Stimulating cinema: Otar Iosseliani FilmFest Day 3

Film: Pastoral
Year: 1976

Last, but certainly not least, in Iosseliani fest is "Pastoral." In the commentary that accompanies the two-disc set of the director's work that was the source of this fest, one of his mentors (I believe) says that this movie was Iosseliani's farewell to his Georgian homeland. A few years, the director emigrated to France, where I would guess he still lives. What a treat it would be to talk to this man now--to get his insights into these remarkable works and to hear his thoughts on what has transpired both in the world of cinema and in the world in general since this movie was made. Does anyone know of any recent English-translated interviews he has done in recent years that might be found online somewhere?

If this movie was Iosseliani's farewell, he went out with a blaze of glory. The ending of this movie, in particular, is one of the most poignant, human moments you'll ever see on the screen. When watching it I thought to myself "this is about as good as it gets." The quality of this movie (and the other three I've discussed) is uniformly high and filled with liberal doses of humanity, spirit and warmth.

The movie begins with a group of classical musicians being sent to a rural village for the summer. The reason for this, at least as far as I could tell, wasn't really clear. But, just accept it--they're there. The sophisticated artsy folks from the city (one of whom is played by Iosseliani favorite Marina Kartsivadze) are plopped into the middle of an alien world. And of course, the feeling is mutual--the unpretentious, hard-working country folk don't quite know what to make of their unexpected visitors, but extend them plenty of warmth and courtesy and try to help them feel right at home. The contrasts are striking--the only thing these people have in common is that they are all Georgian. They're way of lives, though, are complete polar opposites. I think it's fascinating to think that even today (I'm thinking of a place like Brazil but I am sure there are many, many others), there could be such disparity between the lives of all the citizens. Here in the United States, there are differences between north and south, city and country, etc. but the gaps aren't that huge and there is frequently a common ground. For the characters in this movie, though, it's really like two different worlds coming together.

The musicians go through their day, warily keeping an eye on their surroundings while rehearsing. The villagers go on about their business too, farming and raising their animals with the wafting music as a constant accompaniment to their chores. In one of the best scenes, the musicians start playing for the first time and everyone in the village, young and old, is captivated by the sounds. Slowly, the two groups begin to find common ground--and Iosseliani shows this brilliantly. It's the little things--helping take in laundry before a storm arrives for example or recording a brother and sister singing traditional songs--that help bring the groups closer together. Helping to bridge the two worlds is Edouki, a teenage girl played by Nana Iosseliani (who I would have to assume is the director's daughter). Edouki is a hard-working girl, devoted to her younger brother and sister. But the arrival of the musicians (and a crush on one of them) fires in her imagination the possibility of a better life. Eventually, the musicians have to leave--goodbyes are said and promises are made. And then the scene I described earlier which I won't reveal, but which is truly magical.

Iosseliani's works are often described as "lyrical" and this might be his most lyrical work. In the literal sense, there is always music in the background and it underscores the emotions and actions of the characters. But also lyrical in the poetic sense of expressing personal feelings--it's never hard to know where these characters stand or what they are feeling. Everything, warts and all, is right there on the surface.

There are so many things that made me smile when watching this movie. Small gestures really say a lot--like when the musicians first arrive, one of them carelessly tosses and empty pop bottle on the ground. Shortly thereafter, we see an old man--his back bent almost perpendicular to the ground under the weight of a heavy load--stop and pick up the bottle before continuing on his way. Another moment comes when a pick-up truck carrying a group of peasants on their way to pick a crop is forced to stop at a railroad crossing. The passengers on the train gaze at them as if they were aliens, and the peasants return their gaze in similar fashion. Two worlds in conflict--and I think this scenes best illustrates where Iosseliani stood. There is also a sly tribute to his earlier film "Lived Once a Song Thrush" and lots of moments of high comedy. I'll come back to Iosseliani's movies again and again and I'm sure I'll always feel slightly uplifted after watching them. They do make you feel better about yourself and the world in general somehow.

Stimulating cinema: Otar Iosseliani FilmFest Day 2

Film: Lived Once a Song Thrush (original title: "Iko shashvi mgalobeli," also known as "There Was Once a Singing Blackbird")
Year: 1972

I really hate guys--and more often than not it is guys--like Gia, the main character in the third film in the Iosseliani festival. In my personal and in my professional life, this kind of personality has always rubbed me wrong for some reason. The glad-hander. The guy with a smile or a flirtatious word for every lady. The guy who breezes through life oblivious to the constraints of time and oblivious to how his irresponsible ways impact others. Probably I'm jealous of guys like Gia to a point--I don't have the gift of gab among strangers and I have always been awkward around women (how I even got married is quite a miracle in itself!) So sure, I do wish I could be a little more like Gia. But ultimately though, people like this have no substance; they might no everybody in town but do they really have any deep friendships? Do they ever really fall in love? Or do they love themselves to much to ever give themselves up to another?

Gia (Gia Agladze) is the center of attention in this movie, both literally and figuratively. He moves to the march of his own clock--deadlines are flexible, meetings and appointments are often forgotten or ignored outright and the feelings of others don't matter. It's not that Gia is a bad person--early on, his mother urges him to attend an aunt's birthday party and he does manage to make the scene, clearly delighting the older woman--it's just that he's clueless to how his frivolity gets in the way of the serious side of life. It's not all play and Gia hasn't figured that out yet and it's doubtful he ever will as there are too many admirers (male and female both) who will let him keep on with his flighty ways.

As the film opens, Gia is running late once again. A harried stage manager is looking all over the place for him. There is a concert going on and Gia is nowhere to be found. Just in the nick of time though he arrives to play his part (he plays the kettle drums in a symphony orchestra). And so, smiles all around. That Gia--he almost blew it that time! This flying-by-the-of-you-pants style annoys the conductor and the orchestra head and even though both express indignation, they never punish him. As one character says "all we ask is that you be on time" and Gia can't even do that.

The following morning--the film unfolds in a 36-hour time period, give or take--a kind, vacationing couple arrives at Gia's home. They are friends of a friend and Gia has been asked to put them up for a bit, maybe show them around and be nice. Gia promises to show them the sights of Tblisi, then promptly ducks out for the rest of the day--leaving the couple in the hands of his befuddled mother. And he's off, chatting up almost every female he sees (I lost count of all the girls he flirted with), charming most and annoying a few. One of the annoyed ones is played by Marina Kartsivadze, who had a larger role in "Falling Leaves." And that's pretty much it--no lessons are learned and you get the feeling that nothing is ever going to change. At the end of the day, Gia lies in his bed, staring at the monotonous wallpaper. You get the sense that he wants to be different, but just can't. The movie ends on the following morning with a bit of a jolt and a lot of disarray.

This me sound like a negative review, and I surely don't want to give that impression. I liked this movie a lot, just not the main character's ways. There is a good message here and there are a lot of thought-provoking elements. And the director's work is excellent once again (I'm really delighted to have made your acquaintance Mr. Iosseliani.) He keeps his touch light and makes the city of Tblisi positively thrum with energy. Gia flits about from situation to situation like a busy bee and the camerawork and editing help enhance the chaos.

Stimulating cinema: Otar Iosseliani FilmFest Day 1

Film: April
Year released: 1962

and

Film: Falling Leaves
Year released: 1968

For my first FilmFest, I'm digging into some works by the great Georgian director Otar Iosseliani. And I'm really glad too, because Iosseliani's movies are opening up a whole new world for me. I have to say that before starting this blog and getting heavily involved in movie-watching, I'd never heard of him and I'd wager to say that even if you are student of film history, he might be way down on your radar. That's one of the neat things about this project--I'm always learning and there are wonderful new discoveries around every corner. The joy of finding someone new (to me) and immersing myself in their art and their vision is incredibly gratifying and rewarding.

Iosseliani was born in Tblisi, Georgia in the former Soviet Union on Feb. 2, 1934. The rest of his biography follows, courtesy of allmovies.com

He studied at the State Conservatory and graduated in 1952 with a diploma in composition, conducting and piano. In 1953 he went to Moscow to study at the faculty of mathematics, but in two years he quit and entered the State Film Institute (VGIK) where his teachers were Alexander Dovzhenk and Mikhail Chiaureli. While still a student, he began working at the Gruziafilm studios in Tbilisi, first as an assistant director and then as an editor of documentaries. In 1958 he directed his first short film "Akvarel." In 1961 he graduated from VGIK with a diploma in film direction. When his medium-length film "Aprili" (1962) was denied theatrical distribution, Iosseliani abandoned filmmaking and in 1963-1965 worked first as a sailor on a fishing boat and then at the Rustavi metallurgical factory. "Aprili" was finally released only in 1972. In 1966 he directed his first feature film "Giorgobistve" that was presented at the Critics' Week at the 1968 Cannes Film Festival and won a FIPRESCI award there. When his 1976 film "Pastorli" was shelved for a few years and then granted only a limited distribution, Iosseliani grew sceptical about getting any artistic freedom in his homeland. Following "Pastorali's" success at the 1982 Berlin Film Festival, the director moved to France where in 1984 he made "Les Favoris de la Lune." The film was distinguished with a Special Jury Prize at the Venice Film Festival. Since then Venice became a showcase for all his subsequent films. In 1989 he again received a Special Jury Prize for "Et la Lumiere Fut" and in 1992 the Pasinetti Award for Best Direction for "La Chasse aux Papillons." After the disruption of the Soviet Union he continued to work in France where he made the documentary "Seule Georgie" (1994) which was followed by the sardonic and allegorical "Brigands: Chapitre VII" (1996).

A key thing to remember when watching Iosseliani's films: They ran afoul of the Russian censors and were either banned outright or similarly restricted upon release. That, to me, is really mind-boggling in that there is nothing in these two films that would merit that. Granted, there is some symbolism that could be interpreted one way but of course it could be interpreted in others too. It just confirms (as if we needed any more at this point) the paranoia that was permeating the Soviet leadership at the time. If you are looking hard enough for subversion, you're sure to find it. And I am pretty certain that Iosseliani meant for his works to be taken at face value (although I'd be interested to know if this is not the case. Can anyone help out with a link or an article?)

Take the first movie in our Fest--"April." According to allmovies, the film was banned upon release due to it's "excessive formalism." I think this is party doublespeak for "we don't understand this so there must be something subversive here. Best to ban it." "April" though, is really a charming little film. It has a message that resonates across cultures and eras--don't get too caught up with material things. Remember what's important. Take joy from a lover's kiss, a tree or a sunny day. It's really a universal message but it's made more poignant perhaps by the setting (a depressed, run-down Tblisi).

As many other critics have noted, "April" is similar in style to the works of Jacques Tati (I've seen his "Playground" and will certainly do a future FilmFest on him one day.). There's little dialogue in the movie and what is spoken isn't subtitled (it's hardly necessary though; the characters are fighting with one another and what's being said isn't as important as what's going on between them. Instead, the movie focuses on astounding camerawork--figures moving about at all angles--and constant motion. It's like peering into a beehive; there's always something moving and objects or people that at first appear insignificant frequently become so in the course of a scene or two. It's really amazing, creative work and a style that's fresh and always full of enjoyment.

"April's" plot is simple--a young man (Tanya Chanturia) and a young woman (Gia Chiaqadze) meet and fall in love. Early on, their attempts at a simple kiss are constantly thwarted by passersby. When a brand new apartment complex goes up, the two move in. Alone in their bare space, they finally kiss and when they do it's magic! The lights come on, the water runs and the stove burners light--all from this one kiss. Life is good. But slowly the couple's idyllic existence changes as they are seduced by the creeping disease of materialism. It starts slowly--first a chair then a vase. Soon, their apartment is jammed with all types of furniture and gadgets (two vacuum cleaners!) Their quiet tender moments are replaced with quarrels and eventually they make the only choice they can.

By contrast, the feature-length ("April" runs for about 45 minutes) "Falling Leaves" is more conventional in terms of plotting and structure, but still maintains the characteristic Iosseliani touches. The movie begins with sort of a prologue as we see Georgian villagers harvesting grapes, making them into wine and enjoying the wine along with good food and fellowship. We switch then to the city, where two young men are on the verge of new jobs. Otar (Georgiy Kharabadze) is a by-the-book opportunist who is still living at home and is hilariously brow-beaten by his parents before going off on his job interview. Niko (Ramaz Giorgobiani) is a younger man with a lot of weight on his shoulders. He needs this job because he's now the man of the house and has a mother, grandmother and and four younger sisters to support. It's clear right away that Niko is a good boy, serious, kind-hearted yet very strong, earnest and principled.

The two land jobs at a wine collective. Otar quickly sets about on a course of trying to become a success by becoming Mr. Company Man. Niko, meanwhile, quickly endears himself to his co-workers by being their equal and by working side-by-side with them. Niko's status grows when he reveals his father's name (Alexander Nijoradze). His co-workers are sympathetic--Alexander who has apparently just recently passed was "a good man" and Niko is highly respected as his son. Otar and Niko vie for the affections of Marina (Marina Kartsivadze), who feels she is better than Otar but is too flighty for the serious-minded Niko. One of the more poignant parts of the movie comes when Niko realizes Marina isn't the person he thought she was (and takes a punch in the face to add insult to injury).

Niko takes a stand early on--it's time to bottle the wine from vat 49 (a strange number, would there be any connection with Pynchon's "The Crying of Lot 49?"). The wine is clearly subpar, yet for the sake of cost and efficiency, the powers that be want it bottled anyway. Niko refuses to sign off on bottling a bad product and is forced to stand firm. Eventually, with the help of the workers he has developed deep friendships with, Niko resolves his conflict.

Clearly there is symbolism here--the character Otar represents the staid, non-conforming bureaucrats, yes-men and lackeys without an ounce of creativity or passion in their souls. Niko represents the people and the inherent power we all have inside of us to do good for mankind. Along the way, there's comedy, sorrow and more of the Tati-esque moments and shots that Ioselliani excels at. Excellent film.