The opening titles are
rolling over paintings about children. In one of them two children
are walking and playing with a dog, in another one a child is looking
up to the sky where birds are flying.
At the first sight this
seems to be a radical restrained film. It seems the camera is reduced
to its function to record, in this case a 3 year old baby girl named
Zhana who is playing around on warm summer days. The environment is a
Bulgarian housing estate which must have seen better times. Signs of
decay are hard to ignore. For now it seems that the magic of the film
is just caused by what happens in front of the camera. But soon we
get aware that this seemingly sober artless documentary observation,
this radical self-effacing is paradoxically the key to the film´s
delicate poetry. And after a few moments it does not appear anymore
just as an observing documentary of a playing child but it adapts the
point of view of a kid, this specific fascination for the moment but
as well the abrupt distraction when the kid discovers something else
which absorbs its attention. Before we are really aware of it – the
film changes our position as a spectator who is entertained by a
funny and cute kid into the child we once were. It evokes memories of
my own childhood. We sometimes literally are what we see on the
screen.
And as the screen becomes
almost like a mirror, we remember the little injuries we got while
playing, the scratches on arms or knees or stings of mosquitoes and
other insects. But we remember also the pleasure of walking barefoot
on warm summer days or jumping into puddles. And we remember the
feeling when we petted a cat or another animal. Time seemed to be an
infinite universe.
As not many adults appear
in Gumiela´s film, the proportions of the world around Zhana is
explicit seen from a little kid´s point of view. Some of her friends
who are a few years older and much bigger appear to her almost as
giants. The housing estate with its playgrounds and back yards appear
as an endless landscape where a lot is yet to discover. And the film
which I thought was supposed to be a sober observing documentary
appears to me now as a nearly dreamlike vision. It is like we
travelled by a time machine to the very beginning of our life.
There is a moment when the
child looks up into the sky and suddenly she pauses for a moment like
she is absorbed be her own daydreaming. This is a moment which is
hard to describe: the art of capturing the right moment at the right
time, the opening of the film to the beauty of the world, the art of
montage in discovering this very moment – or just and simple what
we call “the magic of cinema”?
While we are diving in the
point of view of a child, this very special perception of world,
there is a moment like an awakening from a dream: The kids disappear
through one of this many entrances of this housing estate. For a
short while it is absolute quiet and there is nothing than the
deserted back yard and the houses. It is a breathtaking Ozu-like
moment and for the first time in this film we feel the fleetingness
of time.
When this magical 55 film
minutes are over, I think that Polina Gumiela´s Ochite Mi Sini,
Rokjlata Sharena deals as well with one of the oldest dreams
since the invention of cinema, to look for and sense the world with
the freedom and innocence of a child. And the history of cinema is
full packed with filmmakers who tried to explore the world while
inspired by their own childhood memories.
I can´t believe that I
was very close to overlook this little gem while making my festival
schedule - and like so often a strange intuition lead me to the
screening yesterday where the film had its world premiere. This gem
of a documentary has quite a range between the modesty and the
minimalism of an Yasujiro Ozu but in its consequence, it celebrates
the glory of life as well like a film by Terrence Malick or Jean
Renoir.
Rüdiger Tomczak
Screenings:
Thur, 27.Feb, 11.00 Cubix
8
Fri,28.Feb,11.00 CinemaxX
1, 11.00
Sat, 29.Feb, 10.00 Urania
