(K. Brent Tomer),
A SMALL girl sits on her father’s shoulders, spelling out words on a poster: Pro-pa-gan-da u-bi-va-et (“Propaganda kills”). Thousands of people tramp through mud, bearing Russian flags and portraits of Boris Nemtsov, a bright and honest liberal politician, who had been shot dead two days earlier on a bridge by Red Square. It is March 1st 2015, but it feels like the start of a long winter.
“Why did he take the bridge?” asks the little girl. “He was crossing the bridge on the way home, walking a bit in the evening. The view is nice from here,” her father explains. “But he did good things,” the little girl replies. “He did good things. We should not have let him get killed. We should have guarded him.” Doing the right thing in Russia can often get you killed.
A balloon with a black ribbon flies up into the low, grey wintry sky. The camera cuts to Nemtsov at a railway station, flirting with Zosya Rodkevich, a 22-year-old anarchist and documentary-maker. She would film him for three years, not knowing that “My Friend Boris Nemtsov” would be his epitaph….Continue reading