Stellet Licht

I finally got a chance to see Stellet Licht, which is, to my knowledge, the only motion picture in history to be filmed entirely in Plautdietsch. If I'm wrong about that I'd be more than happy to be corrected.

This film escaped my notice until it won the Jury Prize at Cannes in 2007, after which it was reviewed in the New York Times. I missed it when it screened in Vancouver a few months ago, but now it's out on DVD. I wish I had seen this one in the theatre though, because it is exquisitely rendered. From the languorous opening shot of the sun rising to the closing shot of the last morsel of light disappearing from the screen over the horizon at sunset. It is gorgeous.

Before I worked as a subtitler I always assumed that subtitles were the best available translation. Actually, I never gave subtitles much thought. And while my Plautdietsch tongue is a little rusty to say the least, my ear for it is good. There were times when what I was hearing and what I was reading didn't quite... stemme. (Note: Spelling of 'stemme' from the Pautdietsch Dictionary. I would've probably spelled it schtem.) Having said that, the film takes place on an unspecified Mennonite colony in Chihuahua, Mexico, and the dialect is closer to that spoken by E's family, who came from Paraguay, than my own.

The story itself is pretty straightforward and not all that incendiary, but I'm sure, as was the case with Miriam Toews' A Complicated Kindness, certain people will still find lots to take exception to. Basically a long-married man finds true love in a woman other than his wife (the incomparable Miriam Toews, by the way - who knew she was an actor?). This is not a mid-life crisis story. He's not looking to get laid by a younger more beautiful, funner woman. He's fallen in love with a woman whom he would've chosen over his wife had he met both of them at the same time. The other interesting departure from the usual plot is that he hides nothing from his wife, he's completely transparent about it. They suffer together.

The silence in this film speaks louder than the words, of which there are relatively few. There's no score and no music, other than the unaccompanied three-part harmony of a funereal hymn. Despite my Mennonite heritage, I don't necessarily relate to to the film or the setting, and I'd hesitate to recommend it, having precious few hours to see films these days myself. But I can safely say it's a film unlike any I've ever seen before. And worth two hours of my time. Which is more than I can say for many of the films I've seen in the last year or so.