QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN
The central treatise of Vytautas Puidokas’s feature is that nature, religion and good spirits will tend to physical and emotional wounds. The movie is almost entirely set set in a rehabilitation centre for addicts and former inmates, situated inside a farm. This includes one teenager.
The place is run by Žanas, who welcomes 14-year-old Matas to the fold. Over the course of the work, Matas explores the memories and personal demons that have brought him to this point of truth. Scarred by a childhood of drug abuse and foster parents, Matas is initially reluctant to speak of his experiences. As a child, he enjoys the animals but struggles to accept everything else in his environment. But like many of the other patients, he speaks his truth to the camera, but the wounds never truly bounce off the screen. There are no montages of pained expressions, or desolate introspective facial gestures; just words. Although there is footage of cows, they do not boast any metaphorical importance. Like much else in Murmuring Hearts, the cattle stand around aimlessly and without a sense of purpose.
The feature is strong in aphorisms. The characters come up with some interesting theories on survival. “You know, joy is when you understand you have a problem,” it is revealed. This helps the people understand their prowess in their immediate geography. Happiness depends on the courage of the individual, and should a person take that step to contentment, they may find themselves in a world greater than any afterlife depicted in a book.
Inexplicably, Puidokas lacks a perspective on religion. Instead, it is documented fairly straight in a style that is non-judgemental. Considering the addictive nature of the persons in question, Puidokas decision to take a more neutral stance is a curious one, refusing the viewers further entry into the world inhabited on the big screen. In this instance the lack of directorial interpolation stands more as naivety at best. A more committed stance on the topic of religion – whether it proves a momentary distraction for inmates, or a more permanent sense of calm – proves absent.
Even more curiously, there is a scene in which a person repeatedly kicks a canine ahead of him. The latent violence is never explained; why is this dog being treated so shabbily? As it happens, the colour palette in the scene is fairly strong, melding a blood red sky with grey flooring. But it never successfully provides an answer to the scene’s existence.
It’s one stylistic exercise in an exhibition of talking heads. Conversations are based around the actions needed to gain personal fulfilment.”When I reach the fourth step, I might find out,” one chuckles. Matas gets some notable moments of introspection, explaining his journey to the camera. Murmuring Hearts feels like it was made for television: every camera angle is squared down, making the viewing experience seem quaint. In a farm full of animals and people in recovery, it’s curious to witness a movie that seems so petit in execution.
This documentary has potential, but is fundamentally unsubstantial. It’s an 80-minute run through of people discussing their pain, but never exploring it in enough detail. In other words, the viewer hears the agony, yet never truly feels the torment the central character goes through.
Murmuring Hearts premiered at the brand new Doc@PÖFF section of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.
