海角大神

'In Bloom' is a story of coming of age in ex-Soviet Georgia

'Bloom' is chilling in the matter-of-fact way it portrays the everyday violence of the society in which the film takes place.

鈥淚n Bloom鈥� takes place in 1992 in Tbilisi, the capital of the newly independent Georgia, after the collapse of the Soviet Union. It鈥檚 a turbulent time: Vigilantes roam free, and a war on the Black Sea coast has sent violent shock waves throughout the country.

Very little of this do we see, but we feel the threats just the same. The republic鈥檚 newfound independence has not only stirred new enmities; it鈥檚 also unearthed old ones.

With this turmoil as its backdrop, 鈥淚n Bloom鈥� presents a story that, on the surface at least, is an almost generic coming-of-age drama about a pair of 14-year-old best friends and classmates. Eka (Lika Babluani) and Natia (Mariam Bokeria), both headstrong, are from dysfunctional families. Eka鈥檚 father is in a military prison; Natia鈥檚 is a raging alcoholic. (Question: Are there any functional families in the movies anymore?)

Eka is spindly and plain-looking, but she鈥檚 a fighter. The bully boys who regularly attempt to ambush her on her walks home from school find this out the hard way.

Natia is a budding beauty and already has several suitors from the neighborhood. Since teen brides are common in Georgia, it鈥檚 not long before she receives a proposal from Lado (Data Zakareishvili), a nice young man who, as a token of his love, gives her a present: a pistol with which to defend herself. She accepts it almost matter-of-factly. We may be startled, but she is not. She knows full well the society she inhabits.

It鈥檚 this matter-of-factness that is the most chilling aspect of 鈥淚n Bloom,鈥� which was codirected by Nana Ekvtimishvili (who is Georgian and who also wrote the screenplay) and her husband, Simon Gross. The presence of the gun is also a reminder of that old Chekhov maxim: If you introduce a gun in Act 1, you have to use it in Act 3. This doesn鈥檛 quite happen here: A different utensil of violence is employed. But the principle remains the same.

Ekvtimishvili, whose first feature this is, draws on her own girlhood experiences. At its best the movie has an unstressed freshness. Although it draws on everything from 鈥淭he 400 Blows鈥� to 鈥淢ean Girls,鈥� it doesn鈥檛 feel derivative. Scenes come out of nowhere and yet seem perfectly commonplace, like the moment when Natia, in a raucous, pushing-and-shoving bread line with Eka, is suddenly hustled into a car by an old boyfriend, Kote (Zurab Gogaladze), and his hoodlum cohorts. This is what is called 鈥渂ridenapping鈥� in Georgia, and it鈥檚 ingrained in the culture. The girl is supposed to be gratified that a guy thinks enough of her to forcibly remove her from the scene.

The poignancy of the film is that we can see how these two spirited girls are destined to become much like their parents 鈥� riven, bitter, beaten down. The culture they are rebelling against is too much for them, or will be.

For all its virtues, 鈥淚n Bloom鈥� never quite blooms. I suspect that鈥檚 because the directors are so intent on not fomenting any melodrama that they often miss the drama. The camerawork is functional, but rarely do we feel the pulse of this story. And, by casting the film with nonactors, its expressive possibilities are dampened. Bokeria looks so much the part that she can get away with just being sharp-eyed and pretty. But Babluani is kind of a stiff: The directors may have intended her blankness to be the merest of masks for her rebelliousness, but that鈥檚 not how it comes across. Much of the time she鈥檚 just blank. She even dances blankly, as if she were carrying out the directors鈥� instructions from just off camera.

Sometimes nonactors can enhance a film鈥檚 verity, as in many of the early Vittorio De Sica classics (鈥淭he Bicycle Thief,鈥� 鈥淯mberto D.鈥�). Other times, we are all too conscious of amateurs straining for effect. 鈥淚n Bloom鈥� has enough going for it that it transcends, barely, these impediments. It鈥檚 a universal story that is also, by virtue of its very particular time and place, a singular experience. Grade: B (Unrated.)