Objects of Desire and Subtle Beauty in Anishoara
Anishoara, Ana-Felicia Scutelnicu (2016)
Ana-Felicia Scutelnicu's Anishoara paints a simple and elegant portrait of one of Europe's poorest nations through the eyes of an adolescent girl. Life in this small Moldovan town is quaint and old-fashioned, almost suspended in space and time— sweeping scenic shots show the lush greenery and endless snow-covered mountains but give little indication that there is a more densely populated world outside. The film is divided by changes in seasons, which come and go inexplicably and mirror the gradual maturation within the main character, played by Anishoara Morari.
Anishoara's hometown is deeply rooted in long-standing traditions, a world she navigates with quiet observation— a soft-spoken and independent girl we watch come of age through a series of events over the course of one year, parts of which were based on the life of the actress who bears the same name. Along with her younger brother, Anishoara lives with a grandfather whose alcoholism sometimes prevents him from being a responsible guardian. Moldova's extremely high poverty rate contributes to its unprecedented levels of alcohol consumption, more than nearly any other nation in the world. This problem is explored subtly in Anishoara, filtered through the eyes of the next generation which is often forced to grow up quickly to care for their ailing elders. In fact, subtlety is the overall measure at which Anishoara excels. We can learn a surprising amount from fleeting moments of gestures and facial expressions in a film with minimal actual dialogue.
Anishoara, Ana-Felicia Scutelnicu (2016)
One striking scene features Anishoara's subdued but quietly passionate reaction to watching a stranger arrive on a bicycle, sit beside a bus, and carve and eat fresh watermelon. She observes him from no more than ten feet away while he pays little mind to her and continues about his business. Her piercing green eyes stay transfixed on him, even when he hops back on his bicycle and rides off into the sunset. They don't exchange words, we hear no romantic musical cue and Anishoara's expression remains neutral, but it was clear that this moment was one of her first experiences of real attraction. After he leaves, Anishoara looks at her reflection in the bus's broken rearview mirror and notices that her face was covered in dirt, something she probably would not have given much thought to otherwise. She quickly scrubs it away and frees her hair from the pigtails they'd been in. Insofar as pigtails are the ultimate aesthetic symbol of girlhood, choosing to take them out represents a symbolic rite of passage.
Not long after, a mysterious German tourist passes through town. Unlike the previous boy, this stranger exhibits predatory behavior toward Anishoara and the small town's other young girls. Before leaving, he gives Anishoara a flower crown attached to a veil, and stands behind her as she looks at her reflection—"You are wonderful. Beautiful." Up until that point, Anishoara seemed flattered by the gift but when she sees her reflection her smile fades: wearing suspiciously bridal headwear while being touched by a man twice her age. As the German leans in to kiss her, she immediately takes off.
The mirroring of these two early "romantic experiences" suggest a subtle maturity within the character, otherwise unseen to the eye. Both instances end with Anishoara looking at her own reflection—in the first, her feeling of attraction toward someone else compels her to view herself as an object of desire for the first time. In the second instance, Anishoara is an object of desire without her consent. Sexually maturing as a young woman involves both feelings of empowerment and vulnerability, a transition beautifully illustrated by the juxtaposition between these two moments, especially seeing as Anishoara's grandfather was sitting barely ten steps away during her encounter with the German man.
Anishoara, Ana-Felicia Scutelnicu (2016)