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Kyrgyzstan, officially the Kyrgyz Republic, is a landlocked country in Central Asia lying in the Tian Shan and Pamir mountain ranges. Kyrgyzstan is bordered by Kazakhstan to the north. Kazakhstan, also in Central Asia, is a former Soviet republic that extends from the Caspian Sea in the west to the Altai Mountains at its eastern border with China and Russia. Kyrgyz is the official language of Kyrgyzstan and Ov Kazakh and Russian share the honors in Kazakhstan. Represented by films at the 29th edition of the Fantasia International Film Festival (“Fantasia”), English subtitles have enabled my access to two compelling visions from Central Asia.
First is the North American premiere of Radik Eshimov’s Burning (2024) from Kyrgyzstan. As admirable as Burning is with its Rashomon-inflects, let alone its tip of the hat to the paranoic panic of Rosemary’s Baby and the emetic horror of The Exorcist, it is the film’s final freeze frame that most unnerved me; its direct address of a woman staring straight at the audience, the fourth wall collapsed, with a look that is both condemnatory and pitying, frightened and angry, as if asking: “What do you think? What version of these events will you accept? What misogyny will you hide behind?”
Burning is, arguably, less about telling a story from different narrative points of view than it is an examination of the narratives purposely chosen to interpret an isolated event; in this case, a house that has caught on fire. The question for discussion is who is responsible? There are three suspects: Asel (Aysanat Edigeeva), a woman still mourning the recent loss of her son; her husband Marat (Ömürbek Izrailov); and her mother-in-law Farida (Kalicha Seydalieva). In all three versions of the story there is no question that it’s Asel who actually starts the fire, though the suggestion is that she’s not necessarily to blame. I would argue that Eshimov has all but assured the viewer’s choice of who is actually responsible for the tragedy, but not without first taking note of the witch hunts embedded in masculine prerogative. Whether it’s Uncle Jrygal seeing mother-in-law Farida as a weird Ice Queen casting mumbo-jumbo spells, or the neighbor who pities his friend Marat for having a wife who is possessed by a djinn, or Marat himself furious at his wife for the death of their child, it is Burning’s concluding freezeframe that confronts the viewer to adjudicate the conflicting evidence.
Burning is also an object study. Pay attention to the narrative trajectory of the red cigarette lighter.
Similar to E.T.’s phoning home, the alien needs to find an earthly metal that will activate his “radio” so he can call for rescue. Thwarting his newly-found friends’ efforts to help him is a draconian mayor with political ambitions and his assistant, a not-too-bright police officer who believes YouTube has proven that—not only is Earth the center of the universe—but it’s flat (and in a brilliant comic flourish the alien proves him wrong).
This is a lovely, funny, and sentimental film with great practical effects and solid acting all around. It speaks to how we each must come to terms with accepting others and, by doing so, heal ourselves. At film’s beginning Sadyk is suicidal and wants desperately to kill himself, having lost his beloved wife. Each dark attempt fails humorously, though while attempting to hang himself he sees the alien ship crash in the distance. Shopkeeper Nadya is life-weary and wants simply to live her life out without issue. Befriending an alien is exactly what they both need.
