Q&A with Dea Kulumbegashvili

Q. How did you first arrive at the narrative around clandestine abortions that April explores?

A. When I was working on my first feature, I started to meet a lot of the women from the region in Georgia where I grew up. They gradually started to tell me what their lives were like — what bothered them and what was important to them. I heard stories about abortions and contraceptives, which are, honestly, unattainable for most of these women. So, I started to look deeper into the subject. Then I met a doctor who really helped me as I was making the film. He helped me understand the actual challenges when it came to legislation and abortion in Georgia, and what’s actually happening in hospitals across the country.

Abortion is legal in Georgia until 12 weeks, but it’s almost impossible to obtain because every clinic has the right to decide whether they want to perform abortions or not. The vast majority of clinics do not perform abortions. This means women have to travel to the capital, which is almost impossible for most people in that region.

I spent one year in the hospital where we made the film. The first few months I was at the hospital, doctors were very strict with their opinions. They’d say, “Abortion is a religious sin, it’s forbidden, and we don’t perform abortions because we don’t want to become a part of a woman’s sinful decisions.” Gradually, once they started to trust me, I started to see that that’s not what they actually believed in. That’s what the hospital management believes in. That’s what the image of the hospital depends on. So, doctors cannot perform abortions because they’ll be fired.

I only met one doctor who openly performed abortions at the hospital and did not care if he got fired. He said, “If they find me, I’ll just continue going to their homes and doing it. I don’t care what they do to me.” But this guy is like 70 years old and he has dedicated his entire life to his profession. He is very firm about his decision to serve the oath he gave as a doctor.

Q. You’ve worked with Ia Sukhitashvili twice in a row now. Can you speak to your working relationship with her and how you two approached the lead character of Nina in this film?

A. Ia Sukhitashvili is a wonderful person. She’s not only a great actress, she’s a universe unto herself. She became an actress in her childhood — I think when she was five years old — and her entire life has been dedicated to her profession. She doesn’t really know anything else other than being an actress. It’s a very empowering position for her to be in, but also quite fragile and vulnerable at this moment in Georgia when there are almost no possibilities to act because of the political situation. She’s also the single mother of two children, so it’s very important to understand how much she risked being in this film. In a way, it might be good that the film is not screening in Georgia so that she does not have to deal with the consequences.

Up until now, I have developed a process in which I talk to her about the idea of a character that I’ve come up with. Then, I write a blueprint of the script and start to workshop it with her. We sit and talk about the character — what’s her past, what’s her present. Then, I start excluding certain possibilities. It’s a method we invented together, but it’s also very inspired by Mike Leigh. I’m not sure how close our process still is to what he is doing, but he’s always been a great inspiration.

Ia was also at the clinic with me for almost a year. She studied what it meant to be a doctor in that particular clinic and that particular region. We attended births, C-sections… It became part of our daily routine.

Q. There is a haunting quality to the look of April, much of which is shot in low-light. How did you and cinematographer Arseni Khachaturan settle on the look of this film?

A. I cannot imagine making films without Arseni, who is also a very close friend of mine. We have worked in this region for a long time. We first made a short film, Lethe, and then made Beginning. We know when there will be a storm in the region and we always laugh about it. One of us will say, “There will be a storm in 15 minutes,” and then a storm will hit. That’s because we’ve really been able to get to know this region over time. I’m honestly lucky that he loves this place because it’s not easy to love. There is a lot of violence, pain, and misery in these villages. But, there is also so much beauty and incredible people.

We shot on 35mm film, which is a huge risk because we don’t have a film lab in Georgia. It’s kind of like we were shooting blind. I had to trust Arseni so much. But I have complete faith in his feelings and his relationship to the camera. Then, we also faced a lot of challenges because low light is not welcome in contemporary cinema. We were pushed to change certain shots and reshoot. For one scene, we were told to shoot two versions; one of them, with more light. I simply refused to use it, because I think that cinema has become frightened of its own possibilities and the beauty it can grasp. This has to do with online distribution and the fear that people won’t see something in the frame. But I love it when I don’t see something in a film, because it makes me more involved. It makes me pay more attention and I feel that we’re losing those kinds of immersive viewing experiences.

Q. What is the last film you saw and loved?

A. Wild Strawberries. And also Goodbye to Language. When I studied at Columbia University, I had a picture of Godard in my dorm room. On it, I wrote: “When in trouble, when in crisis, think about what this man would do.”

I love Godard, not just because he was a great director, but because he dared and loved the medium of cinema. He was fearless and that’s something that I need to believe in. There are days when I am very scared about the state of the industry, but I force myself to remember that these people were also scared and still made films.

Q. What is one way in which you’d like to see the industry change?

A. I think that we need to be more daring. The medium is so young and we’re already so conservative about following certain rules of storytelling. People are always talking about how there is only one way to tell a story and I refuse to believe that. What culture are they referring to? India, Iran, and France do not tell stories the same way. I think it’s important that we become more open to encountering the unknown in different cultures.

Q. Whose films do your dreams most resemble?

A. Well, it has to be David Lynch. I love him and I think it’s very funny that my films have been compared to every single director who has ever made anything worth watching, except David Lynch. I admire his work because of how playful and serious he was at the same time. He was confronting the medium, not just the industry, but the medium itself. No one talks about it, but he was one of the most confrontational directors. And yet he was also a dreamer.

Q. What’s the next project you’d like to direct?

A. I want to be able to continue making films in my home country, but that’s not possible. In all the interviews I conduct, I want to stress that this pain extends beyond me and that it’s something every Georgian director and artist is facing.

At the moment, it’s impossible to make cinema in Georgia because of censorship and pressure from the government. I think that we’ll maybe see two or three new films from Georgia in the coming years, but nothing new is coming after that. The government is persecuting actors and people are in prisons. It’s horrible and I want the greater filmmaking community to start talking about this. Georgian filmmakers exist, but I feel like nobody cares.

Q. What image would you like to end this interview with?

A. I’m obsessed with going to galleries and museums. I’m basically there all the time. Sometimes, we overlook certain artists because they’re too popular. But, I started to revisit Picasso and discovered how capable he was of creating gentle and vulnerable human portraits. His Rose Period specifically is so tender and beautiful. This image, The Two Brothers, of one boy carrying his brother on his shoulders, has become an obsession of mine.