Xurmalar Yetişən Vaxt

Liegen, Sitzen, Stehen, Gehen und immer wieder Warten, den Kopf in die Hände gestützt. Es ist ein intimes, wie stillstehendes Zeitregime, in dem der Regisseur seine melancholische Mutter bei Besuchen im aserbaidschanischen Heimatdorf antrifft. Und so dauert es auch eine gefühlte Ewigkeit und viele Reihen getrockneter Dattelpflaumen, ehe hinter der zärtlichen Obsession des filmenden Sohnes die lange unterdrückten Vorwürfe endlich zu Worten werden. Den fest entschlossenen Blick der Vorfahren aus den fleckigen Fotoalben haben beide nicht geerbt. Doch auch Baydarov muss sich irgendwann eingestehen: „Nur hier bin ich selbst Zeit.“ Den im Garten spielenden Kindern muss das keiner erklären. (Stephan Settele)

In Anwesenheit von Georg Tiller (Produzent).

“We live like in the 10th century“, Hilal says to his mother. To be more precise, he would have to say: she lives in a very traditional way, while he is just visiting. It is his world too though, he comes from here, a remote part of Azerbaijan, a landscape for shepherds. Hilal lives in Baku now. He has returned to pay a visit to his family and reflect on the differences between himself (a man with an inner life he likes to call “my world”) and his mother, who supposedly has no clue about modern subjectivity: “your channels are closed”, he says. He films and shows her life with tenderness: a quiet existence with few words, a life structured by the ticking clock in the house, the murmur of the creek in front of the house, the sound of the birds. A life also structured by the seasons, whose annual climax is the harvesting and preserving of the persimmon fruits. A life in the hands of a God named Allah, who appears less imposing here than in other parts of the Muslim world. WHERE THE PERSIMMONS GREW is a documentary by way of a meditation – in search of lost time. (Bert Rebhandl)

In the presence of Georg Tiller (producer).