THE GENTLE INDIFFERENCE OF THE WORLD – Film Review
Kazakh director Adilkhan Yerzhanov gifts us with (Laskovoe Bezrazlichie Mira) The Gentle Indifference of the World. The poetic title (an Albert Camus quote) is the set for what is going to be a playful and yet serious journey into the post-Soviet wild East. One of Cannes best romances this year.
A beautifully shot film that will leave you hopeful and yet blue. Each frame is an undeniable work of art.
Art and love are the same thing for our two heroes.
Saltanat is a young woman who lives a life of books and paintings. Wonderfully melancholic and pure in her clichéd red dress and parasol that she wears for almost the all duration of the film (inspired by the likes of Monet’s ethereal women).
She’s forced to leave her modest and idyllic life in the countryside to go to the city – in order to pay off his father’s debts. She’s followed by her admirer Kuandyk, who seems to be a buffoon at first.
Like in a Greek tragedy, Saltanat and Kuandyk are swallowed up by their obligations. The poor and the browbeaten have little if no recourse to justice, especially when the rich and greedy make the rules to suit themselves.
In a world of bureaucratic corruption and violence, the two protagonists are forced to make some bad decisions and end up betraying those ideals that have been so close to them.
Even Saltanat’s switch from a red dress to a black one elegantly connotes the cold realities of the big city. The loss of virtue. The stolen innocence.
To take the poison is to accept one’s fate. Blame it to the world. The awareness is what makes us cringe because we know it too well.
But the pain is eased by aesthetics. Fixed-angle long takes and the striking use of natural landscapes.
Only love is real, and then, there are dreams (when Kuandyk uses childlike chalk drawings to pretend he’s flying Saltanat to Paris).
Being naïve won’t lead you anywhere, but if you don’t dream, you might as well be dead.
