Gunda

Gunda is an extraordinarily innovative and immersive documentary from 2020, directed by Viktor Kossakovsky, starring the eponymous Gunda, a domesticated sow. But this isn't your typical, or should I say, 'hog-typical' documentary; there are no spoken words, no narratives spun by a wise older gentleman, no brightly colored diagrams or charts or breathless pursuits through wilderness in the dead of night. There's just Gunda, her children and a symphony of life on a Norwegian farm, brought to life in stark corners and bold strokes by Kossakovsky's eye, heart, and lens.

The film escorts the viewer into an unseen world, offering a profound and empathetic glimpse into the largely unexplored life of farm animals, precisely pigs, with Gunda herself being the centrepiece. Gunda is seen tending to her newborn piglets, teaching them to find food, and learning from them along her own journey of motherhood's challenges and surprises.

From the very beginning, Gunda communicates a visceral intimacy with cinematic vision devoid of overt sentimentalism or anthropomorphism. Shot in black and white, Gunda's world unfolds in metaphoric grandeur, creating an atmosphere that is at once both starkly real and ethereal. The absence of color brings into sharp relief the stark essences of birth, growth, existence, and mortality. There is an almost abstract beauty to the scenes – so commonplace, yet so otherworldly in their execution.

As Gunda paces through her domain, tending to her brood, interacting with the other barnyard inhabitants, each grunt, each glance, each shuffle of hooves and snout carry a certain weight of significance. These gestures, these movements, become the film's language, a language that transcends our human tongues and delves into the universal language of existence, of survival, of the mundane made magnificent.

Kossakovsky's direction is so effortless and subtle that it's easy to forget that this is not merely a slice of reality shot through an opportunistic lens - it's the culmination of patient observing, of waiting for the ‘perfect’ shot that tells a story without words. His ability to craft a narrative without manipulation or overarching commentary sets the tone for the film. The viewer isn't being told how to feel or think; they are simply bearing witness, becoming sewn into the fabric of the everyday lives of Gunda and her fellow beings.

The director’s admiration for the subject matter is unmistakable, and it translates into a kind of contemplative respect for the natural rhythms and patterns of life on a farm. This unseen aspect of animal life presented without any loud, declarative statements, or underscored messaging challenges the viewer's perspective on what it means to be an animal in the world we share.

The everyday life of Gunda and her piglets is accompanied by the sporadic appearances of the farm's other animals. A one-legged chicken brilliantly contrasts the pig’s lumpen earthiness, bringing a different kind of drama and even humor to the film. These interspersed glimpses add depth and illustration to the ordinary extraordinariness of the life that exists outside the human echo chamber. They elevate Gunda from a mere wildlife documentary to a cinematic experience that quietly insists on our empathy and attention.

The absence of music throughout the film offers the viewer a singular experience - one which is raw, unfiltered, and deeply engaging. The soundscape of the film is naturalistic – grunts, snorts, rustle of hay, plodding of hooves, crunching of food – creating the background rhythm that echoes life's ebb and flow.

Gunda is not just a film; it's an experience that bridges the perceived gap between us and them, us humans and them animals. Gunda's life unfurling in front of us isn't so alien after all, despite being filtered through a pig’s worldview. It's a shared journey of survival, of exploration, of discovery, of motherhood – a journey deeply imbued with connections and narratives that echo back to our own existence. Gunda is a triumph of quiet observation, patient storytelling, and an unflinching gaze into the everyday world of creatures, granting us a vision into the unseen and urging us to see differently, to see more.

For those searching for cinema that probes, that celebrates the seemingly mundane, that calls into question our very notions of existence and empathy, Gunda is a must-watch. Through the simplicities of a pig's life, it might just make us reevaluate our own.