When we launched the project “A Place of Memory: Tselinny”, we asked our readers to share their stories related to the cinema. In the 60 years since its opening, Tselinny accompanied Almaty residents through a number of historical events: from the collapse of the USSR to Kazakhstan’s independence, from the 1990s crisis to the revival of the 2000s.
Here are some stories our readers shared with us.
Yuliya Mitrofanova, Almaty:
While in school, we had school trips to Tselinny to see all kinds of movies, from The Young Guard to Scarecrow. From there, we usually strolled back to our school a few blocks away. After finishing school, I took a job there as a senior “pioneer” leader. The cinema hosted some kind of group meeting. The gathering, however, was a failure: everyone was making noise and throwing things around, rattling chairs and being rowdy. That was 1987.
Zhanar Kussainova, St. Petersburg, originally from Almaty:
It was the warmest day of summer, 1989. My friend called me and said that her brother could finally leave the house, so it was a good occasion to go to the cinema together. He was still walking on crutches. He had returned from [the war in] Afghanistan. He [had to recover] at home for many months. He sat silently, staring at the wall and enduring his pain. But when he finally left the house, his first thought was to take his sister to the cinema. She was 10, like me. And I listened to her happy voice through the phone receiver: “He held my hand and hugged me when I was scared. He finally came back from the war and now, it looks like he’s back forever.”
Another time, I went to Tselinny with a blind friend. We watched a film together. That is, I watched it and told Tanya what was on the screen. I spoke quietly, but my whisper was still disturbing. Yet no one scolded me. And when some guy hissed at me, he was reprimanded from all sides: “Don’t bother the girls, let them watch, the movie is for everyone.”
Irina Savelyeva, Almaty:
When I was 17, my parents were always either about to divorce or making up, and we, the children, were in constant fear: What was it gonna be tonight? Usually there was a "clarification.” We did not interfere, did not ask, we simply hid in the corners. Of course, they tried all sorts of magic tricks so that we would remain a family, like before.
I am the eldest, the beloved daughter of my father. One evening he invited me to Tselinny. We always had something of our own, my dad and I: we listened to music, read books, and discussed films. So I was not surprised. We watched Luchino Visconti's Rocco and His Brothers in Tselinny — a poignant film about love, death, rivalry and betrayal, about family relations, where it is difficult to understand why one is a hero and the other is an anti-hero, and why mothers still love their wayward sons. The film was difficult for me then, yet its plot was immediately to me: I could easily guess who among the brothers was good and who was bad. I knew whose side I was on. It was spring, everything was waking up, the evening smelled of warm grass, of rebirth and hope. Something was already beginning to bloom and the aroma spread along the streets. Dad suggested we walk home, and we walked, swallowing this wonderful spring air while debating about the film, about Rocco, his brothers, their mother, about how difficult it can be to remain yourself when life oppresses and breaks you, and how not everyone can do it. We talked about Luchino Visconti, what a subtle director he was, and how he created such a multi-layered and complex film.
When we got home, my dad said: “I need to talk to you.” I didn't understand right away, because we had just been walking and talking for half an hour, but we sat down on a bench near the house. That's how I found out that my father had another child and that he was leaving us. He had to leave. And we had already grown up, and so we needed to understand him.
There is no point in retelling the details of that conversation, it was very tense. I did not give up, explaining that we were certainly not adults yet. After all, I was the eldest. In the end, however, I went home alone.
That spring changed my life. Watching Rocco and His Brothers at Tselinny became a watershed for my family. It marked a watershed moment between the happiness of living with my father and this aching pain of living without a father.
I watched many movies in Tselinny. There, I had my first experience with [director Andrei] Tarkovsky. I saw Once Upon a Time in America. It was Milos Forman's Amadeus and Bob Fosse's Cabaret. Tselinny was a sacred spot for us then. But when I pass by the Tselinny building, my memory immediately runs to that spring, that evening. The last evening when my father belonged to me. Before there were "other" children that he had to go back to.
Every year or two, I rewatch Rocco and His Brothers. I probably watched it 20 times already. I am still trying to figure out why my father took me to see this particular movie as he had to make, perhaps, the most difficult decision in his life. It was difficult for him and tragic for me, because, from that moment on the chair next to mine, the one that belonged to my father, remained empty.
Tomas Tomasov, musician, priest, Almaty:
My grandfather was a monumental artist by profession at the time Tselinny was built. He was engaged in artistic painting of ceilings and walls in large buildings like Palaces of Culture in various villages. My father was his assistant. And they carried out these works on behalf of the Oner Fine Arts Combine. I guess, all the artists of that time were listed in this collective. My grandfather was friends with many of them, some of them visited our home regularly.
Yevgeny Sidorkin, the author of the famous sgraffito in Tselinny, was among them. And my grandfather, as far as I know, took part in its creation. Although, I have no evidence of this (I wasn’t born yet), my grandfather, together with my father, twice carried out restoration work, completely updating the paint on the panels. And in both cases, my grandfather Tomasov Mamikon Tomasovich supervised these works and personally carried them out.
I remember that time with joy, because during that period I was often with them at the site, carrying brushes, climbing the scaffolding, and handing out colors. Once I asked my grandfather for a brush and awkwardly smeared it on the composition, partially ruining it. The brushstroke turned out to be quite strong and bright, my grandfather was upset at me and tried for a long time to fix my blunder. I think that the last restoration was done in 1985 or 1986. And I remember well how I used my time working at the various restorations to watch free movies.
I was watching new releases daily. One was The Shield of the City, a drama about a mudflow in our mountains and the construction of mudflow protection fortifications of Almaty. I think it was 1979.
Mila Cassidy, now lives in China:
It was through Tselinny that I fell in love with Almaty. I had been studying in the city for six months already, but I didn't know anyone and didn't go anywhere. I just spent all day on anatomy and biochemistry books. Winter was so grey and rainy, it was depressing. Somehow, completely by chance, I stumbled upon Tselinny and went to a daytime show. I was simply stunned: the seats were at such a steep angle, and the last rows were so high that it felt not like an ordinary cinema. It was like watching a movie from the top of a mountain!
I was in awe that someone had built such a miracle. The film became secondary. I started going every week, and it really helped me to come to terms with my loneliness and to start “living” the city.
Adilzhan Psyayev, architect, Almaty:
I remember Tselinny from my childhood, from the early 1990s. Those were hard times for the family, we just knew that the cinema was there. When I was older and could have gone, it was already closed. I remember how, riding trolleybus number 9 to the Green Bazaar during my school years, I saw a huge building, but empty and dark. In the early 2000s, when it reopened, I began to visit it. The impression of those years is that it was very crowded, despite being connected only with trolleybus number 9. When they renovated it, I took it well, at least it was working and I could go. From 2004 to around 2011, I visited the cinema very often. Then, it somehow quietly died out and closed. I vividly remember the spectacular opening of the Garage exhibition in Tselinny in 2018.
Tselinny will soon open its doors again. Visit the website that tells its whole story here.
To go back to the time when Tselinny was first planned and built, read this piece. To delve into Tselinny's best years, read this piece. For a breakdown of what happened in the 1990s and 2000s, read this article.
Осы мақаланың қазақша нұсқасын оқыңыз.
Читайте этот материал на русском.
This article is an edited translation of an article from a series of pieces published in partnership with Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture.
Поддержите журналистику, которой доверяют.