April Review: Dea Kulumbegashvili's Sophomore Film is a Mystical Cinematic Discovery.

      Note: This review was initially published as part of our 2024 Venice coverage. April will be released in theaters on April 25.

      Among this year’s varied lineup of competition titles at Venice, one film distinctly stands out. It is an original work without any predecessors or useful comparisons, a truly unique cinematic enigma: Dea Kulumbegashvili’s second feature, April. Following her two short films showcased at Cannes and her striking debut (2020’s Beginning) that captivated audiences at TIFF, San Sebastian, and NYFF, the Georgian filmmaker premiered her latest project on the Lido. The likelihood that taking the bold step of introducing something so refreshingly different will be successful is high. Not only does April stand out in this selection, but it also establishes Kulumbegashvili as a confident visionary who engages with complexity and radical ambiguity—essentially, a different kind of storyteller.

      Similar to Beginning, April is marked by a mediated sense of reality. The director draws inspiration from fictionalized accounts rooted in real-life settings, particularly her hometown—a village nestled at the base of the Caucasus mountains in Georgia and its inhabitants. The minimal dialogue, prolonged takes, and a suffocating atmosphere of violence surrounding the protagonist—a Jehovah’s Witness pastor’s wife portrayed by the new film’s lead, Ia Sukhitashvili—create a dense ambiance in Beginning, while April allows for a more expansive breath. Arseni Khachaturan’s steady, almost insistently patient camera reveals a landscape that feels both familiar and disquieting: a world torn by a raging storm, gentle rain, a breathtaking sunset viewed from grass-level angles, and a decaying patriarchal structure that stifles female autonomy through its bodily politics. Nina (Sukhitashvili) is an OBGYN who, despite her best efforts, must report a newborn's death stemming from an undocumented pregnancy. Her patient’s husband demands an investigation, fully aware of allegations that Nina conducts illegal abortions in the village—an action that the patriarchal system cannot tolerate.

      Nina’s commitment to her female patients is primarily conveyed through her resilience and her ongoing provision of secret consultations, contraception, and, indeed, abortions, all while jeopardizing her career and reputation. As a single woman no longer considered "young" by societal standards, she is an easy target; yet she persists. Her character deviates from the supportive, chatty doctor one might expect and exhibits unpredictability in various aspects. April intentionally encourages viewers to discard all preconceived notions and approach the film with fresh eyes—peeling back the layers of storytelling and character development until only the core remains, a core that defies articulation and must be experienced.

      To convey this sensation, April employs elements as pure as heightened natural sounds, the passage of time, offscreen space, and a mysterious feminine figure that lingers at the edges of the frame from the very outset. Its breath is perceptible. The sharp gasps, shallow breaths, and troubled, pronounced exhales reverberate throughout, lending a sentient quality to the film. Even amidst its struggles—and our struggles alongside it—it undeniably possesses a vibrancy that is rare in cinema. If I were to speculate on why a film so elusive in narrative, imagery, and sound can feel so tangible and real, I would attribute it to its treatment of metaphor and the way it leverages cinematic techniques to avoid conventional metaphorical interpretations of expected imagery. Elements like the aforementioned female figure or the unfolding storm that stretches on for minutes invite a form of mediated interpretation—a story waiting to be revealed once symbolic codes are deciphered—but ultimately, there is nothing to decode. Dea Kulumbegashvili has discovered a means of deriving mystery from the literal, rather than translating it into metaphor—April's captivating nature is made possible because everything depicted is precisely as it appears, yet it transcends being merely that. However, it never becomes something different, as a metaphor or allegory would imply.

      Beginning was produced by Carlos Reygadas, while April carries Luca Guadagnino’s name through his company Frenesy, but Kulumbegashvili doesn’t require such associations: her distinct filmmaking speaks for itself. Indeed, it communicates, but the director’s aversion to conventional cinematic language (or any linguistic, semantic, or discursive shortcuts) is evident in her reinvention.

      April premiered at the 2024 Venice Film Festival.