6.3/10
Senior Film Conservator

A definitive 6.3/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Yeyo put remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Alright, so «Yeyo put» is *not* for everybody. Let’s get that out of the way right now. If you’re looking for a neat story with a clear beginning and end, or maybe some explosions, you'll probably hate this. But if you’ve got patience for a slow burn, for grim cityscapes and unspoken anxieties, this might just get under your skin in a good way. It’s a very specific kind of vibe.
The film just kinda throws you into things. There's this constant sense of unease, like something bad's always about to happen, but it rarely does in a flashy way. It’s more like a slow, creeping dread.
A. Otradin, he plays his character, you know, with this heavy quietness. You just watch him for long stretches, like that scene where he’s just sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a half-eaten bowl of something. No words, just the hum of a fridge. It goes on a bit, but it really makes you feel the weight of his world. It’s almost uncomfortable.
Then you have Emma Tsesarskaya. Her performance is something else. There's a moment, a really small one, where she's haggling over some fruit at a market. The way her eyes dart around, the slight tension in her jaw. It tells you everything about her situation without a single line about it. She’s trying to hold it together, barely.
The director, or maybe it was the cinematographer, really loves to just *sit* on a shot. There's this one long take of a grimy alleyway, just rain and puddles. Nothing happens. And it just makes you think, **why am I looking at this?** But then you realize, that's the point. This is the world these people live in. It's not pretty, it's not moving fast. It just *is*.
The sound design, too, is a character itself. You hear distant sirens, a dog barking, muffled traffic. It’s never loud or dramatic, but it’s always there, a low hum of the city. It makes everything feel very real, very grounded.
There's a scene with Joseph Leinenger and Karl Gurnyak that's just a quick exchange in a car. Leinenger's character says maybe three sentences, Gurnyak's says two. But the way they look at each other, the pause before Leinenger finally starts the engine – **it speaks volumes** about their history, or what they're about to do. You can almost feel the air thick with unsaid things.
I kept thinking about the lack of music. For most of the film, it's just ambient noise. When a small piece of melancholic piano music finally comes in, it feels earned. It's not there to tell you how to feel, but to emphasize the quiet despair already present.
Some of the dialogue felt a little clunky in translation, I think. Or maybe it was just meant to be that way, very blunt. There's a bit where Aleksandr Zhukov’s character just repeats, “It is what it is” a few times. It’s not profound, but it fits his weary attitude perfectly.
The film isn't trying to impress you with grand statements. It's more like a collection of moments, snippets of a hard life. Like watching strangers through a window, except you’re suddenly very invested in their small dramas.
And that ending? It doesn’t wrap things up. Not even close. It just… stops. Leaves you hanging, thinking about it. Some might find that frustrating. I thought it was **brave**, honestly. It matches the whole mood of the film.
It’s kinda a film that makes you appreciate the small victories, even if there aren't many. Just a character making it through another day seems like a triumph.
If you're in the mood for something gritty, something that makes you *feel* the concrete and the cold, and you don't mind a very slow pace, «Yeyo put» could be a worthwhile watch. Just don’t go in expecting Hollywood sheen. This is raw cinema, for better or worse.

IMDb —
1921
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