★★★★★
Tato Kotetishvili’s debut feature is an impressive passion project celebrating the beauty of everyday life in Tbilisi.
On 22 May, members of the Georgian community in Berlin huddled together during a harsh and sudden winter-like breeze to see Holy Electricity (Tsminda Elekroenergia, 2024) in the outdoor cinema at Neue Zukunft during the Gantiadi cultural festival.
Kotetishvili’s debut feature — which, among other international accolades, won the best film award in Locarno’s emerging filmmakers’ section, as well as the Golden Lily at the goEast Festival of Central and Eastern European Film in Wiesbaden — kept the audiences warm and laughing throughout the late evening screening.
Holy Electricity is quite a feat for Kotetishvili, who was not only the director, producer, and director of photography (having already established himself as a cinematographer internationally), but also one the screenwriters, together with Irine Jordania and Nutsa Tsikaridze.
The film is undoubtedly a passion project and a love letter to the inhabitants of Tbilisi. The story, in which we follow two cousins in their search for success, illuminates everyday struggles to survive in the capital with idiosyncrasy and the magic found in the peculiar.
When Gonga’s (Nika Gongadze) father passes away, his cousin Bart (Nikolo Ghviniashvili) takes him under his wing — or so we believe. The two cousins come across a box of rusty crosses while scavenging for valuables in a local scrapyard, and Gen-Zer Gonga refurbishes one of them with neon tube lights to put on his father’s grave. Deciding this could be a good business idea, they begin to sell the illuminated crosses door to door, trying to convince Tbilisians they are a must-have for every household.
The loosely structured urban road trip is merely a pretext to explore eccentric living rooms and their even more eccentric inhabitants. Hoarders, cat ladies, acrobatic old men, creative souls from every generation: each encounter reminds us that regular life can, and should, flow with unbound artistry. What other way is there to deal with recurrent, systemic impoverishment?
The aloof dead-pan gaze of the camera, reminiscent of Roy Andersson, treads a fine line but does not feel mocking. On the contrary, the disenfranchised characters in Holy Electricity all seek distinction and beauty — be it through embellishing the everyday with supras, hopes for romance, or tacky home decor. If anything, the camera’s gaze admires these small, serious efforts and celebrates them, even if the ways in which the main characters aspire towards glamour and success are sometimes questionable.
Bart takes the role of a father figure seriously, even if he may not be much qualified for it. Pretty much living in his car, the pair drive around eating shawarmas and avoiding small-time mobsters that Bart owes money to. It’s genuinely exhilarating that Bart being trans (Ghviniashvili is a prominent queer rights activist) is very much beside the point: whether cis or trans, he’s still a man in a staunchly patriarchal system, not immune to misogynistic views or immature whims. Despite, or even because of, his flaws, the dreams of entrepreneurial success and romance he chases seem all the more heartfelt and human.
Gonga, on the other hand, is a lot more reflective and interested in the world around him. Befriending a Roma girl who sells coffee on the street, he recruits her into their dubious sales scheme as an awkward flirtation attempt after falling out with Bart. Despite his young age, he possesses a strong moral compass, even if it’s evident he still has a lot to learn about how the circumstances in which people live compromise their behaviour. His innocence, openness, and curiosity towards Tbilisians of every strata is endearing and emblematic of the whole film.
Consistently static camera shots in Holy Electricity create strong and mesmerising tableaus of Tbilisi. Avoiding iconic imagery of the old town or the city’s monuments, the film paints an everyday map centering markets, dead end streets, rooftops, and metro stations. A city bustling with small-scale transience — a romantic view that does not fall into cliches nor serves as an advert for tourism.
Casting non-professionals, Kotetishvili opted to improvise dialogues with wonderful success that is tough to achieve. The meandering narrative never fails to surprise, and every scene feels fresh. In an interview, Kotetishvili revealed that quite a few characters in the film simply approached the crew while they were shooting and so ended up participating. The resultant documentary feel seems both temporary and timeless, something specific to its time and place, yet revealing the enduring spirit of Tbilisi’s inhabitants.
A gentle and playful ode to Tbilisians, the film underscores the socioeconomic hardships they face but sees far beyond these material limitations. Celebrating Georgian sociability and the small glimpses of beauty in the everyday, Holy Electricity is a debut full of heart and talent to look out for.
Film details: Holy Electricity (2024) directed by Tato Kotetishvili.
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