In the second ominous feature of writer-director Déa Kulumbegashvili, the strange creatures become loose. You can get a glimpse of it at the first moment of “April.” This is a naked human-like being that resembles a sachet of skin that droops. With almost alien rushing walks with eyes, mouths, and faces, the nightmare figure frequently reappears, and his return doesn't explain that he is always unsettled. Surprisingly, this creature is only slightly unaware of the film's fascinating opaque protagonist.
Calling “April” is the abortion drama accurate, but the description barely brushes the film's genre fusion and subversion. The film, set in the country of Georgia (winning a special juj award at the Venice Film Festival), stars Ia Sukhitashvili as Nina. Kulumbegashvili plunges us into the delivery room as her pregnant mother is struggling to give birth. The filmmaker's cameras do nothing to us as hospital staff desperately try to extract children. Shortly after the baby is declared dead, Nina is accused of the woman's husband, and Nina's headless supervisor (Merab Ninidze) begins an investigation into what went wrong.
But Nina's concerns go beyond the chance of losing her job. It is an open secret that Nina personally plays abortions for people in the poor village. Technically, abortion is legal in Georgia for up to 12 weeks, but in this conservative, patriarchal society, it is nevertheless practically redundant. Nina's investigations could reveal secret activities and ruin her career – not to mention her ability to help more women and bring this world to life or end it.
Such a setup suggests a possible thriller, but Kurnbegashvili (previously cast Sukhitashvili in his 2020 feature debut “Beginning”) is something after Sriperier. And it starts with her concept of the protagonist. Often, she is shown on a screen in the medium distance or background, and her expression is constantly muted, and Nina floats through this slow burning crisis without any tactile urgency or alarm. Emotionally, Sukhitashvili maintains arm length and her character's actions are unthinkable. One night, Nina drives into the countryside, picks up random strangers and offers blowjobs. Has she done this before? If so, what is provoking you? The answer remains poorly enigmatic as a shocking result of that nighttime interaction.
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By stripping genre conventions, “April” avoids traditional storytelling to zero, avoiding the much existential problem: the oppressive darkness that lays down on Nina. Filmed in a boxy aspect ratio that visually imprisons her in her situation, the film uses tracking shots to match the character's thoughts. When the stoic Nina goes off-screen during the scene, we sometimes hear evidence of her rising breath, quiet stress choking her. This wonderful story stroke creates weapons even in the film's quietest entanglement, creating the sense that we are seeing these moments through her eyes. Pictures of cinematography Arceni Katchachuran's gorgeous Georgian landscapes – vibrant red flowers dotted across incredibly lush fields – are covered by the unsettling of those who immerse themselves in those sights.
Kulumbegashvili's realistic style – the author's director filmed the actual birth – highlights the quality of the hospital corridors of the digestive hospital and the cold procedures of Nina's work. (The process of giving birth to a baby is depicted as easily as doing an abortion.) Nina's attitude is just as harsh. In her favor of being invisible, she consults sporadically with David (Kaka Kinzrashvili), a sympathetic colleague who supports pregnant women and leads her fateful investigation. The fact that Nina and David were once lovers, but he never got over them. David finally sits down with each other and asks, “Why didn't you marry me?” Needless to say, Nina is off camera again as she responds slowly.
We hear her, but we don't see her. In fact, Nina often appears to be out of reach. “April” depicts her devotion to serving a woman in need as a noble but debilitating call. She forced her to retreat herself as a coping mechanism to keep out the rage and helplessness she feels. Krungbegashvili and her stars are totally naturalistic and dramatic portrayals of a cruel and sexist reality as inevitable as the inexplicable creatures that repeatedly invade the story.
Not a thriller, not a horror film, “April” is never forgotten that he will not hold back the roots of Nina's retreat from life, while focusing on improving the lives of others. Near the end of the film, she scolds for illegal activities and urges Nina to provide a tired, tired reply. Again she's not on camera, but her voice of conscience echoes.
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This story originally appeared in the Los Angeles Times.
