QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

A beautiful woman in her early 20s (Anastasia Shemyakina), with long blue braids and a killer smile, meets a handsome male (Daniil Gazizullin) of around the same age. She is Ukrainian, while he is Russian. They are both deaf. He approaches her in a cafe after seeing her communicate through sign language with a friend or relative on her computer. The setting are the spectacular streets and the hills of the Turkish capital, overlooking the Bosphorus and the sea. The country choice is not random. Turkey is one of the few European countries to boast a good relationship with both warring nations.

The young lovebirds embark on whirlwind summer romance, with abundant sex and alcohol. They seem mostly oblivious to the ongoing conflict, which may have claimed up to one million victims. The television announces the latest war developments in detail as they kiss. They remain oblivious to the reporting because they cannot hear it. One day, the man catches the woman apparently listening to something on her mobile, and he begins to doubt her disability. He repeatedly tests her by playing loud music and clapping from behind, but is able to reach a clear conclusion;. He never confronts her, instead allowing suspicion to prevail.

This brief and concise 81-minute film uses deafness in order to explore the topics of national allegiance, reconciliation and selective communication. As we begin to doubt the real intentions of the Ukrainian woman, Russian director Boris Guts throws our notions of solidarity into question. We hear about the horrors on the war on both sides, as the filmmaker seeks to comment on the absurdity of the conflict and – most crucially – on the fact that both sides only listen to the news that we want. That he does masterfully, with a very allegorical development, representing selective hearing and dialectics. Russians, Ukrainians, Israelis, Arabs, or anyone else: we are all wrapped inside a bubble, and we carefully select the information that supports our agenda.

This Serbian-Estonian productions boasts some very strong allegorical developments, a fiery anti-war message, and two talented leads. Yet this is not a movie without shortcomings. The music score is very bizarre, featuring abundant thumping, micro-beats, creepy chanting and gurgling. It sounds like a bad Björk album (minus the screaming). And it feels strangely disconnected from the story. Audio tricks intended to question our protagonists’ ability to hear instead confuse viewers. Some of the symbolisms are very lame, even cringey: never-ending stairs represent the protraction of war, while fucking represents military aggression. A pointlessly provocative ending too prevents this very inventive tale from reaching its full potential.

The selection of Deaf Lovers raised quite a few eyebrows, and some media were quick to criticise the Festival for pandering to Vladimir Putin’s Russia. This accusation is both inaccurate and empty. Inaccurate because the director Boris Guts is a dissident (he fled Russia shortly after the 2022 invasion) and the movie is unequivocally anti-war. And empty because film has the power to unite, to heal, and to overcome geopolitical differences. There is no reason why PÖFF shouldn’t show films made with Russian money, in the same way they show state-funded Israeli films (good movies such as this one). The criticism bestowed upon the Festival is both misguided and undue.

Deaf Lovers just premiered in the Official Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.