|
The Mark of Cain
review by KJ Doughton, 15 February
2001 2002
Women in Cinema Film Festival
The
Mark of Cain
is a sensational documentary, exploring Russia’s turbulent history
as seen through the eyes -- and elaborately tattooed torsos - of the
transformed country’s murderers, robbers, and substance abusers.
As they rot in a half-dozen of the ex-Union of Soviet Socialist
Republic’s eroding penitentiaries, bloated from hunger and
urinating blood, these forgotten dregs of society channel their
identities and humanity by injecting ink beneath their weathered
skins. It’s literally the only means of artistic expression these
abandoned prisoners have left.
After
winning the trust of these outcasts, the movie’s female director
Alix Lambert persuades them to show off some of the most elaborate
body art ever seen. Vikings, elaborate Russian buildings, Jesus, and
winged cherubs are but some of the skin paintings that she is privy
to. In one prison, the talent in charge of such detailed drawings is
Aleksandr, convicted of murder and deemed the facility’s tattoo
expert. It’s a pastime that’s not officially allowed by the
prison guards who roam the center in black uniforms and flat, oval
hats. However, judging from the many bodies that boast his work,
Aleksandr is a busy man, indeed. Demonstrating his handiwork with a
tattooing needle fabricated from an electric shaver, a guitar
string, and a ball point pen, the artist states that "this
machine is my ticket to life here." Prisoners tell him what
they want, and he gives them a price. "As long as they
pay," confirms Aleksandr, "it makes no difference what
they want me to do."
Slava,
in for murder, describes how tattoos can provide clues as to the
number of years their wearers have been sentenced for. One can also
learn about an inmate’s rank in the elaborate caste system honored
in Russian jails. If one’s "tats" indicate that he’s a
"Thief In Law," a classification reserved for the top of
the prison hierarchy, an onlooker can assume that he’s a man of
importance. "Downcasts" make up the lowest-ranking
category, sleeping under cots, forced to be sexual receptacles, and
acting as literal slaves to the rest. "If a
"downcast" even looks me in the eye," says one
remorseless higher-up, "I’ll smash his face." Sergei,
imprisoned for murder, assault, and robbery, explains that the
sailing ships marking his flesh indicate that he has lived "the
roaming life." Meanwhile, he explains that a pirate is the mark
of a robbery, the skull is indicative of murder, and the likeness of
a hooded executioner is usually associated with a hardened
"killer." Crosses identify the highly respected
"Thief In Law."
As
The Mark of Cain
continues, we’re transported to a handful of other convict-jammed
hell holes, including a women’s penitentiary where inhabitants are
confined for primarily substance abuse-related charges. In addition
to the glimpses of this system-wide human art gallery, we hear
firsthand testimonies of degradation and torture that seem… well,
like something out of a movie. A popular means of punishing a snitch
-- or extracting information - is dubbed "The Cell Press",
in which the marked man must share a room with up to twenty-six
other inmates. "They beat you excessively," states a
seen-it-all con, "and take away your honor, if you know what I
mean." Another inmate recalls that during his transfer to the
penitentiary, he was released into a tunnel, where guards
"sicked the dogs on me, and pricked me with bayonets." In
one detention center, inmates are so crowded and closely confined
that not all of them can stand at once in the cramped cells. A
long-time resident of a prison known as The White Swan remembers a
fellow occupant committing suicide by throwing himself onto a power
saw during a woodworking session. For some, the option of death is
more inviting than a life of intimidation, poor health, and despair.
Meanwhile,
the film does not present its subjects in a softer-than-thou light,
but comes to unflinching terms with why they ended up here. One
gruff, dark-haired murderer talks of seeing his mother’s grave
site desecrated, before avenging the act by decapitating the three
robbers and impaling their heads on the cemetery’s fence posts.
We’re also provided an insider’s look into an intricate system
of communication practiced by these incarcerated men. Like eager
fishermen casting lines from their windows, prisoners attach strings
to sticks and dangle them into between-cell alleyways. At lower
levels, their fellow inmates can pull cigarettes, tea, and messages
from the strings and replace them with similar items, in a kind of
makeshift bartering system. Meanwhile, Lambert contrasts images of
men strumming guitar strings and belting out soulful ballads during
music gatherings, with the harsh, rust and metal landscape of
fences, barbed wires, antennas, bars, and keys that surround such
vanquished individuals.
The
Mark of Cain
concludes with a telling commentary by a handful of the older, more
experienced prisoners, who mention that even in this relatively
lawless subculture, they lament the erosion of tradition. One
bearded gent shakes his head, stating that with the "older
generation" of inmate, tattoos were a literal map of one’s
history, with intimate, personalized images. Vikran, an older
prisoner who sports a body etched with the likenesses of Lenin and
Marx, says that back in Communist times, "if you had tattoos of
Soviet leaders, the guardsmen would not shoot you." Eagles were
another popular tattoo during the twenties and thirties. The new,
post-communist generation of younger residents, however, are content
to merely choose the latest trendy Chinese motif, or sport a skull
‘n crossbones logo simply because it looks tough. As democracy
takes hold in Russia, so do equally trivial tattoos featuring dollar
signs and western icons. The tats etched during these different eras
act as an unlikely metaphor to illustrate how the country’s values
have changed during Russia’s communist-to-democracy upheaval.
The
Mark of Cain
is one of those gut-wrenching, mesmerizing documentaries that makes
most crime-themed feature films look cartoonish, contrived, and
insincere by comparison. By means of soot-based ink forced beneath
the skin, Lambert’s unique vision acts as testimony, that even
under the most wretched of settings, human expression finds a way to
bloom.
|
|
