|
International Audiovisual
Festival of Azerbaijan (Baku, Azerbaijan)
article by Wendy Dent for
Filmfestivals.com December 2005:
An Indie
Odyssey to
Azerbaijan
It was one of those times I wished I had a documentary crew following
me around. How could I capture my incredulity at having my own documentary
premiere inAzerbaijan?....
From the first moment- when I was
intrigued by an invitation by the Film Directors Guild of Azerbaijan
to premiere my documentary "Dear Juliet" at their upcoming
international film festival... to the moment when I realised that the
award being called out for "Vendi Dent" was indeed meant for
me.
Where to begin, where to begin? This film festival has left me speechless.
Oh I wish I had my translator with me, so I could make more sense.
Like all good stories, I should start at the very
beginning. No, its easier to start at the end.
One fine autumn night in Azerbaijan, a little over a
week ago, a mere young Australian film-maker (namely me) had the great
honour to win the award for Best Producer at the International Audiovisual
Festival of Azerbaijan. A golden angel statuette no less.
Sounds a little like a fairy tale... and it felt like
I'd
fallen down the looking glass and woken up as a film fest celebrity
in a far flung city called Baku.
You see a little over a few weeks ago, I must confess, I had little
idea at all where Azerbaijan even was. I'm not the only one.
Imagine my grandmother's surprise when I came to her
late one night and announced I'd be flying off to Azerbaijan in a few
days.
"To where, dear? You'd better get the map".
I didn't believe it would be on her old map. But my
grandmother was persistent.
She'd passed on some advice to me on my first overseas
trip, passed down to her from her own grandmother; "Don't talk
to strangers. Or you'll find yourself with a needle in your arm on a
boat to Shanghai".
Fortunately times have changed, and so has my grandmother.
She's now used to my unheralded adventures, and refers to me as the
"been there done that girl" in her words.
Fortunately she has no idea of the number of strangers I end up talking
to making documentaries overseas. But far from Shanghai, I now found
myself staring onto the map at a tiny little country on the Caspian
sea. A former Soviet country - which sounded very exotic to me! It took
just a few seconds to decide. With such an offer to good to refuse,
it would be criminal not to go.
It took a few days longer to decide what to wear. I'd been warned (by
others who also knew little of the new nation) that I'd need to cover
my ankles, "its a very conservative country you know".
I was a little
concerned about my ankles. But I doubted the film
festival's conservatism. The only thing I knew of
Azerbaijan was that they'd premiered my last
documentary ('Girls From Ipanema') there one year
before, a relatively 'racy' account of life on the
beach for bikini-clad girls in Brazil.
Disappointingly, I hadn't of heard of any cinemas
being burned down since.
So being the intrepid documentary maker I'm alleged to be, within the
week I hopped on a plane Baku bound. 30 hours later I arrived. Yes it
took a little time in transit from Australia, via Bangkok (avoiding
Shanghai you see).
I arrived so jet lagged it took me two
attempts through customs for a visa, while my ankles weighed heavily
on my mind.
At 1 in the morning I pensively peered out of the
Immigration/ arrivals area, wondering if I was about to be left stranded
and speechless with not an Azerbaijani 'manat' to my name, nor a plan
to fall back on. Well all the best adventures start that way.
I was met by three gushing gentlemen, greeting me like
old friends and rushing me to their car and on my way to - well I didn't
quite know where.
A dashing young translator named Javid assured me that
he would be at my beck and call night and day, and would be translating
my film from Azeri. I was told that if I needed anything at all, to
just call for him to translate. "yes, good, so then your people
can do lunch with my people..." I replied. Fortunately they got
my silly sense of humour at way past the midnight hour. Or they were
humouring me.
Javid assured me that of all the international guests
expected, I was the favourite that everyone had been waiting for. Because
for over a year now, since my "Girls From Ipanema" documentary
debuted last year, the whole festival team had been hoping I'd come
to Baku, "god willing". Apparently they'd all been looking
at my website. A lot.
At 2am we arrived at our destination. All I could see was rubble. Engulfed
in the darkness before me, was a wall of stone and marble, blocks fallen
off through the decades. It was a crumbling old hotel.
I was ushered upstairs to the top floor of this grand
old relic and shown to a grand old suite... decked out in Barbie doll
pink ... with a plush old brown velour 70s couch.. and a bath tub bigger
than a spa... and a balcony overlooking the Caspian Sea. The entire
suite was a little larger than my entire studio back home inOz.
A few floors below were smaller hotel rooms, and a Swedish
director was sharing a bed with a Hungarian producer (not by choice
that is). Yes the festival team were definitely showing me favouritism
in hosting
me here. My suite echoed the opulence of a penthouse of countless Soviet
leaders of the past - and was now my home for a week!
In the morning I peered over my balcony expecting to
see a Mediterranean-like view. Instead I looked out to buildings drowning
in a long forgotten sea, and a rusted old chair lift with ghostly iron
chairs that had been hanging there for decades. My god.
Whatever its past, the charisma of this unforgettably old palace was
paradoxically charming.
One juror was complaining about the lack of Hyatt standard
mod-cons, but I wondered if this place would get better with
age.
The festival director had other things on his
mind- even a week later he busy arguing passionately with his administrators
about whether the wine was dry or sweet. Outside the cinema, other film-makers
and jurors were describing the atmosphere, as if we were all extras
on an extraordinary old studio back lot.
I watched on with bemusement. Film festival day 1 is often that awkward
kind of day, like a first date,
when you wonder whether you'll have the time of your life or it will
go horribly wrong.
But this fest was
different. The isolation of the 'International Tourism Centre' where
we were housed for a week, dining together communally for each meal
in one very big marble-clad hall, made the festival feel more like an
ex-soviet summer camp for film-makers. Perhaps the lack of a public
audience contributed to that. "But who will be watching the films?"
I asked my trusty translator.
"An audience of specially invited
guests. Film industry luminaries. Media.Diplomats.
We've invited all the embassies."
" Oh, is the Australian embassy coming?!"
" There is no Australian embassy".
" Oh.".
A few hours later, opening night erupted in full
glory. It was then that I realised in Baku (capital of
Azerbaijan) this festival was. A.Very.Big.Deal. There
was everything but a red carpet up to the cinema
(somewhat ironic, given the kilometres of red persian carpets lining
every other floor).
The international jury looked suitably serious and
officious.
Film-makers looked suitably serious too.
The glossy awards were described, and film-makers tried their best to
look unexpectant. From the opening ceremony to the opening dinner, toasts
and speeches were made, and made again. With TV cameras and glamourous
hosts, it was the veritable Azerbaijan Academy awards unfolding right
before my eyes.
And my translator got a full work out on his english
- yes for the next week I felt like the toast of the town being interviewed
on every TV channel, twice. A live in-studio morning show on Azerbaijan's
newest TV channel, microphones reaching for me outside the cinema, outside
the buses, during a city tour, before dinner, it seemed everyone wanted
my every opinion on anything and everything. On the record. And the
first question was always- "What do you think of Baku?".
Of course a gushing answer was required. And it was a welcome relief
from the only other question more common- "are you married"?
Or "Will you marry me?!".
I had to be careful of my every answer. My 'lack of
marital status' and my strict vegetarianism dominated the conversation
for the entire festival, and I found everything I said was translated
and echoed down the hall from one food table to another, from one day
to the next. The inordinate amount of attention made me hide away in
my deluxe suite much more than I'd intended.
To put it in perspective, it was considered a great
honour that I'd flown all the way from Australia to
Azerbaijan. The festival staff reminded me that in the festival's history
I was the first Australian
international guest, and no-one before had flown even half as far. London
was the previous record.
So from the start I was celebritised as the film-maker
from the most far flung continent, and instead of Wendy I was soon quickly
known instead as "Vendi", "Dear Juliet", or simply
as "Australia". It made me feel like "Miss Australia"
- What a way to steal a girl's heart!. Everywhere I went I heard of
chorus of people calling me, "Australia, where are you?" "Australia,
come here!".
It culminated in a wonderfully rousing toast
by the Kyrgyzstan juror on the closing night, who
simply called out "Australia, I love you!". I gave a
toast in reply "I love you all!". And was promptly
invited to Kyrgyzstan.
When the dignitaries left, and the festival officially
finished, the 'after parties' continued. I thought I'd
have some time off and time to myself. But no - therewere more celebrity
tours and introductions to be made. And more invitations to midnight
vodka binges on the balconies of the old Soviet hotel. The film-makers
returned home one by one, and I begged to be let free to roam sightseeing.
But I seemed destined to be adored to death instead.
A couple of self appointed festival "security" flanked me
by each arm, and were adamant I needed an entourage. It became obvious
I had no choice in the matter.
With a few other film-makers they proudly toured me
through the University of Art, and once again I was showered with gifts
from chocolates to plastic roses, and introduced to every dean in the
faculty.
Soon I wondered was there anyone in Azerbaijan left
to meet?
As for that other burning question on every one's
lips... what did I think of Baku? I discovered the
best answer - handsome men, beautiful women and good taste in films
of course!
In truth, Baku was an enigma to me. The films
presented from the entire region were so relentlessly serious and severe,
so moody and malcontent. That saddened me in a way.
The audience and jury perplexed me - they talked through
every film, took mobile calls, laughed or applauded tragedy, and hearing
my own film being translated live into Azeri was an intensely strange
but electric experience.
Especially at the point when the translators understandably
found the language too fast or poetic or were just totally exhausted
and stopped translating mid scene - a heart stopping moment. Though
I'm sure the translation was excellent, I thought my dreams of winning
any awards were dashed, and that I should leave for home pleased if
the audience even understood the film at all.
But above all I loved the family feeling this festival
had, the spirit and humour that graced every moment and every night...
The long and passionate songs in Azeri by the piano
till late at night, followed by the improvised hip hop discos raging
with a dozen festival lads (plus me!) downstairs each night... the endless
cries of "more vodka, Vendi?!? more wine Wendy!!".
I will even miss the calls and knocks on the door at 3am, from dedicated
festival volunteers waking me because they needed to "check my
plane ticket", give me presents, or for seemingly any excuse to
get me to join in their spontaneous late night parties with Azerbaijan
cocktails of beer & vodka mixed.
One wonderfully friendly festival volunteer and
translator (Jehyhun) even took me to his home to
introduce me his mother and brother, who was an
artist. They asked me if I liked his art, hanging on
the wall. "Oh yes, its beautiful" I obviously replied.
" Please, take it! Take it!". "No... thank you but no"
I insisted, describing my bursting luggage, my honour at the suggestion
but... often Azerbaijanis don't take no for an answer. They insisted,
"No you must!" and quickly took the paintings down off the
wall, despite my protests.
As I left I was given Jeyhun's brother's painting for
my wall, and his mother addressed me in Azeri. The translation? "If
you were more young, you could marry him". Oh my. Now what could
be more
sweet?
So I left Azerbaijan somewhat entranced. The city
seemed sweet and innocent, though it was so recently scarred from its
bloodshed past.
How can it be, Baku is a city of such fading glory,
yet gloriously cheerful people. The kind of people that will welcome
you into your home at any time day or night, drag out their grandmother
to admire you, force-feed you home-baked cakes, colourful sweets and
teas with jam and then adopt you as your son or daughter given half
the chance. Perfect for starving indie film-makers.
Yes, I'll be Baku bound again as soon as I can.
Wendy Dent
Director/ Producer "Dear Juliet"
www.wendydent.com
October 2005
|
