In "Honeyland," one of the most beautiful films I have ever seen, a flying drone camera peers down on a distant peasant woman walking a long mountainous path in North Macedonia, once part of the kingdom of Alexander the Great.
A different camera comes closer. The woman is in her 40s, her skin leathery, her teeth crooked, her head scarf blue and white. The path seems familiar to her.
Then the camera is right behind her, on a narrow mountain ledge barely wider than her hips.
She picks her way past tree branches to a large colony of bees.
She sings to them, the bees do not sting her. She takes some honeycombs thick with honey, puts them in a jar in a cloth over her shoulders, and walks down from the mountain back to her simple stone home.
The woman, Hatidze Muratova, lives with her mother, Nazife, 84, who is blind in one eye and cannot walk. They bicker over little things and then they kiss each others' hands and make up.
Hatidze walks and takes the train to Skopje, the capital city of some 500,000 people that is only 12 miles away.
She is at ease in the city, has regular customers, is adept at gleaning the latest market information.
Her quality honey sells for 12 euros a jar (more than $14), a top price.
She buys groceries, including a foldable hand fan for her mother, hair dye for herself, bananas for both of them. She returns home, her mother does not know she has left.
Although a documentary, there is no narrator so the audience (me) is frequently confused as to what is going on.
The filmmakers - Ljubomir Stefanov and Tamara Kotevska - spent three years with Hatidze, shot 400 hours of film, and distilled it to 90 minutes.
Even so, the film seems languid, appropriate to the unfolding story. (The film credits five interpreters; Hatidze and the other characters later in the movie are Turkish.)
The filmmakers were originally commissioned to make a documentary about bee conservation, but they have delivered far more: a tiny Aesop's fable about love, loss, ecological sustainability, greed, duty.
And, as I said, it is one of the most beautiful movies I have ever seen. The film at night reminds me of Georges de La Tour, especially the portraits where a woman brushes her hair, illuminated by a single candle.
There are many grace notes. My favorite: Hatidze attaching an antenna resembling a satellite dish on a tall pole so she can get a better signal on her short-wave radio.
Pounce.
A different camera comes closer. The woman is in her 40s, her skin leathery, her teeth crooked, her head scarf blue and white. The path seems familiar to her.
Then the camera is right behind her, on a narrow mountain ledge barely wider than her hips.
She picks her way past tree branches to a large colony of bees.
She sings to them, the bees do not sting her. She takes some honeycombs thick with honey, puts them in a jar in a cloth over her shoulders, and walks down from the mountain back to her simple stone home.
The woman, Hatidze Muratova, lives with her mother, Nazife, 84, who is blind in one eye and cannot walk. They bicker over little things and then they kiss each others' hands and make up.
Hatidze walks and takes the train to Skopje, the capital city of some 500,000 people that is only 12 miles away.
She is at ease in the city, has regular customers, is adept at gleaning the latest market information.
Her quality honey sells for 12 euros a jar (more than $14), a top price.
She buys groceries, including a foldable hand fan for her mother, hair dye for herself, bananas for both of them. She returns home, her mother does not know she has left.
Although a documentary, there is no narrator so the audience (me) is frequently confused as to what is going on.
The filmmakers - Ljubomir Stefanov and Tamara Kotevska - spent three years with Hatidze, shot 400 hours of film, and distilled it to 90 minutes.
Even so, the film seems languid, appropriate to the unfolding story. (The film credits five interpreters; Hatidze and the other characters later in the movie are Turkish.)
The filmmakers were originally commissioned to make a documentary about bee conservation, but they have delivered far more: a tiny Aesop's fable about love, loss, ecological sustainability, greed, duty.
And, as I said, it is one of the most beautiful movies I have ever seen. The film at night reminds me of Georges de La Tour, especially the portraits where a woman brushes her hair, illuminated by a single candle.
There are many grace notes. My favorite: Hatidze attaching an antenna resembling a satellite dish on a tall pole so she can get a better signal on her short-wave radio.
Pounce.