On the first day of the year, the film Clipmakers debuts, presenting a paradoxical homage from Gregory of Constantinople to his youth, the 1990s, old friends, and the flamboyant mood of that decade. The New Year spirit is propelled by a torrent of era-defining hits, vivid costumes, music videos, and witty references that echo the classic Blue Light ethos, especially the nostalgic tunes about family. The ending remains unsettled: the four friends who crossed fire, water, and copper pipes do not finish with a clean victory. The film sits with favorites like The Drunk Firm, Dead Souls, Thunderstorm, and Russian Demon, while Half Dollar, pulled in 1999, still stirs debate and heat.
Soon after, a new generation of videographers entered cinema. Young, ambitious creators shot commercials and music videos in modest studios, hungry for a larger project. Grisha Konstantinopolsky, a rising figure, framed their story: an aspiring director who secures film money from a gangster, but not for the film itself. A romance with a rogue mistress derails the plan. Think of a modern riff on Cards, money, two barrels, told from a poorer, more naïve vantage. A duped investor (Fyodor Bondarchuk) nearly pays with his life, only to be replaced by another antagonist who looks the same, and the cycle repeats. The movie premiered at Kinotavr in Sochi, drew criticism for artistic missteps, and was later banned amid a copyright dispute. Yet pirated tapes kept the film alive, and young audiences embraced its fearless swagger, disregard for norms, and genre-bending energy.
By 2022, Gregory of Constantinople returned with a new project centered on Grisha Byzantium, a clip-maker at the heart of the story. The cast features Alexander Gorchilin in a reddish wig, flanked by loyal friends: Vasya Coppola (Alexander Kuznetsov), Armen Petrosyan (Aram Vardevanyan), and screenwriter Tonya Vodkina (Maria Shalaeva). The characters reflect recognizable archetypes: Tone echoes Dunya Smirnova, Vasya channels Bondarchuk, while Armen has his own alias. The screen’s iconic music videos from the era—Crow by Linda, Airplane by Valeria, Tango Three by Kristina Orbakaite, I Love You by Nikolai Noskov—are deeply rooted in memory. A tragic accident in Moscow, attributed to a driver escaping with speed near the Radisson Slavyanskaya, serves as a memorial thread for a friend, Armen. The story pivots on Byzantium’s heroine, a determined young woman, whose quest for revenge carries a pistol in her pocket and a portrait from Sergei Solovyov’s One Hundred Days from Childhood in the background.
Roughly sketched stereotypes of the 1990s appear in Russian cinema: bandits in red jackets and striped tracksuits, veterans-turned-mafia, impoverished grandmothers selling shares, and aunts in checked swimwear among market stalls. The era’s collapse of the Soviet order and a fantasy of consumer abundance frame a time of opportunity and risk. Property redistribution, new billionaires, and factories under siege mark a shift in values. Freedom feels boundless, yet violence creeps in; people chase fame and money, while old professions slip away. Some win, others perish. The era’s exuberant energy collides with harsh consequences, reshaping lives in unpredictable ways.
According to the film’s producer, Sergei Selyanov, audiences today often seek lighter fare. Constantinople’s nostalgic take, delivered as a witty, bold portrait of youth, seems to promise both entertainment and a therapeutic glow for viewers during the holiday season. “This is a hooligan, ironic, as Grisha always is—an audacious, lively biography of youth, of how it all began in Russia during the 1990s, what happened, and what didn’t,” Selyanov argues.
Konstantinopolsky’s script blends multiple 90s clichés into one frame, infusing it with memories of post-Soviet show business that dreamed of international stages and Hollywood triumphs. He notes that this mix provides fertile ground for the story—bright hopes clashing with dark days. The generation once believed in a radiant future and fresh possibilities. Even though the future yielded different outcomes, the sense of youth’s vitality remains visible today. Yet despite a clearly autobiographical tilt, the film presents a satirical, burlesque, and black-comedy view of the era. The protagonists—Gosha, Vasya, Tonya, and Armen—move through a world that looks staged: a restaurant, a casino, a studio, and a bustling crowd where danger lurks around every corner. Everyone carries a gun, every shot lands, cars blow up, and love appears where it is least expected.
Their chief adversary, a stubborn, thick-headed bandit known as Beaver, is memorably played by Vladimir Epifantsev. Beaver may be dangerous, yet he is gullible, always misreading the situation as the caper unfolds. The four friends manage him with a simple tactic—grab a chair and strike. This routine has endured since 1992, but then political technologists enter the scene, and the stakes rise as United Russia enters the picture and Vasya Coppola seeks a meeting with a powerful figure. The plot thickens as more menacing opponents emerge and ultimately prevail.
As the 1990s’ promises fade into memory, the film’s finale lingers on the possibility of rethinking what happened. Cinema’s craft allows for revisits and revisions, and Konstantinopolsky’s own debut has come full circle. Not every project finds success, but this one offers a vivid look at a turbulent decade and its lasting echoes, especially for Gregory of Constantinople who keeps pushing forward.
The piece presents a personal point of view and invites viewers to consider how that perspective aligns with broader interpretations.