REVIEW On the Water

Childhood

Young love: Andres (Rasmus Ermel) and Maria (Aurora Aleksandra).

in an 80’s Village Yard

Peeter Simm’s On the Water is a heartfelt crowd pleaser, where serious themes are freshly painted with colourful nostalgia.

Estonian cinema has been hit by a wave of coming-of-age films. Goodbye, Soviet Union and Rain observed childhood from the balconies of tower block apartments. Kids of the Night gave adulthood a sheen of neon lights. Even Kratt can be described as a coming-of-age story in its own absurd way. In On the Water, a tale of growing up is placed in the middle of a backward 1980s village yard, where alcohol, gossip, and fishing serve as the only available form of entertainment.

On the Water, based on Olavi Ruitlane’s novel of the same name, is the 11th full-length feature of Peeter Simm. Counting documen-

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taries and short films, Simm’s filmography reaches about 40 titles. There are only a few authors in Estonia whose creative career has spanned five decades with such energy. Simm, who stepped in the arena as a director in the end of the 1970s, has accomplished that. During that time, his main topics have largely remained the same. Perhaps due to historical inevitability, Simm has always been drawn to remote villages, problems of the simple folk, and the everyday life in the periphery of Soviet Estonia. Although On the Water’s script has been written by Ruitlane, the film is ingrained with themes that are very characteristic of Simm – especially, life in the Soviet Estonian backwoods.

COMPLICATED GROWING ENVIRONMENT The film revolves around Andres (Rasmus Ermel), who is longing to join his mother in Sweden, but is forced to live in the small town of Võru, raised by his grandparents’ heavy hand. His grades are down and his classmates are bullies. And first love comes with its own awkward incidents. There are true Eighties moments in the film – shakes grabbed from a milk bar, or detours to the smoky interior of the Soviet teachers’ lounge. But the real life unfolds in a suburban yard, where Andres receives experience, comradeship, and wisdom from his neighbours whose lives have gone awry. He spends his everyday life in noise and poverty, under the watchful eye of the community.

The only escape is the lake. Men and fishing – a cliché, if ever there was one. In this film, like in real life, fishing unites the simpletons, booze-ridden villagers, and wealthy gentlemen. In Võru, every half-vital male spends half a day on

the lake, be it midsummer or the dead of winter. In Ruitlane’s novel, fishermen’s tales are spun, pikes, breams, eels, and perches are caught. In the movie, Lake Tamula is a place for contemplation, a blue, meditative oasis, in contrast with the noisiness of the village. In the words of Andres in his early teens: “Life – as soon as you step away from the water, it catches you again”. And why would those backyard people want to be caught by life? Or do they? And what does life mean for them in the first place?

YARD COMMUNITY There is an interesting dissonance in the story. The modest village folk might be described as neglected, by modern standards. People who don’t travel, and perhaps are unable to make it out of the yard. Only to a lake, if at all. There, life carries on in a rhythm of its own and things are explained physically, and in a matter-of-fact manner. These altercations don’t influence the relations of the participants much. Blabbermouths, the meek, and the forceful, form an ensemble that plays well together, despite

On the Water tahes us to a 1980s village yard, where alcohol, gossip, and fishing serve as the only available form of entertainment. the off notes. Force of habit and lack of comparison are good peacemakers too – peace with yourself, the others, with circumstances. People have always lived this way, to the rhythm of pitiful and glorious moments intertwining, taking turns. There is no doubt that ethereal fumes wafting in the yard will be mixed with the smell of pancakes and fried fish on Sundays. It’s a community – no less important than an eco-community, startup or political community – despite the fact we are not used to think of the dirty small-town backyard as a community.

These yards haven’t disappeared. Drive down the winding roads of South Estonia, towards Lake Peipus, or have a peek behind small-town fences, and you will most likely see some extravagant characters. Anywhere, frankly. Perhaps even behind your home window. Yet, life in a grimy backyard is rarely that colourful and mellow as in a full-colour feature film.

Despite serious undercurrents, On the Water is as bright as childhood memories. The tone is set by houses painted yellow and red, gowns with flower patterns, and Simm’s inherent affection for technical gadgets. A TV is playing in the kitchen, nostalgic 1980s pop hits are on the radio. A wistful romantic atmosphere hints at a more profound core of the story.

At every step, On the Water invites us to understand people and see behind their façade. Half of the people here would be written off today. Let’s be honest: we do not get overly excited when we meet crude, uneducated, violent, alcoholic characters. Even less likely that we ponder over the circumstances that got them there. Simm forces us to think about it though. All-the-more, he shows the valuable side of the individuals on a lower rung of the social ladder. A good example would be Andres’ friend Valter, played magnificently by Simm’s familiar cinematic travelling companion, Marko Matvere. Quite a few of us would label Valter as an alcoholic violent abuser, but to Andres, he becomes a buddy, a father figure, and a confidant in this difficult process of growing up to become a decent human being.

On the Water touches upon general human topics, while staying on a traditional path. Simm doesn’t try to create new trends here, and doesn’t allow himself too much experimentation. On the contrary, it’s a heartfelt crowd pleaser, where serious themes are freshly painted with colourful nostalgia. EF

On the Water By Aurelia Aasa First published in Eesti Päevaleht