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| Director Orkhan Aghazadeh |
THE RETURN OF THE PROJECTIONIST (Le Retour du projectionniste) B France Germany (88 mi) 2024 d: Orkhan Aghazadeh
In Soviet times, it was the only form of entertainment, and it was also used for propaganda, so every village had a projectionist – or there was one for two or three villages because he could travel around with his equipment. Where I was born, for example, a local mosque was turned into a cinema because there was no place for religion in those times. —Orkhan Aghazadeh, Cat&Docs Boards 'The Return of the Projectionist'
A film about the love of movies, where the influence of Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami is unmistakable, yet despite the social realist portrayal of rural life in the small town village of Sım in the southern Talysh Mountains of Azerbaijan, this lacks much of the poetry of the Iranian New Wave. Attempting to balance tradition and modernity, this tiny pocket of the world is basically unchanged in the last 30 years, where there is little evidence of any of the modern conveniences. Bounded by the Caspian Sea and Caucasus Mountains, bordering on Russia to the north and Iran to the south, this former Soviet republic exists in a state of timelessness, seemingly unaffected by outside interests. Out of this time warp, we learn that cinema was prevalent during Soviet times, where even some mosques were converted to movie theaters, but with the dissolution of the Soviet Union they have all but disappeared, especially in the hinterlands. Purely by accident, the director became interested in cinema when a film crew came to his village looking to make a documentary about a farmer, which sparked his interest, getting a BA in Journalism and Mass Communications at the Baku Slavic University before being accepted into the filmmaking program of the London Film School. Blurring the lines between documentary and fiction, this particular documentary film was several years in the making, as his miniscule budget didn’t allow him to spend sufficient time in the region, so he shot sequences when he could, visiting during the changing seasons, discovering a relic from the Soviet past in Samid, an elderly TV repairman who has an old Soviet film projector that was left behind thirty years ago that has simply been collecting dust. He gets an idea to bring the movies back to life, discovering the projector still works, but it needs a bulb for the projector lamp, something that is not easy to come by in this remote community where there are no cars or satellite dishes, and wi-fi connection is sporadic, often only available at the very top of a hill, which means most residents simply do without, requiring the utmost patience and an entirely different perspective in this serene landscape where villagers don’t seem to be aware of a film crew at all.
With the help of Ayaz, an internet savvy teenage film enthusiast who helps him search for the correct make and size, he sends away on the internet for a new bulb from Lithuania, but they seem to have forgotten about his order, as months go by without any word, and when he calls, no one is able to provide any current status, so his initial enthusiasm is met with dismay. Similarly, he informs the villagers about the possibility of bringing back the cinema, and they’re eager to see films again, many recalling experiences from their youth, with some even remembering specific films of interest. But the world has changed since then, and films are no longer projected with reel-to-reel projectors, where movies shot on film are nearly impossible to access. So they grow tired of waiting as well, where their initial optimism is met with resignation and eventually anger, blaming Samid for not fulfilling his promise. Nonetheless, he and Ayaz form a partnership, both exploring how to make this a reality, where Ayaz is also working on an animated short of his own for school, shot on his cellphone, even building his own projector, with both simply diving into this project, where their age difference offers a sharp contrast between their unique understanding of digital and analogue technology, becoming a dialogue between the two generations. Ayaz is so enthusiastic about this idea that he severely neglects his schooling, getting into trouble at home, while Samid constructs a wooden frame for the movie screen, as women of the village sew together a large white sheet that can be stapled to the frame. Against the backdrop of Azerbaijan’s conflict with Armenia and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, this struggle between the past and the future resonates deeply, while Samid is still mourning the death of his son in the prime of his life just two years ago from a terrible accidental workplace incident. According to the director who was present during the screening, he knew this son, so there is a personal connection running through the film, which only enhances the experience. Beautifully shot by cinematographer Daniel Guliyev, a fellow student at the London Film School, what’s particularly impressive are the shots of falling snow blanketing the hillsides, creating a winter wonderland, yet winter and spring pass before they’re once again sweltering in the heat, emphasizing just how significant this community is affected by the surrounding natural world.
Filmed observationally, with no reliance on interviews or voiceovers, the actions, what little there is, speak for themselves, as simplicity is the key throughout, with no cinematic tricks or embellishments, where this transports viewers into a remote region of the world, literally taking us to a different time and space that bears no resemblance to our own, causing us to reflect upon the hardships and struggles of this daily existence, a world caught between tradition and modernity, as well as the past and future. Who among us would have the patience to wait for months, nearly half a year, awaiting a delivery from an internet purchase? As the initial enthusiasm wanes, so does the interest of Ayaz, who grows extremely irritated when his movie is lost in an instant on the internet, as all his files simply disappear with an errant click of a key, so all his hard work has nothing to show for it. He takes out his frustrations on Samid, blaming the TV connection as the source of the problem, but that is misdirected anger. Samid only offered the TV as a vehicle for viewing, as it’s a bigger screen than a cellphone. In similar fashion, when the bulb finally arrives, they once again grow excited over the idea of sharing a new film for the villagers, programming an old Hindi Bollywood action film without Azerbaijan subtitles, Raj N. Sippy’s SATYAMEV JAYATE (1987), the only available 35mm print in the capital of Baku, something a friend procured, as the two of them hand out individualized invitations to come watch the movie. After getting approval from the village elders, but only after Samid is instructed to place his hand over the lens for forbidden scenes, the locals show out in force, with young kids rushing to the front of the theater, where behind the scenes we see Ayaz narrating the film live over a microphone. But you can’t help but be impressed by the rapturous looks on the faces of the young children, reminiscent of similar scenes in Victor Erice’s The Spirit of the Beehive (El Espíritù de la Colmena) (1973). However, things don’t go as planned, as the projector breaks down in the middle of the screening, where this film simply documents the struggles to present cinema in some of the more remote regions of the world, undermining our technological reliance upon speed while also resurrecting a nostalgic feeling of the magic in movies, recalling that personal connection with projection booths in Wim Wenders’ exquisite road movie Kings of the Road (Im Lauf der Zeit) Road Trilogy Pt. 3 (1976), providing a fresh perspective that few of us could ever have imagined.
