Original subtitles

Otar losseliani became a filmmaker

overnight. I have a feeling...

he didn't need any training.

His very first project as a student

reflected the style and subject matter

in all his films, and I remember at film school

we laughed when they showed "Sapovnela,"

the simply told story

of a man growing flowers in the mountains.

That film proclaimed the superiority of the natural

over the artificial:

flowers that grow in fields are more spontaneous,

they're much more beautiful

than decorative, hand-planted flowers.

His next films perpetuated

that deceptive simplicity,

which was incredibly sophisticated and authentic.

By "deceptive simplicity"

I mean something like a diamond

whose transparency

is more precious than color is to other stones.

When Otar finished his first feature film,

which he wryly called "Falling Leaves,"

a lot of people said: "This is a conventional film

about a young, honest, nalve hero who stops...

a bad wine from being bottled."

But the plot of this Soviet production

veils an essential issue:

honor, and the dignity of those people

who cannot

stand

to be ruled by lies

and can only do one thing: boycott the wine,

boycott the work methods.

It's a celebration at the end of the film,

when the hero refuses to sign the certificate

that guarantees it's quality wine.

There's a sense of freedom in the film,

it almost feels like a documentary:

Otar had no qualms about shooting in natural settings.

I remember the first showing

of "Falling Leaves"

for the editors of "Sovetski Ekran" magazine.

A notable American critic

had said: "Now there's a real filmmaker!"

And we agreed with him.

He asked me to decipher the title, "Falling Leaves."

"Why 'Falling Leaves? ' Because of the Fall?"

I found out much later.

Falling leaves are a reference to October.

October has a certain symbolic significance in Russia.

The Russian title said "October" in Ukrainian.

It was a sort of tribute

to Otar's mentor: Dovzhenko.

In Georgian, the film is called

"The Month of St. George," the patron saint of Georgia,

which implies that the film

was dedicated to a patron saint

you can not lie to.

Then they had their first run-in with censorship,

with that film and "There Once Was A Singing Blackbird."

I don't think any of Otar's films were spared those problems.

No one could figure out why the film was banned.

They said: "Soviet power is under-represented."

That was true and false.

There were signs of Soviet power.

But they were in quotation marks.

"There Once Was A Singing Blackbird" is a film

about the hustle and bustle of daily life,

and wasted time...

that could be better spent.

At first glance, the subject is

a man who rushes through life,

never writing anything that remotely resembles

Bach, the symbol of talent and creation.

It's really about knowing how to live.

Life is the most precious thing there is,

as well as the most fragile.

Surprisingly, people saw themselves in the film,

even those who couldn't see

beauty in life, or beauty in women,

one way or another, they were able

to beat the drum.

They knew Otar's films were about anyone

who couldn't, or wouldn't

adhere to the values imposed on them,

and demanded exploits and heroic acts.

The film has a touch of heroism but depicts real life.

The film makes a surprising statement:

it declares that life

and the relationships formed between people

are the only true values.

We are struck by Guia's ability

to see everything around him.

With a microscope, telescope, or the naked eye,

if something could be seen,

he had the time to see it, and his short life

was a symbol to us

of what life should be about,

despite day-to-day worries.

Otar wanted to call his film "All the Livelong Day"

because nobody knew Georgian fairy tales start with...

"There Once Was A Singing Blackbird."

I asked him: "Otar,

why did you choose such a dull title?

what does 'AII the Livelong Day' mean?

The problems that poison our lives?"

That title ruined everything,

it removed

the philosophical twist that fairy tales have.

All I could say was: "Otar!

If you don't use the Georgian title,

how will the spectators know? "

Fortunately, he kept the title,

and I'm proud I played a part

in resolving the issue, and now everyone knows...

the film

by this rich, poetic title

that's also grounded in the people. "Pastorale"...

The deceptive "Pastorale"...

about country life suddenly revealed

the cracks

in a so-called homogeneous society,

the mountain villagers' sense of pride,

people who lived

without heeding

what the State tried to impose on them.

When Otar came to show the film at Mosfilm studio,

I was working on restoring "Battleship Potemkin."

Otar got his friends together,

Marlen Khutsiev, Alexander Mitta, and Andrei Tarkovsky,

who came with his wife and a bouquet.

Andrei was sitting

in front of me. I saw him concentrate on the film,

and I felt he wanted to see something in it

that he had never seen but couldn't describe.

When it was over,

he turned to congratulate Otar

and said to me later:

"What a strange film!"

Yes, it's a strange film

if we consider it

using the classic criteria

for 18th-century pastoral films

or the conflict-free pastorals of the Stalin era.

It's a surprising

and prophetic film.

It seems to me that "Pastorale," which was rarely shown

and deliberately poorly distributed,

though the censors couldn't attack it

and had no choice

but to give the film a distribution visa.

But the film...

did away with

the bucolic tenderness

that propaganda specialists expected.

It was also Otar's farewell to his country.

Otar emigrated to France,

taking Georgia with him.

When fired from his own Academy, Lomonossov said:

"I'm not leaving the Academy, the Academy is leaving me."

I feel the same about Otar losseliani.

To know his work, you have to know Georgia.

Otar and Georgia are inseparable.