#katya gonch

[femslashfictournament]

Femslash Fic Tournament, Round 1.3

walking with the lady Ship: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27264748 Summary: Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

No propaganda submitted

The Fall in Naples Ship: Katya/Sofia Fandom: Goncharov (1973) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43294680 Summary: Katya wants Sofia to look at her the way Katya looks at Sofia. The thing is, they do things different in Italy.

“Nemesis. A goddess.” Sofia’s mouth twisted. “Because Narcissus was unkind to those who fell in love with him, she made him know what it was like to see him every day and not be able to touch him. He saw himself in the water, but every time he reached for his reflection, it disappeared.”

“A tragedy, then.” Katya gathered two more bundles of the flowers. “But we can touch him now, yes? Maybe he has learned mercy.”

Should be called Catastrofia. Also, I couldn't not submit the two and this fic is one of my recent faves (I can't put my hands on the old ones, strangely) /unreality

love songs for motherless girls Ship: Yennefer of Venderberg/Renfri Fandom: The Witcher Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428267 Summary: “You said,” Yennefer repeated slowly, “the girl in the woods was my destiny.”

Renfri shrugged, a curl falling over her naked shoulder. “I’m a girl,” she said, “and I’m in the woods.”

"Even if you fancy yourself a soothsayer, you should know that destiny has no hold on me," Yennefer said, her eyes falling to sweep of Renfri’s shoulder blades, thinking, unbidden, of the wings of a bird. "I won’t go chasing your nocturnal fables.”

"What would you do?" Renfri laughed, "cut down the stars that dare defy you?"

No propaganda submitted

[calico-fiish]

It’s Gonchin’ time

[salithemage]

i'm watching a random episode of Moonlighting and holy shit this is what the faceclaim for Katya Goncharov comes from

[bogos-bint3d]

Guys I heard they're casting Zendaya as Katya in the Goncharov remake do you think it's true because god...

[dsmsix]

Book titled “I.A. GONCHAROV” in a box on the street. Paris, 2023

[constant-brain-fog]

Happy Goncharov’s (1st) 50th anniversary!

Truly the greatest mafia movie (n)ever made 😌

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Goncharov

The Clock Scene and the constant reminders of it throughout the movie really hit me as you can see, you cannot get the Gonch without the Clock 😌

Best Scorsese movie ever, I cry every time i watch it.

Thank you @beelzeebub you cured my artblock✨

[dykepuffs]

Goncharov's name keeps being overlooked but it feels really relevant in thinking about the themes of the film.

"Goncharov" comes from "Gonchar"- as in, a potter, and "-ov" to make a patronym (Hence why in the Russian language scenes, we hear "Katya Goncharova" even when the subtitles say "Mrs Goncharov" - But I am not going to digress onto how to translate Russian language formality conventions into English)

Gonch is, metaphorically, a potter- In the speech about seeing the potential in his pseudo-legitimate-business' labourers, overlaid over a montage of them unloading palettes of bricks from a lorry, the colours are graded so that the bare backs and arms of the men, and the fired clay of the bricks, seem like one material- with the young, metaphorically green, Lyosha being darker and softer, like raw terracotta fresh from the ground.

Plenty of people have gone into the racial implications of it (which are many!) but the idea of the potter feels underexplored - Goncharov is not like a sculptor who sees the human form hidden in the marble, he is the potter who can take common raw clay and, by carefully adding things to the mix and firing it at the heat he chooses, can make whatever he wants. The older men are further along in the process, and can't change their path, but Lyosha (at this point!) Could still have been anything, before Goncharov's manipulation set him to inevitably come to the end he does(That promise to make him tough and to stand on his own... Oof).

But then, he is Gonchar-OV, he has inherited his place in the hierarchy, and Katya Goncharova in turn has inherited it, and the accompanying ability to manipulate her underlings. And, where it ends up being Goncharov's undoing, it saves Katya.

[thathalloweengal]

Nobody gives Jodie Foster enough credit for playing Alina Goncharov

I mean holy crap she was amazing, the literal first scene in the movie, on the train has her just being a normal, almost boring ten year old kid excited to be away from Soviet Russia and being completely in the dark on what business her father and mother are in but then almost immediately after arriving in Naples, she starts playing chess with her Uncle Joe in the car while her dad talks to the old Boss and then bam, next thing you know she's selling cigerettes in school and stealing from teachers, setting her own hired goons to burn out classrooms to get out of tests. It's insane and she is every bit her father's daughter during these scenes to the point that when her dad actually calls her to his study to discuss this behaviour he not only smirks at these horrible crimes but also presents her with the Heir's pendant that the old Boss gave him, signifying the fact that Goncharov offically sees Alina as his heir to the family business. A TEN YEAR OLD MOB BOSS!?! WTF but no as we later find out Gonch planned for Andrey to be her Regent and sort out all the important stuff while she would be a figurehead until adulthood.

Alina's loyalty for her father ran so deep that she stabbed her Uncle Valery with a pen and tried to cave her mother's head in when she found out Katya was cheating on Goncharov with Sofia, luckily for everyone Patchka wasn't having any of that bullshit and bit her, giving Sofia the chance to knock Alina the hell out.

We don't see her much after that, she's at her Dad's funeral, she's holding Andrey's hand before he's murdered by Katya but she's no where to be seen when we go to the epilogue with Katya and Sofia.

Luckily though, this batshit character is not forgotten to the annals of time, because apparently in the 50th anniversary criterion release they've uncovered deleted scenes that show the true fate of Alina and it's pretty gruesome, refusing to let the family business die and letting her mother and step mother run away together, she tries to get her bodyguards to execute Katya and Sofia but before they get their guns ready Valery runs her and the guards down in a trash truck yelling "GARBAGE DAY!" before getting Katya and Sofia to safety.

Alina's death mirrors her father's as much as her life mirrored his. They both reach for Andrey's hand, they both look into Andrey's unblinking eyes, and they both whisper the same last word... A quiet word of anger and sorrow and hope.

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Katya: A Poem

"Goncharov" is a 1973 Martin Scorsese film that Tumblr collectively invented in 2022. I'd heard of it, but didn't take too much interest in it. It was only recently that I found out that "Goncharov" had a sapphic ship, between Katya and Sofia. That was what piqued my interest.

In a flurry of activity, I wrote a poem.

I am indebted to all the Tumblr bloggers who came before me, whose creations were captured in this "Goncharov" master doc and this collection of quotes. I hope you enjoy the poem I strung together from your posts!

If you reblog this, make sure to add the tags #unreality and #unrealism so people who would find it triggering don't see it. Remember to Gonch responsibly!

Yekaterina Mikhailova. 

That was my name. 

It was a name that meant nothing,

because I was nothing. 

My father’s daughter,

my brother’s sister. 

For a time, we were rich. 

Then our father received a visit from his co-workers

in the mafia. 

He came between them

and his daughter. 

He died with a smile on his face. 

For the next three years, we were poor. 

My brother and I,

living – no, merely surviving –

together on the streets,

made a resolution:

never again would we fall so low. 

Never again would we be so weak. 

So penniless. 

So worthless. 

We tracked down our uncle. 

Thanks to him, we joined the mafia ourselves –

me first,

my brother later, more reluctantly. 

He learnt not to question what I did,

no matter how much of a father

he wanted to be to me. 

I only have one mother, one father, one brother, one uncle,

but I could trace a path

from Naples to my childhood home in Moscow

with the blood of all the men

who told me they loved me. 

…

Later, I trained as a spy. 

It was in that line of work that I found Lo Straniero. 

The stranger. 

He told me his real name was Leonid Goncharov. 

I chose to believe him. 

What is marriage,

but a way to escape the names of our fathers? 

When I walked towards Goncharov

at the altar,

I thought that would be the moment

I would finally become someone

real enough

to have flesh and blood

to call mine. 

Perhaps the name Yekaterina

wouldn’t sound so empty on my lips. 

And with those same lips

I called his name,

and smiled at him in front of God,

and kissed him in the dark of our room. 

And all I became was his wife. 

A wedding is no different to a funeral,

is it not? 

The old Yekaterina died to Goncharov that day;

he took my name from me,

my very history,

and I allowed him that. 

My husband is a man who collects things he can use. 

A pistol,

a pocket watch,

a woman’s love,

a wife. 

My father would have needed me to marry,

so I did. 

Goncharov would have needed me to love him,

so I did. 

I truly did. 

Oh, I was a good woman, wasn’t I?  

A wife when he needed someone to bed,

a sister when he needed someone to argue with,

a mother when he needed to cry... 

Is that all women were in his eyes?  

Actors? 

Pretty dolls to dress up and spin around

according to his needs? 

No, I shouldn’t be so harsh. 

It wasn’t his fault

he could only ever fall in love with men. 

But the way he treated me? 

That was his fault. 

I needed a new place to exist. 

I found you in the fruit stand. 

…

Sofia Ambrosini. 

That was your name. 

With your serpent bracelet twinkling,

you stooped to pick up the fallen apple

that had escaped my basket

and rolled towards your leg –

the right one,

the one made of wood. 

I recognised from your false leg

and your false snake

that you were in the same world as me –

the same world of murder

whose space we shared precariously. 

But in that moment

we could be two women in a market

shopping for two men,

me my husband,

you your brother. 

Because it’s so hard to make friends in a world of murder. 

But here we were in public,

under the Sun,

and just for a while,

we could pretend we were women

who knew each other from …

somewhere. 

Just making friends. 

Just leading each other into temptation. 

It was the apple’s fault. 

It was the apple that made me bring up Adam and Eve. 

There we so many strange apples at that market. 

I imagined the wild way they looked

was how they looked in the Garden of Eden. 

But then you said,

“I never understood why it had to be an apple. 

Why an apple?” 

I answered, “I don’t know.

Because it’s always been an apple, I suppose.

It’s easier to recreate in art.  

All the painters and sculptors

and everyone else who makes those choices,

they all came together and decided

that an apple looks pretty simple –

nice, smooth, round,

easy enough to draw in a tree –

and now everyone sees nothing but apples

in the Tree of Knowledge

ever after.  

So it’s always apples.” 

I will never forget your response. 

“The dullest possible produce.  

The Forbidden Fruit is supposed to be

something unusual,

something special.  

All the knowledge of the world

and of each other

and of the realisation

that these two fools are

running around the Garden

with their bottoms bare

in front of the Almighty.  

An apple doesn’t seem right for that.  

It’s dull.  

It’s a thing for pastry and postcards.”  

“What would you pick instead?” I asked. 

“Pomegranates,” you said immediately.  “No question.  

It’s the fruit that the God of the Dead used

to trick the Goddess of Spring

into staying with him in the Underworld.  

She tasted the seeds

and she was forced to stay down there

for half a year, every year,

forever. 

A fruit so powerful

it can trap a goddess

seems like the kind of fruit

that can banish humanity from Paradise.” 

We paused. 

We made eye contact. 

“Tastes better than apples, too,” you added. 

And it looks like a jewel

when you split it open.” 

I ate a pomegranate panna cotta

in the bistro later that day. 

And when I licked my lips,

I immediately understood you. 

I did like apples,

but pomegranates? 

They were amazing. 

I’d go to Hell for them. 

I’d go to Hell for you. 

…

“Oh, it’s six already?”

Goncharov said to me when I returned home. 

“The clock’s broken,” I replied. 

“It’s been six for hours.” 

If only time would stop for us. 

…

I was raised Orthodox,

but Goncharov and I had been attending a Catholic Mass

to better fit in with the locals. 

I was unsettled by the topic of Father Gianni’s sermon:

the sins of the flesh,

the importance of resisting Earthly temptations,

and the necessity of self-control in this life,

thereby preparing for glories to come. 

Were there any glories to come? 

You, Sofia, got up to leave in the middle of the sermon,

heading for the stained-glass Virgin Mary,

and you whispered as you passed,

“Take your glories where you may.” 

And like the fishermen who left their nets

to follow Jesus

and become fishers of men,

I got up

and followed you. 

I did not know how my husband felt about me doing that. 

I did not care. 

I started partaking of apples and pomegranates

in equal measure. 

…

Sofia, you told me you had never even touched a gun before. 

But you were clearly too skilled

when those men cornered you

and you took them all down. 

Admit it. 

You just lied because

you wanted me to give you that “hands-on” shooting lesson,

didn’t you? 

“Are we not all murderers in some way, Katya?”

you said to me when I challenged you. 

“After all, a human being is a heart. 

Break that, and how can it go on living?” 

I had to ask,

“Don’t you have a broken heart, Sofia?” 

“It still beats, Katya,” you said, quietly. 

“It still beats.” 

…

For me, it’s always been the darkness I liked;

the way the lights roll off the water between the alleyways

reminds me of the past. 

…

You were adamant in your belief

that all memory is treachery. 

But one of my favourite memories

was us together in my husband’s house,

after dinner at the casino,

me in my evening gown,

you dressed as a waiter. 

You’d asked, “What’s your poison?” 

I’d answered, “Whatever you’re having, darling.” 

For the first time since moving to Naples,

I shook off the white furs

and showed you my dress –

the woman

under the animal. 

“You look good in red,” you said to me. 

Then you called me lisichka. 

Little fox. 

Which should have sounded wrong,

a Russian pet name in an Italian accent,

but that night it sounded right. 

I returned the compliments. 

“And you look good in green,

kukolka.” 

Little doll. 

I gave you one of my pearl necklaces. 

“Every woman should be allowed

to feel like she is looked at

beautifully.” 

My husband’s voice resounded in my head:

“Time isn’t like your pearls, Yekaterina. 

You can’t buy more. 

You think you can own time by wearing it,

but it just beats itself into your bones instead.” 

Well, no-one can tell me what I can and can’t buy. 

…

“If I were cursed, Sofia,

then I would never have found you.” 

“You could still lose me.” 

“Never.” 

…

I started being Katya,

being myself,

not because I fell into my role as Goncharov’s wife,

but because I discovered my inability. 

My unwillingness. 

I knew he cared for me,

but not beyond the presentation we put on for his peers. 

The peers who could end his life at any moment. 

And it wouldn’t be so unbearable

if we were at least still friends,

but all of that went to Andrey –

the friendship, the love, the care –

at least as much as Goncharov was capable of

beyond his own inadequacies. 

Andrey could not live loyally,

so let’s see how he does in death. 

…

I didn’t want Goncharov’s name in your mouth. 

I should have taken his money and left. 

It’s not obvious why I didn’t. 

All this time wandering the wreckage of his house –

I’m sorry, Sofia, it must have killed you. 

“Unlike you,” you said to me,

“I do not lure to cannibalise. 

I watch, and I starve.” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“Well, stop it! 

What do you take me for? 

Stop watching and devour me in full already,

won’t you?” 

So you did. 

I must have looked like a jewel

when you split me open. 

…

“I’ll stay with you tonight, if you’ll have me.” 

“I wouldn’t have anyone else.” 

I lay in bed with you. 

We wanted to do so much,

but ended up doing so little. 

I ran my foot up and down your leg –

the right one,

the one made of wood. 

I thought of what I knew

(what little I knew)

about your past –

how your Jewish family came to Naples,

how you lost them somewhere,

how the Poor Clares took you in and cared for you,

how you searched for your family amidst the Nazis,

how you lost that leg in the riots. 

“The world wants you dead,” I said,

more to myself than you. 

You turned to me. 

“Do you want me dead?” 

I forced myself to meet your eyes. 

“No.” 

You shrugged. 

“Then the world doesn’t want me dead.” 

We stayed in bed together for a while after that. 

…

We were always wasting time we never had. 

How could I love something which was never there? 

Oh, darling, that’s just grief. 

Time is like blood,

and I have wasted both. 

We could not go on forever,

could not fight the story,

could not step outside the marriage

or the mafia

or else. 

We were animals,

and animals, whether wild or tamed,

cannot fight the inevitable. 

“Time stops for no-one, Katya. 

Not even us.” 

…

“What’s on your mind?” 

“Wishful thinking.” 

“Sofia, I’m not cut out for the life you’re offering me. 

That different life. 

I am chained to my history –

a short chain. 

That’s why I cannot leave with you.” 

That’s why you and I

and my husband

and his lover

and your brother

and our enemies

are all in this boathouse. 

November’s the cruellest month of the year,

and Naples is full of fools. 

…

“Of course we’re in love!” I scream at Goncharov. 

“That’s why I tried to shoot you!” 

He laughs and cries at the same time. 

“If we really were in love,

you wouldn’t have missed.” 

He’s right. 

Our love was a grenade,

and now all that remains is shrapnel. 

He loved me, but only for a minute. 

I don’t know if he could handle any more. 

Love cannot be bought;

otherwise, we would have had a happy marriage. 

When we got married, I drew this line

between us and the world. 

He’s crossed that line,

and I can’t go with him. 

He and I are,

I think,

finally out of time. 

He has destroyed and betrayed himself

for nothing. 

That is his worst sin. 

My inability to be loyal to my husband

is what saved me. 

And what now kills him. 

What could now kill you, if you let it. 

…

You are pleading with me. 

“We can have the Forbidden Fruit

and it can be whatever we want!  

Let it be a pomegranate!  

Let us glut ourselves on it!  

And why do we have to follow everyone else’s rules

about what is and isn’t forbidden, anyway?  

None of us in this boathouse

are living within the law in the first place.  

There is blood on everyone’s hands.  

Can’t you and I sin a little sweeter?  

Can’t you admit that the sin you want most

isn’t a sin at all? 

Can’t you spit out the lies you’ve swallowed

in the Hell you found yourself in? 

We could grow our own garden somewhere!”

No, Sofia. 

This is my garden,

my Tree of Knowledge,

better the Devil I know,

and you wish you were my Serpent,

but this is my Underworld to rule

as much as any queen can rule there,

unhappy

but resigned. 

Go, Eve. 

Grow your garden alone. 

The Forbidden Fruit is there to be eaten,

to force us to go,

to let us step outside the walls meant to keep us in. 

But you just can’t make everyone eat. 

The pomegranate is within my reach,

but I have lost my appetite for seeds. 

…

I do what Goncharov would do,

and you know what that means. 

Death. 

Goncharov has never meant anything else. 

I will die like my father,

with a smile on my face. 

I will die for you. 

You were once a little girl, alone and scared,

but that girl is long dead. 

The Sofia that lives now? 

The world should fear her. 

Damn them as they would damn us. 

But don’t you ever raise a hand to me. 

…

Sofia, don’t cry. 

There’s no use trying to rewrite the story now. 

Sofia, get out of this boathouse. 

Take my boat. 

It’s fine. 

I won’t need it anymore. 

Go, zolotse. 

Leave Naples. 

Leave Italy. 

Leave the mafia behind. 

But take your two candlesticks with you. 

Light them on a Friday evening,

and watch the red of the sunset

wash over the white of the candles. 

Sofia, take your day of rest. 

No, a year of rest. 

Make every day a Shabbat. 

Remember to bless yourself. 

Sofia, choose wisely what you do now,

because it might be the last time you get to choose. 

“All memory is treachery.” 

I wonder how you will remember me. 

[friendofthecrows]

Had the most terrifying but in hindsight hilarious dream. So we were in Naples, filming the Goncharov remake, and somehow someone must have managed to arrange a meeting with Martin Scorsese because he shows up with a couple other people in tow.

And keep in mind in this dream we're like. on location. in Naples. and I had no prior warning whatsoever bc I guess someone else arranged it without talking to me. So either he traveled pretty far or he just happened to be in the area but like this is THEE guy and I am NOT prepared but I have to act like I am, and he's talking to me like I'm a professional filmmaker who Knows What I'm Doing when in actuality I'm just like a business and project management person who's been researching film stuff as I go and Char, our film director, is actively out with most of the crew filming a Katya and Sofia scene (I think it was boathouse?) so at this point, I'm already trying to suppress fight and flight.

Scorsese says he has some questions to ask, obviously trying to gauge whether this project is something worth getting involved in/supporting or if we're completely wasting his time. I offer to show him around while we talk, which he says sounds great. So we're walking around the grounds of the place we rented to be Mario's mansion, which also doubles as where everyone is staying so we don't have to separately pay for hotel rooms or equivalent, and while most of the crew is out along with the actresses playing Katya and Sofia, the other actors are here, which is important, because the actor for Goncharov insists on only sleeping outside, and just as Scorsese asks "Why do you think you're the right person to lead this production," we round a corner and I see Goncharov asleep like face down in the grass, still in the overcoat and everything. And I know he just sleeps like that, but Scorsese doesn't, and I'm worried (irrational dream logic) that Scorsese thinks he passed out while filming or something and that we're running a horrible sloppy production and overworking everyone and not paying attention to the actors' and crew's needs or that we didn't arrange space and are making actors sleep outside or worse that Gonch is DEAD, but Scorcese just steps over Gonch like it's no big deal and is like "well?" waiting for my reply. And I remember the question and am internally like "fuck, I DON'T think there's any particular reason(s) I'm the best person for this, I have no idea what to say." So I kind of bullshit an answer and definitely ramble a bit too long on it trying to justify, which is objectively not the best way to handle a question you don't know how to answer. Scorsese asks some more really difficult questions and I answer the best I can and he seems to receive the answers in a sort of lukewarm way like he's not particularly impressed.

Then it's dinner, and we've gotten Subway (i know) and the people who left to film earlier are back and eating with us, etc. Scorsese pulls out several small decks of cards, and hands one to each person at our table (about 7 of us). He explains that in his free time, he made a little card game based on Goncharov. The cards have a character card and then some others that cover have effects, items, and things like that. He's explaining to the others how to play, but all the stuff he's saying clearly does not line up with what's on my cards. I ask, and he goes "oh that's Magic The Gathering." This raises two issues. 1. I don't know how to play Magic The Gathering, never mind on my own like solitaire or with people who are playing an entirely different game. 2. These are clearly not Magic The Gathering cards. I admit that I don't know how to play Magic The Gathering. He seems kind of disappointed and then says that he's very busy and should head home as soon as dinner is over. I interpret this as me completely blowing it due to not knowing how to play Magic The Gathering, but I don't say anything about it, I just thank him for his time. BUT THEN he says he's available to meet again on Thursday at 2pm.

The dream immediately transitions to Thursday at 2pm and I'm in his office, presumably in America, which in hindsight I have no idea how I got from Italy to there but in the dream, this was Completely Normal. It's quiet and he has another set of the game from last time sort of discarded on a table, and while I'm trying to anticipate what he's going to ask and what to say I'm mostly staring at it thinking "what the fuck was I supposed to do with that." And all the sudden Scorsese breaks the silence by saying, "I have some advice for you. Have you ever studied martial arts?"

And then I woke up.

[leam1983]

Reblog if you remember gonching and if Katya's Waltz is the most poignant piece of movie music you've ever heard.

i'm so glad goncharov happened when it did, right before prolific public use of AI. that was pure honest gaslighting straight from the heart. real human whimsicality and trickery thru blood sweat and tears. we were a family. and we all gonched, together. you cant replicate that with any machine.

[goncharovproductions]

UPDATED: Casting call

Hello Gonchers! We're looking for actors.

Instructions below the cut. If you would not like to act but would like to spread the word, please reblog!

Overview:

You will need to complete a survey (so we have your contact info and know which roles you would like) and then add a video to gonchmovie's acting auditions Google Drive folder or send it to the casting email. This video will be your audition. For the main cast, we will do callbacks. This will require you to schedule a meeting with our casting directors to make a video call. More details on each step are in its section.

Survey instructions:

Complete this survey. We will cross-reference it with your performance, so we know who you are, your contact info, and what role(s) you want.

Selecting roles is required. There is a check all that apply list in the form with the names, but in case you are not well versed in the gonchlore, we have this list here with a brief description of each.

Video instructions:

Choose any piece of script either from our in-progress script doc, other script docs, or Tumblr. (Whatever source, basically.)

Record yourself performing it.

Upload the video (with your preferred name and Tumblr handle in the title) to this Google Drive or send it to casting@gonchmovie.com.

About callbacks:

This only applies to the main cast. For callbacks, we're defining this as Goncharov, Katya, Andrei, Sofia, Ice Pick Joe, and Mario.

We will not ask everyone who auditions for these parts to schedule a video call (sorry). Only the top 3-5 possibilities.

We want to see how actors perform with each other, so we are doing the video calls in sets of characters. The sets are as follows: 1. Goncharov, Katya, Andrei, and Sofia. 2. Goncharov and Andrei. 3. Kayta and Sofia. 4. Ice Pick Joe and Mario. 5. Mario, Goncharov, Andrei, and Ice Pick Joe. If we really like your performance but you didn't fit with the other character(s) we may ask you to do another call with different candidates for those character(s). It is likely to be a bit of a process to find the best set of core characters.

An important note about schedules: We aim to film during summer 2026 (tentatively June 25 - August 10, dates subject to change). However, if we are not fully funded in time with locations booked etc., then we might have to postpone the filming to winter 2026. It is ideal that you are available summer 2026, but if not, you may still be able to act if the project is postponed. Similarly, if you are only available summer 2026, that is fine, but we may have to go with a different actor if the project is postponed. We changed the survey question to reflect the dates, but you do not need to resubmit the form if you have already taken it. We will double-check with everyone about their schedules once we get closer.

The filming is planned to take place in Naples, and travel and accommodation will be included in our budget (so you do not need to pay for your trip yourself). For information on pay, see this google doc.

Our most common casting comment/question is along the lines of: "I would really like [role] but I'm trans and don't pass."

We are blindly casting all demographics unless otherwise specified. Also, this production is aggressively trans-positive and inclusive (hi there I'm trans and so is easily half of the discord).

Even for some specified demographics [ex: age ranges], we can be flexible.

When in doubt, if you want to audition, audition! <3

Stay Gonching!

[secretmellowblog]

“Time isn't like pearls, Katya. You can't buy more."

“No one can tell me what I can and can't buy."

I'm loving that Goncharov is finally getting the attention it deserves but I can't believe no one's brought up the Art Deco character posters made for the limited California release....I've only been able to find the Katya one so far but the others have got to be out there somewhere!

[ex0toxin]

GONCHAROV. unused poster comp

[daffafrass]

"Was there ever really a flame?"

I think a lot about this scene because I really do think Katya loves Goncharov, but its so much more complicated than a love story tied up in a bow.

[outerspacebassman]

People say Goncharov was a "gay" movie talking about the men, but you are out of your fucking mind if you don't read anything vaguely gay about Katya and Sofia. Literally Sofia lights Katya's cigarette while their husbands are busy. Women never smoked, historically with men, part of why cigarettes were demonized was because they weren't cigars or pipes, they were things anyone could buy, and now the drawing room was no longer sacred. As much as Goncharov is about Andrei and Gonch, it's about Katya accidentally awakening something in Sofia, which makes it that much worse that Katya has to hold her while she dies: she's always cleaning up his messes.

Let’s Talk About Sofia

There’s a lot to be said for the difference between how Katya and Goncharov interact with each other and the world around them, but one understated aspect is the slow ascent of Sofia into the story as time goes on and how Katya plays a role in that. In the beginning of the movie, every time Sofia is in the same frame as Andrei or Gonch she’s in in the background, only barely in focus. The further into the story we go, the clearer it becomes that her growing raptness in the story is motivated by two things: her “marital duty” to Andrei and her profound love for Katya. With Andrei, Sofia begins in the background and works her way to the forefront as his relationship with Goncharov becomes more intense and she becomes less a wife and more an accomplice. This is also where her relationship with Katya becomes less and less subtextual because while their husbands steer deeper and deeper into the homoeroticism of organized crime, Katya and Sofia have a relationship much closer to nuns: the intimacy of their love sparked by a mutual devotion. Katya is also a much more secure character driven by her own motivations than Andrei which is largely why as Sofia drifts away from Andrei she becomes more prominent in the scenes she’s in. The cleanliness of Sofia’s hands is also an important factor in these scenes. When we first see her she’s just finished making pierogis for incoming guests of Andrei’s and she brushes flour from her hands to her apron. She is the woman behind the man. The home-maker, the accomplice, the abettor. While here it’s only flour that stains her hands, the implicit violence of Andrei’s dealings pervades the backdrop of their relationship. It isn’t until she starts to interact with Katya that we see her not wipe her hands clean first (and other, better people have talked about the sardine scene than I) because they understand each other better than their husbands. After the boat scene while Andrei and Goncharov are at each other’s throats, Katya and Sofia are again in the background barely in focus as Sofia dutifully tends to Katya, her hands now literally covered in blood but now in a truer act of devotion to the woman she loves instead of the husband she was beholden to.