The ghosts of never-ending war and destruction haunt Rusudan Glurjidze’sHouse of Others, overwhelming every abandoned corner of a ravaged town in rural Georgia. Gloomy and unkind, it’s filled with the type of desolation and helplessness that often pervades films about the devastating human effects of such obnoxious atrocities. Rarely is that atmosphere articulated as well though, with Gluridze offering up a striking, semi-autobiographical tale that connects two families from the opposing sides of a disastrous conflict, watching as they try and piece together some semblance of a life under an oppressive air where there are no winners and losers.
Set in the disconnected region of Abkhazia, the film’s solemn opener introduces us to Astamur (Zurab Magalashvili) and Liza (Olga Dykhovichnaya), refugees of war who are being relocated to a near-empty village by the opportunistic Ginger (Malxaz Gorbenadze), a man who profiteers from trauma. Accompanied by their two children, this family is from the “winning” side of this two-year civil war, sold the right to occupy a dilapidated villa that has been hastily abandoned by its former owners, a family from the “losing” side. Ginger’s spiel about the beauty of the landscape and boasts about rich tangerines that grow nearby feels hollow and meaningless.
Almost instantly cinematographer Gorka Gómez Andreu proves to be one of the film’s most valuable tools, slowly scanning each room as Liza’s family arrives to the house, maintaining a slow and steady pace that feels at one with the incredibly detailed spaces in which these quiet dramas unfold. Andreu patiently pans with restraint, ends sentences with long lines of speechless dots as the camera slowly zooms out from certain happenings, letting things sink in while they fade off into the distance. Here, Andreu is very much providing the necessary punctuation to this poetic and eerie muse on the silent traumas of war, and the visuals are all the richer for it.
Watching Liza and Astamur move into the neighbourhood is the passive aggressive Ira (Salome Demuria), a suspicious gun-toting eccentric who lives in a larger house with her sister Azida (Ia Sukhitashvili) and curious niece Nata (Ekaterine Japaridze). Neighbours or invaders, how Ira sees the new family could go either way, but it seems like the latter idea is more applicable when she observes their arrival with a strict expression through high-powered binoculars, a perspective later used to faux-snipe pesky obnoxious soldiers on the streets.
After unsteady receptions and empty exchanges between Liza and Ira, Liza’s son Leo (Sandro Khundadze) beings to shape the film’s innocence with his desperate crush on Nata. These two fast friends exemplify one of the more sinister tragedies of war: the inability to connect. The fleeting inability to love or be loved, to make meaningful connections and to live a happy life when the very location you are occupying is rotting with death and decay, that’s the highly affecting shot House of Others takes, aiming straight for the heart of anyone who has lived through such a situation, and building sympathy from those who haven’t. And those who haven’t may find a hard time connecting to this film – I sure did – in it’s initial stages, us being unable to fully empathise with what is reality for many people in war-ravaged countries.
The mood is very much in-line with a misty vintage ghost story, an intentional effect it seems. From the gloomy ambiance and slowly-revealed corners of houses that feel empty even though they are occupied, to the misty orchards where unspeakably pathetic men exploit their position, every inch of this film is haunted with the hand of war, and it’s the very human characters that pay the price.
Review Score: FOUR STARS (OUT OF FIVE)
Running Time: 102 minutes
House of Others is screening as part of Sydney Film Festival. For more information and tickets click HERE.
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