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.