By Yun-hua Chen.
I believe that all characters possess innate sensibility, which surfaces when given a chance.”
—Elene Naveriani
“Do you realize how much beauty surrounds us? I wish to be alone, to do what I want, how I like, and when I like,” declares Etero, a 48-year-old woman from a small village in Georgia. Her view is unconventional and revolutionary, given her surroundings. As the wide-eyed owner of a grocery store, she enjoys her solitude and savors beauty in all its forms: foraging for blackberries, following the path of a blackbird even at the risk of tumbling into the water, listening to music on the radio, and basking in warm sunlight while starting to indulge in visceral pleasures.
In Elene Naveriani’s groundbreaking film, we are presented with the unadorned beauty of a middle-aged woman’s body – a sight so honest and so seldom seen on screen, even beyond the sociocultural domain of Georgia. She engages in conversations with fellow middle-aged village women who fail to grasp her lifestyle, yet their opinions do not sway her in the slightest; she yearns for her lover, but not at the expense of her autonomy and desires. Staying true to her intuition and her acute perception, she challenges conventional beauty standards. Etero’s perfect-pitch humor and sharp wit enable her to tackle judgmental remarks head-on. Unabashed in expressing her needs and steadfast against societal expectations, she emerges as one of the most inspiring female characters in contemporary cinema, a woman who embraces love yet refuses to sacrifice her freedom and autonomy – a refreshing portrayal of womanhood within an entrenched patriarchal society. Free as a bird, she defies the gendered constraints of society with courage to love and leave, and to be her authentic self.
Drawing inspiration from the eponymous novel, the film crafts an evocative sensory experience and an enriched auditory journey. Elene Naveriani demonstrates hypersensitivity to sounds, subtly depicting space and psychology through them. The film treats soundscape and landscape with equal sophistication while creating a harmonious interplay between the two, and it navigates weighty subject matter with a light-hearted touchand abundant humour.
In Sarajevo Film Festival, Film International talked with director Elene Naveriani about sounds, age, bodies, and the sense of invisibility in society after a certain age.
You have a keen sensitivity to environmental sounds. How do you approach sound design in Blackbird Blackbird Blackberry?
Sound design is indeed a favorite facet of mine in filmmaking and is of great importance. It creates magical moments by animating images, instilling a soul into the existing visuals. We can even alter the perception of objects with sound. Together with Philippe Ciompi, our sound designer for a decade, we relish in giving life to the sound, particularly enjoying the amplification of often-overlooked details like textile movement and tactile interactions. These subtleties define our characters, shape the film’s identity, and set the overall tone. We strive to embody all observed and unheard elements within our imagery, creating auditory experiences for things originally silent.
Sound also relates to space and location. Could you elaborate on that?
Absolutely. To me, when I go to a place, I would first listen to sounds, and those sounds can be inspirational. Buildings and landscapes are secondary to their sounds. We carefully design each scene to incorporate the unique acoustics of every location, emphasizing subtle, distinctive sounds that, although often unnoticed, are just there and ultimately impart a unique touch.
How did you select the location for this adaptation? How do the two art forms of literature and film communicate?
A novel typically leaves the setting ambiguous, hinted at through details. I embraced the challenge to explore the region. Georgia, like many countries, features diverse cultures across its various locales. I went to the region, roamed the streets, felt how towns are structure, what color palettes and sounds are, how people communicate with space. After extensive scouting in dozens of villages and a thoughtful reduction process, we found a village that resonated with our character’s temperament. Our production designer and I infused each location with an atmosphere congruent with the narrative while retaining genuine elements from the villages we explored.
Your film portrays a sensual, color-rich environment within a patriarchal society. How do you balance this duality?
This is an interesting question because the film is about that. I believe that all characters possess innate sensibility, which surfaces when given a chance. The main character Etero, somehow disliked but still loved by others, has something very true and real in her, and sharp senses that others don’t have. The villagers feel envious but, by fear of exclusion, are unable to express it. Yet Etero is not afraid of expressing herself. This contrast is there but very subtle.
A female character of that age is just something that you don’t talk about in Georgia. As we talked about before, it’s like you cease to exist after a certain age. The portrayal of a middle-aged woman with desires and senses, who’s still very much alive and full of longing, can challenge public discourse….”
The intimate scenes are particularly impactful. How did you establish trust with the actors?
We had long open dialogues. For me, it was the first time to orchestrate such scenes, so it was crucial for the actors and me to trust the process entirely. We began with theoretical discussions about bodily sensations, using words that could be perceived as crass to desensitize their impact. It was not physical at the beginning, but just talking. In the end, when the actors understand the act and the reasons behind, intimacy feels like sharing something with someone else. Afterwards, the inclusion of an intimacy coordinator for some days was instrumental in understanding how to work and what kind of trust we bring into the process. We discussed a lot about how to design the scene. I explained how I imagined the scene including gestures, mood, atmosphere and camera movement, so the intimacy coordinator worked together with the actors to choreograph this as a dance number instead of something awkward. It was completely consensual, of course. We checked how they felt and whether it was alright to touch a certain part of the body all the time, and discussed everything openly. On set, the mutual understanding between the actors and crew made it a comfortable and secure environment for these vulnerable moments.
You’ve showcased aging bodies in a beautiful light, a rare sight in film. Do you believe there’s a representational gap?
Absolutely. Society often regards bodies past a certain age as lacking relevance or beauty. I reject this notion wholeheartedly. I think these bodies are really beautiful. Every individual possesses a unique form of beauty that deserves recognition and space. This perspective is equally applied to male bodies, which face similar societal pressures as they age. The male protagonist in the film also struggles to accept his body, as he has a different relationship with virility and masculinity, so in a way I think it is fair to treat these bodies in an equal way. It’s empowering for all to understand that beauty is not confined to youth and that the natural aging process shouldn’t equate to invisibility. It’s not like you just stop existing because your body shape is changing.
Language plays a significant role in the characters’ relationships and the community. The protagonist has a distinct linguistic way of interacting with the world, doesn’t she?
She does indeed. Her storytelling is unique and serves as a tool for surviving and connecting in a world that often shuns open communication. This narrative tradition, a blend of speaking and listening, holds the community together. People tell stories to share gossips and community news although they might not love one another. In many ways, she’s bridging these gaps and making transitions that are characteristic for the village.
It seems the film is as much about her as it is about the community as a whole….
Precisely. By focusing on a microcosm like a village, we observe dynamics that might be lost in larger cities. The village setting becomes an archetype, allowing for deeper observation of societal structures and personal relationships. It’s in these intimate spaces that the film finds its focus, in terms of how people live, how they deal with the world around them.
Regarding generational differences, is there more openness among the young, as we see in Etero’s relationship with her friend’s teenage daughter?
The younger generation, indeed, is fascinated by Etero. They recognize her difference and find in her what they can’t in their own mothers: true and sparkly childishness, a dynamic kind of inner aura, and some noiseness. The younger generation is in the same situation as Etero, being stuck and trying to unstuck themselves from the established order.
How do you anticipate the Georgian audience will respond to the film?
Considering the novel’s controversial reception, I anticipate the film might also stir debate. A female character of that age is just something that you don’t talk about in Georgia. As we talked about before, it’s like you cease to exist after a certain age. The portrayal of a middle-aged woman with desires and senses, who’s still very much alive and full of longing, can challenge public discourse which insists that we are not like that and Georgian women are not like that. Looking at how the book was received, I think the film might irritate some people, but I also believe that it will empower some other people and spark constructive conversations.
Has the film’s premiere at Cannes opened doors for you?
Being at Cannes always opens doors. It’s a significant platform that boosts a film’s visibility within the industry, aiding in its journey to continue living and reach a wider audience. Some of my films did not go to any fancy film festivals and had a very different life. I think every story has its own path. Blackbird Blackbird Blackberry is beginning to reach a wider audience and I hope it has a longer life; today films tend to have a very short life.
The film shares its title with the novel. Is there a particular reason for the word arrangement and repetition?
I never asked the author about it; somehow I preferred to form my own interpretation. To me, the title echoes a nursery rhyme’s cadence, introducing Etero’s narrative. “Blackbird” and “blackberry” symbolize her world — her love, her poetry, her freedom. Blackbirds can’t be caged; they would kill themselves otherwise. Also, the title’s rhythm and repetition offer a poetic undertone to the film’s narrative fabric, color and movement. It is like a tale, a poem and a fairy tale.
Yun-hua Chen is an independent film scholar and critic and an editor of Film International Online.