Tangerines (2013)

In a neat little smile-inducing scene in Zaza Urushadze's "Tangerines" (aka "Mandariinid") (2013), is a meta reference to the way cinema sometimes fools the audiences with exaggeration. A military van damaged during a war in Abkhazia (Georgia) in the early 90s, is being disposed of by three Estonian men, by pushing it over a gorge. The van rolls down and one of the men expresses surprise that it didn't explode like in the movies. The oldest, wisest of the three remarks, "The cinema is one big cheating". Perhaps it is a cynical dig by Zaza Urushadze at his own beautiful but almost unrealistically optimistic story that champions peace and harmony in the midst of a bitter war.

Following a crossfire between the Georgian and the Abkhazian/Chechen armies, a kindly old Estonian box-maker Ivo (Lembit Ulfsak) and his tangerine farmer friend Margus (Elmo Nüganen) rescue two wounded soldiers, Ahmed (Giorgi Nakashidze) and Niko (Misha Meskhi) of opposite factions. Both, despite being in no position to fight, are practically baying for each others' blood upon finding that they are alive and under the same roof.

Ivo, however, makes them promise that there would be no killing in his house. Being the proud soldiers that they claim to be, and indebted to Ivo for saving their lives, they vow not to indulge in violence as long as they are under Ivo's care. Ahmed however, swears that he would kill Niko as soon as they are out on their own. As days pass by, and Ivo nurses the brave men back to life, an unusual bond develops between them, one that makes them look beyond territorial disputes and awaken to the humane aspect of being.

Much like the old protagonist in the film, filmmaker Urushadze advocates unity and non-violence, emphasizing upon the futility of war. However, (referring back to the scene mentioned above) while narrating a story such as this, that makes soft human beings out of stubborn, angry protectors of the land, somewhere deep within, he feels that such a scenario is too idealistic and he is probably cheating himself to even think of, or hope for such warmth in the face of cold hostility.

But it is quite a welcome scenario for the viewer anyway to witness friendship and kindness triumph over the brutality of war. Over time, despite a superficial will to kill, one can't help but notice the gradual decline of animosity between the soldiers. They deride each other, exchange empty words of attacking one another when seated across the same table, but refrain from making a move, even with an opportunity in hand, thereby abiding by Ivo's condition. The bitterness soon melts into smiles and short peals of laughter over sporadic jests. It goes to show that it has probably been a while for these soldiers since they had such moments of pleasantries in a relaxed atmosphere.

In the scenario presented, what ensues is completely believable. Urushadze mostly keeps it all composed, and with a simple story, delivers a very profound message. With the aid of some clever writing, Urushadze makes a powerful anti-war statement that is in fact, very obvious, yet one which most men fail to realize. It might seem like a message done to death, but the treatment and the method of delivery stands out in the case of "Tangerines".

Ultimately, what difference does all the killing make? Lives are lost in vain. Men fight for their land, but when they cease to exist, and the time comes to go beneath this very land, is it of any consequence what territory they are in? You might as well bury a Georgian with an Estonian or a Chechen in the end, like the old man Ivo says. How would it matter?

Urushadze shuns excess in favour of restrained minimalism and makes "Tangerines" an easy and effortless ride. A sublime theme music plays throughout the film, evocative of feelings of isolation and longing. These moods reflect Ivo's loneliness and sadness concerning the state of affairs in the countryside he has so come to love and hence continues to stay on, while his family members move to homeland Estonia as war commences. The cinematography captures the ethereal beauty of the country landscapes, contrasting the beauty of the land with the ugliness of the war that is being fought for it.

Moments of light humour are subtly infused, while keeping the seriousness of the subject intact and the overall fabric of his material from any harm of unevenness. Take for example, that excellent exchange that takes you by surprise just when you think things would turn sour. Margus storms out in a huff in protest when Ivo asks him to forget about his tangerines business, given the conditions of war. Ivo turns to Ahmed who's unaware of what happened and asks "Does he happen to be your relative, by any chance?", a visible question mark on Ahmed's face palpable. Little moments like these and more also establish the strength of Urushadze's actors. It is difficult to single out one, for all of the primary players make their presence felt with a conviction that is rare.

"Tangerines" is a work of elegance and pure excellence. One would have to struggle to find a fault with it and would certainly have to try very hard not to be moved by the extraordinary third act that restores one's faith in humanity. How great a place this world would be, if everyone recognized the human in them and let the sweetness trump the sourness, much like in a tangerine! "Don't give my men any money. Just give them a few boxes of tangerines", says a soldier who promises to send men to help Ivo. If only he realized the symbolic significance of his words that goes so much deeper; that it is kindness and compassion that should be chosen over material possession.


Score: 9/10

 

Ashik Kerib (1988)

"I am a minstrel, and this is my lute." 

These are some of the recurring lines in legendary Soviet-Armenian artist and filmmaker Sergei Parajanov's last completed film, "Ashik Kerib" (1988), which is yet another oddly whimsical odyssey, a fantastical folk tale, told in signature Parajanov style. This time, it is Parajanov's personal vision of Mikhail Lermontov's Turkish fairy tale of the same name.

The story of Ashik Kerib is a very simple lore of a poor minstrel, Kerib, who plays his lute, and is in love with Magul, the daughter of a rich merchant. But the merchant, obviously rejects Kerib and his family, calling them paupers. A vow is taken by the couple and Magul promises to wait for a thousand days and thousand nights for Kerib, as he decides to go away to get rich and return to claim her hand again.

Parajanov being Parajanov, adopts an esoteric style of narration in the vein of Azerbaijani folklore and his own cinematic tropes. So expect a disjointed, episodic screenplay in the form of tableaux vivants and vignettes, plenty of still images of cultural icons and artifacts, an abundance of music, dance and songs, colourful costumes, exotic set designs...the works! This film is far more outlandish in its storytelling approach in comparison to the earlier "The Legend of Suram Fortress", especially considering how simple the tale actually is.

"Ashik Kerib" is an exemplary work of a free-form narrative and goes all over with its idiosyncrasies and oddities as the events get increasingly bizarre. Very surprisingly, there is a generous dose of comedy as well, in an otherwise serious story, showcasing Parajanov's fine comical flair. For instance, the way Magul's father expresses his disapproval of Kerib by literally throwing up and jumping around like a clown, is as shocking a scene as it is funny! Adding to the comical tone are some hilarious absurdities and totally oddball characters that come and go in Kerib's strange adventure. This includes the outrageously funny Nadir Pasha with a fake moustache, and the mistresses by his side, carrying toy machine guns, in an off-the-wall anachronistic trope!

The magical realism in the tale exudes even more magical qualities, thanks to the touch of Parajanov who seems to be having a ball here. He probably was in a joyously playful mood when he wrote the film, but the child in him seems to be at its most energetic best, as seems the case in sequences such as these. It is very much likely that some of the sequences were improvised. An experiment in flippancy, incorporating unlikely humour and really going way over the top, Parajanov literally toys around with a multitude of ideas!

The dialog in the film is off-kilter and poetic as expected. It is never straightforward. In many of the sequences, characters speak, but their lips don't move. The voices are dubbed over, giving any scene a strange, surreal quality, as the characters appear to mime, and converse with their thoughts and expressions! This facet may seem off-putting to some, but it works exceedingly well in the film's favour, given its theatrical nature. Music dominates almost every episode. In fact, some of the vignettes only have music, songs and dance, but no dialog! The music is quite evocative of the Azerbaijan culture, as are the other visuals.

The emblematic pomegranates make their appearance at various junctures and even change their colours as per the mood reflected in a scene! When Ashik Kerib is falsely declared dead by the evil Kurshud-Bek, his mother wails, goes blind and just as that happens, the image on the screens starts to blur and pomegranates turn black! In another happier sequence that seems to reflect a kind of liberation, and a new beginning, the fruit appears white.

One of the freakiest parts of the film, (apart from one nightmarish sequence of a two-headed tiger and its constantly rolling head!) is the marriages of the deaf, dumb and blind where Ashik Kerib is invited to play! Both these ceremonies take place in some unreal, open locations. Especially in the marriage of the deaf and dumb, the minstrel seems to become one of them when he suggests through sign language that he can't speak or hear! Could it be a hidden reference; Parajanov's own reflection on his state of being as a visual artist who felt handicapped owing to the cruel Soviet authorities' and their diktats on his work and subsequent imprisonment? 

After all, the story itself is of a music artist on a forced exile of sorts to please the people at high places! Interestingly, the handicap manifests in a tangible form when Nadir Pasha sends Ashik Kerib to the War-like Sultan! Kerib is shackled in this scene and he says he isn't able to play anymore. While his hands appear to be considerably mobile to at least pluck a note, the strings on his instrument literally appear to be missing, and hence, not being able to produce any music!

As crazy as it may look and sound, you cannot ignore the oeuvre of Sergei Parajanov, an artist unlike any other. Parajanov's methods were the most unusual, and his film outputs were the kind you couldn't possibly club or compare with any other, stylistically or otherwise. It is difficult to fault this film, unless the style itself fails to appeal to the viewer. Those who do find appeal though, would be able to embrace the film's astonishing qualities and soak in its enchanting, mythical universe. A visually ravishing, charming and aurally pleasing musical, "Ashik Kerib" is a sublime work of art that is a fitting swansong, a great ending to a brave career of the man who set new benchmarks in cinema.

Score: 9/10 

The Legend of Suram Fortress (1984)

The young son of a serf, long granted freedom by his master, sacrifices his life by letting himself be entombed alive within the brick walls of the Suram Fortress to keep it from crumbling. Or so the ancient Georgian legend goes. Daniel Chonqadze first adopted this folk tale into his book. Sergei Parajanov, one of the most unique and controversial voices in the Soviet Union, made a film out of this folklore in his own cinematic language and the results were.....beyond extraordinary!

This is Parajanov's first film after a ban of nearly 15 years which included a couple of periods of imprisonment. Parajanov was always in the bad books of the Soviet authorities, thanks to his artistically rebellious ways that defied convention, especially the socialist realist style, which was the only authorized art form at the time. The political environment began to cool down by the mid 80s and that is when Parajanov was finally able to deliver an unrestrained product, true to the style he embraced in his first two acclaimed works that led to all the turmoil (not considering anything that came before 1964's "Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors" that he publicly disowned).

With a little help from influential actor/director Dodo Abashidze, a recharged Parajanov bounced back in 1984 with "The Legend of Suram Fortress". How ironic though that the filmmaker marked his return with a film about the son of a slave, a man in bondage. Despite attaining freedom, his son ultimately ends up being immured alive within the brick walls of a fortress, in order to strengthen it. Once a slave, forever a slave; ultimately his doomed destiny leads him to be shackled in death! It eerily mirrors Parajanov's own life as a slave to the system who was sacrificed by being restrained by the powers that be in order to strengthen their positions and safeguard the interests of their nation!

Parajanov is in top form here, despite the hiatus, and adds his own signature flavour to a seemingly simple tale infused with its fantastical elements and magical realism. This is a story rife with its princes, warriors, fortune-tellers, unfulfilled love, valour, revenge and sacrifice, a tale the likes of which you may have heard orally from your grandmothers as children and passed on through generations.

The director presents to the audience, his astounding vision of the said lore, and paints a living, breathing canvas, brimming with bedazzling colours, breathtaking imagery and rich symbolism that is out of this world. The plot moves, but not in the manner you would expect it to. The narrative is rather fragmented, sometimes disjoint and disorienting, in the form of a series of vignettes or tableaux. Each of these vignettes is quite poetic in its approach, with some stylized, off-kilter dialog that allows us to make some sense of the story and its proceedings. There are visible jump cuts, a pace that is uneven, sudden, hurried shifts and time leaps that may mystify and not be very easy to follow but a couple of viewings are enough to sufficiently comprehend it all.

The episodic, fractured nature of the screenplay could be likened to an interrupted, partially broken dream stemming from a distorted, fading memory of age-old fables, that lose some of their threads, as certain bits and pages get lost in transition across generations. A generous dose of bizarre, surreal visuals add to its oneiric qualities and so does the unsettling, eerie musical score and sound design. It is interesting how the sound quality of some of the spoken words is modulated in certain scenes producing an echo or distant effect. Accentuating the phantasmagorical and even theatrical nature of the screenplay is the choice of filming locations. It is notable that most of the scenes are filmed outdoors, barring a few that are shot indoors.

Many of these outdoor sequences appear to take place at a common location, with the backdrop of two statues. This location is what appears to be the ruins of the Suram fortress. However, the same backdrop is used even in sequences that take place across different timelines. It almost acts like a common stage for the actors in the film. There's an anachronistic blink and miss moment, difficult to spot if one is not paying careful attention but its a mystery as to why the filmmaker makes such a choice. Perhaps it is there for no real reason and is just another addition to some of the randomness strewn about. Or perhaps it's a subtle joke about how all time was one; and even the situation in modern day USSR was just as archaic!

The camera technique and choices of filming itself is a display of eccentricity, and in a good way, of course. Most scenes begin with closeup static shots of certain artifacts, animals or birds. Then in others, the camera moves back to such a distance that it is impossible to spot the tiny characters in a frame! All that is visible are the picturesque, vast open landscapes. As is the case with most Parajanov films, there is a great emphasis on culture, in this case, the Georgian culture. The lavish costumes, masks, makeup, the music and dance, and even acrobatics such as tight-rope walking and other stunts are in abundance.

Films like "The Legend of Suram Fortress" don't get made often. Filmmakers like Sergei Parajanov who dare to speak a radical language, don't come by often either. This film is Parajanov's unsung masterpiece that deserves to be recognized among his greatest achievements. It is likely that it may frustrate some viewers with its peculiar storytelling approach, but others who connect with it would revel in its enchanting, mystical grandeur.

Score: 10/10