There is always a story, a narrative. After the death of newborns, burying living old women in the ground, complete defeat and suicide. And he - the narrative - supports people, supports national identity. At the same time, the paradox is that the late "national epic" is born at the moment when the nation enters the "international arena". Therefore, it is created not from within folklore, autochthonous spaces, but precisely on the border. Munkuyev is buryat, who was born and lived for many years in Yakutia. The author of the stories that formed the basis of the film is Vaclav Seroshevsky, a Pole. The producers and half of the crew are Russian. Actually, the connection with the indigenous Yakut culture was carried out primarily thanks to the actors and the line producer Irina Engelis, who herself, for a moment, is “a sakhalyar” - of Yakut and Latvian roots. Let's remember how the American epic was created in the classic Hollywood of the 20-30s – were there many "Native Americans" there?
(Note in parentheses that the epithet "indigenous" is not entirely appropriate. Let's not forget that one of the variants of the etymology of the word "Yakut" is a stranger who came to the lands of the northern peoples from the south with his horses and Turkic culture. Therefore, the self-name of the Yakuts is Sakha, it's not bad to remember that.)
The hero is dying. Actually, he is not a hero at all – he is an everyman of medieval mysteries, unable to withstand the harsh friction of the world on his senses (sorry, it seems this is a free quote from the last Pelevin, but too lazy to look for the exact wording). And there remains the whisper of nature, which was not only born before the appearance of lips, but also continues to sound after these lips have closed forever. This is the meaning of the final landscapes shot by Denis Klebleyev, not pictorial at all, but meditative, eternal and at the same time almost reasonable, asserting their own power and right to exist. And they, in a sense, provide a solution to one of the important philosophical problems – does history and the concept of time itself exist outside of its carriers? Is the universe experiencing something without us – at least changes in the landscape? Or is it just an inextricable continuum of the past and the future, along which we trace our instantaneous trajectories, like elementary particles in a Wilson chamber? What happens when local gods leave, when the last bearer of national identity dies, when languages and cultural monuments disappear? This is what happens: in the vacuum that has formed, we understand that this is not quite a vacuum, not quite a void. What a whisper sounds. And it can be picked up at any moment and amplified to a powerful chorus. And woe to those cultures where whispers are no longer heard.
A whisper sounds. Time is passing.