‘Slow’ Review
Patience and understanding form the foundation of Marija Kavtaradzė’s tender and heartbreaking latest film, Slow. Its unique relationship of an asexual man and the relationship he forms with a promiscuous dancer confront the elements considered vital to a healthy relationship. Though its relationship is different from most portrayed on screen, Kavtaradzė’s gentle handling of intimate conversations and relationship woes reveals the complexities of any bond and how strengthening it through empathy and transparency may not always resolve itself as neatly as hoped. Through naturalistic performances that convey subtle multitudes, Slow breaks down its central relationship through a series of mental and physical roadblocks that all stem from a desire to truly love someone.
There’s an unflinching examination at the heart of Slow that puts its characters through turmoil that seems difficult to maneuver unchanged. It’s in the way that Dovydas (Kęstutis Cicėnas) abruptly reveals to Elena (Greta Grinevičiūtė) that he is asexual that speaks volumes on how he perceives the news will be handled by anyone, even those who care about him. A sign language interpreter who is hired to interpret for Elena’s dance class, Dovydas seems guarded but also interested in Elena’s free-spirited nature. Her demeanor - referred to by herself as “promiscuous” - seems the polar opposite of how Dovydas forms relationships. Physicality is a component, but he does not derive the same kind of pleasure from it as Elena. And yet, the two form a bond that is strangely alluring even though their romance seems destined to fizzle out.
What’s perhaps most impressive is that Kavtaradzė’s screenplay seems hyper-focused on the differences in sexuality between Elena and Dovydas, but it never feels like that’s the only reason the two are together. It’s not some weird science experiment to see whether two people can foster a healthy relationship despite being unable to connect sexually. Instead, it is this well-forged friendship where the bond is almost instantaneous but friction stems from the few ways the two differ - and how that difference can stunt a relationship’s growth. Most interesting is that it does eventually spin out to reveal facets of each character and how they ultimately view a relationship. Yes, sex is the impetus for their frustrations, but what are the underlying wants and desires that make sex such a tricky subject for them to overcome? It is possible to have a relationship without sex, but is it possible that these two people might not be capable of it?
Shot with this beautifully soft lensing, Slow always feels intimate. It has a warm feeling to it that compliments both Dovydas and Elena’s differing ways of projecting their emotions. There’s an intensity to Elena as she thrashes through her dance routines or physically imposes herself into Dovydas’s personal space when she wants to be confrontational which is heightened by the way Laurynas Bareisa shoots each scene. The same close-ups that she employs hold a steady hand when framing Dovydas, whose internalization of his own perceived struggles to meet Elena on her terms forces him to become almost invisible in large crowds or anywhere that might see a possible threat to his relationship with Elena. It all lends itself to this languid pacing but also an understanding of how each character feels about themselves and what their emotional state is at any given time.
It’s also thanks to Grinevičiūtė and Cicėnas’ nuanced performances that Slow has the emotional pull that it does when it can sometimes feel like it is spinning in circles. There’s a redundancy, but the charisma and chemistry are magnetic. Every scene with them together is moving, even when it’s stuck in the same argument they’ve had time and time again. It helps that the questions they’re interrogated with by each other feel as if they stem from a personal point of contention and are intended to prod at the boundaries of their commitment to each other. It’s effective writing that almost seems intended to spur on conflict, but the performances have this natural intensity that imbues each interaction with passion. These are two people who love each other and the performances convey that even when they’re at odds with one another.
There is a difficulty to how to best approach the subject matter of Slow. It’s easy to get bogged down in the sexual dynamics of the relationship, but even easier to feel like the film is made simply because of this schism. Thankfully, that’s not the case as Kavtaradzė lets the moments of human connection ferment alongside two people just trying to figure out how to make their individual needs work within their dynamic. It’s a unique situation and one that involves careful navigating, and while the film is not this consistently joyous trajectory, it works better because of the emotional balancing act along the way. Slow is able to be heartwarming and heartbreaking in equal measure, but it ultimately leaves this warm feeling of two people having navigated something new and coming out of it with a better understanding of themselves.
