A Kyrgyz Path for ‘Auteur Cinema’: Chingiz Narynov’s Mergen

Based on the program of the Bishkek International Film Festival, Kyrgyz cinema appears to have embarked on a path where the search for national expression and its identity is advancing alongside the appropriation of global cinema models and the creation of a native film industry. This projection not only aims to be sustainable through its commercial appeal among its own audiences but, at the same time, to establish itself as a paradigm for the larger Central Asian context in which it operates and also to open spaces in the international market and festivals.

A good example of the above is Mergen, by director Chingiz Narynov, a feature film that, not surprisingly, won twice, both in the section dedicated to Central Asian cinema and in the award given by the FIPRESCI jury. Plot-wise, the death of a hunter and the investigation by the local police officer, a solitary man tormented by his inner trauma, amidst a snowy mountain landscape, evoke strong echoes of the Nordic thriller trend. But the film’s prologue also emphasizes the cultural and historical setting, describing the moment in which the town of Mergen emerged, driven by the developmental ambitions of the Soviet era as an ore-mining site.

At first glance, superficially, Mergen appears to be just another crime film, repeating the commonplaces of the upright individual and representative of the law facing the archetypal villain, embodied by the ambitious businessman whose corruption network pulls the strings in the area. However, it acquires greater depth with the portrayal of Mergen and its inhabitants. Through the deployment of several secondary characters and their own conflicts, Narynov places us in the evolution from past to present of a population that exemplifies how traditional ways of life were eroded during Kyrgyzstan’s time as part of the Soviet Union, and how the dismemberment of the USSR resulted in the loss of economic support and social significance for these population centers, conceived as a mid-urban and mid-rural landscape, in the style of Mergen.

From this perspective, the town of Mergen would be the true center of this story, a collective protagonist, whose members have either returned to hunting and fishing and the sustenance of nature, or migrated to the cities. However, its survival, or its future rebirth, seems to depend on only two alternatives: offering itself, for its glaciers and mountains, for its wildlife, home to the mythical snow leopard, as a privileged tourist destination, as suggested by a clever young man in a scene from the film; or return to the extraction of its resources, as the mature and sinister local entrepreneur has decided.

However, this is merely one way to understand Narynov’s film; a reading, let’s say, of strict ‘sociological realism’. Mergen is more than that, because it takes its time in the psychological exploration of all its characters, unfolding motivations ranging from economic necessity to the pursuit of affection, from the chieftain’s rapacious greed to his lover’s (or trophy wife’s) desire for motherhood, from the policeman’s stubborn hunt for the truth to his inner reconciliation with his father and the acceptance of his psychic powers.

This quality of the main character leads us to another dimension of the story told: the deliberate break from stark realism to burst into the free realms of the fantastic. This rupture also involves narrative replay, a twist on temporal linearity, and the reconstruction of history that the viewer is forced to undergo when the director introduces a ‘time machine’ mechanism, returning to the past to avoid a major tragedy, represented here by the death of a little girl.

In his first feature film, the Kyrgyz filmmaker has managed to conceive an audiovisual device that simultaneously recovers the heritage of Soviet cinema and the breaths of ‘poetic realism’; that taps into ‘magical realism’ and pays homage to Tolomush Okeev and his celebrated film The Descendant of the Snow Leopard (1985); that lands within the historical and cultural coordinates of the Kyrgyz nation; and, above all, plays at seducing us with the modernity of a fantasy-crime plot.

Mergen is a film with great care in its handling of all aspects of the production. The photography (Urmat Tendik) is exquisite in its revelry over the vast and beautiful mountain landscape, while also knowing how to choose the precise shots to descend into the depths of personal drama. Without overwhelming music, as is the case in other Kyrgyz films presented at the Bishkek Film Festival, the soundtrack (Mars Tugelov) combines silences, ambient sound, and a musical score to successfully accompany the story. The cast (Omurbek Izrailov, Kalipa Tashtanova) completely fulfills its role in most cases, although the negative character of the local businessman Kerim (Nazym Mendebairov), too one-dimensional and clichéd, is perhaps the most jarring.

Meanwhile, the editing (Natalya Polyakova), which sets a slow, measured pace, countering the presumed thriller characteristics of the plot, ultimately reveals what this film ultimately aspires to be or is. Chingiz Narynov doesn’t aim to deliver an ‘exotic product’ that typifies Kyrgyzstan, nor does he want to follow the well-trodden paths of more commercial cinema. Mergen displays a sense of ‘auteur film’, which in other countries, such as Iran and India, has worked perfectly for national films to win awards, receive critical acclaim, and be accepted by audiences on international screens.

Rafael Grillo
Edited by Birgit Beumers
©FIPRESCI 2025