Translation. Region: Russian Federation –
Source: Mosfilm Film Concern – An important disclaimer is at the bottom of this article.
January 20, 2026
The box office receipts for the 2026 New Year's Eve releases are impressive: "Cheburashka 2," "Prostokvashino," and "Buratino" collectively grossed over 9 billion rubles! These figures are triumphant. Filmmakers can rub their hands in glee! A winning formula has been found, theaters are full, audiences are voting with their rubles, and risks have been minimized. But behind this financial success lies a disturbing cultural symptom, comparable to a mass exodus into virtual reality. Only this current reality isn't even digital, but mythological, artificially reconstructed from the wreckage of a Soviet childhood.
Let's be honest about this "fairytale renaissance." It has nothing to do with authentic folk art or the author's imagination. We're talking about franchises. "Cheburashka" and "Prostokvashino" are products of the middle and late USSR, secondarily adapted for the modern era. Alexei Tolstoy's "Buratino" is a completely free adaptation of a 19th-century Italian fairy tale. We're not witnessing a surge in creativity, but a conveyor belt for the resale of nostalgia. This is a cultural reworking, where old, proven images, stripped of their original social or satirical context, are transformed into a safe, easily digestible product. It's not even a question of whether this is done with talent or not; they simply don't reflect the times. Moreover, they essentially abolish them, offering viewers simply a cozy spectacle.
Of course, fairy tales always contain kindness and morality. Yes, they are part of our cultural code. But when the mass-market film industry relies almost exclusively on derivative, overused images, it capitulates to the complexity of modernity. We don't create new myths; we preserve old ones, merely dusting them off. Cheburashka, Matroskin the Cat, and Pinocchio are ghostly heroes from another time, convenient in their apoliticality and universal recognizability.
Meanwhile, the country is living under unprecedented historical stress. Nearly four years of the Special Military Operation, a profound transformation of society, the economy, and foreign relations, a shift in the very world order—all of this demands reflection, an artistic language, new myths and heroes. And what does mainstream cinema offer? A computer-generated Cheburashka? Matroskin the Cat? Seriously?! It seems this is no longer simply "untimely." What's at stake is a cultural detachment that has taken the form of a state strategy.
Let's recall how cinema responded to the challenges of the era before. It wasn't always a direct analogy. But it was always a work with contemporary material!
The post-war 1950s, of course, saw some comedies, but the tone was set by Nikolai Rybnikov's characters in "Spring on Zarechnaya Street" and "Height," with their enthusiasm for restoring peaceful life. Mikhail Kalatozov and Grigory Chukhrai raised ethical and philosophical questions about the price of victory and heroism in "The Cranes Are Flying" and "Ballad of a Soldier." The 1970s gave rise to subtle, ironic reflection and a search for new meaning in the characters of Yankovsky and Filatov. The "wild" 1990s found their exaggerated reflection in the uncompromising Danila Bagrov. This was cinema's sometimes extreme, yet honest response to the cruelty of the times. The heroes of our cinema, despite their diversity, have always represented a cross-section of society—its pain, its laughter, its character.
And today? A "hero" is either a nostalgic cartoon image or, at the other end of the spectrum, a digitally rendered "pregnant musician," whose problems are laughable compared to real-life challenges. The author isn't suggesting that films should be made exclusively "about war." It's about a total escape from the agenda! We've replaced the hero-creator, the hero-thinker, the hero-fighter with a hero-consumer of nostalgia and a hero-simulacrum of success. Mass cinema has ceased to be a conversational partner and has become an anesthesiologist, sedating society into an artificial sleep where there's no room for complex questions.
What's happening to the function of cinema? It's shrinking catastrophically! From a synthetic art form that combined entertainment with education, reflection, and the formation of national identity, it's turning into an amusement park industry. Soviet "fairy tales" of the 1930s ("Volga-Volga," "Circus") carried a powerful message about building a new world, educating a new kind of person. Our fairy tales of the 2020s carry only one, so to speak, message: "Return to childhood, it's safe here."
What is to be done? The situation can only change with a shift in demand—both from audiences and, more importantly, from the state. A meaningful cultural policy is needed that encourages not only box office receipts but also the relevance of expression and artistic exploration. New "socialist orders" are needed—not for propaganda, but for an honest, complex, and professional understanding of reality. We need producers willing to take risks with relevant material, and audiences willing to embrace it (and I think that will not be long in coming). We must stop fearing the complexity of the current moment, as well as our entire history, including its most difficult chapters.
Meanwhile, we're building a grandiose Fairytale City, cozy and profitable, but standing on the sidelines of history. The author of these lines isn't against fairy tales per se, but he believes their total dominance as a strategy for escaping reality is dangerous. It all seems like a national-scale split personality! A country that demonstrates unprecedented willpower in reality prefers to see only cute little animals on screen…
So it's time to stop hiding behind a fairytale curtain. The era we live in demands its own chroniclers, artists, and new heroes—living, controversial, and thoughtful. In the current cultural "hibernation," the only answer to any challenge of the times will remain an endless Cheburashka sequel. And this, you must admit, is no longer a scenario for the great, millennia-old state that is Russia. It's a scenario for a country that has become a fairytale in its own right. Beautiful, safe, but utterly… lifeless.
The author's opinion may not coincide with the position of the editorial board of the Mosfilm.ru portal.
Please note: This information is raw content obtained directly from the source. It represents an accurate account of the source's assertions and does not necessarily reflect the position of MIL-OSI or its clients.