In a secluded home, somewhere distantly in the desert of Ukraine, resides an elderly man (Dmitri Milyutenko). He has lived a long, challenging life, experiencing enormous social and cultural unease, coupled with the violence wrought from a flawed political system and the poverty that comes as a result. Over the course of what appears to be a day (but could have been much longer), the man, who is given the provisional name of Serdyuk (a military term referring to a soldier), begins to reflect on the past. He revisits his memories, with various figures from his past weaving their way through his barren homestead, bringing him the joy of seeing old friends and acquaintance for a brief reunion, as well as the disconcerting experience of being visited by those who he would rather forget. Each of his visitors, whether they realize it or not, contribute something to Serdyuk’s slowly-declining mental state, providing him with insights into his own past, as well as the collective memory of the entire Soviet Union, with Serdyuk (as his name suggests) representing an army of people who were disadvantaged under a system that did not prioritize its citizens in the way the idealistic promises claimed it would. There are multitudes of people who experienced the same economic and political despair, but its the desolation of the soul that causes Serdyuk to admit the patiently waiting for the benefits that he and his people were apparently promised was a fruitless endeavour, especially considering how all prospects become increasingly bleak as time goes on. He gradually comes to realize that the only chance of survival is to surrender to hopelessness – but yet the shadows of the past somehow prevent him from defaulting to the void, and lead him to believe there’s something else out there.

One of the most prominent figures in Soviet cinema, albeit one who has not received much recognition since the collapse of the political system, is Yuri Ilyenko. His work, which has its roots in the height of the Cold War, was always informed by a growing sense of unease and disillusionment with the world, but unlike many of his contemporaries, Ilyenko didn’t attempt to subvert traditions by presenting them as darkly comical satires or poignant social statements but rather opted for something far more simple and enduring, which is the focus of the present discussion. His experimental masterpiece A Well for the Thirsty (Ukrainian: Krynytsya dlya sprahlykh) is one of the most fascinating works of Soviet-era filmmaking produced during the period, which is remarkably impressive considering the other filmmakers Ilyenko had to contend with to have a place at the table, especially when his debut feature is a bewildering drama that inspires nothing but despair in the viewer, an intentional choice done to highlight the hopelessness embedded in the story. It is an austere drama that takes a very serious approach to the theme of isolation and alienation, which the director evokes through a masterful use of imagery that is effective in how remarkably simple it is, with the most striking emotions being derived from the most carefully-designed compositions. A work of disconcerting realism, infused with the occasional moment of surrealism that serves to heighten the disconnect between the present and the memories of the past, A Well for the Thirsty is a poignant drama that finds an honesty in a truly bleak story, being unwavering in its commitment to a set of ideas that could have so easily been the product of something overwrought or muddled, but executed by a director whose precision behind the camera speaks to both an immense artistic vision and a deep understanding of the themes, making this is a truly poignant drama that is as ambitious as it is moving.

In many ways, A Well for the Thirsty may not appear to be particularly complex and looks to be a part of the small group of Soviet-era dramas that sought to describe rather than comment. This is certainly very true for much of the film, with Illyenko going to great lengths to present us with a simple image of the pastoral poverty of the average man. Set in a distant location, separate from the bustling metropoles that often formed the basis of these social studies. However, the fine thread of sanity slowly unravels, not quite losing its lucidity, but gradually opening the film up to a more liberal form of storytelling, where the director is able to negotiate the relationship between the past and the present in a remarkably unique way, albeit never resorting to making this particular aspect the central focus. Almost immediately, Illyenko makes sure to present us with a nightmarish vision that is neither exploitative nor excessive, but rather quietly rebellious – an arid, uncomfortable portrayal of the trials and tribulations of the masses, as channelled through the story of one man reliving his past, which begins to intertwine with the present as he progresses through an indeterminate period, where everything around him begins to homogenize into one mass of memory, and the boundaries between the present and the past begin to blur. A highly experimental work that functions as both a magnificently original production and a potent statement on the true depths of communism, as both a socio-political system and a psychological state, creates an unsettling contrast between what the viewer sees, and the intentions that underpin these memorable images. Filmed in modest black-and-white, and with compositions that are strikingly beautiful, but not distracting, A Well for the Thirsty is a gorgeously intricate work that goes in search of some deeper meaning, increasing in its hostility to the system it’s rebelling against, while concurrently celebrating the many people who undertook laborious travail all for the sake of survival. 

Narratively and stylistically, A Well for the Thirsty is an impressive achievement. It takes the form of a fable of sorts, being set entirely in one location, with various motifs, such as the titular well and the coffin that recurs throughout, creating a sense of folklore, each component harbouring some cohesive meaning that compounds as the narrative unravels. It is a film that makes great use of the medium to convey a message without explicitly stating it – there are only a handful of lines of spoken dialogue, with almost the entire story transpiring through movement and expression, which is audacious for a film that’s commenting on a period that has given countless artists a great deal to talk about. Sound and image work together in A Well for the Thirsty to create a disconcerting vision of poverty during the era of Soviet dominance, with the surreal imagery and polarizing use of music detaching the story from reality – consider the constant refrain of an out-of-tune guitar that recurs throughout the film, only being revealed to be played by a young man (presumably the protagonist’s son, who is believed to have been killed in combat in the chilling final minutes of the film), reminding us that not everything should be taken at face value and that every moment of this film is filled with the idea that nothing is what it seems. The film presents us with a story detached from all logical reality, appearing to be plausible, but being ever so slightly distant, creating an uneasy sense of dread that it poignantly explored throughout the film. It’s initially quite bewildering, but as the film finds its footing, the true genius of the message and its execution becomes incredible clear, leading to quite a poignant piece of cinema.

A Well for the Thirsty is a very ambitious film, which is quite interesting considering how it is executed with such simplicity, undoubtedly the result of a director who made the best of the limited resources he was offered, and turned existential malaise into a beautifully poetic tale of survival, with an allegorical narrative being delivered with finesse and elegance, and being as stunning as any other film produced during this period. Ultimately, this is a film that carries quite a hefty meaning, being a hypnotic voyage into the human mind, exploring the limits of memory and its challenging relationship with the past, which is already an audacious premise. Compound this with a strikingly visceral representation of the salt-of-the-earth people who often go ignored in the great social epics, but who form the basis of this film, being memorable protagonists and peripheral characters woven through the fabric of this powerful investigation into history that is as stunning today as it was in 1965. Its a quietly rebellious film, never making any bold statements, preferring a more subtle approach to the narrative, which contrasts with the unique visuals and the metaphorical meanings to create a singularly unique piece of cinema that is daring, intrepid and utterly gorgeous in a multitude of ways.