Telluride is celebrating a great talent coming out of Kazakhstan this year, Sergei Dvortsevoy. Although he’s here with only his first feature film (which, incidentally, took four years to make), there’s a slate of documentaries he’s brought that the festival directors tout as “must sees.” In the Q&A for his first feature film, Tulpan, Dvortsevoy described shooting the first scene of the movie, a 10 minute long take of a ewe giving birth. He showed it to his small cast of Kazakh actors and non-actors and said, “That’s what we have to live up to.” And it’s true. If there were a Best Non-human Actor Oscar, this sheep would have it (although the Academy would probably give it to one of these damn Disney chihuahuas). Fortunately, the cast lived up to the animal’s authenticity with each scene and breathed life into a simple fable.
Asa is a young man living with his sister’s family after a stint in the navy. They’re nomadic sheep herders and Asa works for his older brother in law, Ondas. He’s anxious to start his adult life and for him it will begin with marrying Tulpan, the title character. But neither Tulpan nor her parents are interested in the arrangement. Asa’s not established himself as a herdsman. He begs his brother-in-law for a herd, but he can’t get a herd until he’s married. Therein lies Asa’s dilemma he must face to go from boy to man. But it’s Dvortsevoy’s meticulous direction that creates a cinematic experience.
It’s not just the performances that are enamoring, it’s the sheer starkness of the environment. You see, Tulpan is not just the only girl for Asa. She’s literally the only girl, which sounds ridiculous until you see the Hunger Steppe of Kazakhstan. Kazakhstan is the largest landlocked country on the planet, and the steppe is a vast, flat sea of dust. From the family’s yurt–a tent that looks like a giant wicker basket turned upside down and covered in wool blankets–there’s 360 degrees of flat horizon and nothing to break it. Not even a telephone pole. A constant wind buffets the earth and its droll is only broken by the sharp cries of one of Ondas’ children, his sheep or the engine of a tractor-turned-truck driven by a porn loving courier, Asa’s only outside friend.
The isolation is unnerving, but it also clarifies the inherent drama of this family. There’s no need for Dvortsevoy to impress us with symbolism. The reality is the metaphor. For Ondas, when he can save a lamb, he insures his children’s survival. Dvortsevoy’s long, uninterrupted takes pull up the quiet angst of their life. We don’t have to hear Ondas say, “Life as a herdsman is really hard,” because it’s a fact we become intimate with. So, in Tulpan when it’s time for a sheep to give birth, we’re right there, hanging on every moment. And that sense of The Other that Sasha Baron Coen used to make his Kazakh character Borat so funny, is nowhere to be found.
(Sergei Dvortsevoy’s documentaries are also playing at Telluride’s Backlot: Paradise, Highway, Bread Day and In the Dark.)
Originally posted on:
SpoutBlog » Paul Moore