Fate of the front squads

It is not true that misanthropists do not like people. When you see the sculptor Nijolė Šivickas, mother of Antanas Mockus, on screen, you realize that misanthropists avoid people because they care more about who they interact with and who they touch in this world.

Film “Nijolė” by Sandro Bozzolo is not a biography of personality, but rather of feelings and states. The director doesn’t use the opportunity to put together an impressive collage from details of life of the legendary mayor of Bogota and no less famous sculptor. Only in the film’s prologue we get a glimpse of a few short episodes with Mockus’ most famous political-artistic actions. We also see a pretty colourful excerpt from the TV interview with Nijolė – she is similar to her son with her resilient posture and aphoristic responses. In one of the archival passages, Mockus says that he is an iconoclast, and thus an opponent of worship of paintings and sculptures. The director also seems to refuse to create realistic shapes, and stays closer to the abstract and mysterious sculptural objects by Nijolė, made from rough, harsh materials. By the way, in the beginning phase of the film, Antanas at one point tries to model a conversation with his mother using the traditional Q&A scheme. But Nijolė notices that he is dressed too nicely and immediately senses that something has been planned here, so she pretends she didn’t hear her son’s question. Soon, the characters of the film dismiss conventions and nice clothes, and the consistent facts of life remain behind the scenes. Only relatives in Lithuania keep showing photo albums, collected press-clipping archives, as if to turn the narrative into a straightforward biography. However, what goes on throughout the film and accompanies it, is an indefinite, elegiac state, at times more painful, at times lighter.

This year, the Vilnius Documentary Film Festival (where the premiere of “Nijolė” took place) has dedicated one of its programs to the New York avant-garde cinema, which relates to Mockus by the worldview of the forefront fighting positions. Playful provocations, vitality, artistic charisma, militant impetus and optimism – Mockus has often called the tone of his actions as paramilitary. But the cost of this fight is often forgotten, and the forefront squads usually face a sad fate. The avant-garde has its dark side: remember the Fluxus series of stamps with deformed smiles that resemble a grimace of pain. There is often tragic fate underneath outward playfulness, vital energy eventually is depleted, and intense spiritual exertion sometimes results in internal destruction.

The dusk of the life of avant-garde soldiers is the territory of “Nijolė”. When Nijolė recites Antanas’ skills and abilities in an archival interview, and then adds that he doesn’t know how to iron his clothes, it’s not clear whether it’s a joke or a hint of his weakness or lack of self-sufficiency. Later she says that Antanas is slowly losing his enthusiasm. However, thanks to the duet of these characters, you can watch how the waves of vitality rise and fall from day to day, but the waving never ceases.

Nijole keeps retreating from people, but she smiles secretly as young people encircle and listen to her son. Antanas’ openness to the world is not cheaply joyful, but gentle and compassionate, often taking the form of tears as Mockus becomes emotional in small village cemeteries or when he hears a folk song. Nijolė seems to have completely abandoned her preoccupation with external matters, but at the same time she is firmly entrenched in the ground, not missing an opportunity to try hand strength with other people or have a playful fight with a cat.

Overall, she matches the archetypal character of Jim Jarmusch cinema – a modest, introvert artist who has mastered the art to hide best of all. The chthonic dimension of the sculptor’s personality is brought to light by the music of Lina Lapelytė, sounding somewhere in the depths of the film (only the text is pretentious at some points, and, as Nijolė would ask, “why in English?”). Gradually receding into the worlds only she knows, Nijolė is a kind of Lithuanian Persephone, whom Antanas is sadly trying to stop, or whose path he would like to follow himself. Of course, as much as it is possible to trace and comprehend the path of another, even the closest person.

It is difficult and even there’s no real willingness to evaluate such sensitive films. However, if necessary, I would give my sympathy to the “Dialogue with Joseph” by Elžbieta Josadė, which is not so widely known but is related to “Nijolė” by its emotions and character figures. Admired for its laconicalness and debut shyness, that film subtly fluctuates between sadness and happiness when the daughter film director is confused while observing her father-artist. Surrounded by the pristine landscape of another country, immersed in work and his own inward distances, inaccessible, though outwardly close and very simple. But as with “Nijolė”, outward simplicity may be the strongest armour.