The Antique

St Petersberg, 2006. A time and place where furniture was smuggled from Georgia into Russia, while Georgian citizens were trafficked in the opposite direction by the Russian government – the latter enduring a far harsher reality than the former. The comparison between objects and people, and the bitter irony it conveys, is deeply unsettling. In The Antique, Rusudan Glurjidze crafts a world that feels surreal and absurd yet disturbingly rooted in reality.

Framed in a 4:3 aspect ratio, The Antique gracefully draws each character into focus – whether main or supporting, each one is given a moment, a space, and the intimacy to let their faces tell their stories; regardless of nationality, age, gender, or socioeconomic background, each character is treated with equal respect. Although Georgian émigrés must constantly evade illegal arrest and deportation by the police, they share the cityspace with others, creating a striking portrayal of the daily and often trivial routines that unite people. A stroll through the market, a path across the park, the relentless chase of a fling, a playful concealment of identity... the camera’s gaze is humane, and the muted colour palette reflects both physical and emotional coldness, casting a frosty atmosphere over the film.

The concept of “antique” here is twofold, referring to both the furniture restoration business run by Medea, a Georgian woman in St. Petersburg, and the old-world charm of the apartment she recently bought. She had promised to share this space with its former owner until he passes, a man of old-fashioned stubborness, charisma, and integrity. Together, they form an unlikely, tender bond in a city that feels isolating, where friendships between these two nationalities and across generations seem improbable. The elderly man and his son act like strangers, and Medea’s unreliable lover is merely a fleeting presence that disrupts the tranquility of this otherwise harmonious flatshare.

In contrast to the hostile outside world that discriminates against Georgians, Medea’s vast warehouse of antiques feels almost like a magical, otherworldly and fairytale-like realm, with the boss’s instructions crackling over a megaphone hung on the wall. These parallel universes, under Rusudan Glurjidze’s direction, are beautifully rendered through a quiet and serene build-up based on long, lyrical observations. So understated, subdued, and meticulously composed that each frame is breathtakingly painterly, lingering with an intensity that serves as both a political and social critique and an ode to the beauty of imagery.