By Jeffrey Sipe and Nina Rodriguez
Stop (Original title: Zemila; Mexican title: Detengan la tierra) Ukrainian documentary maker Kateryna Gornostai’s first fictional feature, looks in on a group of Ukrainian teens about to graduate high school while struggling with the uncertainties and self-doubt that imbue teenagers of all nationalities. John Hughes, this is not, however. Whether it was the Breakfast Club or 16 Candles, Hughes managed to craft realistic and believable characters, but in the tradition of the American cinema, he made sure to make their problems and doubts seem fun. Gornostai’s documentary background infuses Stop-Zemila with a verisimilitude almost exclusively encountered in independent cinema.
In the end, the issues Ukrainian teens face are not all that different from those faced by teens most anywhere. They face challenges regarding emotions, relationships, mental health, sexual identity and even cutting, none of which are unique to Ukraine. But rather than the humor Hughes and others use to sometimes skewer their characters, Gornostai treats her characters with profound seriousness. Adolescence is ultimately fleeting but that in no way reduces the importance of the victories, the disappointments and the confusion that come with teetering on the edge of adulthood.
Partially scripted and partially improvised, Stop-Zemila’s story is brought to life entirely by non-professionals, mostly playing themselves in the situations that the director has defined for them. Directors will use non-professionals to transform the artifice of acting for a more natural performance which, in the case of Stop-Zemila, largely wipes out any artificiality. It is easy to believe that these “actors” are not immersed in their characters but in themselves. And, in many ways, they are.
Stop-Zemila generally follows Masha, a self-sufficient non-conformist, and the kindred spirits she gathers around her as friends. As self-sufficient as she is, however, Masha ultimately learns that such strength does not mitigate the pain and confusion of unrequited love. Her friends Yana (Yana Isaienko) and Senia (Arsenii Markov) are there to lend her a shoulder to lean on. And Senia comes through, as he does throughout the film, with impressive and heartfelt insight that belies the bad-boy persona foisted on him by others.
There is humor, of course, but like everything else in Stop-Zemila it flows naturally from the events depicted. There is no judgement or even interpretation interjected by the director. Whether it is called naturalism or realism doesn’t really matter. The events of the film – as depicted through the truly impressive performances of these non-professionals – unfold as naturally as they would in real life.
There is no real plot to Stop-Zemila, no plot points or even a climax for that matter. Like adolescence, the film is not a string of scenes fueled by revelation and foreshadowing with stretches of excitement in between. It’s funny and sad, but that is just part of growing up, no matter how painful. Gornostai puts her finger on the pulse of adolescence and reports back with amazing clarity.
Having premiered at Berlinale, the film is reaching Mexican theaters as part of the Cineteca’s Muestra and now showing at Compartimento Cinematográfico in San Miguel de Allende.
