The film is about two intertwined
love stories, both triggered and fulfilled by the
forced proximity of everyday life in mass housing
blocs, and the ability to hear voices without seeing
the interlocutor — the ultimate condition of close
habitation and thin walls.
By mixing communist spatial practices and cul-
tural practices that appeared with the post-1989 tran-
sition to capitalism, such as phone sex, the scénario
re-casts the anonymity of the housing block into
intimacy. The sweeping motions of the caméra reveal
the serialized, monotonous and drab spaces of mass
housing as brim-full with passion, desires, fantasies,
whispers, glances, their density tantalizing rather
4. Inside the télévision studio. In the background, an example of Remanias
civic architecture builtunder communism. Stillfrom 12:08 East of Bucha-
rest, 2006, dir. Corneliu Porumboiu. Photo: Archive of the author.
5. Inside the télévision studio: a salsa performance. Still from 12:08
East of Bucharest, 2006, dir. Corneliu Porumboiu. Photo: Archive
of the author.
6. Snow. Still from 12:08 East of Bucharest, 2006, dir. Corneliu
Porumboiu. Photo: Archive of the author.
than constrictive. The film is best understood as
a project for eroticizing the blankness and monotony
11