Five and a Half Love Stories in an Apartment in Vilnius, Lithuania (Penkios su Puse Meilės Istorijos, Nutikusios Viename Vilniaus Bute

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Director, Tomas Vengris and his co-writer, Tatia Rosenthal’s, Five and a Half Love Stories in an Apartment in Vilnius, Lithuania (Penkios su puse meilės istorijos, nutikusios viename Vilniaus bute, 2023), opens on an empty apartment whose walls shake, as plaster and dust fall from the ceiling. This image repeats itself between each of the five stories, which are named after William Shakespeare’s sonnets.

Set in an Airbnb apartment, guests come and go, but it’s not only the theme of love, as the title suggests, that connects this disparate group of people. In some cases, it’s sex, conversation and disagreement. In between each story, host Jolanta (Velta Žygure) prepares the apartment for the new arrivals. The building’s maintenance person, Jokūbas (Vidas Petkevičius), becomes like her shadow, and Jolanta experiences her own touching romance.

The film is a memory of the apartment’s story, a stage upon which episodes of human drama have played out. The vibrating walls and falling plaster suggest the apartment’s life is flashing before its eyes. This is nonsensical, of course. The apartment, made of brick and mortar, has no consciousness, and yet Vengris and Rosenthal create an impression of a life lived by their apartment.

The appeal of stories set in a restricted space taps into the concept of world-building. There’s something in the film’s aura created by collapsing this group of stories into one space or turning this apartment into a dramatic stage for people to share personal moments, even to air their dirty laundry. Perhaps it’s less world building and more to do with peeking into chapters of their lives, where what happens next is unknown. The allure of short stories is the fleetingness of time we spend with characters. In the case of Five and a Half Love Stories…, we’re interested enough to wonder what becomes of the characters once they leave and return home.

The first story, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day, Sonnet 18 centres around an Irish hen party, where Meghan (Valene Kane), sister of the bride to be, who married her first love, injures the stripper and struggles when the bridesmaids invite a group of men to the apartment to party. The second story, Love Alters Not, Sonnet 116, features an Israeli couple, Issa (Yiftach Klein) and Galia (Hadar Ratzon Rotem) who are trying for a child. She wants to find out who their family is before they start their own, specifically if a relative was appointed as a Kapo by the Nazis, or saved kids and fought in the uprising. While she’s out, Issa stays to work, but is distracted by the loud upstairs neighbour, whose rampant lovemaking and domestic dispute puts him in a compromising position.

Unlike the succinctness of the first story about the choice Meghan makes that will change her life, or how people see her, it takes longer for the second story to come together. Love Alters Not is the most humorous entry. Its burst of humour comes through Issa’s choice of provocative instead of calming words. At one moment, he says, “I can’t do Holocaust, and IPO, and fertility and the nymphomaniac upstairs, all at once. Enough, I’m at my limit.” The comedy also comes out of the naturally funny scenario with the neighbour, that turns him into what his wife calls a fifteen-year-old when she returns and catches him masturbating.

Arguably the fourth story, Full Many a Glorious Morning Have I Seen, Sonnet 33, about a young man who rents an apartment to impress his boyfriend, should have built on the earlier humour, but fails to. Instead, it exercises too much restraint, and feels like a lethargic story about two young men playing house. It’s left to bridge the third story, So True a Fool Is Love, Sonnet 57, about Philip (Gèza Röhrig), a musician, whose attempts to win back Simona (Adelè Šuminskaitè) goes awry, and even a lustful rendezvous with a young musician doesn’t go his way, and the fifth story, To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old, Sonnet 104, about Jolanta’s own intimate connection.

Vengris and Rosenthal’s anthology is, for the most part, consistently solid. Maybe, the fourth story is about insecurity, but it’s passivity and lack of playfulness casts it as the weak link. The first and second entries are different approaches to the short form, but each is effective, as is the final story that brings everything to a fitting conclusion. There’s a certain kinship between the first and third segments with two characters who come to realise how lost they are. Issa and Galia might be the two outliers that symbolise the permanence of love, whereas for all the other characters, love, lust, or human connection is as fleeting as the fate of the building.

While each story is titled after a Shakespearean sonnet, the film doesn’t rely on the audience being familiar with them, nor should it. What’s necessary is that Five and a Half Love Stories… is two films in one. It appears Meghan’s momentary insecurity, comparing herself to others, in which her regret leads to an impulsive and life-changing decision, is inspired by the sonnet. The same seems true of Love Alters Not, but others may be more loose adaptations. Perhaps the point of the film is that the human experience is timeless, even as lives and buildings are dismantled and replaced.

Five and a Half Love Stories in an Apartment in Vilnius, Lithuania just premiered in the Rebels With a Cause Competition of the 27th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

Motherland (Gimtine)

Shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union in 1992, a woman returns to her native Lithuania to reclaim her family home. It has been 20 years since Viktorija (Severija Janusauskaite) fled, escaping to America where she married and began a new life. Now weary from her divorce and driven by nostalgic memories, she returns with her American-born son, Kovas (Matas Metlevski), who naively believes they’ll soon be returning to the U.S. In spite of her family’s scepticism, she trusts that Romas (Darius Gumauskas), an old friend and romantic acquaintance can help her. Their plans however are complicated when they find a poor Russian family living out of the run down estate.

We feel sympathy for Viktorija, who is compelled by the simple desire to reconnect with her heritage. She no longer wishes to remember her homeland, but wants to unite her spiritual ethnicity with the physical space. She’s a fascinating character because the home she seeks to reclaim is one she would often run away from when she was a child. The urgency of her intent however is undeniable.

Details of her younger self and relationship she shared with her parents, who were disappeared by the Soviets, are left in the dark. As to the reason she is compelled to reclaim her family estate, she offers the ambiguous insight of a sudden fear that she would never see her home again.

The director appreciates that fragments and not the complete version of a character should be onscreen. He’s content to leave it to his audience to not necessarily fill in the blanks, but to question the finer details of the persona. Is she someone who through childhood and adulthood has found it impossible to be content, to feel settled? Answers aside, what contributes to our sympathy is that she’s a victim of a life forcibly taken from her, that defines her childhood and ends her marriage.

Motherland is Viktorija’s story, but with shades of a coming-of-age drama. At the airport, Kovas sneakily buys a pornographic magazine, and his mother will later scold him when she discovers it. The drama represses the coming-of-age angle, instead local girls are framed with his sexual gaze, and he discreetly watches his mother and Romas have sex.

This summer is Kovas’ final breath of the innocence and simplicity of youth. He offers gum to local kids, hangs out with them as they drink and smoke, and Romas’ daughter Marija (Barbora Bareikyte) teaches him how to drive. What lies ahead of him are the complicated realities of adulthood, but this last breath is missing the joy – he knows that this will be remembered as a troubling time.

The filmmaker skilfully balances intimacy and distance by positioning us so that we don’t always see the adults meet to discuss resolving the dispute. Instead we only hear parts of what’s planned, spending time with the youngsters or observing interactions from a distance. And yet, the music creates a feeling of Viktorija’s yearning for this spiritual and spatial reconnection. It conveys her nostalgia and by casting a dreamlike impression on moments, we can sense her inner thoughts and feelings.

There’s much to like here in Vengris’ Lithuanian drama about two tragic souls who try to belong, but whose futures remain uncertain. If there’s a deeper reflection, then it’s the mistake that she tries to fix the past, failing to realise that she has resolved it by moving on and forging a new life in Boston. But the past refuses to let go of her, or is it she that will not let go of the past?

The story Viktorija remembers from her youth in her narration is a simple touch that reveals the filmmakers sensitivity. It adds a layer that impresses the merit of Motherland, effectively juxtaposing a childish fantasy with adulthood reality. It suggests that the monsters in fairy tales and a child’s imagination pale in comparison to the real hurt that people inflict on one another.

You can watch Motherland during the entire month of December (along with nine further European dirty movies) entirely for free – just click here.