We all have a list of special films. When you watch them, you get an aesthetic-philosophical shock and an impression that continues to live in you for years and settles in the depths of your own consciousness, becoming a part of you and never forgetting it. Time passes, you watch other, new films, but you also find the influence, citation or simple parallel of such films in other works, consequently, they become a kind of cultural measure and standard in your creative vision.
Such is for me Zaza Khalvashi’s film, “Namme” (2017), and it can be said freely, is one of the pearls of not only modern, but also of Georgian cinema as a whole. It has participated in many prestigious international film forums.
Zaza Khalvashi’s phenomenon has not yet been properly studied, but anyone who has seen any of his work will immediately confirm that he was not an ordinary director. At the very least, he was a master of storytelling with a special vision. “...And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters....” Old Testament, Genesis, 1:2” - the film opens with this quote, and we already realize that we must be dealing with something religious, mystical, esoteric, and philosophical. And so it is - Zaza Khalvashi grapples with a difficult task in “Namme,” basing the plot on a Laz legend, according to which a girl endowed with supernatural powers loses her special talent after falling in love with a young man.
The story unfolds in a traditional family in the mountainous Ajara region: a family of five (father, three sons and one daughter), almost cut off from modern civilization, has practically disintegrated. All three brothers (Ramaz Bolkvadze, Ednar Bolkvadze and Roin Surmanidze) are radically different from each other: one is a Christian pastor, Father Giorgi, who is building a Christian church, the other, Ali, has become a mullah and is engaged in the construction of a mosque at the other end of the village, and the third brother is an atheist teacher who tutors the only student in the village. Tsisnamme, nicknamed Namme (Mariska Diasamidze), is the only one who has remained to live with her elderly parent (Aleko Abashidze) and helps her maintain the ritual and purity. The girl takes care of an “immortal” fish, which in turn gives natural water healing properties. Namme uses this water she selflessly heals the villagers, but it soon becomes clear that this assigned mission does not appeal to Namme, and her status as a successor to her father's work has actually been foisted on her by her brothers.
An interesting moment is how the girl who has arrived in the city looks at beauty and personal care products with modest interest, but does not dare to buy them, does not dare to give up her sacred mission. This simple, monotonous, unexciting and drama-free life continues until Namme falls in love with a boy from her village (Lasha Abuladze), who awakens the "carnal sacred" in her and, at the same time, diminishes and destroys the miracle of the fish and its healing properties. The finale is quite mystical and intriguing - Namme returns the fish to nature and watches how it finds its way through the water, while she herself stands, lost in a wave of surging fog.
And yet why/how is Zaza Khalvashi’s work special, so captivating? First of all, because its form is virtually perfect. The language with which the director tells the story is minimally verbal and maximally visual. This is an ideal expression of the well-known cinematic concept “do not tell, but show.” If there is any dialogue, it is not excited. On the contrary, it is very calm, but not apathetic. The atmosphere and mood are characterized by modesty, even a slight asceticism. The creative tandem of Giorgi Shvelidze and Mamuka Chkhikvadze’s camera duo and Akaki Jashi’s art created a rarely masterful and multifaceted atmosphere for Georgian cinema. The shots, loaded with a cold palette and symbols, remind us of paintings (especially where the white Koi fish is the main character of the film along with Namme). “I once saw a snowflake fall from a tree to the ground and I wanted to capture this strange sound in a cinematic way,” said Zaza Khalvashi, and he perfectly captured his idea.
The high-mountainous environment is immersed in silence, and the noise of construction building creates a contrast with it. The world of the village depends on authentic sounds as much as possible, there is almost no music. The line between mysticism and reality is almost erased, and sometimes we think we are watching a fairy tale. The separation of Namme and the fish is not tragic and dramatic. In general, “Namme” is devoid of drama, or rather, “loud,” eccentric drama. Its true depth is hidden like an iceberg in silence and darkness. Zaza Khalvashi does not create radical contrasts, he quietly creates twists and turns, he maneuvers with the aesthetics of slow cinema, he builds on it the construction. The main symbol of everything is still water, as the beginning of life, the element that brings change and love. The film is a kind of prose, poetry, ode, observation and even meditation (it is worth noting that the film was co-produced with Lithuania and France and it was well supported by the technical professionalism of foreigners).
The director does not approach this issue superficially, one-sidedly and stereotypically. He approaches the issue of faith from all angles, introduces the world's leading religions (and atheism) and, despite the dichotomy, brings them together in amazing harmony, unites them in one space, in one family (he suddenly breaks into a Georgian trio song...) and delicately disagrees with non-religious views (that a sick fish needs scientific treatment), constructive criticism, pagan/primitive rituals. Healing water may be truly healing or, at the very least, a product of the placebo effect, but it is also important to note that human faith can truly work miracles. “He doesn’t need to go to God’s house every day to prove this to others,” as the film says. Namme knows that a person should not only look for a spark of truth in the material.
It is also interesting how the director contrasts these conversations with gender: a woman against four men, against four different worldviews, who make decisions and on which the fate of this very responsible mission and the development of tradition rests. And yet, often, not only in this and other works with similar topics, it is women who stand on the guard (or guillotine) of such sacredness...
With the release of the fish, tradition loses its power. Before this act, Namme hangs an image of a fish spun from metal and framed on the wall, that is, she leaves the idea and symbol of the fish in the room, and returns the “primordial source” to its natural bosom. It is highly likely that after releasing the fish, Namme would start a new life, but the author did not leave us with an unambiguous answer here either, because the fog-covered lake, which slowly covers the image and the silhouette of Namme's body merges with the environment, also leaves us with the version that Namme merged with the fish, disappeared into the lake with the fish. And if we take into account that version, the fish is a symbol of pagan, but inviolable and, to some extent, holy, inviolable sacredness, and towards the end, we are dealing with the loss of healing properties, it is not excluded that this is also connected with the death of fish and Namme. Especially when that water is a lake and cannot develop in unchanged, stagnant water, that is, in stagnation and immobility.
One can talk endlessly about “Namme,” it is so complex and philosophical. The story looks at us from a local, but figuratively global perspective, and all this is unfolded with a rather modest depth. One of the main topics is the confrontation of an almost primitive, mythical culture, a still "unspoiled" culture and, in general, myth with modern civilization, technology and progress. At the beginning, an unknown addition interferes with the river emerging from the waterfall, and at the end we can see trailers that fill the environment with building materials. There is no doubt that vehicles will reach the village sooner or later. We can assume that Namme saved the fish from death in time and returned it to its living environment because the spring in her yard would also have become polluted over time and the purity of the ritual would have lost its meaning.
I want to believe that Namme made the most correct choice - both personally and for the common interests: "Isn't it surprising? It's no longer ours [water/fish] - it's in our yard, but it's not ours. It belongs to everyone, to the whole village, you and I are the only ones who are looking after it and that's it." The white Koi fish is a somewhat alien and exotic creature for the Georgian environment, since the homeland of its species is the Oriental world. It is alien to the mountainous settlements of Ajara, but such a logical choice for the film, together with Christian symbolism, creates an unexpected synthesis of the topic's cosmopolitanism and cultures. The fish and Namme form a single whole, representing a duet of Yin and Yang - the girl is dressed in black, and the fish is white.
The fact that Namme releases the Koi fish, as a religious symbol and a kind of image of Christ, into the lake is a noble act because it makes it accessible to everyone and anyone can approach it, touch it in this form, meet it and get to know it in the way they themselves can, and not with the help of an intermediary. But, on the other hand, after much thought and watching other films related to this topic, especially Ryusuke Hamaguchi's "Evil Does Not Exist" and Hayao Miyazaki's "Princess Mononoke," I'm more concerned about the real tragic intent of the Georgian director's finale - how positively can we perceive this finale? In addition to the fact that, according to legend, after experiencing “earthly” feelings, Namme lost her power and, in a chain reaction, the tender and solemn sacredness was also lost, the technology ascending from the valley to the mountains would also put its mark on the untouched “purity” in the future. Will there be a place for myth in the future? Is the sacred beginning really being lost not only in Georgia, but also worldwide, and will industrial globalization be able to completely take possession of and absorb our primordial beginning, which connects us with the past, the world, and makes us human? Where is the line drawn by which we will maintain the golden balance? And is this only the fate of specific people or do all of us have our share of the mission of preserving sacredness?
Eter Parchukidze
