a culture and its image
by Douglas Messerli
Byambasuen Davaa and Luigi Falorni
(screenwriters and directors) Die Geschichte
vom weinenden Kamel (The Story of
the Weeping Camel) / 2003
Despite these seeming hurdles of language and species, the sympathetic
viewer feels not only that he can comprehend the feelings of this extended
family living in tents at the edge of the Gobi desert, but that he understands—
without any of the obvious anthropomorphism or Disneyfication of these
animals—the events surrounding the young camel’s birth and later distress.
In order to accomplish this feat of transformative experience, the
filmmakers center their lens on simple actions of the characters—cooking,
washing, eating, feeding the goats, cleaning their tent-like huts, and simple
pleasures such as storytelling, singing, and playing cards. We have little
evidence that this extended family argues or squabbles with each other, since
the film focuses—as have most other such cultural studies—on their daily
survival.
In some respects, accordingly, this simple goat herding life seems
almost paradisiacal, if a bit boring. That is, until after one of their camels
bears a new calf, and a second camel begins suffering, clearly having a hard
time in labor. Ultimately, the family is forced to intrude, helping to pull the
white colt from its reddish-brown mother’s womb. Whether because of that human
intervention, the pain of the childbirth, or just the difference in color, the
mother rejects her baby; Janchiv and Chimed time and again bring the colt back
to feed from its mother’s teats, only to have the mother kick him away. It is a
painful situation, as even the young Ugna wonders whether the colt can survive,
particularly when it the new born begins to pitifully bleat out of fear,
loneliness, and simple hunger, afraid to even near its unfriendly mother.
Chimed feeds the colt milk, but as the small camel finds it difficult to suck
from the container which holds the vital liquid, much of its spills. Only after
tying the mother camel’s legs and forcing the child to her teats, does the babe
get properly fed; the moment they loose the mother, she again kicks her child
away from her company.
The children return to their outpost,
soon after followed the Munkhbayar, the violin teacher on motorcycle. Family
members gather as he momentarily attaches the instrument to one of the camel’s
humps before taking it up and ritually performing, Chimed accompanying with a
beautifully mournful tune while she strokes of the camel’s body. Gradually—and
absolutely magically—the camel is calmed down, and what appear to be tears well
up in its eyes, eventually pouring down its face and on to the floor of the red
desert. As the tune closes, the colt is encouraged to return to the teat,
where, even more startlingly, the mother permits it to nurse!
Western audiences cannot be certain of what they have just witnessed: a
magical ritual of a musically accompanied reunion of mother and child? An inevitable acceptance of a child by its
mother accidently captured upon film? A trick of cinematography? We would like,
of course, to believe in the first alternative. But we also know that, despite
the seemingly unobtrusiveness of the National Geographical supported cameras,
that this Mongolian family has had to deal with their presence for several
days.
A final “curtain call”-like naming of the characters followed by their
bows does not help, as it introduces—for the first and only time—the fact that
this was not “real” life but a play, a scripted act of filmmaking. Accordingly,
even if what it represents—and it does so with startling visual beauty—is the
“truth,” we can only wonder what that “truth” means. One can only ponder what
happened the moment Davaa’s and Falorni’s camera disappeared. Did this beautiful
family break out in laughter for their own (in)credible performances? Did they
begin fighting tooth and nail about how things should have been done? Did old Amgaa complain of his wife’s awful
cooking—evidently goat milk warmed with some herb or spice? Did the two boys
continue to complain to their parents about the lack of a television upon which
they had watched that Soviet cartoon in “the city?” Did the mother camel kick
her colt away one last time?
What one ultimately recognizes is that despite the camera’s ability to
make experience seem just like real life—despite
the seeming naturalness captured by this camera—the very fact that a camera has
been used has transformed these events into something other than actual
experience, has taken them from the real into a world of imitation, has brought
the family, their animals and the events into the world of art.
Los Angeles, June 14, 2007
Reprinted
from World
Cinema Review (June 2007)
Collected
in My
Year 2003: Voice without a Voice (Los Angeles: Green Integer, 2013).
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