In the oppressive, hyperreal universe of Ilya Khrzhanovsky’s DAU, individuality is a luxury, and intimacy is often a transaction. Amidst the claustrophobic corridors of a secret Soviet institute, two female figures—Katya and Tanya—emerge not merely as characters but as emotional barometers for the system’s decay. While the project is vast and often deliberately inscrutable, the relationship between these two women reveals the central tension of the DAU experiment: the struggle between performance and authenticity, complicity and rebellion.
Katya, often perceived as the more pragmatic and grounded of the pair, exists within the institute’s ecosystem as both a caretaker and a prisoner of its logic. She navigates the absurdities of Soviet scientific life with a weary, bureaucratic resignation. Tanya, in contrast, embodies raw, unfiltered emotion—jealousy, desire, and a desperate need for connection. Their interactions are rarely sentimental. Instead, they circle each other like magnets with reversed polarity: sometimes drawn together by shared isolation, more often repelled by the inherent competitiveness that the patriarchal, surveillance-state environment forces upon women.
The power of their dynamic lies in what is not said. In the long, unbroken takes characteristic of Khrzhanovsky’s direction, Katya and Tanya communicate through silence, averted gazes, and the careful choreography of domestic space. A shared cigarette or the act of pouring tea becomes a battlefield of subtle dominance and unspoken need. This is not a friendship in the traditional cinematic sense; it is a fragile alliance forged in the shadow of constant observation. Every tender moment is undercut by the knowledge that someone—a male scientist, a KGB informant, or the camera itself—is watching.
Critically, the DAU project blurs the line between script and reality. The actresses (Radmila Shchegoleva as Katya and Marina Kleshcheva as Tanya) lived within their roles for years. Thus, the on-screen tension between Katya and Tanya feels painfully authentic: it is the friction of two souls trying to retain humanity while their environment demands they become cogs. Their conflicts—over a man, over a moral compromise, over a scrap of dignity—are microcosms of the larger Soviet tragedy. The system does not need to break them physically; it merely needs to ensure they never fully trust one another.
Ultimately, Katya and Tanya serve as a fractured mirror reflecting the audience’s own discomfort. We watch them, much like the institute’s scientists watch their subjects, seeking a coherent narrative or a moral escape. But DAU denies us closure. The women do not ride off into the sunset or stage a heroic rebellion. Instead, they endure. They adjust. They betray one another slightly, then pull back. In this liminal space of half-measures and quiet desperation, Khrzhanovsky finds his most devastating thesis: under total observation, even the deepest bonds become another performance. Katya and Tanya are not heroines or victims. They are survivors—and in the world of DAU, that is the most haunting role of all.
DAU. Katya Tanya (2020) is a feature-length film directed by Ilya Khrzhanovskiy and Jekaterina Oertel, part of the massive and controversial multi-disciplinary cinema project DAU. Plot Overview
The film follows Katya (Ekaterina Yuspina), a young librarian at a secret Soviet research institute who is searching for true love but finds her romantic ideals constantly shattered by reality. After several disappointing affairs, she finds comfort and an emotional connection with her colleague, a journalist named Tanya (Tatyana Polozhiy). Their relationship eventually draws the unwanted attention of the Institute's First Department, which oversees security and ideological purity. Key Details DAU. Katya Tanya (2020) - Technical specifications - IMDb DAU. Katya Tanya * 1h 43m(103 min) * Color. Color. DAU. Katya Tanya (2020) - Full cast & crew - IMDb DAU. Katya Tanya
On the surface, the plot is deceptively simple:
Katya (Radmila) is the young, emotionally volatile wife of a powerful, middle-aged scientist (Currentzis). She is an alcoholic teetering on the edge of psychosis, seeking affection through aggression. Tanya (Lidiya) is Katya’s elderly, silent mother-in-law, who shares the cramped apartment. Tanya is the domestic anchor—she cleans up the vomit, washes the glasses, and absorbs verbal abuse with a stoicism that feels both saintly and masochistic.
The inciting incident is banal: The scientist/husband leaves for a conference. Or does he? He simply disappears into the DAU universe’s other rooms, abandoning Katya to her demons.
For three reels, the film becomes a horrifyingly authentic loop:
The "action" occurs when Katya invites a strange man from the street into the apartment to have sex while Tanya sits in the kitchen. Later, in a fit of jealous rage over a phantom lover, Katya destroys the apartment’s interior, uproots a flowerpot, and smears the dirt on her face. The climax is not a scream but a whisper: Katya, exhausted and broken, crawls into Tanya’s narrow bed and asks Tanya to tell her a fairy tale. Tanya complies, stroking Katya’s hair. The fairy tale is about a little girl who was lost and never found.
"DAU" is a cinematic project that began as an experimental film series directed by Ilya Peregudov, based on the life and work of Soviet physicist Lev Landau. The project evolved into a feature film and a series of shorts, exploring various facets of life within the Soviet scientific community. The initiative is known for its immersive approach to storytelling, delving into themes of science, politics, and human relationships. The "action" occurs when Katya invites a strange
Set in a shabby Soviet apartment in the 1950s/60s, the film introduces us to Katya (Marina Kuklis) and Tanya (Lidiya Shumilova). Katya is a brilliant, volatile mathematician who has been fired from her institute. Tanya is her lover, caretaker, and emotional hostage.
The "DAU" project is famous for its method acting—actors lived as their characters for years in a recreated Soviet city. In Katya Tanya, you feel every second of that confinement. The apartment becomes a pressure cooker. Katya, denied an outlet for her intellect, turns her analytical fury inward onto the only person left in her orbit: Tanya.
What makes DAU. Katya Tanya unbearable to watch is the refusal of catharsis. In Hollywood, the alcoholic would hit rock bottom and go to rehab. Here, rock bottom has a basement.
The keyword "DAU. Katya Tanya" is often searched alongside terms like "shocking," "real," and "abusive." This is because Khrzhanovsky did not direct a drama; he manufactured a pressure cooker. Reports from the set (though disputed) suggest that the actresses were not acting. The apartment was real. The vodka was real. The sleep deprivation was real.
Radmila Shchegoleva reportedly lived as Katya for months. When you watch her gnash her teeth, foam at the mouth, and then weep with the trembling vulnerability of a child, you are not watching a technique. You are watching a human being who has forgotten where the camera is. Lidiya Shchegoleva, her real grandmother, does not act like a character. She acts like a grandmother who is genuinely terrified for her granddaughter’s soul.
This is the dangerous genius of the DAU method. "DAU. Katya Tanya" functions as a case study in codependency. Tanya enables Katya not out of malice, but out of a Soviet-bred survival instinct: You do not solve problems. You endure them. You clean the mess. You wait for death. Katya destroys the apartment’s interior
There are no police in this film. No neighbors intervene. No family calls. In the closed system of the DAU universe—much like the closed system of a totalitarian state or an abusive relationship—there is no justice, only physics. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction of pain.
The film refuses catharsis. There is no dramatic escape, no final breaking point. The final frames suggest that tomorrow will be exactly like today. Tanya will cook dinner. Katya will accuse her of poisoning it. And they will fall into the same bed, because the abyss between them is easier to face than the silence of being alone.
Critics have rightly questioned the production. Actress Ekaterina Gulyanich has since stated that while she consented to the scene’s framework, the emotional toll was extreme. The film blurs the line between the fictional power dynamic (Tanya dominating Katya) and the real-world power dynamic (the director’s omnipotence over his performers).
In one devastating scene, Katya laughs while crying—a genuine somatic response to humiliation. Tanya, in character, calls her a "good little pig." Off-screen, one can imagine Khrzhanovsky smiling at the "truth" of the moment. But whose truth? The truth of Stalinism? Or the truth of a director wielding unchecked authority?
In the sprawling, controversial, and almost mythologically complex universe of DAU, director Ilya Khrzhanovsky’s $10 million-plus immersive art project turned film series, one entry stands apart for its raw, painful intimacy. While the larger DAU project is known for its totalitarian set design, its blurring of reality and performance, and its alleged psychological manipulation, the film "DAU. Katya Tanya" (originally released as part of the DAU cinema cycle) cuts through the avant-garde noise with a scalpel. It is not about Soviet physics, state security, or grand ideological metaphors. It is about two women, one apartment, and a slow-motion car crash of dependency, love, and destruction.
For those searching for DAU. Katya Tanya, you are likely looking for the key to understanding the project’s emotional core. Here, we dissect the film’s plot, its terrifying performances, and why this specific chapter haunts viewers long after the credits roll.
