(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
In an early scene in the documentary The Dazzling Light of Sunset, which won the award for best debut film during the documentary film festival Visions du Reel in Switzerland this spring, captures the camera's gaze on a pastel blue sea against a pale sky, surrounded by mountains and trees. But when we look it in the eye, we can make stitches in the landscape, and we soon realize that what we are looking at is a loss, a faded and worn loss.
The Dazzling Light of Sunset
Directed by Salomé Jashi
Georgia / Germany, 2016
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This optical illusion frames the office of journalist Dariko Beria, and serves as an indicator of what's to come. Together with his colleague, Dariko works for the local TV channel in a Georgian village, and together they spend the days filming and reporting on big and small events happening in the region. Most often they are small: A new and decorative pavement has been laid in one of the village's streets; a farmer has caught a rare owl; a XNUMX-year-old beauty pageant has been launched; a wedding has taken place. Dariko is there to capture it all, but it is not through her camera that we are presented with these scenes – she remains in the foreground, as part of the story the documentary tells. As we follow her through work everyday, we see situations unfold at a comfortable distance – the camera is static, and through the lack of voice-over or other explanatory elements, we are encouraged to observe the stylized tableaux, look for details and draw our own conclusions .
Staging. Dariko's presence in the film indicates that she is not only a vantage point, but also part of the life the documentary is trying to capture. At the same time, her presence makes it clear that much of what is happening in front of her appears inauthentic, practiced. The documentary filmmakers have made an interesting move here: They are often present long before things start properly, and thus get all the rounds of practice, terping and preparation. Before the beauty pageant, the stressed organizers run around the room, the curse words fly, the girls are teased to go down a catwalk, they are stiff and uncomfortable, a man stands on the sidelines and shouts that they look like ducks walking in a row. But when the event is underway and the winner is announced, there are the later moments of rehearsed moves, smiles and talking Dariko catches with his camera.
As a filmmaker or journalist you are powerful: With the right cuts and angles, and in later editing sessions, you can choose how things are made.
The staging feels eternally present in the film's content and imagery – it is striking how much of the documentary's scenography is at this point. Monitors, or screen-like objects, constantly encapsulate people in new ways, and these frameworks go again: the white wall behind a half-drawn stage curtain, the greenscreen Dariko sitting in the front of the news studio, the mirror hanging in their office. As a filmmaker or journalist, one is powerful: using the right
slices and angles, and in later editing sessions, one can choose how things are made. In a scene where Dariko sits with her colleague and edits the footage from the beauty pageant, this dynamic becomes clear. We follow them first from the inside, at the computers, before we see them through a window from the editing room and out to the office, framed. This is in line with the aforementioned staging theme, but we soon also understand that the documentary's focus is on journalism as such and its independence in this small Georgian community. Perhaps the freedom of the fourth state power is also an illusion?
Folk dance and Gangnam style. The filmmaker himself has compared Dariko's position in the film with Vergil's role in Dante Alighieris The Divine Comedy: a wizard who, by taking his audience on a journey, brings us to a higher level of recognition. The coexistence of people, traditions and cultural impulses is also experienced as a microcosm, but it seems that Dariko himself is coming to new confessions at the end of the film. When, at one point in the film, she receives criticism from two journalist colleagues who blame her for covering the governor's corrupt actions, we understand that she too is free in what and how she reports. The TV channel is also under pressure, we realize later: there are new times, everything has to be digitized, and kroner scrolling from the inhabitants does not seem to be the rescue. It is indicated that it is important to be with the politicians in order for the TV channel to survive.
The film's director, Georgian Salomé Jashi, is an educated journalist himself. The journalistic method she puts forward in her documentary is to let things play out at her own pace, apparently without interfering or asking questions. This is how she also shows a cross-section of the small Georgian society: Through many facets of everyday life and celebration, perhaps more than any other distinction between tradition and new impulses is highlighted. In several scenes that contain performances and performances of music or dance, Georgian folk are set against eurotrance, traditional dance against Gangnam style.
Show, don't tell. The tragicomic in the various scenes, in the careful uncovering of the shortcomings of social structures, is reinforced by the documentary's observant, non-commentary style – we want to laugh, but it is something that is contradictory. Here is some of the greatness of Jashi's little documentary, alongside her accomplished scenography and imagery: By doing most implicitly, she leaves the critical work to us. See for yourself, is what she says, but look closely. Can you see past the illusion?
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