“There is no turning back to some foundational event fixed in the past as a point of origin, but rather the incessant updating of the past as it is imported into the present” (Hutton 95). The Russian historical film often seeks to update and reinstate the past, as it is brought into the present. Already in the sixteenth century, the first myths concerning Russia’s origins came about, including the myth of Russia as the Third Rome, the inheritance of Muscovite rulers from the Roman Empire, as well as Muscovy as the heir of Kievan Rus'. Although Kievan Rus' is generally considered to be the cradle for several Slavic peoples, Russian official ideology today tends to emphasize the solely Russian legacy of the ancient past.
The discourse of the Russian historical narrative today tends to accumulate every evidence that Russia is a successor of Kievan Rus' and its ancient past that served as a foundation for eventual consolidation of the Russian Federation as a powerful state. The erection of a monument to Prince Vladimir in Moscow in November 2015 is an example of such political justification through invocation of memory. Restoration of distant past is not uncommon in contemporary memory politics, yet this example is notable because it brings into question a past that is shared with other Slavic countries. Monuments to Prince Vladimir, in fact, can be found around the world—in London, Toronto, as well as in many other cities of Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine.
Ukraine, as a geographical heir of Kievan Rus', has always regarded St. Prince Volodymyr (in Ukrainian transcription) as its founding father. A statue to the baptizer of Rus' was erected in Kiev already in mid-nineteenth century on a hill over the Dnieper river where, according to the legend, citizens of Kiev where baptized in 988 B.C, so the location was thoughtfully chosen as a
enthrone Moscow as the mother of all Russian cities, whereas this status has always belonged to Kiev:
The thing is not even in the perversity of the idea itself … the problem is that the Vladimir hill exists only in one city, although the city is inimical to us today and we contributed a lot to that. One cannot do anything about that—Vladimir baptized Rus' not in the Moscow-river… You can build a pyramid in Moscow, why not, there is enough money for that, but it will not become Cairo; it is not difficult to erect also a Statue of Liberty … there is something very provincial in this idea. (“Bykov vysmeial ideiu”)4
Christianization of Rus' by Prince Vladimir is a legacy of three countries—Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus, so there are no limitations on the use of the historical reference. Yet, the placement of the monument next to Kremlin in Moscow right after the annexation of Crimea in 2014 is an eloquent move towards the appropriation of the past in order to justify the present. According to Vladimir Putin, Prince Vladimir was a “spiritual founding father of the Russian state” and “consolidator and defender of the Russian lands” (Zubov). It is also notable that during the opening of the monument in Moscow, neither Putin, nor other high Russian authorities mentioned a single word about Kievan Rus', or the fact that Vladimir spent most of his life (thirty-six years) ruling the ancient polity in Kiev. The sign on the Moscow monument, in addition, reads “Saint Prince Vladimir, the Baptizer of Rus,'”5 omitting any mentioning that he was a Prince of Kiev, which in Ukraine is the only way St. Vladimir is referred to. While Prince Vladimir is generally considered
4 Here and elsewhere translation mine.
a common property beyond nationalization by any country, the struggle over the historical figure reflects the tense geopolitical relationship between Russia and Ukraine. As Peter Hobson indicates, ‘Vladimir’s association with Russia is doubly helpful for Vladimir Putin—the prince accepted Christianity in the Crimean city of Khersones” (Hobson). The idea that Russians and Ukrainians are one people, moreover, is one of the prominent imperial manifestos of the Russian ideologues. According to Vladimir Viatrovich, head of the Ukrainian National Memory Institute, “The thesis that we are one people is a reason for today’s war. Because it means that Russians have the right to tell us what our past is and how our future should look like” (Bogachevska).
The case of Prince Vladimir attains even more curiosity with the fact that in April 2018 another monument to the baptizer of Rus' was established in Donetsk, on the territory of Donetsk Peoples Republic contested between Russia and Ukraine. Here again the symbolic meaning that the historical figure has recently acquired cannot be overestimated. St. Vladimir has become a shield to justify and sanctify the violation of territorial integrity of the neighboring country. Russia has received the blessing of Prince Vladimir to reconsolidate its territories, and, empowered by this great mission, the Russian State is only following the holy path. In this manner, there is also a significant tendency in emphasizing continuity of the Russian history. As Mariëlle Wijermars maintains, “Putin’s memory politics in the new millennium has sought to reintegrate the Russian Federation into an extended historical narrative” (4). The scholar further underscores that the central paradoxical claim of the Russian “state’s memory politics can thus be summarized as modernization through restoration and preservation” (Wijermars 9). The Putin era abounds in reemergence of historical figures that are now re-conceptualized and obtain a special status in the pantheon of Russian heroes. Aleksandr Nevskii, Peter the Great, Aleksandr II, Petr Stolypin, and even Stalin are taken as paragons of state reformation. Prince Vladimir is one more personality to
fit this list of the founding fathers. The mythic figure of the baptizer of all Rus', as presented by the Russian state, however, has far-reaching implications about the historical unity of all Russian (russkie) lands and therefore, the necessity to unite them again. Prince Vladimir is also a figure reclaimed from oblivion of the Soviet times when the baptizer could not be accepted into the atheist society. Andrei Kravchuk’s The Viking (2016) is one of the most recent representations of Prince Vladimir in Russian culture.
In this chapter we will look at seven key figures in the common (if, some would argue, appropriate) culture of Russia and Ukraine: Prince Vladimir, Iaroslav the Wise, Oleg the Seer, Ilia Muromets, Alesha Popovich, Dobrynia Nikitich, and King Danylo. The Russian films discussed in this chapter are Andrei Kravchuk’s The Viking (2016), Iurii Kulakov’s Prince Vladimir (2005), Dmitrii Korobkin’s Iaroslav. A Thousand Years Ago (2010), and Vladimir Kilburg’s Oleg the Seer (2020). The films address the figures of Prince Vladimir, Iaroslav the Wise, and Oleg the Seer. The Ukrainian films discussed in the following pages are Unknown Ukraine: Sketches of our History [Nevidoma Ukraiina. Narysy nashoii istorii, 1994-1996], Iurii Kovaliov’s The Stronghold (2017), and Taras Khymych’s King Danylo (2018). The Ukrainian films concentrate on the figures of Ilia Muromets, Alesha Popovich, Dobrynia Nikitich, and King Danylo. The chapter explores why certain historical figures have recently become more important in Ukrainian and Russian culture.