19th-Century Georgian Chronicle

Alexi leaves the house of his father and stepmother and rents an apartment. He wants to be independent and find his place in the world. But no basic changes ensue – he has the same friends, with the same trivial conversations and the same inactivity. Only the death of his favorite teacher, to whom the young man felt very close, really changes his habitual way of life. Alexi makes a decision: he refuses a place at a research institute and leaves for a teaching job at a village school, the same school his mentor used to work at.

A full-blooded, interesting life has long eluded the house where a mother, father, son and daughter live. Trivial household matters, conversation at dinner about duty — that's all that connects them. The situation changes when it becomes known that the family inherited the village house, and that it will probably be necessary to enter into a struggle with the joint heirs. From the bottom of chests, old albums and documents confirming the priority of the family are extracted, and intrigues begin ...

There are two small Georgian villages from the Middle Ages left in the mountainous Racha region, Ghebi and Chiora. The villages are isolated from the whole of Georgia, as there is no way to get to the them. The towns are emptying as the young people, in search of better future, depart, leaving only the old folk to try to continue scraping by in the harsh mountainous climate.

The way home for Aleksandr Rekhviashvili is not charted in the conventional sense. It takes the viewer along some peculiar roads and across a unique landscape: Georgian history and legend, politics and social stratification, religion and ethics. Allusive, stylized and allegorical from beginning to end, his long-banned The Way Home is in part a tribute to Rekhviashvili’s favorite director, Pasolini, especially to The Hawks and the Sparrows (1966). Together with the short film Nutsa (1971) and the widely acclaimed Georgian Chronicle of the 19th Century (1979; SFIFF 1983), The Way Home closes a triptych of films that represent Rekhviashvili’s poetic contemplation of Georgia’s past. It makes extensive use of poems by Bella Akhmadulina (the major female poet of the cultural ‘thaw’ of the ’50s and ’60s and a Georgian by descent), and of sets by Amir Kakabadze. Like other films in the trilogy, The Way Home is stunningly photographed in black-and-white.--Oxymoron