Tulpan film review: compelling Kazakh drama edges from realism to real

Director Sergei Dvortsevoy’s highly lauded slice-of-Kazakh-life drama Tulpan was filmed on the steppes of southern Kazakhstan in the Betpak Dala, which means ‘Hunger Steppe.’ It’s not hard to figure out why. Dvortsevoy’s cameras soak up the vast emptiness of the landscape, its barren terrain spotted by occasional cattle, yurts and human beings that pop in and out of vision like spectres in a void. In semi-documentary style, with long takes, remote locations and organic performances from professional and nonprofessional actors, the film builds an authenticity that can’t be faked on soundstages or in editing rooms.

The story is broad and unrefined, with details filled in by an improvising cast. After a stint in the navy, young sailor Asa (Askhat Kuchencherekov) returns to the Kazakh Steppe where his sister and her shepherd husband live. Asa dreams of one day owning his own herd – a dream illustrated by drawings on the back of his collar – but to achieve this he first needs a wife.

Eligible young women aren’t exactly a dime a dozen in this region. The girl of Asa’s dreams – and in fact the only girl around for miles – is the beautiful Tulpan, but after a meeting with her family Asa is kbed because he has big ears. His friend returns brandishing an image of Prince Charles, proving that a prince can have big ears too, but Tulpan – who the audience never actually see – is a tough nut to crack. The film balances this story with Asa’s tense relationship with his sister’s husband, his day-to-day life with the family (many of whom are young children) and his interaction with cattle and animals.

Most Western moviegoers no doubt associate Kazakhstan and the cinema with a very different kind of production, Borat, and whether this is cause for concern or simply a meaningless coincidence is yours to judge. It’s difficult to think of a more antithetical pair of films: the difference between, say, Crocodile Dundee and Picnic at Hanging Rock but amplified tenfold.

Slow moving and patiently captured, Tulpan will be too gradual and subtle for many audiences but the benefits of Dvortsevoy’s verite approach – he comes from a background in documentary, and it shows – are obvious, and the film builds a quietly assured rapport with its audience. On occasions the organic qualities of Dvortsevoy’s footage make up for the vague and floaty nature of his storytelling techniques in deeply compelling ways, and nowhere is this more striking than in the film’s much talked about scene in which Asa assists with the birth of a lamb. Like a lot of Tulpan there is a harsh beauty in this moment that tips the film away from realism, to a place that much closer to real. The lamb was actually born and the actor, like his character, assisted a pregnant sheep for the first time.

In some scenes a tornado whizzes around the landscape just metres from where the camera is positioned. Some shots are so unhurried they feel heavy and laborious – the drawbacks of an approach that regards authenticity as the ultimate yardstick by which success is measured. On these terms, Tulpan is a triumph.

Tulpan’s Australian theatrical release: 23 April 2009.