Sezonat na kanarchetata

A coalition of the mysteries and regrets of life, Canary Season is unblinking and disturbing. This realism is the film's power and it is one of the most powerful (and best) films ever made. Pasolini would have enjoyed. Hardship is redefined. No written amount of praise is enough.

This is not a great movie that will be remembered because of its cinematic merits; it suffers heavily from the low budget. But it would definitely deserve a remake, because it throws new light upon things that should never be forgotten. Leibniz said that we live in the best of all possible worlds. The deep tragedy, which is gradually unfolded, is that this is indeed true of the young boy, and even more of his mother.

The most important aspect of this film is the action and the events. First we see a family: mother (Lily), son (Malin) and the stepfather, with a poor relation between the latter two, although they avoid rather than fight each other. In one scene the man wants to make love and Lily defends herself. But the moment Malin tries to teach the stepfather a lesson, Lily very aggressively turns against her son.

Who was Malin's real father? Lily always refused to tell. But searching the house for cues Malin finally finds a love letter with a photo of Lily and a man (Ivan). Further search reveals that Ivan presently works at a youth correction school. Malin goes there. Standing outside the fence he intensively looks at Ivan, until the latter realises that he has an errand and opens the gate. They embrace each other, and Ivan says, 'You must excuse that I don't remember you. We have many hundreds.' A little later they sit down at a table with two glasses of beer, and Ivan says, 'Well, what can I do for you?' Malin is enraged by this reception, and when Ivan denies being his father he shows the evidence. But then comes the next piece of the puzzle. Ivan and Lily were indeed in love, but they never had any opportunity to sleep together. One night they met on the cemetery, but the home defence found them and cut their cloths to pieces. Soon afterwards Ivan was drafted into the army, and somehow the mother disappeared.

When Malin had found out that much, Lily no longer conceals the rest. She was raped by the son of a communist government official, and became pregnant. The People's Tribunal decided that the rapist and the raped should marry. Even in communist Bulgaria it was a shame to be an unmarried mother, so Lily resigned to her fate. However, the husband did not even attend the wedding ceremony and the wedding feast (although the marriage was no less legal for that reason). But after such an insult Lily refused to sleep with him. He revenged himself by imprisoning her in a concentration camp. There she witnessed another female prisoner being tortured to death. Later, she was confined to a mental hospital. But she made it clear to a young doctor that she would do anything for him, if he helped her out, and he accepted the deal.

Lily's freedom might not have lasted long, if she had posed as the respectable married woman she actually was. Better to conceal this. But the price was heavy. If she took a job at a real enterprise, her identity would be disclosed. Hence, she could only take whatever she could get of home work. Nor could she improve her economy by stealing from the enterprise (a pattern presented as perfectly normal). Lily had reason to be satisfied that any man would accept her at all.

And now we have come to the end of the road. COULD Lily have told the truth to her son without danger to both of them? Did she have any better option than the one she had chosen? But could Malin have any understanding for the continual strange behaviour of his mother, as long as he did not know her reasons?

Seldom seen outside of the Balkans, this initial post-Communist Bulgarian entry for Academy Award consideration is a cardinal achievement by its nation's film industry, as it happens not as a vehicle illustrative of peasant aspects of a totalitarian governmental structure, but rather for its high production values, as it offers able direction, acting, and cinematographic skills. Twenty year old Malin (Mikhael Dontchev), when released from prison, having been incarcerated for assaulting his stepfather whom he saw committing what he believed to be a sexual attack upon Malin's mother Lily (Plamena Getova), returns to her home to demand from her information concerning his true sire, along with other details of his own childhood. Old love letters exist written to Lily from her only true love, and when Malin comes upon them he believes that this must be his father but, after he discovers that the man is not, he forces his mother to relate a narrative of their early years when together, and of occurrences that she was anxious to keep from him until her son's apparent loathing of her stimulates a need to reveal dire secrets, hoping that they will explain why she had not been a good mother. Through well-crafted flashbacks, the tragic existence of young Lily (Paraskeva Djukelova) is shown, as her first love is drafted into the army, after which she is raped, impregnated and ignored by Ivan (Petar Popyordanov), a young Komsonol official who is as a result of his act sentenced by a people's court to marry her, prompting her mother-in-law to falsely accuse her of being a prostitute. Subsequently, a general air of futility mark's Lily's days as she is tortured and debased in a bizarre labour camp for women, committed to an asylum for the insane, and betrayed by friends and lovers, and Malin soon understands that he must decide if his mother should be censured for what may not in fact be emotional abandonment of him. Based upon actual events, and filmed in Sofia and upon Black Sea shores, this work, almost entirely financed by the Bulgarian government, is an ofttimes deliberately shocking denunciation of a totalitarian state (hardly astonishing since director Evgeni Mihailov is answerable for a recording that effectively served to overturn the governance of the final Communist prime minister) yet the essential substance of its vitality is to be found within well edited sequences of a moralistic aesthetic, portraying those whose lot is to live beneath a suppressive social order. The title comes from young Lily's expressed wish to toddler Milan that "someday we'll have two canaries", a hope soon abandoned due to the wall of silence imposed by the state's "correction efforts", depicted here in this incisively majestic film that is smartly paced, splendidly edited, with creative camera-work by cinematographer Eli Yonova, and memorable performances by the well-cast Getova and Djukelova who shared Bulgarian Film Society awards for best actress of the year, joining other winners Mihailov (best direction) and Popyordanov (best actor).