Mom (2010)

Directed by: Yelena Renard, Nikolay Renard | 71 minutes | drama | Actors: Ludmila Alyohina, Sergei Nazarov

With lungs squeaking like a pinched bellows, a young man chugs his way up a ramshackle stairwell. It is the most physically demanding ordeal that ‘Mama’ shows. While every move the main character makes requires an incredible effort from him. That starts with fishing a tube of ointment from the tile floor. His skeleton therefore supports a body that, you can’t ignore, contains at least two hundred kilos of fat. The form of ‘Mama’ reflects the content: the thick hour that ‘Mama’ lasts has been transformed by the makers into an oppressive syrup of seconds. Every tick of the clock sticks to you, like the pounds stick to that man’s body on the screen. Not exactly pleasant, but it provides one of the rare opportunities for identification. That is a precious commodity in a virtually impenetrable film.

‘Mama’ is about a son (Sergei Nazarov) who is cared for in complete silence by his mother (Ludmila Alyohina). There is certainly no question of more plot, in the sense of a carefully constructed structure full of unexpected turns. Not because the film hangs together like loose sand, but because so little happens and the little that happens really gets all the attention of the camera. A motionless video camera in a sad environment, by the way. Placed on his tripod in such a way that the image is never completely level – in none of the dozen or so scenes (preferably: stills) that are presented to you. What makes the film even more inaccessible is the acting of son and mother, devoid of emotion. Though her toneless head is still an example of eloquence compared to his look boarded up with excess skin. If she observes him while he eats, you might sense disgust in her, or self-pity, or indifference. Because you have to do something with what is happening. Makers Yelena and Nicolai Renard seem to have really done everything they can to put the viewer’s interpretation of the events shown. Not a word passes the lips of mother and son. Has everything in between already been said? Are words too painful? You never know. It leaves you completely dependent on their actions to satisfy your curiosity about their being and their relationship: peeling an egg, scrubbing a quivering torso, preparing breakfast. But whoever sees how my son stares deadpan at a mannequin for minutes, has to rely on the explanation given by the synopsis of the film. Just like certain paintings can only be understood when a number is mentioned next to it that you can key in on your audio guide. Anyway, Sergei Nazarov, the actor, comes across as someone who was filmed without his realizing it. Sure, it may be an achievement in itself that he manages to present himself so ‘naturally’ in front of a rotating camera. Yet that does very little to maintain your interest in the image that you are sometimes confronted with for minutes. Even if it’s spiced up with blatant symbolism – a gigantic mother’s child having lunch by the statue of a deer cub and its mother.

Outwardly, the film appears to be a style exercise in deep, Russian sadness. As it continues, the desire to escape the shaking fridge, the incessant rain, the inevitable fluorescent lights, and the loose wallpaper in the apartment grows. The only bright spot here is a world map in the son’s bedroom, which hangs on the wall like a forgotten dream. When his mother packs a suitcase, it seems to announce a trip. But no, he goes to sleep. Even that is visualized in real-time for you.