Misha doesn’t leave the house / Миша не выходит из дома

Credits

Director	Igor Odnev
Scriptwriter	Igor Odnev
Producer	Alexandra Alekhina
Producer	Igor Odnev
Producer	Yelena Yatsura
Cinematographer / DP	Julia Galochkina
Art director	Erica Roberts
Composer	Ivan Sintsov
Editor	Sergey Ivanov
Sound Designer	Viktor Medvedev

cast

	Sati Spivakova
	Andrey Urgant
	Dmitry Chebotaryov
	Katerina Shpitsa
	Pavel Vorozhtsov

Biography

Igor was born in Moscow in 1983. He lived and studied in the UK from the age of 11 on a series of scholarships, and graduated from the University of York in 2004. Between 2007 and 2021 he was a correspondent, editor-in-chief and managing director at several large multinational media outlets. In 2021, he founded his own production company, but ‘Misha doesn’t leave the house’ is his debut as a screenwriter and director. Igor is a dual national, and writes in Russian and in English.

Filmography

Misha doesn’t leave the house, 2024

Directors Statement

Assisted suicide is a silent taboo in Russian society – not so much condemned, as rarely discussed at all. Yet the story’s societal dimension wasn’t foremost in my mind when writing ‘Misha’, which I saw instead as a way to confront narratively a personal nightmare. The core theme of ‘Misha’ is not death, but control. Control as a bulwark against primal, irreducible terror. In steady decline from a neurodegenerative condition, Misha micromanages his existence – withdraws from public life, where shame-inducing lapses await, catalogues every conversation, secures a standing arrangement with the doctor, a call away. The monsters stay under the lid. Last test: Misha puts on an analogue watch from which he can no longer tell the time, gets a passing grade from his parents, then almost pushes them out of the door. Just like he planned it. This is what he wanted, right. He’s safe now. The film turns not on its final outcome, but the loss of control that accompanies Lena’s return. Goodbyes replayed a second time, with none of the stoic elegance. The doctor, not a foreboding messenger of death, but an inconvenienced chancer looking to escape with or without his money-stuffed envelope. Lena. Misha can’t make up for what he did as the husband, and tonight he condemns her to an act of mercy she will relive every day, while he won’t. As Grisha knocks on the door, his father on the other side, sleeve already rolled up for the injection, Misha knows there will be no tidy resolution. In the face of non-existence, whether through death or the dehumanising loss of all faculties, control is futile - and horror is inevitable. ‘Misha’ doesn’t avert its gaze from that horror, or soften or poeticise it. The film’s arc, despite moments of respite, or perhaps because of them, is an arrow in ever-quickening descent. For some, ‘Misha’ is a sustained emotional assault. The effect is there, and deliberately so, but my intent isn’t to torture the audience. Amidst the suffering are plentiful moments of humanity. I strove to document people in their most trying circumstances, tangled in denial, panic, concern with trivialities, one rash decision after another. For me, the film carries echoes not of forensic European auteurs, but rather Russian literature. Most of all, the short stories of Anton Chekhov, who, in the petty chaos of domestic drama, always uncovered a deeper, wordless truth that exists beyond public morality or medical ethics. And as Misha and Lena lock eyes for the last time, what we get is a rare glimpse into two souls, entirely exposed.