Where there’s a will, there’s a way; where there’s life, there’s a football field. In his sophomore feature, Dry Leaf [+lee también:
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entrevista: Alexandre Koberidze
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“Is there a football field around here?” asks Irakli (the director's father, David Koberidze) again and again in each town, while driving across rural Georgia in search of his missing daughter, Lisa, a sports photographer last known to be taking photos of such fields. He is accompanied by Levan, his invisible friend who rides shotgun, offering kindly interventions when Irakli seems to stray too far. Many of the people they encounter, too, are invisible, with Irakli later seemingly wandering around while completely alone.

We begin by tumbling into this world through Giorgi Koberidze’s enchanting percussive score, set off by dissonant piano and synths, with the film evolving into one almost entirely set to music through a series of recognisable leitmotifs. With lensing also by the filmmaker, Dry Leaf was notably shot on a Sony Ericsson mobile phone, a device first released in 2005. We are a witness to landscapes and interactions through a visual perspective distanced from that of everyday life – yet somehow, the charm of these pixelated fields persists more than ever. The Georgian countryside – at times a dehydrated yellow, at others a lush green – is dotted with animals: first cats, then dogs, cows, horses and more, crafting a safe and tender sense of place.

The film's three-hour running time perhaps runs counter to the average viewer’s need for constant stimulation. Instead, we are pushed to find joy in the simplest of pleasures, which are often the most sublime of all: a momentary encounter between a child and a calf, or Irakli’s careful washing of his vehicle, the water spilling down the window to reveal the landscape beyond. Later, Koberidze touches on a commentary on our rapid departure from what we hold close as humanity – culture, sport, life – as replaced by rapid technological modernisation and the development of land for profit.

Most striking are a set of supposed contradictions innate to both its form and its content: for instance, it feels like a fundamental paradox to be screening a film, with intentionally grainy and so-called “poor” images, in 2K. Yet the phone cinematography rarely evokes a video diary: Koberidze’s shots are, instead, incredibly still and precisely composed. Likewise, Irakli’s search for a missing person while accompanied by an invisible friend oozes an irony that we can later brush off as superficial. Koberidze gently guides us into disrupting our need to reconcile the beautiful incompleteness of the world: feel, don’t overthink.

Dry Leaf is a German-Georgian production staged by New Matter GmbH. It is sold by Heretic.