Honeyland

Dir­ec­ted by: Ljubomir Stefan­ov, Tamara Kotevska

Dressed in a high-necked yel­low blouse, mottled long skirt and pat­terned head­scarf, the leath­ery Hatidze Mur­atova nego­ti­ates a moun­tain ledge to find a remote hive where she extracts just the right amount of honey so that both she and her bees thrive. Back home in her ancient stone hut in the Mace­do­ni­an moun­tains, she houses her­self, her ail­ing moth­er, a cat and a dog, along­side her wood stove, in a space the size of a garden shed. When she has enough honey, she vis­its the mar­ket in dis­tant Skopje, where she dis­plays her sales skills in emphas­iz­ing the super­i­or qual­ity of her product. It’s an unfor­giv­ing life – her moth­er is dying, her own teeth appear in need of ser­i­ous atten­tion and she is intensely isol­ated – but she’s man­aged to find beauty and warmth while remain­ing in tune with her envir­on­ment.

A still from Honeyland

The back­ground story of the film cov­ers a Turk­ish fam­ily who move in nearby to live in a cara­van and who start to sell honey them­selves. They are reg­u­larly on the edge of dis­aster – tod­dlers run in an enclos­ure with bulls, a child is near to drown­ing in the river, and some reck­less chain­saw­ing is per­formed on a tree. Bey­ond their un-bee-friendly acts such as tak­ing too much honey at once so that their bees get angry and attack Hatidze’s bees, they also neg­lect their live­stock so they die of dehyd­ra­tion, and bick­er furi­ously in front of their chil­dren.

A baby, sitting next to a cowpat, being eyed up by a cow

The con­trast between the stor­ies cre­ates high drama, gives the situ­ation its depth, and lets us know how spe­cial Haditze is, even with­in her own rari­fied world, but it’s hard to be con­vinced that the expos­ure of the Turk­ish fam­ily to the world will be to their bene­fit, and would not be bet­ter addressed con­fid­en­tially by loc­al author­it­ies.

See book­ing and ses­sion info here.