Paper Architecture and the Fragmented Self in Late Soviet Cinema

The late Soviet period was a time of profound existential and artistic reflection, shaped by the stagnation of the Brezhnev era and the growing realization that the utopian promises of socialism would remain unfulfilled. This crisis found its expression in both architecture and cinema, where the concept of ‘Paper Architecture’—visionary, unbuilt projects that existed only on paper—became a potent metaphor for the fractured psyche of the Soviet individual. Late Soviet films, particularly those exploring themes of alienation, unrealized potential, and existential displacement, often mirrored these architectural failures, using incomplete or liminal spaces to reflect the fragmented self.

Paper Architecture as a Symbol of Soviet Stagnation

Paper Architecture emerged in the 1970s and 1980s as a reaction to the bureaucratic rigidity of the Soviet architectural establishment. Young architects, unable to realize their innovative designs within the constraints of the system, turned to theoretical projects that pushed the boundaries of form and concept. These fantastical structures, which could never be built, symbolized a society trapped in an ideological impasse—one that continued to project visions of a radiant communist future even as its citizens became increasingly disillusioned.

Similarly, Soviet cinema of the era depicted individuals whose dreams and ambitions were continually thwarted by the system. These films often featured protagonists lost in sterile, monotonous urban landscapes or surreal, decaying environments—spaces that, like ‘Paper Architecture’, existed in a state of unrealized potential. By foregrounding such settings, filmmakers visualized the internal crises of their characters and the broader existential paralysis of Soviet society.

Liminal Spaces and the Fractured Self in Soviet Cinema

One of the most compelling examples of this intersection between architecture and film is Roman Balaian’s ‘Flights in Dreams and Reality’ (1982). The film’s protagonist, Sergei Makarov, played by Oleg Yankovsky, drifts aimlessly through life, unable to reconcile his personal desires with the expectations imposed upon him. The film’s opening shot—Makarov seen upside-down—immediately destabilizes the viewer’s perception, reinforcing his psychological disorientation. The spaces he inhabits, from his cramped apartment to drab office settings, reflect his existential stagnation, much like the unbuilt architectural dreams of his time.

Andrei Tarkovsky’s ‘Stalker’ (1979) presents another striking use of architectural symbolism to depict existential crisis. The film’s mysterious ‘Zone’ is a landscape of decay and abandonment, filled with remnants of human ambition that have been overtaken by nature. This surreal, half-ruined environment mirrors the characters’ psychological turmoil, as they seek meaning in a world where the promises of ideology have crumbled. The Zone, much like the unrealized projects of Paper Architecture, represents a space of potential that remains forever elusive.

Konstantin Lopushansky’s ‘Dead Man’s Letters’ (1986) offers a more overtly dystopian vision, portraying a post-apocalyptic world where the remnants of Soviet civilization have become lifeless, skeletal structures. The film’s protagonist, a scientist, wanders through a ruined cityscape that serves as both a literal depiction of nuclear devastation and a metaphor for the ideological and spiritual collapse of the Soviet Union. The stark, unfinished buildings that surround him evoke the unbuilt dreams of Soviet architecture—grand visions that were never meant to materialize.

The Unfinished Soviet Cityscape: A Reflection of Psychological Dislocation

The late Soviet period was marked by an increasing sense of disconnection between official ideology and lived reality. Many Soviet cities featured grand architectural projects that were left incomplete, abandoned due to economic or bureaucratic stagnation. These unfinished structures became a haunting visual motif in films, standing as physical manifestations of personal and societal failure.

For instance, Kira Muratova’s ‘The Asthenic Syndrome’ (1989) presents a fragmented narrative that mirrors the psychological breakdown of its protagonist. The film’s urban spaces feel disjointed and alienating, reinforcing the characters’ emotional and mental exhaustion. Much like Paper Architecture, these spaces exist in a limbo between vision and realization, emphasizing the deep malaise that characterized the final years of the Soviet Union.

Cinema as ‘Paper Architecture’: Visions That Could Never Materialize

In a sense, late Soviet cinema itself functioned as a form of Paper Architecture—offering glimpses into alternative realities that could never fully materialize within the constraints of the political system. Filmmakers used surreal, unfinished, or liminal spaces to highlight the existential crises of their characters, reflecting a society caught between the promises of the past and the uncertainties of the future.

This connection between architectural failure and personal disintegration is what makes films like ‘Flights in Dreams and Reality’, ‘Stalker’, and ‘Dead Man’s Letters’ so compelling. Their protagonists, much like the unbuilt structures of Paper Architecture, exist in a state of suspension—dreaming of something beyond their reality yet unable to break free from the constraints that define them.

The Unbuilt Dreams of a Vanished Era

The intersection of Paper Architecture and late Soviet cinema offers a profound insight into the psychological and cultural landscape of the time. Both mediums grappled with themes of unrealized potential, existential displacement, and the fragmentation of identity. The characters in these films, like the unbuilt utopias of Soviet architecture, remain suspended in a space between possibility and impossibility—trapped in a world that is neither fully real nor fully imagined.

By exploring this connection, we gain a deeper understanding of how late Soviet filmmakers used architectural motifs to convey the profound sense of alienation and stagnation that defined their era. In doing so, they created cinematic spaces that, much like Paper Architecture, exist as haunting testaments to dreams that could never be realized.

Also Read: How Liminal Spaces Shape Psychological Horror in Pop Culture

—Silviya.Y