‘Windless’: Karlovy Vary Review

Dir: Pavel G. Vesnakov. Bulgaria/Italy. 2024. 93min

From the moment that Kaloyan (Ognyan Pavlov, aka the rapper FYRE) returns to Bulgaria after a lengthy period living and working in Spain, it feels as though the walls are closing in. He’s back to handle the sale of his late father’s apartment, something he’s eager to have done with as quickly as possible. But the embrace of his community exerts an unexpected pull, prompting him to explore his relationship with his childhood, his dead father and his country, in this cinematic, accomplished second feature from Pavel G. Vesnakov.

Depicts Bulgaria as being recklessly unsentimental about its own history

Windless premieres in the Proxima competition in Karlovy Vary, the first stop on what should be a healthy festival run. And while the film will likely thrive within the festival circuit, it is also distinctive enough to attract interest elsewhere. Vesnakov cut his teeth with several well-received shorts, and his first feature film German Lessons (2020), which featured FYRE in a supporting role, premiered at the Cairo Film Festival and went on to win numerous prizes in its home region. Windless should, at the very least, match that reception.

It’s clear from the outset that Vesnakov is a director with an assured and confident creative vision. The decision to shoot in a 1:1 aspect ratio is a bold one, but it pays off immediately. Put a face like Kaloyan’s on screen (he’s shaven-headed and inscrutable behind his numerous facial tattoos) and you immediately make a statement. Put him in a frame that constricts like a cage, and there’s a tension and claustrophobia that all but squeezes the oxygen out of the cinema. Vesnakov further restricts his characters by shooting through door frames, slicing even more space from around Kaloyan. It is no wonder he seems ill at ease.

But for all the tension that results from the framing, this is a strikingly beautiful film. The composition of an extended family dinner, presided over by a blowhard uncle who frets that Kaloyan has nowhere to drain his cabbage barrels in Spain, resembles a renaissance painting.  Yet while the physical space is restricted, Vesnakov is generous with the leeway he gives characters to speak. Everywhere Kaloyan goes, he runs into old men who want to toast his father’s memory and share stories about the great man. Locked, long shots fill with meandering, rakia-sodden tributes. And Kaloyan listens, moved despite himself to hear about his father – a man that he didn’t know or even like.

It is a picture which, while it shows Kaloyan exploring and coming to appreciate his past, also depicts Bulgaria as being recklessly unsentimental about its own history. A scene in which Kaloyan’s mother tells him to throw away pretty much everything he finds in the empty flat, including boxes of photos and communist-era toys, has an element of comedy. But it also carries an echo of the town mayor’s approach to the land – the cemetery is being cleared to make way for a golf course; whole blocks of residential buildings (including Kaloyan’s father’s apartment) are being levelled in order for a casino and entertainment complex to be built. And in the face of this brutal renewal, the older generation feel themselves to be disposable. It’s no wonder that they cling to their stories, the remnants of a rapidly eroding past.