05/06/2024 - Latvian actress-turned-director and screenwriter Elza Gauja tells the poignant story of a senior couple grappling with the wife’s fast-progressing Alzheimer’s

Elza Gauja’s films have marked the last two editions of the Lielais Kristaps (the Latvian National Film Awards). A Postcard from Rome was crowned as Best Feature this year (see the news), and before that, Gauja’s documentary Meanwhile in Lucavsala (2022) was rewarded as Best Debut and the feature-length dramedy Keep Smiling, Mom! (2022) earned Baiba Broka a Best Actress nomination.

The theme of tenderness recurs throughout all of Gauja's films, reaching its peak in A Postcard from Rome. It’s the story of a senior couple, Ernests (Jānis Jarāns) and Alvīne (Indra Burkovska), who work in a post office and dream of winning a trip to Rome. Sounds cute enough. But, as the couple grapples with Alvīne’s fast-progressing Alzheimer’s, the tone shifts to a more poignant portrayal of Ernests’ attempts to cope with his wife’s memory loss and Alvīne’s diminishing sharpness of thought.

What contributes to this sense of tenderness? One key, albeit debatable, element is the use of the husband's point of view, which might result from the unequal attention given to Alvīne's character. The otherwise fierce and stubborn Alvīne lacks agency. Perhaps allegorically, it serves as a reflection of slowly losing one’s grasp on self-determination. Intentional or not, the prevalent viewpoint of Ernests shows the inner anguish of watching your loved one slowly slipping away. He grapples with his wife's worsening dementia, struggling to maintain joy and a sense of control. The contrast between his teary eyes and his hopeful attempts brings out this heart-wrenching tenderness.

The setting also plays an essential role in creating a warm atmosphere. The usually morbidly and miserably depicted Eastern European residential areas take on unexpected aesthetic qualities, thanks in part to DoP Aleksandrs Grebņevs. The brutalist-socialist buildings appear surprisingly picturesque, and the residents emerge as a community, rather than a bleak, homogenous mass.

Furthermore, the emphasis is put on love, rather than illness. This equilibrium is fragile and delicate owing to the constant looming presence of Alzheimer’s. The film's ability to counterbalance these emotional swings enables it to tug at the heartstrings, yet it manages to steer clear of becoming a calculated tearjerker. This sincerity pulls the viewer in, only to release them through levity, and it never turns into a Latvian remake of 2004’s The Notebook.

Despite the affectionately depicted khrushchevkas (apartment buildings constructed in the USSR in the 1960s under Khrushchev) and the sensitive close-ups of Ernests’ concerned expressions and Alvīne’s lost gaze, the dynamic, handheld camera work at times feels out of place, adding too much nervousness and rapidity to the otherwise bittersweet scenes.

There are some narrative inconsistencies, particularly in the efforts to provide background storylines. Nonetheless, the performances more than make up for these irregularities. While Jarāns, mostly associated with comic roles, demonstrates his dramatic capacities, Burkovska’s fierce presence captures the complexity of Alvīne, who is sharp and stubborn, yet childlike and lost.

The film mimics the naturalistic reality of growing older; however, it also draws us into a magical micro-reality where Alvīne and Ernests lovingly see themselves reflected in each other’s eyes and where one can actually win the lottery, even if it means spending the money that had been set aside for the wake (the “grave money”, kept in a bucket). When watching A Postcard from Rome, one should leave any cynicism at the door. “Sentimental” and “kind” aren’t rude words, but they are exactly what this film is.

The screenplay was written by Elizabete Lukšo-Ražinska and Elza Gauja. A Postcard from Rome was produced by Latvia’s Picture House in collaboration with the Latvian Academy of Culture and the studio Riverbed.