Gvantsa Meparishvili’s short psychological film, “Number 26” (2021), tells the story not only of a physical tragedy, but also of human uncertainty which arises in conscience and silence after committing a crime. Evil is not expressed here as it is in classic films. The main questions here are - how does a person behave in times of fear? How long will the truth be hidden?
The tragedy at the ski resort begins with the negligence of a young coach, Nika (30 years old) - he violates safety rules and secretly takes one of his students, 15-year-old Anna, to the upper slope. During the descent, Anna loses coordination, falls from the mountain and dies.
The school administration soon notices the student’s disappearance and a search begins. The responsibility lies with two instructors - Nika and Nata, who is on duty on the same shift. The film connects the viewer with the tragedy from the very beginning: the very first shots are taken with Anna's phone at the moment when she and Nika are together. This recorded shot seems to contain the answer to the question: who is guilty? However, events develop differently when shame, fear and the instinct for survival enter the case. The shooting style is naturalistic: the camera follows the characters as if they are one of the witnesses. A cold tone dominates. Sunlight rarely reaches the frame, and when it does, it is momentary.
The shooting style is naturalistic: the camera follows the characters as if they are one of the witnesses. A cold tone dominates. Sunlight rarely reaches the frame, and when it does, it is momentary.
The camera mostly gives place to empty spaces, blurred shots, from tracks hidden in snow to the background of a cloudy sky. These spaces often “absorb” the characters, who remain as small spots on a huge white background, which reflects exceptionally well the characters' inner alienation and the severity of the crime. The camera does not seem to be trying to get closer to the truth, but on the contrary, it distances the viewer from the details.
The sound is always almost minimal - in many scenes only breathing, the sound of sliding in the snow or the whistling of the wind can be heard. When dialogues are heard, they often do not sound clean, not only in terms of plot but also technically, and the author seems to deliberately make us lose individual words in order to create ambiguity. Some dialogues, which are technically recorded at a low volume, can sound incomprehensible to the viewer, which present the film in a negative context.
Music is used very economically in this film. In these moments, it is not for catharsis, but to intensify internal tension, although this minimalism leaves the impression of emptiness. It is difficult to strengthen the content line when the audio space is almost completely silent.
The actor who plays Nika’s role, expresses his inner ambiguity with unusual accuracy. He is not a villain, but a confused, frightened participant of the terrifying action, who does not know how to protect himself. His tense gaze, nervous movements indicate that his conscience does not give him rest, but, at the same time, something mysterious appears in him. It seems that he has already decided internally that he must build his salvation on a lie. One can feel the internal conflict, shame, confusion and selfish fear in the actor's eyes, which gradually dominates. The truth is too painful for him, he does not have the strength to understand the responsibility instead, so he makes a decision and searches in the snow for the traces that he himself erased. Nika wants to create another version of the children's past conflict. This scene symbolically expresses how a person tries to shift the moral burden onto another, using the weak points of other individuals. This is an attempt to transform the truth so that it affects him less, although the truth does not change its form, it is only temporarily covered up. Nika shows the most painful side of human morality: where does responsibility end and the survival instinct begin? Is it possible to live without the truth, if conscience still reaches us, even if it is deeply buried. He does not have the courage to tell the simple truth.
Nata, as his partner and source of emotional support, appears as a countertype. The actress perfectly manages to wear a mask of coldness and calmness. She seems to be more pragmatic, more easily agrees to wrong steps, her restrained, calculated reactions are exactly what is needed at this moment.
The small roles - the pupils who appear during the interrogations- are also worthy of special mention. Their acting conveys a childish confusion, uncertainty and fear, which even more realistically portrays a system where no one listens to children as they should.
The appearance of the police was supposed to introduce tension that would break the silence and reveal the truth but it turns out that the police are not an effective force but a mechanical link that has neither interest nor ability. The police investigation is conducted as a formal, bureaucratic process that does not try to establish the truth, but is focused only on procedural completion. Questions remain at a superficial level. This atmosphere is especially intense in the scenes of the children’s interrogation, where the police seem to be observing but do not actually try to establish the truth. The investigation is conducted for peace but not for truth, there are not asked the questions: why was the pupil on the upper track? Why did no one see her? Why was she filming Nika?
As for Anna, she is no longer visible in the shot but she is felt everywhere. She wanted more freedom, even too much. She goes to the upper, forbidden track, films the coach, wants to get more than she has had. At the same time, she is a defenseless child who is doomed to be a victim from the very beginning.
Neither her parents nor the school appear in the story. The space seems to be completely closed off and responsibility is transferred only to the two people who can cover up and turn events upside down, which is why “Number 26” is not only a tragedy, but also a criticism of the entire system.
The director does not try to justify the characters, nor does she teach us morality. She looks at them from the sidelines and thinks: is there any reason to justify a crime? Is fear enough to avoid responsibility? Where is the line between human pity and responsibility? And how far will a person go to cover up something that he himself cannot fully understand?
One of the good metaphors is snow. Snow hides traces. It is white, pure and beautiful on the surface, but inside it hides violence, invisible oppression, the silence of frightened young people.
The film does not offer us a climax in the classical sense. Even without this, it seems that everyone understands what happened, but no one talks about it. Towards the end, there are empty spaces, a snowy path that no one walks on, not because the road no longer exists, but because the traces of the crime may have been covered up, but they are indelible in the mind.
In certain sections the visual minimalism can seem too slow despite the strength of the aesthetics. In some scenes, the shots drag on too much, without adding any emotional charge or carrying any new information. As a result, the rhythm of the film sometimes partially loses its charge.
There is a feeling that the film excessively avoids taking a specific position. The director seems to deliberately leave the assessment to the viewer, which is sometimes permissible and a good challenge but sometimes it is a transfer of responsibility from the author to the audience. The film can be perceived as an unfinished plot. It seems to consciously avoid acute tension and consequently, lose its content pace.
This film reminds us that not only the act but also its concealment can become a crime. We must think about the price of truth. It does not offer us answers, nor does it force us to choose between characters. The director does not try to teach us who was right and who was wrong. He tells us a story that everyone will understand in their own way, each viewer will draw a different conclusion.
Teona Vekua
