At a synopsis level, Luka Beradze’s debut feature Smiling Georgia evokes an instant comparison with another bitterly humorous documentary, the 2006 Greek Sugartown: The Bridegrooms. Its director, Kimon Tsakiris, follows the successful election campaign of a small-town mayoral candidate who won after promising to match the predominantly male local population with single Ukrainian women. And even though the utopian concept fails after an inevitable collision with reality, the newly elected governor at least tries to fulfil his commitment by indeed organizing a trip for his voters to а twin Ukrainian city packed with single females.
In Smiling Georgia, the pre-electorial «words of honour» are backed by less ambitious, cheaper, and generally more easily fulfilled pledges. Nevertheless, the elderly characters do not turn out to be that lucky. After being promised free dental repairs in 2012 by the then Georgian president Mikheil Saakashvili, so they could look forward to a bright future with big smiles when they eventually re-elect him, the whole murky business resulted in a significant portion of the ageing population in the region of Chiatura waking up edental. Their benefactor Saakashvili, who is currently in prison following abuse of power accusations, evaporated immediately after his campaign failed and went into hiding abroad. But beforehand, in order to be more convincing in securing votes in his favour, he had arranged an ostentatious group tooth-pulling campaign, abandoning the seniors who trusted him in an awkward comic-tragic situation shortly afterwards. «No one has time for your teeth now,» one of the victims was told when she subsequently attempted to get hold of her prosthetics.
Media and the people
A Man of the People might step back, but the media traces inevitably remain. The film includes comically ridiculous promotional videos with Saakashvili (fondly called Misha by his supporters), who passionately shares his plans to bring back shiny smiles to the people under a special campaign titled «Smiling Georgia,» adding that Hollywood might also show interest. People praise and bless him, seemingly unsuspecting or unwilling to suspect that their hopes might be betrayed as usual. And when that happens, they meekly share personal testimonies in front of Lomero Akhvlediani’s camera for this current documentary, apparently unconcerned that their faces, personalities and private experiences could be misused again. Оnly one man dares to doubt and slams the door in the face, not of the Smiling Georgia team, but of a TV crew when, eight years later, politics again shows concern for the locals’ teeth on the eve of a new election campaign. The charitable affair quickly ends, however, when the presenter fails to find suitable characters for her show, while the Georgian Dream political party wins with a convincing majority with and without the votes from Chiatura. Life goes on quietly, undisturbed, though toothless, surrounded by stunning natural landscapes.
It is precisely the regularly appearing captions to these landscapes that seem to imply there is a huge gap between the humans who still live close to their land and the ruling class who inhabits media reality but also governs with the help of its tools. The inhabitants of these remote places – who are barely immersed in the media bubble and perceive everything broadcast there as absolute reality when they are – are easily susceptible to manipulation, so the elite conveniently takes advantage and «casts» them to fill up screen time at the earliest opportunity. In this regard, Smiling Georgia portrays a clash of worlds that would otherwise never collide. The prospects are that one will swallow up the other, which is not so far off in such areas of dwindling population.
Should we laugh. Should we cry.
Intentionally or not, the film evokes a rich palette of amplified emotions: from sympathy to indignation, from stifled laughter to immediate shame induced by the fact that such an unfortunate situation can prompt sniggering. The narrative style combines hilarious absurdism with an authentic depiction of tragic realms, getting close enough to stir compassion and keep enough distance to not feel voyeuristic. The visual layer is also jokey – from the iconic prosthetics in the snow of the opening shot and the poster to the close-ups of everyday details, such as the cluttered table around which all important decisions are made. Meanwhile, the rhythmic montage, a joint work between Beradze himself, experienced editor Nodar Nozadze, and director Ioseb ‘Soso’ Bliadze (known for his debut fiction feature A Room On My Own), is in danceable sync with the catchy music score by Alexandre Kordzaia which contributes further to the overall ironic mood of the film.
The fable-like ending, featuring two men who seem to have taken their pig out to graze amidst tranquil greenery, might appear surprisingly positive to a rational mind. However, despite all misfortunes, it takes on a different hue within the context of enduring Georgian joyfulness. There, under the tree with a heavenly view extending as far as their eyes can see, they peacefully conclude that regardless of who comes to power, they will still have to fend for themselves. What more optimistic conclusion could there be than the realization that our destiny is in our own hands?
