Ali and Nino – first look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

Ali and Nino – first look review

27 Jan 2016

Words by Ed Frankl

Two people sitting on a grassy field, conversing and gazing at each other against a mountainous backdrop.
Two people sitting on a grassy field, conversing and gazing at each other against a mountainous backdrop.
Asif Kapa­dia ditch­es the tried-and-trust­ed doc for­mu­la in favour of this bland his­tor­i­cal drama.

Asif Kapadia’s rep­u­ta­tion for uncon­ven­tion­al film­mak­ing takes an almighty knock in his fol­low-up to Amy, a tedious­ly ano­dyne love sto­ry set in the heat of the Azer­bai­jan inde­pen­dence move­ment of the 1910s. Tak­ing its cue from sweep­ing his­tor­i­cal epics like The Eng­lish Patient and Doc­tor Zhiva­go, Ali and Nino cen­tres on a romance in the midst of a con­ti­nent-defin­ing war. The major dif­fer­ence is that Kapadia’s film is clos­er in rela­tion to a tea-time TV dra­ma than to those Oscar winners.

The film opens in 1914 in Baku, the oil rich Azeri cap­i­tal, and ends at the dec­la­ra­tion of the Azer­bai­jan SSR in 1920 – Kapa­dia tak­ing us on a jour­ney con­sumed by a star-crossed love sto­ry between head­strong Mus­lim aris­to­crat (Adam Bakri) and Chris­t­ian Geor­gian princess (Maria Valverde). Their rela­tion­ship is inevitably plagued by reli­gious dif­fer­ences, dis­ap­prov­ing par­ents and rev­o­lu­tion­ary fer­vour brought on by the onset of con­flict in Russ­ian-con­trolled Azer­bai­jan in 1914.

Kapa­dia gets points for the lus­cious pho­tog­ra­phy of the Cau­ca­cus moun­tains (pho­tographed by Nuri Bilge Cey­lan reg­u­lar Gökhan Tirya­ki), to which Ali and Nino escape, and a believ­ably rugged turn-of-the-cen­tu­ry Baku (filmed in Azer­bai­jan and Turkey). But it’s not enough. The film suf­fers from extend­ed dia­logue scenes, where Christo­pher Hampton’s rick­ety script falls down in the hands of wood­en Bakri and Valverde. It’s a fatal combination.

For some­one whose Sen­na and Amy appeared so full of for­mal­ist con­vic­tion, Kapadia’s first fic­tion film since 2007’s Far North is woe­ful­ly uneven. The edit­ing is tonal­ly incon­sis­tent, some­times cut­ting between mix­ing polit­i­cal dis­cus­sion about oil, war clash­es and some of the most vanil­la love-mak­ing imag­in­able. A piv­otal scene in which Nino is kid­napped by a prospec­tive suit­or – an uncom­fort­able real­i­ty in this turn-of-the-cen­tu­ry set­ting – is pure slapstick.

It’s hard to place exact­ly why Kapa­dia has stum­bled so bad­ly here, espe­cial­ly as the sweep and scope of Ali and Nino mark it as a labour of love for the direc­tor. Per­haps it’s his deci­sion to use a con­glom­er­ate of for­eign actors all speak­ing Eng­lish that gives it such a fake Euro-pud­ding feel. Bakri is an Israeli Arab, Valverde Span­ish, and then there’s Con­nie Nielsen and Mandy Patinkin – Dan­ish and Amer­i­can respec­tive­ly – who ham it up with par­tic­u­lar­ly fruity Russ­ian accents as Nino’s parents.

Based on the nov­el that has become the de-fac­to nation­al book of Azer­bai­jan and lit­tered with his­tor­i­cal fig­ures that led the country’s inde­pen­dence move­ment, this is a sto­ry that should be ripe with polit­i­cal and social com­ments for a tumul­tuous world today. The Azer­bai­jan Demo­c­ra­t­ic Repub­lic, the short-lived inde­pen­dent state cre­at­ed before the Sovi­ets took the coun­try back, was the first repub­lic in the Mus­lim world and the first to grant women uni­ver­sal suf­frage. The real char­ac­ters behind the country’s found­ing are sure­ly more inter­est­ing and inspir­ing than those at the cen­tre of Kapadia’s trite love story.

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