Karosta is a small town in western Latvia, effectively a suburb of the city of Liepaja, and it’s clear from the opening shots of Peter King’s film that it’s unlikely to top a quality-of-life index. Most of its buildings are crumbling concrete boxes, originally assembled cheaply and quickly, and now boarded up and covered in graffiti (their dilapidation emphasised by the faintly admonishing presence of St Nicholas’ Orthodox Naval Cathedral in the distance). Fresh bloodstains can be seen on a bench, rubbish flaps in long-abandoned rooms through which icy winds howl, and the seafront is far from picturesque, being studded with decaying naval bunkers. Meanwhile, the residents of Liepaja express their fear of the place: its reputation as a good place to dump bodies without getting caught speaks volumes in itself.

The trouble with Karosta is that it was a physically and sociologically artificial creation in the first place, originally commissioned by Tsar Alexander III in 1890 as a strategically important naval base for Russia’s Baltic fleet. But when Latvia declared independence in 1994, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russians abruptly withdrew, dropping the population by 25,000 almost overnight. Unsurprisingly, this devastated the local economy, and those who remained saw their living conditions plummet. Cultural life evaporated, and squatters swarmed into the former naval apartments, impoverished families crammed into small rooms and sharing kitchens and toilets. Latvians were encouraged to move there, but they generally didn’t take up the offer, so convinced were they that the Russians would return and steal everything. Crime and alcoholism ran rampant, and rumour had it that taxi drivers and even ambulances would refuse to drive to Karosta. A close-up of graffiti on the side of one of the buildings is helpfully translated as “horror place”.

But, as long-term Karosta resident Vladimirs Gekovs explains, the reality didn’t always fit the popular image. He loved growing up with so many people, and was able to alternate this with solitary strolls on the beach, a location that gives him space to think and commune with nature (occasionally interrupted by the unwelcome discovery of what turned out to be human bones, presumably executed German POWs during WWII).

Gekovs is the person that the K@2 artists’ centre is aimed at: its Swedish founder Carl Biosmark leased derelict buildings at a peppercorn rent from a grateful Liepaja City Council and set about transforming them into hostels, exhibition centres and student facilities. Footage from Karosta’s LabiChampi festival shows artists taking advantage of the normally hideous buildings’ white fronts by transforming them via projected images of blocks, lines and grids into far more ornate architectural fantasies. The K@2 project was such a textbook example of art-driven urban regeneration that when the Russian-built Eastern Bridge linking Karosta with the mainland was damaged by a tanker and rendered temporarily unusable, the locals immediately assumed that it was deliberate sabotage by those worried that Karosta might divert funds from elsewhere.

King tells Karosta’s story through evocative shots of its buildings and people, accompanied by Richard Canavan’s slow-paced score. These are interspersed with extended interviews with residents and interested parties: in addition to Biosmark and Gekovs (the most engaging speaker, and a perfect ambassador) there’s veteran photographer Vasilis Borjajevs, Liepaja deputy major Gunars Ansins and tour guide Antra Sidla, each offering perspectives on how to deal with the aftermath of sudden historical upheavals when they happen on their collective doorstep.  But it’s the random, often colourfully-expressed vox-pop chats with locals that emphasise that without their help (which means overcoming their prejudices), regeneration projects like Karosta are doomed to failure from the start.

Michael Brooke
Curator (Screenonline) at the BFI National Archive and a regular contributor to Sight & Sound

To read our interview with director Peter King, click here.

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