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What Do We See When We Look At the Sky? (Alexandre Koberidze, 2021)
🕑 Added 2022-01-06 19:30:32 +0000 UTC
While there's no question that Koberidze's second feature film is one of the most formally accomplished cinematic works of 2021, I still find myself having some difficulty embracing it. I suspect that part of why it has struck such a chord with cinemphiles is that in addition to exhibiting a rigor that at times resembles the avant-garde at its most rarefied -- Nathaniel Dorsky and especially Robert Beavers -- it is also an unavoidably personal work, displaying a highly idiosyncratic sensibility. But it's on that point -- Koberidze's aesthetic worldview -- that I find myself a bit tripped up.
What Do We See When We Look At the Sky? (or რას ვხედავთ როდესაც ცას ვუყურებთ? if you're nasty) is a narrative film of sorts. Its basic container (can't really call it an overarching theme) pertains to a couple of would-be lovers, pharmacist Lisa (Oliko Barbakadze) and footballer Giorgi (Giorgi Ambroladze), who are magically transformed by a curse, becoming unrecognizable to themselves, each other, and everyone else. In addition, Lisa-Prime (Ani Karseladze) has been stripped of her medical knowledge, and Giorgi-Prime (Giorgi Bochorishvili) can no longer play football. So eventually, they both unknowingly end up working at the same outdoor bar, befriending the owner (Vakhtang Panchulidze) and settling in to this strange, altered reality.
This evil-eye switcheroo is a pretext, of course, but one that makes clear exactly where Koberidze stands with respect to his protagonists and the film as a whole. After some initial shock, Lisa-Prime and Giorgi-Prime just ease into this altered state of affairs. If the film were concerned with questions of subjectivity, we'd be facing down an existential crisis. Two of the fundamental markers of the self -- outward appearance and profession -- have been torn away from this potential couple, but a warm, affable vibe of enchantment forestalls the psychosis that should ensue.
Koberidze's sun-dappled humanism is surely appealing to the arthouse crowd, accustomed as we are to cynicism and hamstrung social critique. Near the end of the film, Koberidze's voiceover overtly chides those viewers who would be so jaded as to take exception to What Do We See's fanciful premise, calling us out for being uncooperative, unwilling to embrace the good-vibes-only atmosphere he's created. Whereas other filmmakers (Buñuel, Oliveira, Breillat) have employed magical realism to reveal certain crises in the human psyche and the social fabric more generally, Koberidze basks in gentle, it's-only-a-movie gamesmanship, and at times this can feel a bit condescending.
I will admit, part of my resistance to What Do We See has to do with the director's intrusive, illustrative narration. While this is a technique that probably first gained traction with Godard, his role was that of an external critic, reshaping our perspective on what we're seeing and hearing. But Koberidze, much like other current director-narrators Miguel Gomes and Mariano Llinás, explicates story elements and subtexts that cannot be gleaned from the film as such, inching the film uncomfortably close to an illustrated short story. Obviously this is a Me Problem, since Gomes, Llinás, and now Koberidze are considered cinematic heroes, re-inventors of a moribund narrative form.
Still, this tendency to over-direct the viewer, combined with a relative indifference to the ramifications of the basic premise, suggest that Koberidze's true concerns lay somewhere else. What Do We See displays an immaculate treatment of light and shadow, a meticulous organization of the frame into lines and volumes, and above all a willingness to stop the film dead in its tracks to linger on faces in close-up. What's more, Koberidze makes stunning use of the the flowing Rioni River and other physical features of his location, the Georgian town of Kutaisi. Still lives, portraits, and landscapes are the real stuff of What Do We See, and it is here that Koberidze excels. So why not just make a non-narrative experimental film? I know the answer, of course, and that's why my admiration for this film is tempered with some very real reservations.
