Honeyland (dirs. Tamara Kotevska and Ljubo Stefanov), 2019

Honeyland has such heart, grit, pain, and resilience centered at its core, which seamlessly is intertwined and packaged into an 87 minute runtime, that it almost would appear to be carefully scripted. It isn't. What initially began as an environmental documentary about the River Bregalnica, a major waterway winding through central Macedonia, eventually shifted focus toward rural beekeeper Hatidze Muratova. Muratova lives in a ghost-town in the desert of North Macedonia, several hours away from Skopje, the capital and urban center of the country. Her life has been dedicated to beekeeping and tending for her ailing, octogenarian mother. The town her and her mother inhabit, and are the last remaining residents of, is a dusty mix of dirt roads, sparse trees, and crumbling stone buildings and walls. Muratova travels the surrounding landscapes to further her ancient beekeeping traditions and takes a nearby bus to Skopje to sell her honey and, in turn, buy goods.

The filmmakers, Tamara Kotevska and Ljubo Stefanov, studied Muratova for three years. The pair pitched a tent for three to four days at a time in the dusty town and often had no idea what Muratova, or her eventual neighbors, were saying. The subjects of the film primarily spoke Turkish, their preferred language. It was only when the dialogue was translated that the filmmakers fully understood the grasp and depth of the documentary they were destined to create.

A film that centers on such a vibrant protagonist such as Hatidze Muratova is difficult to turn away from. Merely observing her beekeeping practices and friendly barters with Skopje shopkeepers during the opening scenes is enough to keep one engaged. When an unexpected trailer and truck kick up dust in the ghost-town, figuratively and literally, the narrative takes a turn. A town of two women over the age of 50 is soon home to a herd of cattle, seven children, and a nomadic mother and father. It is hard not to view this in the American perspective: the dread of our quiet lifestyle suddenly uprooted by mooing cattle and screaming children. However, Muratova warmly welcomes the family and creates a bond with the young children. At the same time, she is confronted with her own life. “Why did you never accept a suitor for me?” she asks her bedridden mother at one point.

The early stages of the two neighbors relationship is one of collective living: sharing new technologies and ancient ones. Muratova is able to listen to music on the radio and feeds her mother watermelon, a new fruit she rarely gets to taste, while the nomadic neighbors discover her art of beekeeping. At first, the father appears to have a genuine interest and hopes one of his older sons, approaching his teenage years, can keep bees and contribute financially for his own education. This son forges a strong bond with Muratova, favoring her beekeeping traditions and respect for the environment. “Why did you never have children?” he asks her at one point, after he had temporarily run away from his own family. She responds she would have loved to have a son like him. Her motherly affection for the boy, and his obvious admiration of her craft, never borders on discomfort. It is a beautiful relationship that is painfully curt short when his family forbids any further contact with Muratova.

The cause for the rift between the neighbors are bees. The nomadic family recklessly raises a colony of bees for mass profit, threatening the nearby colony of Muratova, who initially had assisted with their endeavor. The films conflict is at its most heightened and dramatic, not necessarily on screen, but off. The filmmakers careful editing and world-building draw the audience in and emotionally invest them in the discord. As Muratova’s neighbors pillage her way of life, stripping nearby resources for their own profit, her pain and betrayal pulses through the viewer's own veins. What ultimately descends toward a somber and painful ending, also has an air of optimism. The trials and tribulations of Muratova are destined for outcomes not unlike that of the surrounding nature with which she engages: resiliency.

Honeyland is undoubtedly one of the best films of the year and is appropriately in the running for an Academy Award in two Best Film categories: International Feature and Documentary Feature. While besting Parasite is an uphill battle, I certainly hope this beautiful film and all the effort, and perhaps luck, that went in to creating it is properly rewarded in the latter category.