An infertile teacher falls for the young woman she wishes to become a
surrogate mother for the child she can't have herself.
Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Olga Chajdas
Starring: Julia Kijowska, Eliza Rycembel, Andrzej
Konopka, Maria Peszek, Katarzyna Gniewkowska, Tatiana
Pauhofová
Kids, who'd have 'em? Nina, the titular character of Olga Chajdas'
melodrama, that's who. She's surrounded by them all day in her job as a high
school French teacher, and, a clear glutton for punishment, she wants her
very own child, too. The problem is that Nina (played to an icy perfection
by Julia Kijowska, who also co-wrote the evidently personal
screenplay) is infertile, and, with her fella Wojtek (Andrzej Konopka), undergoes fertility treatment and scours the personal ads for potential
surrogate mothers. Nothing seems to be clicking for the couple however,
until they meet the sexy, carefree Magda (Eliza Rycembel), and,
eyeing up her fresh-faced look and feisty attitude, Wojtek suggests the
younger woman as a proxy mum.
It's a crafty plan on the part of grubby old Wojtek, but what the couple
don't realise is that homegirl is gay. The audience do however, as we've
seen already her up to tricks with a random behind her girlfriend's back,
and for the first third of the film we wait for the penny to drop. Perhaps
we shouldn't be too harsh on the couple though, as they haven't even clued
in to the more pressing reality that one of them, too, is actually in the
gays: Nina herself. As the film progresses, and the couple attempt to woo
Magda into providing a child for them, a mutual attraction blossoms between
the two women.
Plot-wise, from the awakening of Nina's sexuality the focus shifts towards
her reconcilement of her new-found desires. The drama is pleasantly
absorbing, and filmed with the experimental vigour of a new, but technically
proficient, director. Chajdas has history within Polish television, but this
is her first feature, and her style is at once fresh - filming from unusual
angles, with hazy lighting - but also authentic, with her actors putting in
lived-in and completely believable performances. The problem is that
Nina is one of those films where most will be able to figure
out what is going to happen in the first five minutes of this two-hours plus
movie. And what unfolds is a predictable but heartening
coming-out-of-the-closet tale where older-woman but baby-dyke Nina is
familiarised to the exciting world of homosexuality, its sex and culture, by
her girlish counterpart. Flighty Magda, likewise, is surprised to find a
partner whom she could devote herself monogamously to. There is no suggested
fluidity within Nina, no sense that Nina's dominant sexual preference has
simply wandered to pastures new: the happy implication at the heart of the
film is that she has recognised her true sexual persona.
Which is lovely for Nina, but how far this film intrigues as a narrative is
variable. The soap opera staple of surrogacy is more or less abandoned for
an indulgent tracking of Nina's trajectory towards self-actualisation. This
involves various sequences within a staple gay club, which is as escapist
and sybaritic as you like, and loaded visits to art exhibitions (one
interactive installation is composed of pink crepe sheets and Magda remarks
that "it's like sitting in a cunt"-!). To this end, the cold concrete set
ups of Warsaw are excitedly contrasted with the soft hued mise-en-scenes of
Magda's world, just as her youthful energy is set against boring, blokey
Wojtek, and Nina becomes a celebration of its protagonist's
acceptance of herself. This heartfelt style does make
Nina highly watchable, but it is a shame that the film itself
doesn't take on some of the oblique lightness of the lesbian scene it
portrays. During certain moments the po-faced, deeply serious storytelling
can be unintentionally, and unfortunately, hilarious: at a point when
neither party has shown their hand (as it were), Nina nonchalantly quizzes
Magda about her genetic history and whether there has been "any disease" in
her family. Magda, unaware of the surrogacy plan, asks why she wants to
know: "no reason," comes the implausible answer. There is also an awkward
ambient score of too-loud strings and horns, which bursts out over the
soundtrack in a variety of alarming and misplaced ways.
Furthermore, it also is difficult to imagine how a child would figure
within Nina's highly passionate and social new-life. The film itself
proposes her unsuitability when, perusing a gynocentric art exhibition, an
incredulous Magda asks, "You were going to bring your pupils here?!" Perhaps
(in a character development which would make the unpleasant final act even
more devastating) Nina doesn't actually want a kid at all, and it is simply
the heterosexual hegemony of family which Nina has been conditioned to
believe she needs to fulfil. Could the film be a low-key satire of such
predominant social values? If not, then Nina still has a great
deal of merit in its strange, dreamlike atmosphere and committed
performances: a welcome glorification of liberated passion and sexual
utopias.
Nina is on MUBI UK now.