There’s an absolutely stunning scene two-thirds of the way through Distant Constellation, Shevaun Mizrahi’s new documentary about the residents of a Turkish retirement home. One of the livelier residents, who has previously appeared on screen reminiscing about orgies and reading a page of his own erotic fiction, proposes marriage to the camerawoman. For the most part, the filmmakers maintain a strict distance from their subjects, but there are small moments when the divide breaks down, this being the biggest crack in the façade. The man confesses his loneliness to the camerawoman, and notes that she always treats him kindly and never leaves him bored. A twinkle passes through his eyes, but then a deep sadness. He is joking, of course, but only partly.
Despite contemporary society’s best efforts at forgetting them, life does not end for senior citizens on their move to a nursing home. They still have life, wit, and memory. Distant Constellation aims to paint these particular elderly people with sensitivity and warmth, but it also suggests they might be better attuned to the mysteries of existence than those of us wrapped up in busy activity. Ezra Pound once claimed to be the antennae of the human race, and Mizrahi’s mystical filmmaking style suggests that the same might be true of these men and women. They discuss life after death, but also sit patiently in their rooms as the cosmos swirl outside their windows. One man lies in bed, singing a Christmas carol, and periodically rises up with a scream, as if offering a portent of life beyond this world.
This description might make the film seem ethereal, but it also keeps one foot planted firmly on the ground. The residents go about the business of living their lives. A man who was once a photographer fiddles with his cameras, trying to capture one last image of beauty. A woman of Armenian descent remembers the horrors of the genocide of her people, but remains hopeful in life. Two old friends ride the complex’s elevator up and down, down and up, in the comfortable routine of old camaraderie. There are so many deeply realized human moments in the film that the more mystical elements don’t take over.
Distant Constellation is showing at True/False as a test screening, in unfinished form, and the version I saw definitely feels incomplete. There’s a separate thread of the film where cameras follow young construction workers, presumably at work just outside the retirement home. While this provides an interesting counterpoint to the main substance of the film, the two parts don’t quite fit together yet, even in an oblique way. Still, this unpolished version points more to future potential than any present lack – I’m excited to see the finished cut soon.
