REVIEW - THE LONELIEST PLANET

An engaged couple's relationship turns in an instant in Julia Loktev's psychologically attuned drama. Neither person is fully aware of the extent of the damage at first; it seeps into their psyches slowly, beating back any conscientious attempts at geniality, whether by depressing their mood or by allowing them to succumb to rash actions and reactions. A brutish fecklessness encroaches upon them. This relationship is doomed. It was not impenetrable to begin with; perhaps it never could have been. Nica and Alex are intimate, at ease with one another, they possess that ability to communicate without even acknowledging each other that some couples possess, but not necessarily a great deal of solid, indestructible love. What happens betrays the prevalence of the human survival instinct, one's natural capacity for selfishness and one's conscious capacity for selflessness. Alex errs, and causes irreparable injury - it exposes traits of himself which, Loktev seems to argue, are inherent in man, alien and loathsome to woman, much as a progressive, apparently accepting person as Nica may not completely appreciate. She, too, errs - knowingly, although abetted both by things which she doesn't know have influenced her, and by things which she knows have influenced her, and doesn't want to admit to. Loktev doesn't stimulate excessive thought and consideration any more vigorously than she presents individual moments, calmly and in an unwaveringly non-sensationalistic style. But her psychological analysis of Nica and Alex is foregrounded, almost purely by Loktev's sentience in this field, and thought and consideration are crucial to The Loneliest Planet achieving its absolute effect. The photography by Inti Briones is beguiling, the sound design is creative and powerful, if sometimes a little too unsubtle. All three leads, Furstenberg and Garcia Bernal, and non-professional Bidzina Gujabidze, are terrific, in a modest but very clear manner.