Many international voices remind cinemagoers about legends from the past in many ways. Leos Carax with Jean-Luc Godard. Nuri Bilge Ceylan with Andrei Tarkovsky. Paolo Sorrentino with Federico Fellini. (I highly disagree with this last one.) These newer filmmakers have a directional touch similar to what these masters had in the ’60s and ’70s. They shaped the cinematic landscape in a way nobody could expect–stamping themselves and their art into cinema’s vast, rich history. Decades later, new filmmakers arose by crafting pictures with their voices and artistry. However, they still contain that striking essence that reminds the viewer of a legend. A director that many have tried to emulate is Chantal Akerman, one of my favorite filmmakers of all time.
The Comparisons of Chantal Akerman and Dea Kulumbegashvili
Her observational and delicate lens is hard to replicate. The meditative approach to her movements has a different sway that stands on its own. Akerman, whose film “Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles” was named the ‘Best Film of All Time’ in the once-a-decade Sight & Sound Poll list, is highly devoted to portraying her characters and subjects in their rawest, most human form. It makes all her pieces feel like documentaries due to how she frames them. There are many other attributes that Akerman has that I would love to talk about on another occasion. But I mention her because there is a modern filmmaker who feels somehow like her late-arriving disciple. And that is Dea Kulumbegashvili, the Georgian filmmaker who has been impressing festivalgoers these past few years.
Kulumbegashvili set her presence with “Beginning” back in 2020, her feature-length debut. And what a great first impression that was. Her film was a portrait of identity and female agency backed by striking imagery that quickly cemented her as one of the most visually imposing new directors. Her eye is unique and very expressionistic. You can sense the silence in the atmosphere and how it contorts into feeling and emotion in both ominous, reflective, and beautiful ways, almost like what Chantal Akerman used to do in her pictures. The two are connected in how they frame their films, thematic exploration, and dedication to relying on silence as a means of reflection for both the character and the viewer. This makes Kulumbegashvili a formidable comparison to the Belgian director.
If “Beginning” didn’t demonstrate that, then her follow-up, “April” (“აპრილი”, playing at the New York Film Festival in the Main Slate), shows even more sparks of Akerman in her directorial touch and singularity in the art Kulumbegashvili constructs. The Georgian director wants us to have a conversation about the treatment of women in her home country, as well as the abortion laws that remove their rights, via some of the most striking visuals to screen at the festival this year. Kulumbegashvili opts for a darker tone than in her debut work, with the inclusion of graphic abortion and birth scenes and mysticism. But her vision remains grounded, and her cinematic poise is emotionally relenting.
A Known Secret Comes to Light
“April,” taking its title from the titular month, where flowers bloom after months of dark clouds and frozen weather, centers around Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili), an OBGYN (or doctor of obstetrics and gynecology), who is accused of a newborn’s death from an unregistered pregnancy. Officials see her as a culprit because of a “known secret.” Nina secretly does abortions on women in need, hidden and highly distanced from the cruel, severe repercussions of the government. As she faces accusations from officials and civilians alike, Nina’s life undergoes scrutiny, which sets her down a reflective path where she questions her life decisions and the world’s injustices. Her personal and professional life intertwines.
Every single occurrence in her life comes to light. As the tension increases, the tragedies that plague her daily life and the few joys she appreciates are brought up. This is reflected not only in adept conversations but also in many long takes that are meant to be a form of reflection and meditation that Nina (and the audience) has about why these people are condemning her for a right a woman should have in the first place. One of the most impacting scenes in “April” is when Nina is questioned about her decision to do these actions, knowing they are punishable. She responds with: “If not me, then who?” The person next to her falls into utter silence.
The audience then considers today’s laws, where abortion rights are constantly being removed in the U.S. This question is fueled by Kulumbegashvili’s urgency in telling this universal story. Many long shots of Nina thinking about her work, both hidden and in public, and the plains surrounding her show her mental state as it shifts throughout the film. Meadows of flowers show the possibility of a better life blooming from the ashes of this cold and unjust world. Thunderstorms represent a woman’s life crumbling as she is riding on her right and is only seen as a mother figure instead of a human being.
The Imposing Visual Language of Kulumbegashvili
These moments may feel overlong or unnecessary to some viewers. The camera remains still to portray Nina’s inner nature and the void. But they are so moving and pulsating that they have plenty of purpose and meaning. The sounds of nature. The time lapses through silence. The developing damnation. The “monster” figure is hiding in the background. (This figure portrays her past and how society views Nina, even though she saves many women’s lives.) All of these elements, and more, combine for a killer set of assets for Kulumbegashviil. The combination shows us a reality on the other side of the world and uses mysticism to amplify its effect.
She plays with the images and their meaning. The visuals always contain a duality. Their raw definition and the layer covering them show the local and the universal, the beauty and melancholy, hardships and saving graces. There aren’t many directors bold or brave enough to talk about this subject matter while adding mysticism to the story. They fear how the public will approach it. But Kulumbegashvili is not one of them. She does those narrative and poetic maneuvers with ease and confidence. The Georgian director avoids sugarcoating the harsh reality women faced back then and still, many decades later, do to the same degree. Taking these ” horror” elements aside, her approach reminded me of the Golden Lion-winning film “Happening” by Audrey Diwan.
Both “April” and “Happening” are portraits of women’s struggles with abortion laws in the past, one in France and the other in Georgia. The two show the injustices enforced by conservative governments, who view women as child bearers and nothing else. Yet, they are not shy to take the audience into the ins and outs of how abortions were made in secret. We see the meetings, the painful tools, the potential injuries if carried out incorrectly, and the aftermath. Diwan and Kulumbegashvili are two filmmakers who are poised and collective, taking tough subject matters and making a poignant, important piece. “Happening” and “April” are the most crucial pictures this decade because of their themes and approach.
“April” screened at this year’s New York Film Festival, which runs from September 27th – October 14th.
