Review: ‘Beanpole,’ a Hauntingly Beautiful Tale of Love and Remorse
Image courtesy of Kino Lorber
Many directors who go on to earn widespread international acclaim first make their mark in the ‘Un Certain Regard’ category at Cannes. Directors such as Yorgos Lanthimos (Dogtooth, The Lobster, The Favourite) and Andrey Zvyagintsev (Leviathan, Loveless) both appeared in this category in previous years, and though you may not yet have heard of him, Kantemir Balagov has already–by the young age of twenty-eight–competed in this category...twice. Beanpole earned Balagov the Un Certain Regard award for Best Director in 2019, and this accolade will come as no surprise to anyone who submits themselves to the will of his devastating cinematic masterpiece.
Set in Leningrad in the immediate aftermath of WWII, Beanpole centers around the trials and tribulations of Iya (Viktoria Miroshnichenko), whose height and awkward character earns her the film’s titular nickname. After being ‘invalided’ during the war, Iya suffers from a post-concussion syndrome, often rendering her frozen, unable to speak or move. Working at a hospital for injured soldiers amongst the dilapidated remains of the city, she is not only immobilized by her own disability, but she is also surrounded by those whose minds and bodies are forever afflicted by the ghosts of war. When Masha (Vasilisa Perelygina), an old companion from the front line, returns tasking Iya to be her surrogate–hoping that a child will heal them both–their complex and painful process of reconciliation becomes the film’s raison d’etre.
The film is eerily quiet. Emphasised through protracted shots, its carefully tuned, minimalistic sound design serves to evince a sense of real-time and visceral discomfort to the regular periods of silence between characters. Iya’s episodes of choked paralysis are mirrored and heightened by the camera’s lingering, mute presence, and with a soundtrack limited to drone music, tension is built and maintained through these long periods of quiet. It often feels while watching this film as if you are privy to the characters’ most private and painful moments, and despite the inevitable unease that this stirs within, there is a haunting attraction to Balagov’s sensibility that leaves you helplessly transfixed for the entirety of the film’s run time. A palpable strangeness and unnerving surreality permeates the film, but it never once becomes disengaging, in fact, the coloured lens filters and otherworldliness reminded me of Krzysztof Kieślowski’s The Double Life of Veronique (1991), a film that I find similarly enchanting.
At its core, Beanpole is a love story and Miroshnichenko and Perelygina are outstanding in their roles as Iya and Masha. Ultimately driven by tenderness and devotion, their dependence on one another is undercut with a sense of bitter jealousy, enhanced by collective trauma and a tragic debt that is impossible to repay. It is certainly a testament to the staggering performances from Miroshnichenko, Perelygina, and the rest of the ensemble that the film has such a deeply affecting quality: it is a masterclass not only in the technical elements of filmmaking, but also the very craft of storytelling itself. In all, Beanpole is hauntingly beautiful, albeit mildly traumatizing, and highly deserving of Balagov’s recent recognition. Whilst it may only be the first month of a new decade, I can already tell that this film will stay with me for a long time to come.
