Recensioni de* critic*

The viewer is given nothing to think about but the woman’s self-harming naiveté/stupidity, which makes the film a truly torturous experience – despite a tiny hint of positivity in the closing moments. It’s a giant misstep for the director of Tulpan and several great shorts.

The sheer forward motion of the close-to-body camerawork harkens back to early Dardennes (or golden age vérité), but Dvortsevoy’s filmic space is a sludgy Russian landscape, cluttered, relentless, broke-down, and otherwise physically defined by attitudes of indifference and exploitation.

Ayka was one of the most anticipated titles this year, as well as for the last five, since Sergei Dvortsevoy has supposedly been working on his follow-up to Tulpan (2008) for almost a decade. . . . The result is a fully unpleasant viewing experience that looks like it was shot not over ten years but ten weeks at most (unless Dvortsevoy had to wait nine years for snow in Moscow, which seems unlikely).

Dvortsevoy has a rougher, harsher aesthetic, as his handheld camera persistently follows Ayka in the manner of the Dardennes’ Rosetta. Whereas the heroine meets with callous indifference from all quarters, great care and resources are lavished on the wounded dogs brought to the vet – an unsubtle contrast, admittedly, but one that doesn’t dim the power of the film.

Dvortsevoy’s documentary background [serves] him well in terms of naturalistic performances and telling social details. But the visual aesthetic occasionally feels rather old-hat and the narrative unrewardingly thin in places. That said, the film certainly succeeds in conveying the sheer desperation of Ayka’s predicament, and at a crisp 100 minutes it doesn’t seriously out-stay its welcome.

Ayka’s single focus unfortunately also means it presents a drama of limited complexity. But that single focus is powerful: The film precisely evokes the fact that for many the effort to survive is as laborious as any job, and one ruthlessly unrewarded. . . . We are with this bedraggled but unfailing 25-year-old Kyrgyz at a moment when that labor—the labor of living—takes its toll economically, socially, and bodily.

It's like a very gloomy art house commercial for what would happen if there weren't organizations like Planned Parenthood to help women tend to their health. Joking aside, Dvortsevoy deserves praise for making a film willing to show a woman ready to do anything she can to live, unafraid if those choices make her character unsympathetic.