Simindis kundzuli

Every year, the level of the Enguri River drops to uncover islands with fertile river-bottom soil. Locals can temporarily claim these islands for a season to grow a subsistence crop. An old man with one oar in an old wooden boat slowly makes his way to just such an island. He paces it off, digs the earth, tastes the soil, decides it will do, and marks his claim with a scrap of cloth on a stick. He leaves and then returns again and again, bringing supplies including scrap lumber to build a cabin with a thatched roof and then to plant corn with the help of his granddaughter who's in her early adolescence. Almost no words are spoken.

A big part of this film is thus man versus nature. Will nature allow the old man and his granddaughter to scratch a living from this transient plot of land? This part of the film might as well be prehistoric because it's so primitive. Intentionally so.

There's another part of the film caused by the island's location: in no-man's land between the warring country of Georgia and Abkhazia, a breakaway territory. This off-screen conflict brings soldiers from both sides into the film and we have man versus man versus man.

The film takes its time in all things. It's slaved to nature's pace and the growing corn. Things unfold slowly. Some of them aren't explained. That's the way it is in real life.

If you like artistic films with beautiful cinematography, this is a film for you. If you're looking for complex ideas and twisted plots, look elsewhere. This is a primal film about conflicts in nature, conflicts between men.

One of the main goals of art film is to depict life in its most pure, elemental state. Yet few art movies have managed to achieve that goal with as much grace and poetic depth as George Ovashivili's Corn Island. This immaculately composed film takes the viewers on a soul-touching journey into the desolate, breathtakingly beautiful wilderness of a small island in Georgia and perfectly captures the rhythm of nature and the relation between nature and the two main characters whose daily struggles are interweaved into the light, sound and motion of nature around them. Throughout the film, the viewer can't help but feel the life-like, natural quality of every picture and scene. There are no excessive details; everything is distilled into its most natural state. The image of the old man's granddaughter sitting on the boat with a bundle of shining reed under the crisp sunlight is a precise portrait of life itself. In essence, art has blended into life, and life into art. What is more remarkable is that the director has managed to convey this profound state of life without the help of dialogue. Perhaps one could argue that it is precisely the lack of dialogue that has made this film that much more powerful and moving. A scene in the beginning where the old man fondly looks at a little bird pecking at the wood conveys a sense of elegance that no language can easily convey. Even the intermittent gunshots we hear in the background and the discovery of a wounded soldier that temporarily disrupts the tranquility of the island do not lead the film to deviate from its original artistic path. On the contrary, the tension lurking in the background elevates the humanistic aspect of the film to a new height. In the end, every human gesture and activity is dissolved into the larger nature. What we are left with is a film that touches the depth of our soul with such simplicity and gracefulness that very few films can match.

I actually stumbled upon this film by accident. In my search for all things horror, I came across "Corn Island" somewhere. Maybe there is another "Corn Island" movie lurking about, but this definitely wasn't it. About 15 or 20 minutes in, when I realized that this wasn't horror, I kept it playing anyway because it did seem interesting.

Really, it was almost a silent feature as the characters didn't speak much. What intrigued me was the Georgian setting, the picturesque cinematography, the backdrop of war, and the whole idea about planting corn on an island year after year. Acting all around was good, too.

When I was younger I spent a lot of time watching foreign language dramas from France, Russia, Turkey, Japan, Belgium, Germany, the Netherlands and other places. I think it's time to give films from Georgia my full attention, too, since they seem to rate so high right here on IMDb.

Every year the Enguri River drops to reveal small fertile islands. Because the river marks the natural border that separates Georgia from Abkhazia, these islands are unclaimed territory. Peasants come every year to live on them during the growing season, attempting to harvest enough corn to survive the winter. Two problems face them; the fact that the two nations have been in some form of conflict since the 90's and the rising waters of the Enguri.

Clearly influenced by the likes of Dreyer and Bela Tarr, Director George Ovashvili's slow-burning, minimalist thriller takes place entirely on and around one of these tiny islands. We follow an old man, referred to only as Grandpa, and his grand-daughter as they methodically bring supplies to the island and construct a small shack. They will have to live on this island in order to tend to and protect their little patch of corn.

The film is low on plot and with nearly no dialogue and yet the sweeping cinematography gives the film an epic tone. This island means everything and nothing. The river creates and the river destroys. The island is a microcosm of man against nature, of the political instability of the region and of life itself. The amount Corn Island is able to achieve with so little is commendable.

A grand achievement, Corn Island hints at a bright future for Georgian cinema and puts George Ovashvili on the radar as a director to watch.

Every spring the Inguri River, which forms the boundary between Georgia and Abkhazia, washes down rocks and soil creating tiny islands. Local peasants leave the riverbanks for the firm, fertile island soil to grow corn through the summer before they are eroded away by winter. Georgia's submission for Best Foreign Language Film Corn Islanddirected by George Ovashvili follows a nondescript ageing farmer and his naive granddaughter as they migrate to an island and cultivate a year's crop. During such time, border patrols from both Georgia and Abkhaz pass by, causing tensions to rise between each other while the protagonists are caught in the middle.

Corn Island provokes an idea most memorable in the finale of Jean Renoir's The Grand Illusion – this illusion being the definitions of land ownership. Through nature's creation of a temporary island and then the Old Man's claim of his own little country, the film poetically points out the irrationality of conflict over differences from being born on different pieces of land. It's thoroughly profound, but one only teased in the otherwise sparse film. Ovashvili's approach is very reminiscent of the work of Ki-duk Kim, especially Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring, with the tranquil relationship with nature, meditative pace and limited dynamics, but equal in their beauty.

The narrative is procedural, simply watching the characters build a hut, plant the seeds and farm the crop. It's lethargic, but engaging. For the most part, the characters are blank slates, but it's about what they represent. It's all about the elements, and they're always fragile and unbalanced, as the film works on the natural tension of impending and inevitable expiration. Tensions do rise when the soldiers pass by in the boats, and there is character development with the granddaughter, who's in the throes of puberty. As she catches their eye and they to her, her internal conflict about her desires for outsiders illustrates the fateful and fatal sparks between nations.

The film's elegance is owed to the precise and impressive aesthetics. Veteran Hungarian cinematographer Elemer Ragalyi's serene gliding photography captures the world on a grand but desolate scale. In essence, the film is a soundscape, with no dialogue and hardly any score until near the end. The sharp sound work creates a palpable atmosphere like last year's All is Lost. The film does suffer in its rare moments of dialogue as Ovashvili is more confident in the naturalistic poetry of man against man and man against nature but those scenes don't drag the film down. Corn Island is a slow-burning but well-executed thought- provoking film that's worth watching, especially for fans of art cinema on the lookout for fresh faces.

8/10

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