Beginning review – stunning and meticulous Georgian debut

In a Jehovah's Witnesses church, outside of Tbilisi, the Bible story of Abraham is read aloud. As the moral passage declares life to be a test to strengthen one’s faith, the sense of calm is replaced by screams. A firebomb has been thrown into the Kingdom Hall by a group of extremists. The event leaves Yana (Ia Sukhitashvili) deeply unsettled and it is her questioning of credence that is central to Beginning, writer-director Dea Kulumbegashvili's astounding feature debut and Georgia's submission at this year's Academy Awards.

The impressiveness of Kulumbegashvili’s cinematic grammar is immediately established in this opening, with no cuts and no camera movement, only the stillness of acute observation. Trapped in both her religious community and the boxy 1:33 frame, Yana’s rumination of faith becomes one of quiet introspection as she embarks on a meditative journey of desire.

The unquestioning devotion of Yana’s husband, David (co-writer Rati Oneli), and son, Giorgi (Saba Gogichaishvili), casts a spotlight onto Yana’s own religious restlessness. Drifting from her family, Yana clings to domesticity but the arrival of an intrusive detective (played by Kakha Kintsurashvili) further spurs her unravelling.

As Yana seeks something outside the borders of her own belief, Kulumbegashvili approaches the subjects of womanhood and religion with a focused intensity. With a divine sense of contemplation, the Georgian filmmaker takes full advantage of Beginning’s unhurried pace to linger on Sukhitashvili’s performance. Sukhitashvili is a remarkable presence, occupying the frame with a subdued femininity that is, in its own way, a powerful resolve. Her performance expertly frames Yana’s entrapment in this harrowing patriarchal culture.

Throughout, an unyielding sense of dread hangs in the silences between Beginning’s sparse dialogue. This unnerving tension is particularly pervasive throughout many of Kulumbegashvili’s long, static shots. Yet it is the scene of Yana’s rape, a moment that plays out in its entirety, that culminates her detachment from the church and distrust of all that surrounds her. The scene is both horrific and censored; Kulumbegashvili only uses the diegetic sounds of a nearby river. A distance between action and camera that, once again, isolates Yana. It is the moral from Beginning’s opening scene, the belief that life is a faith-strengthening test, that makes Yana’s situation all the more despondent.

Arseni Khachaturan’s cinematography captures the rural landscape of Georgia with a raw textual quality, a grittiness that reflects the hardships of Yana’s narrative. Shot in Lagodekhi, Kulumbegashvili’s hometown, the patient, elongated shots give time to appreciate both Sukhitashvili’s subtleties and the stunning, scenic compositions. Khachaturan’s framing often takes the position of the observer but in one particularly striking scene, this stillness ascends to new heights of quietude. Yana lies back on the leaf sprinkled floor of the woods, eyelids plastered closed while her son’s calls are drowned out by bird song. The shot adjoins actor, landscape and stillness; it is as if Yana is grounding herself in the forest, quietly waiting for her body to decay back into the Earth.

“It’s as if I were waiting for something to start, or to end.” Beginning is Yana’s rebirth, a meticulous portrait of femininity that craves for something more. As Yana goes in search of self-assurance, Kulumbegashvili finds her own in this phenomenal debut feature.

Beginning is now available on MUBI.