22/10/2024 - The Bulgarian director breaks down his third feature, which wraps up a triptych exploring forces and meanings stemming from the invisible layers of human existence

(© Veselka Kiryakova)

After presenting Tarika [+see also:
film review
interview: Milko Lazarov
film profile] at both the BFI London Film Festival and CinÉast in Luxembourg within the space of a week, Milko Lazarov reveals insights into the origin of the film’s concept and the shooting process, while also sharing details about the audience reception.

Cineuropa: After the snowy fairy tale Ága [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Milko Lazarov
film profile], Tarika also features a parable-based plot with allegorical dialogues, and once again, the title is a female name. Are you creating a diptych with Ága, or will it perhaps become a trilogy?
Milko Lazarov: Elements of mysticism are also present in my feature debut, Alienation [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Milko Lazarov
film profile], although I didn't plan to make a trilogy; it just worked out that way, as these themes have excited me over the last ten years. The three films turned out to be similar, and in Tarika, I wanted to emphasise nature more as a character.

That's very noticeable from the background sound design, which consists mostly of sounds from nature.
It's entirely intentional – there are wolves, butterflies, owls, a goat, wind, the sun and rocks. More and more, I am drawn to the unseen. The visible bores me, while the invisible captivates me. The unknown is always larger than the known. I've always been interested in mysticism more than ordinary relationships. However, after Ága, which is more abstract, I decided to remain more grounded.

Are you talking about the political layer of the film, which refers to concrete issues of the present day?
Yes, and it’s a topic that I'm passionate about, but I feel somewhat cautious discussing it directly because it's a trite subject: how we help people in need. Many people see migrants as those who come to a richer Europe on a whim. However, I believe that most of them are genuinely in need, and I hope to live in a time when humanity shows empathy for those at our door who are hungry.

In the film, the border serves as a metaphor. At first, we did not include the scene with the mayor giving a populist speech about guarding the European Union, which felt too on the nose. In the end, we decided to bring it back, which added density to the film. It could be that it compromised the artistry somewhat, but without it, the film felt too abstract.

Perhaps it brought the political message to the forefront, and the audience might attach more weight to it, while in your director’s statement, you shed light on more universal themes, such as the family versus the crowd, the expansion of modernity, the loss of faith. How was the audience’s reaction?
The viewers in London and Luxembourg did not ask questions about refugees or politics; these topics didn’t interest them. They wanted to know what happened to the girl in the end – what actually occurred – in order to better understand the tale in the film. One girl even cried and said, “At times, I didn’t understand exactly what it was about, but I could feel where things were going, and I knew something tragic was going to happen.” Intuition is leading the way, and I believe that works more powerfully than rationality.

Additionally, several viewers told me that they searched on the internet for a wing-sprouting disease affecting the back, and how it manifests itself. But there is no such disease, and they laughed at the fact they had been misled.

How did you actually come up with this idea?
We were in the Arava Desert in Israel, where Ága was being screened outdoors – it’s a very special place. That’s when I got the idea for a character that takes off his shirt to reveal wings. Then the question arose: “Where is his mother?” We found the answer through an intuitive connection, as if it had been drawn from some legend, without referencing a specific mythology.

I really like your suggestion that miracles in modern times are pathologised – whatever cannot be explained is labelled as a disease.
I wanted to transcend the everyday. In the script, there was a romantic development between Tarika and the boy with blond hair, but that line was dropped because she began to transform into a deity. She knows what lies ahead, and we could not incorporate God into domestic situations like falling in and out of love. Her mission is different – it is above those things.

And you are not giving up on 35 mm.
Correct, but my next film, which will be much more realistic and focus on the relationship between a foster mother and the children she cares for, might be shot on video. This will change the filming process. In Tarika, however, everything we filmed is on screen – the shots were very well measured and meticulously planned, even though we wrote dialogue until the last minute. I work most effectively under pressure, but I don’t consciously choose to do so. It’s as if a critical situation triggers something in me. We were aware that the dramaturgical connections were broken at times, but mythology cannot be built on cause-and-effect relationships. Not everything has to be explained.