288. Georgian director Dea Kulumbegashivili's second feature film "April" (2024) (in Georgian language) based on her own original screenplay: Can moral beliefs to help the poor and needy override the laws of the land and put one's career in jeopardy?

Do you understand how laws work? You will have no more patients; you will not have a job. Even if you are not arrested, you will be ruined. If you want to work, you have to obey the laws. Sometimes, the law may go against our moral beliefs.

-- Head doctor of obstetrician/gynecologist at Nina's hospital asks Nina the gynecologist, who conducts free extra-curricular abortions for the poor and needy in rural Georgia

This Georgian (the country, not the US state with the same name) film will grip any cinephile exposed to rapidly evolving contemporary cinematic grammar from start to finish. Dea Kulumbegahivili's film expresses its narrative through visuals (fascinating cinematography of Arseni Kachaturan) and music (young award-winning composer Matthew Herbert) minimally relying on spoken dialog.

Early in the film, we see a mysterious inexplicable somewhat-human ash-colored grotesque figure from the rear without clothes, breathing heavily heading towards water-bodies in semi-darkness. Initially nothing is explained to the viewer except that the heavy breathing on the soundtrack resembles human breathing. Cinephiles will recall the image of the literal goat-headed, horned figure of a devil with an arrow-shaped tail, carrying a toolbox, entering a sleeping household in Mexico in Carlos Reygadas' Post Tenebras Lux (2012) at night. Reygadas' followers inferred that unusual surreal image to be an allegorical representation of the entry of corruption into an innocent family's house bypassing sleeping children in their bedroom enroute to their parents' bedroom. Both the Mexican and the Georgian films begin with visuals of rain and mud. In both films, the images only make sense to a perceptive viewer as the film's narrative progresses, forcing the viewer to connect earlier images with the information provided much later, helping put the earlier mysterious sequences in context. Both the Mexican and the Georgian directors are reinforcing a film grammar rarely used in commercial cinema, but had existed in bits of the early works of Bunuel (e,g., Un Chien Andalou,1929) and of Herzog (e.g., the visually stunning flow of rats in Nosferatu the Vampyre made in 1979).

In the Georgian film, April, the bizarre opening sequence is linked with an early incident in the life of  Nina, a gynecologist in a government hospital, who is the film's main protagonist, revealed much later in the film  when as a young girl she was scared stiff to rescue her female friend who was drowning in a water-body. That inaction on her part scars her moral conscience in diverse ways. First, she rejects a possible marriage with a male gynecologist, who likes and appreciates her as a person and as a very capable and trustworthy colleague at work. 

Subsequently Nina, now a gynecologist sets on a somewhat secret mission to help poor women in rural Georgia, who get pregnant in non-consensual situations to abort their fetus as hospitals do not allow abortions in that country. This is Nina's personal, discreet way to make amends for her inaction to save her friend from drowning while pleading for Nina's help. Nina's chosen double life is akin to the secret lives of the fictional Batman and Superman though in her case not to fight evil forces but to help those who have no succor. Like the comic book superheroes, the film does not indicate that Nina's secret night life is to earn any additional income; it is truly gratuitous--traveling long distances alone in her car, with full medical accessories required to conduct an operation at night, to help the helpless.

Nina prepares to abort the fetus of a physically/mentally
challenged lady, impregnated without consent, on a dining table
of a family with limited resources

The cinematic grammar of April is akin to verbal punctuation in a written work, only using visuals and sounds to provide additional information beyond the minimal spoken narrative for the attentive viewer. The somewhat-human, ash-colored grotesque figure re-appears in the film at crucial junctures in the narrative. Even a bicycle ridden by Nina's colleague is captured by the camera's vision indoors to indicate the importance of the location of the shot with the grotesque figure being held by Nina's colleague just as lovers would. Then there are sequences with spring flowers growing in April in the Georgian rural landscape in happier sequences and with ominous clouds and thundershowers as precursors to difficult scenarios--each chosen to complement the narrative with care.

Nina's dream sequence, where the mysterious grotesque
human figure is held by Nina's senior colleague,
who once hoped to marry Nina. His bicycle appears in the
right-hand corner, accentuating the location, as the hospital

The main tale of April includes the dramatic charges levelled against Nina's official work within the hospital made by a parent that his child died in the hospital due to Nina's negligence during childbirth. The viewer of the film awaits the outcome of that inquiry, while the hospital authorities worry whether Nina's extra-territorial illegal  activities would come out in public or not and the consequences for Nina. 

A lonely Nina outside the office of the Head of her hospital
awaiting the outcome of an internal inquiry into an
allegation against her that her operation caused a child's death

The end of the film proves to be fascinating and thought-provoking, worthy of its Special Jury Prize awarded by the Venice film festival for film's director. While right-wingers would dig up the "Roe vs Wade" arguments in USA, this remarkable Georgian film is a delight essentially for the way it has been constructed, and the importance of respect one bestows on those few who place importance to their moral stance to help those that need one's discreet help above the controversial subject of the legality of abortions. Director Dea Kulumbegashivili has exhibited her talent as a filmmaker to the world in April and that has been recognized widely at diverse festivals around the globe. This talented director could emerge as a major force in East European cinema.

P.S. The Mexican film Post Tenebras Lux (2012) has been reviewed earlier on this blog, Click on the name of the film to access that review. April is one the best films of 2024 for this critic.

159. Georgian film director Zaza Urushadze’s “Mandariinid” (Tangerines) (2013): A Gandhian perspective on contemporary waves of hate, national and religious

The year 2013 has introduced new talents to the forefront in cinema. 

The Georgian film director Zaza Urushadze can hardly be considered to be a known entity in international cinema. Yet Mr Urushadze has written a witty and touching film called Tangerines, which is an adorable, small-budget film that is superior both in content and quality to the much touted and comparatively big budget films from USA and France made in 2013. What is more, two small brilliant films, Uberto Pasolini’s Still Life (2013, UK/Italy) and Urushadze’s Tangerines, reinforce two thumb rules in cinema—one, talented directors can write their own scripts—they don’t need to lean on professional scriptwriters or adapt their screenplays from successful novels or plays--and two, a positive humanistic tale, interestingly told, will grab a viewer in any corner of the world.  Tangerines is a wonderful film that needs to be viewed and appreciated for its direction, acting and screenplay apart from the general knowledge it provides the viewer about the small nation called the autonomous Republic of Abkhazia, on the shores of the Black Sea, complete with a national flag of the republic that declared its independence in 1992.

A viewer of Tangerines will soon be educated about the war that raged in Abkhazia in 1992. Russia supported the breakaway Republic of Abkhazia by sending mercenaries, as the new Republic wanted to separate from the independent Georgia. The mercenaries that one encounters in Tangerines, are Chechen Muslims. The Georgian soldiers fighting the Chechens are Christian. Caught in the crossfire are some Estonian nationals, whose ancestors relocated to Abkhazia in the late 19th century and have come to love Abkhazia over the period they have lived there, and because of the war are considering returning to the Republic of Estonia where their roots belong. Estonia is another Republic but on the shores of the Baltic Sea way up north in Europe, another Republic which also broke away from the Soviet Union.

Reflecting in the light and the shadows on love and hatred

The film Tangerines has an all male cast; it has no sex and no violence. It is not even a war film. Yet, it is a film that would entertain you from start to finish thanks to the intelligent and witty script. It is perhaps best described as a film on a war of hatred among common individuals. It is not surprising that audiences love the film at all the film festivals where it gets shown.

The plot hinges around an elderly Estonian called Ivo (Lembit Ulfsak) who lives alone, in an almost derelict village in Abkhazia.  He has a neighbor Markus (Elmo Nueganen), another Estonian, who has been cultivating tangerines and is now trying to sell a bumper crop of the fruit in the midst of a war to soldiers. Ivo makes wooden crates for Markus to sell his produce. Ivo’s daughter has already returned to Estonia, escaping the war. Evidently, Ivo is reluctant to leave the village where his wife lies buried—the bonds created by passage of time are strong.

Ivo is not the kind of man who would care to be part of either side in the war. He is a humanist. When armed men come to his door with menacing guns, he gladly provides them food when they ask for it.  When one soldier Ahmed (Giorgi Nakasidze) is critically wounded, he gets an Estonian doctor set to return to Estonia to put the soldier, a Muslim Chechen, who was bullying Ivo earlier, on the road to recovery under Ivo's roof.  By a twist of fate, another soldier equally wounded, literally found alive as he was being buried by Ivo after being presumed to be dead, from the opposite camp, a Georgian Christian, is also put on the road to recovery in another room of Ivo’s house. And Ahmed knows that the Georgian in the adjoining room probably killed Ahmed’s buddies.

The film is about the sparks of hatred that fly between the two soldiers.  The two sworn enemy soldiers are kept at bay by their respect and gratitude to their common benefactor, Ivo.

A "war" fought with kindness

Without revealing what happens next in the film, the crucial aspect of the script is the wry humor in the spoken words and body language that makes the viewer forget the Abkhazian war and the conflict of religions. Here, is a film that gets to the core of hatred peeling away layers of mistrust in the company of a well-meaning individual who has no interest in either politics or religion. It is a film that gradually replaces guns with acts of kindness.

Ivo (Lembit Ulfsak) loves Abkhazia and its natural produce

At the end of the movie, the viewer will feel positive about life in spite of all the negative forces that we encounter in life throughout the world if we look beyond Abkhazia. It is a small film about a little, big man called Ivo. Tangerines is a film that transcends petty issues and looks at life positively, a rare gift when film directors today seem to be increasingly more at home with aberrant behavior or violence. Here is a Georgian film that introduces an interesting Estonian actor called Lembit Ulfsak. One wistfully recalls it was Estonia that produced one of the finest actors of the 20^th century, Yuri Jarvet, who was picked by both directors Grigori Kozintsev and Andrei Tarkovsky to play key roles in their respective major works. And this work of cinema from Georgia is arguably the best work from that country since Tengiz Abuladze made Repentance way back in 1987.

The citation for Zaza Urushadze’s best director award for Tangerines given by the Warsaw film festival  reads “The director of the film succeeded in telling a simple, yet very powerful story in a manner that created a warm, delicate, sweet and sour world. “ Something like the fruit—tangerines?

P.S. Tangerines is on the author’s list of his top 10 movies of 2013. The film won the best director award at the Warsaw film festival and the audience awards at both the Mannheim-Heidelberg and Warsaw film festivals.  The Georgian film Repentance (1987) was reviewed earlier on this blog.

68. Georgian (former Soviet) filmmaker Tengiz Abuladze’s “Monanieba (Repentance)” (1984): Can you bury past evils?

And art made tongue-tied by authority
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill
And simple truth miscall’d simplicity
And captain good attending captain ill

---William Shakespeare
Sonnet 66, part of the very Sonnet recited in the film, Repentance, ironically by the film’s evil figure Varlam

It is hard to catch a black cat in a dark room. Especially, if there is no cat.

--Evil Varlam quoting Confucius, in the film Repentance, to stun the listener’s logical mind with confusion and nonsense


All repressed societies tend look back at the horrors of the past with a twinkle in the eye. Two remarkable films that took that road to tell their tales were the Cuban director Tomas Alea’s Death of a Bureaucrat (1966) and the recent Italian director Roberto Benigni’s La vita e bella/Life is Beautiful (1997). Tengiz Abuladze’s Monanieba (Repentance) made in 1987 is the third film that follows that very cobbled road using black comedy, satire, allegory, magic realism, and surrealistic dream sequences, as the stones to tread on, offering the movie's viewers disturbing images to recall historical events of their own lifetime.

In a small town in Georgia, a mayor by the name of Varlam Aravidze dies. The family mourns his passing. Eulogies are mouthed by very important and least important denizens of how great an individual he was. Varlam is buried with pomp and show. But his corpse keeps surfacing in his house, exhumed by unknown forces. Eventually, a woman baker who bakes the best cakes in town (with delicious church steeples as icing) is found to be the one who keeps exhuming the body each time it is buried and reburied. Three-fourths of the film revolves around on her motives for repeatedly exhuming the body. This is the section of the film that re-evaluates the tyrannical life of the dead man. The dead man's son Abel is reluctant to admit his father's evil acts but the dead man's grandson is ashamed of his grandfather's acts. The baker who had exhumed the body was directly affected by Varlam's tyranny and says she will not let the dead man be buried and is ready to accept the consequences. Her strange actions and what motivates them are allegorical of what Georgians endured during Stalin's rule in Soviet Russia. The three generations of Varlam's family depict the changing values within Soviet Russia, with winds of Perestroika and Glasnost blowing on the faces of the younger generations.

Repentance is the last film of the Georgian filmmaker Tengiz Abuladze, who died soon after the film was released. Repentance, like Klimov’s Agoniya (reviewed earlier), represents the Soviet movies that were released within Russia as Gorbachev unveiled Perestroika and Glasnost, allowing audiences to reflect on issues that they never dared to discuss in the open earlier.

The lead evil character Varlam Aravidze (translated as Varlam or “nobody”, a name chosen to escape the censors) is an amalgam of Hitler (moustache), Mussolini (black shirt), Stalin (haircut) and Lavrenti Beria (pince-nez spectacles). It is a political parable on the evils of dictators, when small-town bureaucrats use cunning and deceit to crush cultural values of art, and ethical values of religion, law and marriage. Historically, Stalin and Beria crushed the national spirit of Georgians targeting the intelligentsia and the Church. Abuladze was among the few that survived.

Repentance is a critique of Soviet history and assumes greater importance because it was made by a Soviet director and released in the Soviet Union. The finest sequences of the film that would not be lost on East European audiences, in my opinion, were of a mother and child searching for names of loved ones etched on logs that have been recently brought from Siberia, because political prisoners communicated with their families using this unusual method, and the final sequence of an old woman searching for the church (which has obviously been destroyed) in the empty town, a simple sequence that signifies hope for the future.

Death and consequent burial often indicates forgiveness. Didn’t Mark Antony imply this when he said the dead is “oft interred with their bones” over Caesar’s corpse? Abuladze’s heroine Ketavan keeps exhuming the dead and buried corpse to expose the misdeeds of a despotic Stalinist hero (recalling Alea’s bureaucrat in the annals of Cuban cinema) while baking cakes with symbolic church steeples on the icing (reference to the deep loss of theism and orthodox religion in Stalinist attempts to replace religion with science). Ketavan’s father is an artist with features that resemble Western images of Christ. The evil figures relish hogging the church steeples on cake icing and cooked fish (a typical Christian symbol).

Abuladze’s film approaches “repentance” by looking at evil squarely in the eye and not by sweeping it under the carpet. Interestingly, this is the very approach that Hans-Jurgen Syberberg took while analyzing the rise of Hitler in his superb yet controversial 10-hour long documentary Hitler-A film from Germany provoking Susan Sontag to write her brilliant essays on that film. Abuladze’s cinema, like most Soviet filmmakers (Klimov, Tarkovsky, Kozintsev, Mikhalkov-Konchalovsky, Zvyagintsev, etc.), is built on values that Soviet citizens imbibed through the Russian Orthodox Church.

In Repentance, the new generation seems to accept the misdeeds of their tyrannical family members and seek repentance, while the older generation prefers to go to jail by exhuming tyrannical “heroes” and exposing their misdeeds. Both types of repentance make the film an interesting tool to study history of Soviet Russia. What is remarkable is that just as a parallel to the contents of the film, the directors and writers of Georgian cinema exhume the misdeeds of the past, and the new generation of film studio authorities and censors repent somewhat by releasing these films in theatres in Soviet Russia (including Georgia) and other nearby countries.

In Abuladze’s film, surrealistic and satirical dream images of men putting flowers in a grand piano combine with images of a blindfolded woman with scales (symbolizing justice) playing the piano before being led way by a man in black, with white gloves. There is black comedy as tortured prisoners “name names” so that no one will be left without being a suspect and the jails will be full of suspects.

Abuladze has much to convey and at times seems to go over the top in his efforts to poke fun at tyranny. This is perhaps why Abuladze loses out to the more subtle works of Paradjanov (the most talented Georgian filmmaker), Tarkovsky, and Kozintsev (and even perhaps Klimov), while driving home a similar message to the viewers. Interestingly, two generations of father Varlam and son Abel that are evil (who do not repent) are played by the same actor, while the good grandson (who repents) is played by another actor. The cinema of Abuladze is more direct, while those of Tarkovsky and Kozintsev more circumspect and open-ended. But Abuladze’s cinema is, without doubt, film making that will unsettle a viewer to think about life after the film ends. The question each viewer should ask is: Where are the Varlams that we encounter in life and can we rest by burying them?

At the 1987 Cannes film festival, Repentance won the Grand prize of the Jury, the Prize of the Ecumenical jury, and the FIPRESCI prize. At the Chicago festival that year, it bagged the Silver Hugo.


P.S. Director Elem Klimov (Agoniya) played a major role in releasing Repentance within the Soviet bloc of countries. Agoniya was reviewed earlier.