The opening credits scene is presented with a frenetic score and restless editing between urban embellishments of a hide-and-seek game and stray cats, setting the tone for what will be an uncompromisingly personal film. Koberidze’s vision is one full of dry humanism. He uses the unpolished aesthetic as a shield from melodramatic tropes of any possibilities of romantic cinematisations of Georgian populist culture.
The film focuses on Irakli, played by Koberidze’s father, David Koberidze, and his search for his missing 28-year-old daughter, Lisa, a solitary photographer who captures football stadiums around rural Georgia. Lisa left a brief, cryptic, and apologetic letter before her disappearance. This means that despite her parents’ worries, they cannot proceed with a police case since she is of age and has described her departure. After a month, her father decides to embark on this hunt for Lisa, tracing her steps by traveling from stadium to stadium across the country. After receiving a helpful map from Lisa’s boss, Irakli acquires the support of Levani, Lisa’s long-time friend and colleague… who just so happens to be invisible. Together, they visit a medley of small villages and their respective football stadiums to hopefully intercept Lisa.
In comparison to Koberidz’s previous film What Do We See When We Look At The Sky (2021), Dry Leaf is a confidently confrontational entry into Koberidze’s filmography. Beyond the intimidating runtime of just under 190 minutes, the film also embraces a type of cinematography that has the same quality as vintage home video or faded CCTV footage. Barely less blurry than Hong Sang-Soo’s In Water (2023). However, whereas Sang-Soo kept the film at 60 minutes and asked audiences to interpret the out-of-focus scenery as a continuation of his cinematic emphasis on the abstract possibilities within domestic realism, Koberidze maintains this image quality throughout all three hours and doesn’t offer as clear-cut of a rationale behind this inherently divisive choice.
In a way, Dry Leaf is a spiritual return to his debut feature Let the Summer Never Come Again (2017), which also employed this washed-out low-resolution approach. The latest movie pushes the capability of this format to new lengths. Fear not, this is not gratuitous shock value. In reality, this cinematography is visually staggering. The central narrative gives the director the excuse to float around the Georgian countryside with excitement. The images are expressionistic and vivid despite the fact they are presented in 240p quality, It is impressive that Koberidze is this precise in his exploration of bucolic symbolism. The titular dry leaf has a surreal presence throughout.
Moreover, Dry Leaf shows an unpretentious curiosity about the formation of Georgian national identities and attempts to create a cinematic vernacular for the upcoming Georgian new wave. Koberidze, as the sole writer, director, and cinematographer, is in full control. This film gives him the go-ahead to indulge in all his flaneur tendencies. Koberidze expresses a boundless love for all the eccentric (visible or invisible) characters and still life that populate the Caucasus.
Magical realism is a style difficult to convert into low-budget DIY filmmaking without looking amateurish. the director’s approach is admirably blunt and humorous, having Irakli clumsily attempt to talk to an invisible character, or shaking an invisible hand. Otherwise, the endeavour is rather realistic.
Despite its unconventional presentation, Dry Leaf could be categorised as a comedy. Koberidze’s humour is deadpan, with a little levity and sweetness thrown in for extra flavour. Once you adjust to the glacial pacing, the film catches you off guard with hilarious visual gags and clever writing. Koberidze’s casting choise of his father for Irakli is compelling: there is a familial and tender tone written into the character. Throughout his adventures in these football villages, we learn more about his peculiar contradictions and convictions. Koberidze portrays those with confidence , as if he was re-enacting old memories to an audience of adoring grandchildren. Even amongst the intoxicatingly inscrutable humour of it all, David brings an angle of empathy and sentimentality to our protagonist. The task of acting against an invisible character is not easy, still the actor executes it with the appropriate amount of earnestness, to the extend that audiences begin to distinguish the mannerisms and personality of the person they never see.
This is a truly novel viewing experience, one that introduces a Georgian national cinematic identity methodically, whilst never losing its ghostly allure. The technical wizardry has a rebellious spirit.
Dry Leaf premiered at the 78th edition of the Locarno Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Also showing in the Tallinn Black Nights. The UK premiere takes place at the 69th BFI London Film Festival.
