18/10/2024 - In Milko Lazarov’s third feature, a teenage girl’s spinal anomaly becomes the stuff of fairy tales in rural Bulgaria

Oftentimes, critics use the phrase “modern fairy tale” to describe a film world that’s both peculiar and intuitively graspable, one where the logic of conventional narratives doesn’t apply. But what gets forgotten is that a tripartite narrative structure and its hero-overcoming-obstacles arc are the stuff of fairy tales, legends and myths. In the case of Tarika [+see also:
interview: Milko Lazarov
film profile], the third feature by acclaimed Bulgarian director Milko Lazarov, we do indeed encounter a modern, political take wrapped in an enchanting fairy tale that stands on its own two feet. Premiering at the BFI London Film Festival, the film centres on a single father, Ali (Zachary Baharov, from January [+see also:
film review
film profile]), and his teenage daughter, Tarika (newcomer Vesela Valcheva), who live in the Bulgarian countryside isolated from and ostracised by the village folk.

Fractured families in lonely places serve as much more than just a canvas for Lazarov to paint the urgency of our times through metaphors and allegories; in fact, they are the very material of our anxieties and dreams. The director’s previous film, Ága [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Milko Lazarov
film profile], which told the story of a fragmented family in snow-laden Yakutia, gathered more than 40 awards following its premiere at the Berlinale in 2018, and Tarika already stands out as a rare gem on a festival circuit oversaturated with the specific whimsy of “political magical realism”. While many will search for literary inspirations – be it local folk tales or Gabriel García Márquez – Tarika makes up its own myth and embodies it.

The crux of the story has to do with a specific spinal anomaly called “butterfly wings” (a beguiling way to call the actual medical condition of butterfly vertebra), which the girl inherited from her late mother. Superstitions, xenophobia, a barbed-wire border wall and an anti-immigrant speech the mayor makes at the village fair shape the political context of this fairy tale without taking away any of its propulsive power.

Cinematographer Kaloyan Bozhilov works in enormously wide landscape shots and intimate close-ups on Tarika’s face (her voice notably sparse and her words wise), making sure the film world is self-contained and expansive. Shifting between “the big picture” and emotive faces also fits in with the logic of myth-making, ruled by dichotomies. It’s this holistic approach to filmmaking as world-building that elevates the script – which is, as always in Lazarov’s case, sparse in dialogue but rich in potent ideas – to the level of cosmology. There is no need to know or guess what happens to Tarika, or why the village people see her as a scapegoat for sin, disease and immigration, because the film is one to feel. Tarika’s world premiere in London, even in a non-competitive section, is a launchpad for its international visibility, but the shorthand of “magical realism” that one is tempted to attach to it does not capture the rich textures of a world that lives, flutters and breathes on its own.

Tarika was produced by Bulgarian company Red Carpet, in co-production with Germany’s 42film and Amour Fou (Luxembourg). Films Boutique handles its world sales.