QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN
Kalju is erecting a 19-metre-high observation tower. Building the structure entirely from scratch, Kalju has opted for a holistic root, favouring the methods of the past in an effort of completing the project. As it happens, he has convinced himself of the value, pushing himself to greater heights; literally and metaphorically.
Much of it is set in the snow, where the only sounds are motorbikes racing across unencumbered roads. Kalju has opted for a life of solitude, which is evident from the way he follows a hermitesque path in the icy terrain. He hears a woman over a recording admit, “I don’t want to work from payday to payday.” As the feature unfolds, elements of his background become more digestible and he emerges at the end an idiosyncratic, fragile human as opposed to a maverick hell bent on spending his days adrift from the material world.
The central figure in this feature is almost as opaque as the Scottish recluse in Bogancloch (Ben Rivers, 2024). In both narratives, viewers are submerged in an environment far from the trappings of metropolitan life. Viimne’s focus in Torn is the gorgeous scenery, picturing the transitions from white Winter to sublime Spring. In this manner, the spectators experience Kalju’s odyssey in good times and bad. It’s an exercise in detail, concentrating on the whole spectrum of emotions, tastily conveyed through colour.
He’s pictured on his tractor, content with his surroundings; billowing, blossoming trees all over the place. But behind those eyes stems an intense sadness. In one sobering monologue, Kalju recalls visiting his daughter , before halting himself. “I should not read out these memories,” he sighs, his voice a step away from tears. Rather he distracts himself to the sounds of “O mio babbino caro”,his mind focused on the bustles of chordal swoops in the aria.
Talking about old-school, the desks are littered with cassettes; nary an i-pod in sight. There are books all over the domicile, and the house is fuelled by a sorrow for a child who lives offscreen. “Dad will be waiting in his nest while he still has the strength,” comes an inscription, an invitation to re-connect with a treasure far greater than the Estonian countryside. Heroically, he continues to climb up the tower he has constructed with his two hands.Meditative, creative and concise, Kalju turns his private turmoil into something more concrete and malleable.
Between Viimne and Kalju have created a tantalising alternative for yoga lovers and anti-materialists to congregate under one methodological mindset. By creating something from scratch, humans are capable of great feats of ingenuity; a transmission of grief that goes beyond the intellectual capabilities of virtually any other animal species. Sometimes, we don’t need gadgets, giddy adventures or gossip to flesh out the emptiness in our hearts; we just need to take care of ourselves.
By the time the documentary comes to an end, it’s safe to say that Kalju is a more rounded, well-developed person to the silent, odd recluse at the beginning. His life direction is a strange, singular one, symbolising a personal growth as a figure of nature, culture and intellect. Yet behind this hairy man stands a grand selection of trees, a tapestry of woodwork. Humans are meant to interact with their domain, much as the geography drives the creatures that inhabit it. It’s this exchange that has kept the earth afloat for centuries; millennia even. Individually, we are torn. As a unit, we remain intact.
Torn just premiered in the brand new Doc@PÖFF at the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.
