April

Telling the story of an obstetrician working in a rural town in the country of Georgia who also performs abortions outside work, it’s a quiet wail in the darkness of the night, hurtling along with all the force of a lightning bolt.

Not quite a thriller and not quite a horror movie, “April” is all the more haunting for never pinning down the roots of Nina’s retreat from life while dedicating herself to improving the lives of others.

It’s a serious approach that declines to show the audience the mother’s catharsis, a challenge to the idea that birth is always joy, and abortion always terror.

April confirms Kulumbegashvili as among the most essential and uncompromising European filmmakers, extending the promise of her 2020 debut Beginning.

By granting these medical interventions their proper duration and respect, Kulumbegashvili infuses them with an element of the sacred.

You could easily imagine April screened in a gallery as video art: part of its brilliance is in the tension it maintains between storytelling and a hardcore commitment to the imagistic.

This film's unbound fury at the ingrained obstinacy of Georgian misogyny makes it a very personal, potent picture.

One of the oddest films I’ve seen lately, April wasn’t a pleasant experience for me, but I do understand its point... A shame that its art-house tactics tarnish much of the story’s emotional impact.

If April requires patience and concentration and labour from its viewers, by its shattering conclusion, it also rewards them.

... a quietly powerful exploration of oppression and resistance that’s both stylish and provocative — giving fresh relevance to familiar themes.