Right now, AI is stirring up fierce debates — careers are being derailed, games are being banned or stripped of awards… in short, all hell seems to be breaking loose. This will eventually calm down, though, because AI really does help get many things done faster and better. No, it won’t replace a living human being — but it can be a powerful aid.
And riding this very wave, animator Oleg Kuvaev, the creator of the legendary Masyanya, has started making videos using artificial intelligence. He has even shared behind-the-scenes fragments showing that AI is just a tool — and that there’s still a tremendous amount of work involved. But what Oleg has managed to demonstrate is how this tool, in the hands of a talented creator, can help bring yet another series of wonderful works to life.
I’ve watched the second season of The Last of Us. I was already very disappointed with the first one, though my wife liked it.
I watched this season with great difficulty. But by the end even Tanya said she doesn’t want to watch the next one.
My complaints are fairly straightforward. Bella Ramsey is a good actress, but she’s completely wrong for this role. And appearance isn’t even the main issue here. Although, yes, let’s briefly touch on looks too. I do want adaptations to resemble the characters we know from the games. And even Pedro Pascal, charismatic as he is, still doesn’t quite match my image of Joel. But Bella creates an entirely different perception of the character because she is fundamentally different. Dina in season two also doesn’t look like her in-game counterpart, but at least her personality fits. Anyway, after the first season I had already made peace with the visuals.
My main complaint is that the writers, together with Neil Druckmann, for some reason completely reworked the characters’ personalities and motivations. For the sake of flashy spectacle, they changed both the internal logic of the world and the characters’ actions.
The episode with a zombie army attacking Jackson may look impressive, but it’s illogical (fast zombies in such huge numbers would have wiped everyone out instantly), it doesn’t exist in the game or its logic, and it directly contradicts it — the area around Jackson is constantly cleared precisely to prevent any large horde from forming. Yet somehow they missed an entire army. And narratively, this episode is completely unnecessary, in my view. The game’s motivation works far better without any zombie armies.
From the very first episodes, Ellie is portrayed as a reckless, self-absorbed idiot who doesn’t care about rules and just does whatever she wants. And not only does no one put her in her place — everyone around her turns a blind eye to it (which, honestly, explains how they ended up with a horde right next door). And everything Ellie does afterward only reinforces this impression. She’s not a strong character with an internal code. She’s not someone who has to overcome herself to torture a person and then break down in tears afterward. All of that remained in the game and was effectively buried by the writers. In the series she’s just an extremely unpleasant fool — to the point where at some stage I actually found myself wishing she’d just get shot already and the show would end on that happy note.
All in all, I’m genuinely surprised that the creators are doing such a thorough job of undermining their own work. I won’t be watching any further — especially now that even watching it out of solidarity is no longer required.
Disclaimer: this post is mainly for those familiar with the work of legendary Soviet rock musicians. But even without understanding the words, you can still see here how songs are already being created with the help of neural networks. Of course, without the ability to compare with the original works, the perception of these songs will be quite different.
After Ozzy’s death, a wonderful picture like one above began circulating on the internet. I think if Ozzy had known who Tsoi was, he would have appreciated such a posthumous joke about himself. The text over it is says:
— And where is Tsoi? — But Tsoi lives!
Because for my generation, the phrase “Tsoi Lives” was never a meme. Viktor Tsoi is a legend — ours, our own.
And in memory of Viktor, new works keep coming out. His already famous song “Peremen!” became one of the anthems of the 2020 protests in Belarus. Viktor’s son brought together former band members and created a remarkable project with modern arrangements of the songs, over which his father’s cleaned-up voice was laid.
And with the development of artificial intelligence, people have gone even further. I once stumbled across one such song, listened to it, and forgot about it. But the other day I was shown another one — and suddenly the puzzle came together.
Recently, I was unexpectedly asked several times if I had any materials or songs from the band “Plateau.” This interest is likely due to the fact that some time ago, I wrote about my friendship with the band and later published a whole album of studio photos of them on Facebook, where I even sneaked into a few shots myself.
The thing is, the band existed from the mid-90s and effectively ceased its activities in the early 2000s. It was a very distinctive group, blending folk with ethnic motifs, and sometimes just playing cheerful and romantic songs.
In 2000, the band caught the attention of Vyacheslav Butusov, the former vocalist of the band “Nautilus Pompilius.” Together with the members of Plateau and the theater troupe “Licedei,” Butusov performed three acoustic concerts based on his album “Ovals” (one of which, by the way, took place in Minsk). These were not just concerts — they were theatrical performances under the title “Bibigonia.”
On Vyacheslav’s official channel, you can find a TV version of one of these concerts, which took place on February 25, 2000, in Saint Petersburg:
Disclaimer: Some meanings in this post, unfortunately, get lost for those who don’t speak Russian. However, I hope it will still be interesting for English-speaking readers. Thank you for reading!
Today, my wife and I went to a solo concert by Artur Smolyaninov. Artur is an incredible actor whom I first saw in one of the lead roles in 9th Company, a film about the war in Afghanistan, where his character is the only survivor after a brutal battle. Later, I remembered him from the series 9 Months, where he played almost the exact opposite—a young man who desperately wants to avoid military service and is instead assigned to alternative civilian service as a maternity nurse man in a maternity hospital.
Since then, I’ve seen him in many roles, and I’ve always enjoyed his performances. In 2022, when the war started, Artur was one of those who couldn’t stay silent. He spoke honestly about his views, and as a result, he was forced to leave his homeland—a decision that, of course, impacted his acting career. But for him, staying true to himself as a human being was far more important.
At the same time, beyond acting, Artur had also been writing songs. He never considered himself a professional songwriter, musician, or singer. But it’s clear that sharing this part of himself with the audience matters deeply to him.
Even before the war, in 2020, he formed a band called Smola (there’s a play on words here, as the Russian word “smola” (resin) sounds similar to the beginning of the actor’s last name). With this band he recorded several songs. But after leaving Russia, he had to start over from scratch in his musical journey. And in Riga, he put together a new band, which he named cheLovek (‘chelovek’ in Russian means ‘human’).
I don’t think I’ve written long, thoughtful posts about TV series before. But it’s been months now, and I’m still under the impression of this one—so that must be a sign: I need to speak up.
The story of the band Korol i Shut (The King and the Jester) officially begins in 1988 in the city of Leningrad (now Saint Petersburg) when three classmates—Mikhail “Gorshok” Gorshenev (“Gorshok” in Russian means “pot”), Alexander “Poruchik” Shchigolev (“Poruchik” means “lieutenant”), and Alexander “Balu” Balunov—decided to form a band, initially naming it Kontora (it can be translated as The Office but mostly refers to KGB, I think). However, in 1989, Gorshok met Andrey “Knyaz” Knyazev (“Knyaz” is “Duke”) at a restoration school where they later interned together. They became friends, and Gorshok was deeply impressed by Knyaz’s drawings and lyrics in the style of dark fairy tales. This led to Knyaz joining the band, which a year later adopted its final name, Korol i Shut (The King and the Jester). Knyaz’s depiction of a jester became the band’s iconic emblem, and over the years, the jester in the logo began to resemble Gorshok more and more.
I’m not an expert in music genres, but the band’s work has been described as horror punk, folk punk, and rock. I discovered them around 1998, when their music video Yeli Myaso Muzhiki (Men Were Eating Meat) started airing on various music TV channels. It was a blend of horror, dark humor, and memorable punk rock riffs:
Despite all the triumphalism that has been built around Victory Day in recent decades, there are things I continue to love. One of them is the wartime songs by Mark Bernes. One of my favorites is “Where Does the Homeland Begin,” which plays over the credits of the four-part film “The Shield and the Sword” about the Russian intelligence officer Alexander Belov / Johann Weiss.
Incidentally, the film itself is also one of my favorite war movies. Yes, in some ways it can be considered propaganda, and not all episodes made sense to me even as a child, but I still love it madly and rewatch it every few years. The book on which it is based, on the one hand, reveals the characters better, but on the other hand, it’s quite heavy and tedious. The film turned out much better. And it was the first film in which the very young Oleg Yankovsky starred, by the way.
In modern Russia, one of Mark Bernes’ songs, “Do the Russians Want War,” has been banned. This says much more about the memory of real history than all the showy veterans and parades.
And the song “Where Does the Homeland Begin” remains one of the best to this day and is constantly playing on my playlist.
Here is that song in the closing scenes of the first episode of the film:
Belarus is a small country: a population of around 10 million people, an area of a little over 200 thousand square kilometers. For many years I understood that not everyone abroad even knows such a country; I used to have to explain that it’s between Ukraine, Poland, and Russia. (Surprisingly, Cypriots for some reason often do know the country — which genuinely caught me off guard.)
And yet our country sometimes pops up here and there in movies. Okay, Russia — it’s been a longtime supplier of villains with terrifying English accents, since it’s the old enemy. But Belarus? Still, quite well-known creators have slipped this country into their films. And that’s what we’ll talk about today — the examples I know.
Content note: This post examines the publication history of Agatha Christie’s novel and the evolution of its title and associated rhyme. To document that history accurately, it includes direct quotations of period wording that contains racial slurs. Such language is unacceptable in modern usage; it appears here only as part of quoted historical material, for context and analysis.
Today I’d like to talk a little about Agatha Christie — more precisely, about one of her most famous works, the novel “Ten Little Niggers“. In Russian, both the novel and the 1987 Soviet film adaptation by Stanislav Govorukhin are still known under the title Desyat negrityat (“Ten Little Negroes”). In Russian usage, the word negrityonok historically functioned as a neutral racial descriptor rather than a slur, which partly explains why the title remained unchanged in that cultural context.
I first encountered this work in childhood — not through the book, but through Stanislav Govorukhin’s 1987 film adaptation, released in Russian as Desyat negrityat (and often referred to in English as Ten Little Indians). I saw it a year later, while vacationing at the seaside with my parents. The film was being shown at the resort cinema, and if I remember correctly, my younger brother and I even went without our parents.
I remember how that closed-circle mystery (Christie specialized in exactly that kind of structure), combined with an excellent cast and the oppressive atmosphere of the production, made an indelible impression on me. It didn’t exactly frighten me, but it was impossible to look away as, over the course of the story, nearly all the main characters disappear one by one. And yet — what could an eleven-year-old boy, which is what I was at the time, really understand of it? Back then I looked like this (not exactly a heartthrob, of course, but still reasonably presentable):
Alexey Rybnikov is a legendary composer who, in addition to several great rock operas, gave us unforgettable music and songs for many films we love. I adore all of his work, but as the first song set to his music, I decided to talk about “The Astrologer’s Song” (also known as “The Song of the Stars”) from the fairy-tale film Pro Krasnuyu Shapochku (About Little Red Riding Hood) by Leonid Nechayev, released by Belarusfilm in 1977. Besides the melody, the song also features wonderful lyrics written by Yuli Kim.
As usual, I’ll remind you of the song itself and also show a few of its most interesting performances. And for those who read the post to the end, there will be a small surprise waiting (I’m sure it will be a surprise for most of you).
So, the film itself is a musical fairy tale very loosely based on the well-known original. The wolves there are a whole family, led by a strong-willed she-wolf played by Galina Volchek; the wolves are not evil at all and even a bit clumsy; and there’s also a wonderful wolf cub played by Dmitry Iosifov, who two years earlier had played, for the same Nechayev, the most famous Buratino of the Soviet screen.
Besides the story of Little Red Riding Hood, the Wolf (or rather, the wolves), and the Grandmother, the film weaves in many other plotlines and colorful characters. And on top of that, it became famous for several songs set to music by that same Alexey Rybnikov. When I was a child, the song most often performed outside the film was Little Red Riding Hood’s own number — the one that goes, “Ah-ah-ah, in Africa the mountains are this high.” There was also a well-known conversational song with a spoiled child. But no less famous — and perhaps even more so — was “The Song of the Stars,” performed by the Grandmother (Rina Zelyonaya) and the Astrologer (Evgeniy Evstigneev). Both musically and lyrically, it’s far more lyrical than the film’s other songs. That’s probably why it became so beloved.
