Russians get video at last

Press, 15 August 1984, Page 28

Russians get video at last

NZPA-AP Moscow The Soviet video recorder is on the market at last and eager Russians are ready to travel long distances to get one. The daily newspaper, “Sovietskaya Rossiya,” has reported that since the Elektronika VM-12 went on sale in mid-May, the rush has been on. Not surprising. In this vast nation, only one store — the “Elektronika” shop in Voronezh — sells, the new recorders. Buyers are ready to come from Moscow, 500 km to the north, to put their name on a week-long waiting list for a machine. At $3960 the recorders cost five or six times less than Western models sold on the Soviet black market. A Russian who has seen one in Moscow said it was a “beautiful machine” not unlike some made in Japan. The price of the new

machine is six times the average monthly wage, meaning video is still the preserve of the Soviet equivalent of the middle class. Nonetheless, the Voronezh store’s director, Mr E. P. Skopentsev, told “Sovietskaya Rossiya” that more than 200 machines had been sold.

But problems remain. Chief among them, as “Sovietskaya Rossiya” emphasised in heavy black type, is “what to watch?” The Elektronika VM-12 comes complete with 10 blank cassettes, meaning that Soviet buyers can record their favourite soccer match, ice hockey tussle, or variety show from television — but not much more.

One customer, a ballroom dancing teacher who told “Sovietskaya Rossiya” that he used video for instruction, complained that the VM-12 needed a compatible

video camera for video fans to make their own tapes. More importantly, customers want movies. Privileged Russians have been video enthusiasts for years because this was one way they could watch imported Western movies not usually available. The VM-12 cannot show Western cassettes.

The trend has spread as Western videos hit the black market. Last year, “Sovietskaya Rossiya” reported the unmasking of a sophisticated ring that copied Western pornographic and horror movies as well as films such as “The Godfather” and "Clockwork Orange” and sold them from Odessa to Leningrad for about $690 each.

The newspaper used that incident both to underline official warnings that forbidden Western films will corrupt Soviet minds and to urge authorities to develop

a homegrown industry. Video seems to have gained more official acceptance since then. “Sovietskaya Rossiya” reported recently that other unnamed Soviet cities will start selling the VM-12 soon and that towards the end of the year, Voronezh will become the home of the first Soviet “video salon” with its own "brigade of video retailers.”

They will be selling a video camera for the new recorder and, finally, cassettes of Soviet movies and of rock stars, such as Alla Pugacheva, in concert. The nation’s leading cultural organ, the weekly “Literaturnaya Gazeta,” signalled the growing acceptance of video when it chided officials in April for being too slow to realise the “fantastic opportunities” of the new medium.

But the debate still seems to be raging and was

neatly' summarised in the “Sovietskaya Rossiya” article by statements from a fictitious “sceptic” and an “optimist.” "A video recorder in my house?” began the sceptic, “Never. It means taking leave of books ... (and) a pilgrimage of guests will begin. How many times can I watch the same thing with them? ... if we run wild with this video, we will become an extension of the cassette toy.” But no, the optimist replied. Welcoming the new machines with a cry of “finally,” he pointed out that “video opens such large perspectives for our leisure, study, and work — it simply thrills the soul”.

The newspaper reached no conclusion about the merits or ills of video, advising readers to “wait and see. The age of video is just beginning, everything lies before it.”