Her Last Film

Story by Rory Grey

Content Warning: domestic abuse, alcoholism

Mikhail Sidorov recognised that his situation was desperate. His films were never received well. While they were hailed for being realistic depictions of Russia’s wars, they were often described as long and uninteresting. "This would be better used to instruct our military than entertain our people,” a critic from Pravda wrote about his latest film. He had an idea while reading a review of the new adaptation of Father Frost. A paragraph was dedicated to an actress, named Galina Torlopova. She played the stepdaughter, all rosy-cheeked and dressed in light blue, to bring out her soft grey eyes. The review said that she was too old to be playing peasant girls. It accused the director of using her name to make the movie instead of giving her a role more appropriate for a woman of 23. No teenage girl had forehead wrinkles.

Mikhail had seen photos of Galina. The reviews were right. She had outgrown the familiar role of the naïve peasant girl. He saw maturity in her face. Not the kind that made her look old, but experienced. It was unfortunate that she had developed a series of just noticeable forehead wrinkles over the years.

Mikhail found success in their first collaboration, Lady Death. It told the story of Russian sniper Lyudmila Pavlichenko and her achievements in the Second World War. Galina had her famous white-gold locks cut short and dyed to better resemble the war hero. She was praised for her emotional depth, which her other films had prevented from coming to light. Pravda claimed it as a celebration of women’s bravery. It was evidence that women were valued as more than housewives under the Soviet Union.

Shortly after the release of Lady Death, Galina was delighted to receive an invitation to live with Mikhail. It meant more money for cocktails and nice coats. She knew he had other intentions, but she didn’t mind. He was friendly enough. He told her she was more than the silly girls she always played. He could truly understand the pain of losing her brother; he lost a cousin to the war. “I’m sorry about the smell,” he said when he welcomed her to his apartment. It did smell strongly of tobacco. Her eyes were drawn to the lime green chairs in the living room that made a circle around a sleek coffee table, holding a cluster of empty glasses. Mikhail had framed movie posters on the wall. Faces grey with stubble, like his. Dark colours that stood out against the tobacco-stained white walls. She could not find the one for Lady Death.

Three months into moving in, and the poster for Lady Death was still not on the wall. Galina thought that she was letting it bother her too much. Mikhail spent the days at his desk, making his new hit film. Galina spent the days cooking and putting away his empty glasses from the night before. She never drank with him. There should always be one sober person in a room, her mother always said. One morning, before he locked himself away, she said, “Let’s go out for the afternoon.”“Do you feel like I’ve been neglectful, Dolly?” he asked. Galina disliked the name Dolly, but it was a small price to pay for the apartment.

She gave him a coy smile, “A little.”She really did try to enjoy the afternoon. They had a picnic by the Moskva river. However, he seemed more interested in the lint on his jumper than her. Their next film, a story of an ambitious female scientist, was once again a hit with the public. They enjoyed seeing Galina grow into a woman. The brightness in her eyes was not tainted but enhanced by her age.

Galina enjoyed the extra time with Mikhail. He treated her to breakfast, gave her flowers, and talked about his film ideas on walks at Gorky Park. She nodded and smiled. They created a few more successful films. Galina played roles ranging from shop owners to mothers to navy captains. She enjoyed her work, but she always dreaded when the buzz would die down and Mikhail would chain himself to his desk. He would eat dinners without saying a word. She would have to buy more vodka on grocery runs.

She blamed herself for the first time he hit her. They had been living with each other for about 4 years. The buzz around their latest film had died down months ago. She didn’t want to wait for the next film for him to talk to her. She knocked on the door of his office. No answer. “I was just wondering if you wanted a break. We could see the ballet. Maybe we could go out for dinner.” He opened the door. He towered over her. Galina did not see his hand move before it hit her face. “The door is closed for a reason. Don’t ever bother me again,” Mikhail said before disappearing back into the office. Galina stood by the closed door, touching her stinging face.

He started to hit her for cold soup, for the dust on the TV, for the ants in the bathroom. Her makeup never quite covered it up completely. It became a secret that all of Moscow knew.

Mikhail was working on an adaptation of Macbeth. He was only going to hire the best actors for it. He wanted Shostakovich on the score. He had an extensive plan, spanning a year, for its production. Naturally, Galina would be cast as Lady Macbeth. The newspapers did not like the idea. Mikhail had always dealt with situations close to the Soviet Union. Macbeth was best left to a director who had adapted plays before. Furthermore, the newspapers said, Galina was too pretty, too pure, to be playing Lady Macbeth. One evening, Galina stepped into the living room; arms loosely crossed. Her brows were knitted, her forehead folding into familiar creases. She avoided looking at Mikhail, who was smoking, holding a tumbler of clear alcohol. She contemplated waiting for the morning. His eyes were a little too bloodshot tonight.

“You’ve been standing there for a while, Dolly,” he said, taking some effort to sound coherent.

“Mikhail, we need to talk,” she said. He turned to her, putting his drink on the floor.

“What about?”

Galina assessed her situation. He was seated for now. She was closer to the phone. She had just enough money for a train to Leningrad and maybe to rent a small apartment.

She took in a breath, “I don’t want to be in the film. I also don’t want to work with you anymore.”

Mikhail laughed and took a sip of his drink, “But you’re the star of the show, Dolly!”

“I know, but…”

“Is it because everyone has figured out that you’re just a vapid slut?” He pushed himself out of the chair slowly. She stepped back.

“No…”

His face was red, “Is it because I hit you once or twice?”

“You’ve hit me more than that,” Galina stammered. He stumbled towards her. He was breathing heavily, souring the air. She could see his greying chin hairs and veins in his eyes.

“And I’ll hit you again,” he shouted, heaving up his arm. Galina braced herself. It came. She felt the warmth of pain spread beneath her cheek, like poison was overtaking her face. She could not think, only stand still and avoid looking at him.

“I made you famous, Dolly,” he snarled, “If it weren’t for me, you would still be playing silly peasant girls. Do you understand?”

Galina’s head throbbed. She just wanted him to disappear.

“I said, do you understand?”

She nodded frantically. Tears pricked her eyes. She kept her face to the floor. She only looked up when the smell of vodka wafted away. He was back on the couch, taking drags of a cigarette. His drink was a puddle on the carpet. Eventually, he fell asleep, and Galina felt safe to go to her room. Mikhail never saw Galina again.

Story by Rory Grey