13 Tzameti. The cover described it as “a gruesome existential thriller.” That made me decide to watch it first of the three in my packet—get it over with. Gruesome’s not my thing. But this film may prove to be my favorite of the three.
Written and directed by Georgian-Frenchman Gela Babluani (that’s European Georgia, not the American state), starring his brother Georges Babluani as Sebastien, the young laborer trying to make money for his immigrant family, this stark, minimalist film hooks you almost right away, building curiosity and ominous suspense. Sebastien is doing roof repair for Monsieur Godon, a drug addict undoubtedly into criminal activity of some mysterious kind. He overhears talk of some job that’s possibly going to earn Godon a lot of money; Godon is waiting on an envelope with instructions. The police are watching Godon’s house, also waiting for this mysterious envelope to appear. Not long after it does, Godon dies of an overdose. Circumstances literally waft the envelope into Sebastien’s hands. After Madame Godon says she’s not interested in having him finish the work on the house and can’t pay him for the work he’s already done, Sebastien decides to take Godon’s place and see what this potentially lucrative job might be.
The police realize Sebastien has taken the envelope and tail him. At first I wasn’t sure they were the police. The situation is gradually revealed as Sebastien gets closer to his unknown destination. The envelope contained only a train ticket to Paris and a paid hotel reservation. At the hotel, he gets a phone call giving him further instructions regarding a locker in a train station and is told to get off one stop before the final destination. He unwittingly eludes the police trap waiting for him by doing so, but the cop trailing him takes the license number of the cab he gets into. The cab leaves him at a crossroads traffic island. He isn’t waiting long before another car arrives, driven by a man who holds up a card with the number 13 on it, matching the card in the packet Sebastien got from the locker. He’s driven to a deserted farm where two other men are waiting for him. He’s searched, made to strip, and one of the men breaks the heels off his shoes, apparently thinking he might have some weapon or bug hidden in them. All of this, of course, serves only to ratchet up Sebastien’s alarm and apprehension. But they don’t hurt him, and he’s allowed to re-dress, then is driven off to a large isolated house surrounded by woods.
There’s a crowd of men there. Sebastien is led to a room and told to sit down. Two new men enter the room, and one of them instantly realizes Sebastien isn’t Monsieur Godon. You can feel Sebastien’s breathless tension, wondering what they’ll do. When they allow him to speak, he explains that Godon had died of an overdose and he’s come to take Godon’s place. The two men confer in a corner, hissing that the police may have planted Sebastien and perhaps they should disappear. But the first speaker says no, he’d rather be arrested than have the group think he ratted on them. Sebastien, clearly having more than second thoughts, says that if he doesn’t suit them, he’ll just leave, but the first speaker snorts and says there’s no way he’s leaving now; he has to stay and play, even though he has no idea what the game is.
At this point they’re called downstairs to assemble for the game. Sebastien is put in a t-shirt with the number 13 marked on it in black tape (“tzameti” is the Georgian word for 13). Guns are handed to all thirteen players with one bullet apiece. And so it dawns: this is a version of Russian roulette, in which the players draw their guns on each other rather than themselves. The spectators are there to bet on who will survive. I was hardly less aghast than Sebastien. But utterly drawn in. Even though I knew, had suspected all along, that this could not end well even if Sebastien survived the game, I had to see how it all unfolded.
Sebastien does survive the game, shaken, horrified at himself as much as anything else, yet a small, brief smile of triumph flashes across his face momentarily. The relief doesn’t last long; he knows he probably isn’t going to make it home alive. I was convinced the men organizing the game would not allow him to live, since he now knew too much. He escapes them and is clever enough to post his winnings to his brother the next morning before taking the train back home. He has, however, the misfortune to take the same train as the brother of the player he killed in the final duel.
Thankfully, the film is in black and white and Babluani doesn’t rub your face in graphic violence. Young George, with his large dark eyes, gives a natural and entirely believable performance as Sebastien, showing us his escalating emotions without saying much or over-doing the body language, making you care about him even though he’s done this very foolhardy thing to himself. He can’t bring himself to fire his gun at first but, to save himself being automatically killed for refusing to play, with trembling arm finally pulls the trigger. On an empty chamber. It’s both wrenching and hair-raising.
Even the despicable characters were interesting, making me wonder what sort of mind takes enjoyment out of this sort of murdering degradation of fellow human beings. The referee was constantly agitated and angry, shouting at everyone, but when Sebastien is left standing, he calls out “Bravo, number 13, bravo!” The very obese player’s sponsors treated him with kindness, unexpected among such otherwise heartless men. Sebastien’s sponsors ask him if he’s “pleased.”
Good performances all around. Sorting out which actors played which characters is a difficulty, however, since in the dialog very few of them give or are addressed by their names. In fact, Sebastien himself is never named; I learned his character’s name from reading the DVD jacket, and I’m only assuming that the person he mailed his winnings to was his brother. Well, it only matters in trying to talk about the movie. Names are irrelevant in the viewing.