Muted Voices, Unseen Struggles: The Feminist Heart of April
Déa Kulumbegashvili’s April is a haunting exploration of control, morality, and silence within the confines of a patriarchal society. Set in rural Georgia, the film uses poetic yet brutal visual language to dissect the weight of societal expectations placed on women, the consequences of systemic oppression, and the resilience of an individual navigating its confines.
From its opening frames, April immerses viewers in a visceral and unsettling metaphor. Before the title card even appears, a strange, pulsating creature floats in the darkness, evoking the image of an aborted embryo suspended in a womb. This abstract prologue establishes the film’s central tension: the fragility of life and the unrelenting scrutiny faced by those who engage with its ethical complexities. It’s an image that lingers, haunting every subsequent frame, and acting as a prelude to the stark realities depicted in the narrative.
The film opens with a birth scene—a harrowing and emotionally charged moment, in which a woman’s child is stillborn. This sequence, rendered with a raw, unflinching gaze, sets the tone for the film’s exploration of life and loss. The main character, Nina, an obstetrician, becomes the focus of suspicion and blame, enduring repeated investigations led by the hospital head and the grieving father. Their interrogations, with their accusatory gazes and invasive questioning, are not merely procedural but deeply symbolic of the societal tendency to police and control women’s bodies and choices.
Kulumbegashvili masterfully uses repetition to underline this suffocating scrutiny. The cyclical nature of Nina’s encounters with her accusers creates a sense of claustrophobia and inevitability. The tension builds quietly, not through dramatic revelations but through the unrelenting atmosphere of doubt and judgment that envelops Nina.
One of the film’s most striking technical achievements is its use of perspective, particularly Nina’s point of view. In one unforgettable sequence, Nina sits in her car, gazing at the world around her. The camera adopts her perspective, scanning the faces of men as she seeks connection—perhaps for pleasure, perhaps for something darker. This act is imbued with a sense of rebellion, a fleeting moment where Nina exerts agency in a life otherwise dominated by external expectations. Yet, even here, the aesthetic remains unflinchingly brutal, a reminder that even acts of defiance are marked by the harsh realities of her world.
The film’s title, April, invites interpretation. April, a month associated with rebirth and renewal, contrasts sharply with the film’s themes of death, oppression, and silence. This juxtaposition suggests a bitter irony: the promise of life and growth is overshadowed by the societal structures that stifle it. Nina’s journey becomes emblematic of this tension, a battle between the cyclical oppression she endures and her muted attempts to assert her autonomy.
A feminist reading of April can be enriched by the theories of Luce Irigaray, who critiques the patriarchal frameworks that render women voiceless and invisible. Irigaray’s assertion that women are often reduced to “mute matter” in a system designed to uphold male subjectivity resonates deeply here. The character of the deaf-mute girl, whose abortion Nina oversees, serves as a harrowing metaphor for women silenced by societal norms. Her subsequent death, layered with tragic inevitability, underscores the dire consequences of this enforced silence. The girl’s inability to vocalize her desires or fight for her autonomy reflects the broader struggle of women denied agency and a platform to express themselves within patriarchal systems.
Nina’s portrayal, brought to life through Ia Sukhitashvili’s extraordinary, restrained performance, relies heavily on non-verbal expression. Her silences speak volumes, her gaze conveying the weight of her internal struggle. This understated approach to acting makes Nina’s character all the more compelling, capturing the nuances of a woman fighting to maintain her sense of self amidst relentless external pressures.
April is not an easy watch, nor is it meant to be. Its stark aesthetic, deliberate pacing, and thematic depth challenge viewers to confront uncomfortable truths about gender, morality, and power. By juxtaposing the poetic and the brutal, the film crafts an unforgettable cinematic experience—one that resonates long after the final frame. Through its unyielding exploration of silence and resistance, April emerges as a vital contribution to contemporary feminist cinema.
Hamed Soleimanzadeh
Edited by Robert Horton
© FIPRESCI 2024