索科洛夫將完成「家庭三部曲」的第三作（前兩作分別為《母與子》和《父子迷情》）。本片由俄羅斯ТВС投資拍攝。

In 1994, Alexander Sokurov accompanied Russian troops assigned to a frontier military post at the Tajikistan/Afghanistan border to film their experiences. While unnamed tribal forces occasionally engaged the troops in skirmishes, Sokurov’s haunting documentary chronicles the downtime between activity.

Amateur actors read stories from a book describing the 900-day siege of Leningrad during World War II.

A requiem for a Russian peasant woman, Maria Semionovna Voinova. The film is in two chapters. The first chapter consists of an impression of Maria Semionovna, scenes of the colours of summer time: hay–making, bathing in a river, work in the flax fields and a holiday in the Crimea. The second chapter, set nine years later, is in black and white and deals with how Maria Semionovna's life ended. The mood is one of a sad and elegiac narration.

Short film Empire is based on a radio drama Sorry, Wrong Number by the American writer Lucille Fletcher. Actually, Sokurov draws on a single theme forming the background for the story of the thriller — the woman's illness… The heroine is bed–ridden and her only means of communication with the outside world is her telephone — until a killer interrupts the conversation…
Sokurov removes all the dialogues, leaving us alone with the heroine — “a living skeleton” among the refined, with a touch of Modern–style, furnishings — who is listening to a radio broadcasting of Traviata, with its pleas for mercy and love. An elegant coffin–home is the spatial centre and symbolization of the entire film. And inside the coffin we certainly see the actress — the famous Russian ballerina Alla Osipenko who plays not only the heroine but also her own self.
This metaphoric cinema–image bears an allusion to the great “handicapped” Sarah Bernhardt who was reported to sleep in a coffin, as well as to the entire complex of aesthetised Decadence, converting an apology of Death into a lifestyle. Here is the key to the code of the title. Empire is a style that attempted to reanimate the dead ancient harmony. The heroine of Sokurov's film communicates with her phone as the only partner, and sort of interferes with the beyond, attracting this air — intangible yet saturated with danger. It is from the radio air that she accumulates both pleasure and tranquillity — the aria of dying yet beloved Violetta, while the killer's silhouette materializes from the phone air. A chamber pot, overturned and spilt by the killer in haste, remains the only evidence of human activities in this boudoir of Death. Sokurov's metaphor, clad in naturalistic details, produces the effect of ironic disclosure: “a wet spot” is left after a symbol.
The film was shot as a study work of a VGIK student S.Sidorov. At that time Sokurov did not have a chance to launch a project of his own, therefore he used this possibility to work. Visual conception of this film anticipates a considerable number of Sokurov's future experiments: light that models the space, levelling of colours, correlation of contrasting textures.

From the Commander's diary
in 5 parts (52 min. each)
1998, 260 min., colour, BETACAM SP, Stereo
Studio Nadezda, Roskomkino, with the participation of Lenfilm
scenario: A.Sokurov
camera: A.Fedorov
sound: S.Moshkov
editor: L.Semenova
producer: S.Voloshina
“The Commander could not decide whether he should keep a diary and record the occurrences in his life. What if someone were to read it by chance?”

“Simple Elegy” is simple in form — also, probably, is it simple in content. It is compiled from documentary footage shot in 1990 when Russia imposed an economic blockade on Lithuania. We filmed in the building which houses the Supreme Council of Lithuania and in the streets of Vilnius. There are two protagonists in the film, the People and the Chief of State: the Lithuanians and Mr. Vitautas Landsbergis. This new leader of the Lithuanian state is an attractive figure. Landsbergis is an historian of culture and music. He received a classical education. Perhaps every state should seek to have such a person of education at its head. Yet we who made this film did not have any political intentions, only, quite naturally, artistic ones… It is important to note that “Simply Elegy” is a film in the “Elegy” series.
Alexander Sokurov (from the author's summary)
The office of the President of Lithuania, 1990. Inside, silence reigns, contrasting to the shouting of the crowds outside the windows of the governmental building. At the same time, this silence is mirrored by the intense silence of several women, whose faces remain on the screen for a long time. The silence is broken by music. The President plays the piano — the Nocturnes, composed by his famous compatriot, Ciurlionis. The President, musician and politician, has plunged himself into deep mediation (recalling aspects of “Soviet Elegy”) — a kind of phenomena of our times, something that Sokurov searches for and hopes to capture: something that remains and can still be rescued.

1995, 12 min., colour, BETACAM SP
North Foundation
camera: Alexander Burov
sound: Sergei Moshkov
Musical excerpts from W. A. Mozart, L. van Beethoven, O.&nbsolMessiaen, R. Wagner, P. Tchaikovsky, T. Takemitsu.
This lyrical small film came out of the material edited for the larger video documentary “Spiritual Voices.” The completed film consisted of fives parts with a total duration of about five hours. “A Soldier's Dreams” became one of its scenes.
This smaller film was created as a kind of gift to the film critic and historian Dr. Hans Schlegel, who has done so much for me and for so many other Eastern European cinematographers.
The first screening of this film took place in Oberhausen.
Alexander Sokurov
This film is a “sketch” for the five hour documentary “Spiritual Voices.” The material, shot by Sokurov's crew on the border of Afghanistan as Russian soldiers carry on with their frontier patrol duties, becomes a parable. The young soldiers resting after their duties personify the difficult and grave task which burdens youth: to ensure peace and calm. A young person on the border between life and death is a recurring poetic motif in Alexander Sokurov's feature films. Here the documentary footage is transformed into
“a soldier on the border of peace and war.” It is a tragic theme — and a very Russian one.

Описание: Майскую демонстрацию трудящихся и салют — один из ритуальных праздников советской России — Сокуров снимает как изнанку официозного жанра отечественной кинохроники. Парад народного единства он показал как усталую массовку, распадающуюся без режиссерской направляющей руки и без цели. Вспышки немотивированного веселья, как и случайные знаки тревоги даны в беглых зарисовках толпы, угрожающе неприкаянной и щемяще жалкой.
Часть вместо целого, индивидуальные черты всеобщего лица, из деталей вырастающий символ — эти постулаты монтажного советского кино, разработанные Эйзенштейном в изображении человеческой массы, хора и протагониста советской эпохи, Сокуров пересматривает в аспекте нового времени и нового — собственного стиля. Хор как социальная категория уже несостоятелен, а протагонист отсутствует. Здесь лица отдельны и одиноки даже в законодательном общем ликовании. Впрочем, и хор и солист в картину массового праздника вплетены рукою автора–режиссера: в фонограмму финальных кадров Сокуров включил запись церковного песнопения — покаянную молитву «Жертва вечерняя». Но эти голоса уже не от мира сего. Это, скорее, звуки потустороннего сочувствия, это салют из мира Творца и Творчества. Первоначальное название картины — «Салют».
Фильм — участник кинофорума «Молодое кино» в рамках ХХХVIII Международного кинофестиваля в западном Берлине (1988).

Специальный выпуск ленинградской кинохроники Сокуров сделал оперативно, получив материал из Краснодара, где оператор снял митинг протеста матерей призванных в российскую армию ребят, направляемых в зоны межкавказских конфликтов. Вся лента — персональное кинематографическое воззвание режиссера к президенту Горбачеву и к власти, смысл этого воззвания распространяется не только на данный конкретный факт социального конфликта.
Одна из важнейших для Сокурова исторических тем: невозможно безнаказанно вклиниваться в дела других народов, быть буфером национальных распрей — здесь потребовала не эстетического контекста, но прямой гражданской речи. Краснодарские кадры, смонтированные с изображением самого Сокурова на фоне петербургского вьюжного пейзажа, — это гражданский автопортрет режиссера на фоне отечественного неблагополучия, взрывы которого еще впереди, и долг художника о них предупредить.

Elderly Aleksandra visits her Russian soldier grandson, Denis, at the Chechen war front, providing comfort as she tours his army. All the while, Denis ponders the reason for her unexpected appearance.

A 1988 documentary film directed by Alexander Sokurov, about the later life and death of Soviet Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky. The film was originally intended to mark the 50th birthday of Tarkovsky in 1982, which would have been before his death. Controversy with Soviet authorities about the film's style and content led to significant delays in the production.

A documentary about the famous musician Mstislav Rostropovich and his wife, Galina Vishnevskaya.

This wonderful visual poem unites many of Sokurov's best traits. Like most of his films, it is less about plot than the unfolding of a specific situation. Here, an observer who merely appears as a silhouette (though it seems to be Sokurov) travels to an old Japanese town on an island. It is an unearthly place, almost empty, old buildings, mist, probably the afterlife. The observer talks to three souls about their former lives which they see as burdensome and unhappy; but they talk in a light-hearted manner. There is a nocturnal feel to everything, the images have a washed-out quality, like varnished old paintings, and Sokurov deliberately keeps them sometimes out of focus (all trademarks of his); the soundtrack is a marvelous composition of gently howling wind, creaking wood and remote music, some classical, some Russian and Japanese folk. The entire movie is a dreamlike reflection on life and death and the view of the dead upon the living. Absolutely recommended for all who like Sokurov and Eastern European poetic film. (IMDB)

“It is a film from an extended series. It is hard to say who is the main character of “The Soviet Elegy.” There are more than a hundred faces of our compatriots. But, of course, it is not by chance that it is the destiny of a famous political figure, Boris Nikolayevitch Yeltsin, that bears a special accent in the film. Though he got to power following quite typical ways, his uncommon character puts him out of the ordinary, and in the author’s opinion it may be determined by his uncommon human nature. Our hero exists within the tragic pattern of the soviet socialist life. He is a character of a drama, of which he is one of the authors. “The Soviet Elegy” can hardly be called a documentary film in the proper sense. Of course, the author guarantees the accuracy of chronology, but he insists on an artistic mode of thinking, not on a political or historical investigation.”

1997, 75 min., colour, BETACAM SP, Stereo
The Japan Foundation, North Foundation, Pandora Co., Ltd (Japan)
Special thanks to Hiroko Kodjima
scenario: A. Sokurov
camera: A. Fedorov
sound: S. Moshkov
editor: L. Semenova
“My journey to your sorrowful country cannot finish… even here in Russia.
I can't part with feelings which have captured me… as if my soul had been in search of Beauty and Kindness. If not — what for have I deserved this gift, this meeting…
I have arrived in the twilight. The noise of the wind and my tiredness didn't let me fall asleep.
I was lying on the floor, there was a small lamp at my head, the bedding had been thrown over the mat.
I don't know why, but I began to think about the war, and the scenes of unknown life appeared before me from the past… or, perhaps, from the future; Somebody’s children… somebody's mothers…
The summer was warm…
Then the morning came, windy, cold and sunny… I examined the house cautiously. It was empty…
Then, I remember, I turned back, having heard a creak.
It seemed she had not yet noticed me… I decided to come nearer.
I can remember well enough, how everything became interesting: walls, utensils, wind, light, sounds — all her life.
We agreed that she would let me stay near her all the time All the hours and minutes that I could spend in her old house. I sat near her with her permission. And it was really necessary: I could contem­plate her to my heart's content.”
Alexander Sokurov (from the author's text to the film)
A myth about lost harmony, which is always with us, though we often cannot feel it, is further developed in this film by Alexander Sokurov. The material used here is concrete and, at first sight, quite fit for TV. The whole work is unhurried and detailed report from an old solitary house, lost in the mountains, in the village of Aska, prefecture Nara, Japan, where an old woman, whose name is Umeno Matshueshi, lives alone. But filmmaker's creative task is quite opposed to the TV information stream. It is not only because this subject, this person couldn't be of any interest for any TV crew in any country (and least of all, perhaps, in modern Japan).
Sokurov's camera doesn't watch this character, doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t surprise her, but extracts uninterrupted poetical image out of the trivial details of this physical reality, out of this extinct life and daily routine. The image is epic and lyrical at the same time. Refined simplicity of Japanese landscape, interior, a series of portraits are not a representation of “couleur local,” but only the sign of ideal technique of the ideal description, allowing to enter this life. The woman, who remains silent throughout the whole film, cooking and eating, kindling the fire and sewing, giving alms and combing her hair before us, recites in the final poem as a prayer: artless and sorrowful tanku about loneliness, about the constancy of losses and gainings. Sokurov shoots this unexpected stroke in his personage's portrait as a lyrical coda of his work.

In the title of this film we have the diagnosis of a mental illness. The title of George Bernard Shaw's play Heartbreak House is a formula-symbol introduced by the great British wit in order to describe Europe before the First World War. The Russian filmmaker discerned and brilliantly developed Russian Chekhovian roots of the play in his saturated with associations cinematographic composition. This was a feast of Sokurov's imagination and an anthology of almost all of his devises to be subsequently developed. Here one could find a model of a set, closely imitating the real surrounding, documentary shots juxtaposed to the deformed image, a mask of Shaw himself, and non-professional performers next to the celebrated Georgian actor Ramaz Tchkhickvadze.
The film had scandalized the powers that be as early as during the process of production which had been several times interrupted and banned by various structures of officialdom — until the film was eventually released in the beginning of Perestroika, in 1987. Perhaps nowadays one of the most important for the director themes — the defenselessness of man, hiding in the house as in a cocoon in the attempt to evade the horrors of history and the problems of existence — sounds more articulately than ever. And the defense — science, technic, culture — civilization — may crash any time and crush 'proud' humankind.
The film took part in the competition program of the XXXVII International Cinema Festival in Western Berlin in 1988 and got FIPRESSI award at the XV International Festival in Moscow and Special award in the memory of Andrei Tarkovsky (1987).

A young night watchman at the Anton Chekhov museum in Yalta encounters a mysterious, weary intruder who appears to be the playwright himself, returned from the dead. Over the course of a single night, the two share a series of quiet, existential interactions within the preserved rooms of the estate.

In 1942 Bavaria, Eva is alone, when Adolf arrives with Josef, his wife Magda, and Martin to spend a couple of days without politics.