It boasts some fine acting, makes surprising narrative turns, and manages to tug at the heartstrings without being grossly maniupulative.
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One byproduct to watching foreign films is an increased awareness of what life is like in that particular place in the world. Of course this doesn't work on every film--no one walks away from "Transformers" thinking that's what an average day in Los Angeles is like (feel free to insert your own joke here), but the romantic drama "My Beautiful Jinjiimaa" offers some insight into the culture and habits of people living in rural Mongolia.
As someone who would be hard-pressed to point out Mongolia on the map, I'm grateful for this side education, especially since the narrative of the movie is little more than the type of melodramatic fare Lifetime airs. The movie opens in a rural Mongolian town where Sukhee (Purevdorj Tserendagva) is exiting prison after a six-year stint. We will soon learn he didn't go to jail for a crime he committed, but rather due to the actions of an unjust Chairman (U. Batbaatar).
Sukhee returns to the only life he's ever known: living in a tent with his mother and lifelong friend Janiyanmyadag (Natsagdoorj Battsetseg), whom he affectionately calls Jinjiimaa because Janiyanmyadag is too much of a tongue twister. Glad he said it and not me.
Somehow this bunch makes a living even during the winter months, when snow covers the ground and the earth yields no vegetation. Just watching them wander around on the frozen tundra made me go and fetch a jacket.
Jinjiimaa, who is deaf and mute, has a daughter that Sukhee can't legitimately call his own, but he sure treats her like one. He looks after her needs, playing and singing with her, and making food for her. Jinjiimaa is unable to express her gratitude through words, but lets the viewer know of its depth through frequent voiceovers.
"I wonder if I'll ever have a normal life?" she asks herself. Usually I dislike this type of self-awareness in characters. I think movies should show more than they tell. But it makes some sense in Jinjiimaa's case given that she can't express herself audibly. She's alone with her thoughts, so it is understandable that they would be acute and poetic.
Still, I like the movie best when it is content to sit and observe these characters and let the mood set in naturally. To my great appreciation, this is a movie that is not afraid of silence. Often the camera is posited on the face of one of the actors as they convey meaning and emotion without opening their mouths. I wish more movies were brave enough to sit still and pause the action, thereby forcing the viewer to reflect.
Unfortunately, the silence is often quickly interrupted by a sad music cue that tells us how we should be feeling, and director Ochir Mashbat outright abuses the zoom function of his camera, moving in tight on his actors' faces anytime he wants to pluck at our heartstrings. The times where he does nothing and trusts his actors to be evocative are the most effective scenes. I did, however, like a match cut of the two leads kissing with fire. It's a trite subtext--juxtaposing the passion of these two people with the heat of the flame--but at least he's trying.
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