Sergei Parajanov
1969
79 minutes
This is a gorgeous avant-garde film based on the works of an Armenian poet and musician from the 18th century. It is full of colorful imagery and poetry that you're not even going to come close to deciphering. It's also visually stimulating enough to have inspired an entire Lady Gaga video (for her song "911"). So just sit back and enjoy the ride.
One of your ex-girlfriends was Armenian--as in from the country Armenia, back when they were part of the Soviet Union. You're a little sad that you're not watching this with her, and you're a bit curious if she has ever seen this. She gave you a crash course on some of the culture when you began dating, opening you up to treats such as basturma and lavash and other Armenian delights. She had a lot of food peculiarities, and you were never quite sure what things were common to other Armenians versus what was just her being weird. She had an odd habit of eating entire apples, core and all. When she was done with an apple or pear, only the stem at the top remained, and she laughed at you for throwing away so much of the fruit. You found it jarring to see this rather attractive princess of a woman grind through an entire apple like some sort of starving horse.
It was always amusing going to the Russian deli with her to see her get excited about foods that made her nostalgic for Soviet cuisine. She was especially enthusiastic about an eastern bloc candy marketed as ptitsie moloko (which translates to "bird's milk"), which reminded you of mallomars without the graham cracker part.
At the cash register, she would always make an impulse buy of the suckers on sticks that were shaped like a rooster, which she had been eating since she was a little girl. She would have one of these in her mouth in the parking lot before she even got in the car, then would drive you back from the "Russian deli" side of town as she alternated between taking licks of the lollipop and swearing at other motorists with a variety of colorful Russian swearwords which, even with only your very elementary "survival Russian", you needed no translator for. Minor offenders and slow drivers would get a simple "Oi, blyat", which was a relatively minor oath for her, calling them whores. More serious offenders would get a "tvoyu mat" (fuck your mother) or in rare cases an "idi na huy" (go fuck yourself). Especially gruesome detours or constructions would lead to a declaration of "oi, pizdets" (cunt). And only once or twice for the most serious traffic offenders cutting her off and nearly causing an accident would she bust out "pidoras", which was literally "pederast" but more equivalent to the other f-word in English. The only familiar swear you never heard her bust out was "suka" (bitch). She noted to you that she never used or let anyone in her family use the "s-word" as she called it, which was as close as she came to traditional feminism.
Throughout your life you've been quite a bit of an accent and culture sponge. Most of the people you've been close to in all your travels, especially people you've dated, have left some sort of impact on you. This woman implanted to "oi" virus in you pretty effectively, since she liberally peppered her language with it as a multipurpose expression to express delight, surprise, annoyance, anger, or simply to get someone's attention. The first time you were intimate, a very quiet and satisfied "oi" that escaped her lips let you know you were doing something right.
Time to choose something different: