No roof and no law: “Marussia” – film review

Two suitcases, one for grown-ups and another pink one, for children, are dragged along the streets of Paris by Lucia, a Russian immigrant and her 6 years old daughter, Marussia. They have no roof above their heads, a friend, their temporary landlady, kicked them out in the street with all their belongings and now they walk the streets looking for a shelter for the night.

And here she is again: another street, another opened or closed door, worrying for another night. With such rambling from one unknown situation to another, the film could have easily passed as a light sentimental story (it is well known how easily we sometimes let ourselves be caught in the trap of the stories about the unhappiness of a mother and her child) or one which is dominated by a holy anger addressing the social, human indifference, etc. But Eva Pervolovici`s film is none of those. Of course we will not be left emotionless. Not knowing where you will sleep at night is an exclusion from the normal order, but Marussia aims at something else: focusing on locating a fragment of an unsettled life, of a person whose life doesn’t go well at home in Russia or elsewhere either, for instance in a Paris which is not very welcoming, let`s be fair, but which is not completely unkind either. We can`t say the woman has a clear goal and her saying “I wanted to see where life was better – in Russia or in France” is more part of a personal curiosity, despite the obvious discomfort of the discoveries. Even if the title disorientingly wants, maybe in an intentional misleading way, to impose the little girl`s character, the film protagonist is the young mother, Lucia (Dinara Drukarova), with the whole torment from her mind, struck by only one ray of light: her child.

We don`t know if out of so much love she was left with no practical sense, or if she is not very much into working, out of laziness. The wife of a priest, a Romanian woman (Mădălina Constantin), in whose house they stayed for a short while, suggests a job as a baby-sitter. Her answer comes in a very collected voice: “I must take care of Marussia”.
But that doesn`t stop her from leaving the social shelter one night, against the law; instead, having an affair with a man, who got attached to the little girl first of all, seemed more tempting. One cannot admire Lucia, who many times seems to be all at sea. She won`t get rid of her too short miniskirts, not even inside the church, or of her gaudy animal print coat. She lies about having different professions, according to the situation (journalist, fashion editor) with disorienting serenity. But you can`t point your finger at her.

No matter what, she has a stout-heartedness of waiting that can be taken as dignity (“Something wonderful must happen to me.”) And it happens a few times; everything being subordinated to the possible joy of the little one. The men that she comes to meet by chance bring the opportunity for childish games more than the perspective of some profitable affairs. A dresser from a theatre gives them fairy tale costumes; a Russian artist (Sharunas Bartas) offers them shelter in his apartment in a luxury hotel; there we see the mother and the daughter on its hallways, playing with the carts for the clients` clothes. When she gets to borrow some money, our Russian mother offers herself and her daughter the luxury of having lunch in a quite fancy restaurant. She even lets Marussia convince her to buy her a black rabbit that she saw in a shop window. Another soul that needs shelter…
When the risk of the film getting too sloppy is round the corner, the filmmaker knows how to avoid it, bringing forth the idea of protecting the child, of being part of her fantasies, even if it means reckless gestures. It is what justifies, up to a point, the poetizing of the journey of the two. I remembered Dardenne brothers` Rosetta, who is always on the run as well, but who is so very dour in her struggle to save every little penny. When she can get some money, our heroine squanders them in a split second. And that says a lot. Probably this is how she will continue to live for a while in Russia, where she goes back to, and where she can`t hire two pairs of roller skates and hereby she and Marussia ride along each with only one skate on. Is it carefreeness, unknowingness, too much freedom? If we wanted to abusively use the title of one of Kundera`s books, we would choose The Unbearable Lightness of Being. But that would mean psychologizing too much. Sooner or later, probably our Russian heroine will shake off the easiness of rambling from one place to another, but that would be another film.