folk music but like, in a punk way?

The cynic who still carries a childhood stuffed animal.

The liar who craves honesty.

The overthinker who makes reckless decisions.

The heartbreaker who believes in soulmates.

The pacifist who holds lifelong grudges.

The tough guy who cries during old movies.

The thrill-seeker who's terrified of commitment.

The grump who’s unfailingly polite to waitstaff.

Violence that stands in for queer desire, and queer desire that ends in violence, would become a controversial topic over the next several decades of film and media discussion – as more mainstream LGBT cinema took off in the 90’s and 2000’s, the subject of exploitation and over-exposure of homophobic trauma would become less palatable.

But this was the UK under Thatcher’s reign, and in the early 80’s the nature of homosexual desire was still taboo. This was barely ten years after the first pride, the Thorpe political scandal was still fresh in the minds of the polite society, and homosexuality was a topic reserved for scandalised tabloids.

It’s with this backdrop that underground re-enactments of Goncharov became popular in Brighton and Manchester, spreading eventually to London and the Oxford/Cambridge drama clubs. Amateur thespians played out the death scenes, the first meeting, the confrontations, the shoot-outs, the quiet desire. Male performers would take the roles of Katya and Sofia - in most popular re-enactments, Katya and Andrey would share one actor. Women played the parts of men, men played the parts of the femme fatale, and gender non-conformity abounded in the liminal space between lawlessness and story.

A tragedy knows it’s a tragedy. The actors in the re-enactments took a Tom Stoppard-like approach in how it repeated its narrative violence. The actor that will kiss Goncharov in one scene as Katya, will kill him just ten minutes later as Andrey. No costume change, no make-up trickery – same narrative tools used to hammer out the machinery of desire. Andrey and Gocharov may be doomed by the movie to kill eachother, but in the nimble hands of experimental theatre, they can finally play out their unsated hunger.

if only time would stop for us

In these scenes, one character truly expresses their desire (although not explicitly in a sexual or romantic way (although with the surrounding subtext and the context from the rest of the plot it's hard to deny their meanings)) for the other. The twist about this, however, is that they play opposite roles in the narrative. Sofia orbits Katya, having such a fierce allegiance towards the woman that she would do anything for her, even stand up against Katya's mafia don of a husband. Goncharov is obsessed with Andrei, toxically so, to the point where he goes so far as to ensnare him in every little thing to keep him close, even as Andrei attempts to distance himself from fear of their operation going south (as it does after the betrayal; this film truly has one of the best depictions of narrative foreshadowing and cyclical narratives I've seen from films of the period.)

Their partners are both enthralled by the others declarations, but in opposite directions. Katya takes their conversation as a means to go through with her plan, as she has the reassurance of one of her closest confidants. Andrei, on the other hand, asserts that he must stick with Goncharov in order to survive, thus falling further into the bond that they share (and further dooming himself, in turn).

This post reminded me of the EXCELLENT soundtrack this movie has, thank you @caramiaaddio

I can't find any recordings of the soundtrack of Goncharov, which is really sad because the music is so good. Here's a clip of the main theme that I cropped out from the opening credits.