In trying to get to the roots of her childhood traumas, filmmaker Maka Gogaladze lays bare the soul of her Georgian nation. What at first appears to be an ego-documentary turns out to be a beautiful portrait of the Georgian mentality and its cultural richness.
The film opens with a contemplative scene in which the camera looks out over the sea, with fluttering net curtains adding a romantic note. Then it cuts to Gogaladze’s mother, visibly uncomfortable behind a table, preparing to be interviewed by her own daughter.
The filmmaker makes her mother wait a little while as she adjusts things, and then invites her to anticipate the immortal question she’s about to ask. It takes the mother three guesses before she gets it right: why did she insist that her daughter study music relentlessly throughout her childhood, turning it into a traumatic experience? And why did she throw away her poems, the one thing she really loved as a child?
The question of putting children through hardship in order to better them is at the heart of this documentary. As Gogaladze discusses the issue with her mother in different settings and in different ways, she shows Georgian children being raised in the same manner today. In poignant scenes, we see young girls in a ballet class trying to lift their legs in impossible ways; teachers verbally and physically urge them to go further, even at the cost of pain and tears, and a young pianist driven to perfection by an obsessive teacher. “Now play like a man,” she tells the girl. As the music begins, the film cuts to another scene with the filmmaker and her mother, providing a poetic and dramatic piece of cinema.
Gogaladze alternates between her personal quest and the search for a universal – or at least national – state of mind. She finds a common denominator in all the educational endeavours she observes: the need to be the best, as a person or as a country. Whether it is playing music, singing, dancing (both ballet and traditional dance), reciting poetry or acting – it is all about striving for perfection, but in the most conservative way possible. Boys are brought up to be men – strong providers – and girls are brought up to be real women – tender and modest.
The message is never laid on thick: rather, the steady camera patiently observes everything. The scenes are extensive and leave room to reflect on what you see. Sometimes it shows a whole group, sometimes an individual, sometimes it zooms in on a particular child – the one the maker may identify with most.
One scene, both funny and heartbreaking, shows a young girl, the taller girl next to her partially visible, in a language class. We hear the teacher asking questions about interrogative sentences, which the taller girl answers immediately and flawlessly. The girl in focus makes faces, fidgets, yawns, sometimes tries to raise her hand – clearly uncomfortable and unable to control her movements. When she accidentally makes funny shapes with her hands, the teacher is silent for a brief moment, enough for the girl to feel trapped and embarrassed.
The film as a whole feels both weighty and light at the same time. The filmmaker’s sharp eye for the absurd and the human brings (black) humour into the mix. When the camera is set up in the stairwell of a school, a little boy has to walk past two big boys sitting at the top of the stairs, glued to their mobile phones. The boy keeps his eyes on his peers, expecting the worst as he slowly and silently descends the stairs until he is out of their reach.
There is also dilemma in all this: how can we, as human beings, reach our full potential without sacrifice, without hard work, without denying our desires and fears? Because Gorgoladze also shows us the beauty of all these efforts. She herself may have lost her love for music and poetry, but she has grown into an artistic filmmaker. Is it because of or despite her upbringing?
Georgia, 2024, 85 mins
Director Maka Gogaladze
Editor Maka Gogaladze
Sound Designer Vano Arsenishvili
Cinematographer Maka Gogaladze
Producer Maka Gogaladze (Formo Production, Georgia)
