Time seems to stand still in the silent depths of the mountains, and every second feels like a century. Somewhere beyond the nine mountains, people’s lives are no longer subject to the modern rhythm. They live the way heroes in fairy tales do: in silence, rituals and mystery. Levan Tutberidze’s film “Beyond the Nine Mountains” (“The Village”, 2015) takes us on a journey through this very space, to a Georgia where reality is blurred by mythology and every shot is filled with invisible significance.
“Beyond the Nine Mountains” is one of the purest and unusually sweet and sorrowful works of Georgian cinema. This is not a film that directly conveys an event or teaches us something, it makes us think and immerses us in a mythological world.
The action takes place in a small village of the mountainous Georgia. English photographer Amy (Crystal Bennett) arrives in Georgia with her Georgian beloved (Tornike Bziava). Their relationship is strained, and in order to mend it, they follow a folklore researcher (Misha Gomiashvili) to a village cut off from time. It is a space where reality is closely intertwined with ancient myths and folklore. There, Amy meets the mysterious Kopala (Tornike Gogrichiani), a man who gradually takes on the character of a mystical figure.
Tutberidze does not offer a classic love story. Amy and Kopala’s relationship is a metaphor for cultural clash and estranged relationships. This is not a romantic story with a beginning and an end. The main goal of the film is to bring folklore and mythology to life in modern reality.
Levan Tutberidze noted in one of his interviews: “The main thing for me was not to tell a story, but to create a mood where the viewer feels that something important is happening, even if they don’t know what exactly.” This vision is completely consistent with the structure of the film: what is important here is what is not said, what is not seen in the camera, but is felt.
This is one of those rare films where the action unfolds almost wordlessly. The dialogues are few and symbolic. The characters are often silent, and this silence says more than words. The visual language comes to the foreground and creates a spiritual space for the audience. The camera moves slowly, unhurriedly. It seems that nothing is happening, but in this nothingness an invisible philosophy is revealed. Tutberidze’s strength is that he says nothing directly, although his every shot is saturated with mythological tension.
At the beginning of the film, when Amy first arrives in the village, she comes across an unfamiliar environment: the everyday life of the village seems to unfold outside of time. The locals almost do not speak to her, there is an unclear tension between them. This scene from the very first minutes creates a line of cultural and internal alienation between Amy and the environment.
Just as Kopala appears in Amy's life, so this film also appears to the viewer, as if from another world. The slow rhythm of the narrative and the non-standard plot give it a specific depth. This work is a conveyance of mood, atmosphere and psychological intensity. It is for those who can understand the meaning of silence.
One of the central figures of the film, Kopala, is not just a character, but an archetype. He is unknown and rude, as if devoid of violence, although something charming and mysterious is hidden in him. Kopala is a force shrouded in mist, which simultaneously evokes fear, awe, interest and obedience.
This figure is associated with the mythical hunter in Georgian mythology - Kopala, who is the patron deity of hunters. He archetypically represents a mediator between the animal and human worlds, a force that connects the natural and supernatural environments. Tutberidze uses this figure not in a religious or fairy-tale sense, but as a code. Kopala is a representative of the myth, he almost does not speak, but his appearance tenses the environment, just as in myth, his appearance means a turning point.
The attitude of the villagers towards Kopala is particularly important throughout the film. They show distrust towards him, as if they perceive his presence as a threat. Their internal resistance, sometimes even childish, is emotionally the most truthful and is one of the main lines of the film.
The most important theme of this work is time, which is not a chronological unit, but a state of being. Here two radically different worlds are presented - one is Amy's, which is devoid of the rules dictated by modernity, and the other is a village that strictly preserves traditions and seems to be shrouded in a tinge of fantasy. Such a Western and Oriental confrontation leads to internal chaos, which Amy realizes only when it collides. She does not understand that it is impossible to change the old in one day and that one person is not able to oppose the centuries-old unity of traditions.
The film is a kind of conflict between the city and the village, progress and traditions. Amy's urban vision, which seeks freedom and functional efficiency, collides with a space where ritual and tradition are an integral part of life. The director does not give moral superiority to either side, but he does emphasize that what seems outdated to us may turn out to be very valuable.
There is a moment in the film when one of the villagers says: “If you come here, you have to stay here.” This phrase describes not only the physical isolation, but also the situation that is created around Amy. This phrase clearly expresses the static, almost ritualistic nature of the world, where everything is ceremonial. In such a world, the appearance of a stranger can be a disruption.
The characters in the film often appear as background figures. Their inner worlds are not fully revealed on screen, which, in some cases, hinders the establishment of an emotional connection between the audience and the characters. The film's slow pace and plot structure may not draw the audience in as much. In addition, the in-depth focus on the details of rural life may be incomprehensible to viewers who are unfamiliar with it.
Giorgi Shvelidze's cinematography is impressive. The landscapes and the observation of the characters from a distance emphasize their smallness and the scale of their existence. The camera is often static, as if looking at an empty space, but it is in this emptiness that the synthesis between mythology and reality is revealed. The film score, composed by Zaza Miminoshvili, plays a crucial role. It skillfully blends traditional motifs and modern electronic elements. In some scenes, music replaces dialogue - where words cannot cover the emotion, music speaks. Aka Morchiladze's script is outstanding. Details are crucial in his narrative. The characters, the environment, and the tension between them create a clear conflict and a multi-layered possibility of interpretation.
Levan Tutberidze managed to bring mythological and human dimensions into one space. This is not a film that provides answers. On the contrary, it raises questions, takes us back to our roots, and makes us look at reality, traditions, and modernity with different eyes. This is an attempt to see a world that still lives in ancient beliefs, where a person talks to the mountain, listens to the wind, and gets used to his solitude as if it were everyday life. Nothing is said intelligibly in it, but everything is clearly felt.
Teona Vekua
