A Tony Gatlif virgin, DIANE SPODAREK soaks in the sights and sounds of the director’s latest gypsy excursion, Transylvania.


Transylvania opens with beautiful images of the Romanian countryside shot from a moving vehicle, from different angles, in slow and fast motion, blending rich colors of browns, beige, yellows, grays and decay until stopping in a small village. Zingarina (Asia Argento) and her two girl friends wander around looking for Zingarina’s Romanian lover, Milan, (Marco Castoldi) who suddenly disappeared and left her in France.

We follow Zingarina’s search for her musician lover, pregnant with his child. She is sure he will be happy when she finds him. She is sure it was something dangerous and possibly immigration related that made him suddenly leave. She is sure he was not running out on her. When she hears him playing piano in a cafe, she imagines him leaping with joy taking her in his arms and smothering her with kisses. In reality Milan jumps up from the piano seat, screams at her, roughly grabs her and pulls her out to the back yard, dragging her through rows and rows of hanging wash, screaming: “I ran away from you.” The gypsy Milan has returned home and walks away from Zingarina as if she is a stray dog.

And she is a stray, wandering through the streets and cafes still searching, but this time searching for something to make the pain go away. Simultaneously there is an amazing pagan ritual and celebration going on in the village. Zingarina wanders among the local people and their rich culture: dancing, music, masks, animal costumes, drinking and song. Zingarina is consumed by the joyous sensual sounds tugging at her, but it only intensifies her feelings of abandonment. Like a rag doll, she succumbs, joins in, and takes it as far as she can: dancing, drinking, and breaking plates in a sensual dance with a beautiful female singer in a cafe (the exquisite Beata Palya). Nothing can change her pain. She leaves the village with her friend Marie (Amira Casar). (The third girl in this original trio is ditched for no apparent reason except that Marie wants Zingarina for herself.) When they arrive at a border Marie makes a phone call to arrange plane tickets back to France but when she returns, Zingarina has disappeared, leaving a note: ‘Sorry Marie’.

Zingarina begins her solo journey, with nothing. She meets an adolescent gypsy girl who takes care of her with a fire and a little companionship. The girl soon leaves and Zingarina chases after her, as if she can hold someone, not yet learning her lesson that she can’t keep those who want to be free.

Transylvania is a story of freedom and another story about finding love when you at least expect it. Abandoned once more Zingarina accepts a ride from Tchangalo, (Birol Unel) a foreign drifter, with no home of his own. He makes money by buying things from the local people. He cheats them.

Zingarina is so pained by her loss she gets the “my lover left me and I want to die fever”. Tchangalo finds a priest to exorcise her. He thinks the priest is a fraud and refuses to pay him. At first, the event seems only an excuse for the priest to see Zingarina naked under her white robe wet from the ritualistic milk bath. But the ritual for Zingarina is transforming. From that moment, she wears a traditional Romanian babushka and long skirt (albeit with a slit up the front.) She is trying this new life on for size.

The story follows this odd couple. The cinematography takes us inside each and every scene. Tony Gatlif presents the viewer with an “in the moment” experience. We ride along with this couple; foreign to the land, foreign to each other wondering where could it possibly lead? Who knows where the next meal will come from? If a friend offers food and wine, take it. Take it and enjoy it. Take only what you need in that moment. Then move on to the next. And help others, give an old man a ride and share your food with him and give him stories to take back to his village: “I never saw a gypsy woman fight like a man.”

Their first sexual encounter is bizarre. Standing by the car, they have not yet been amorous but the heat is building. They tease each other through hateful words, taunt each other about who is in control, threaten each other as if to imply they are in control over the other, it is like the threat of rape comes from both of them, and they go at it, and just when they begin to consummate their love/hate for each other Zingarina spots a large bear feeding from a garbage bin within a few feet of the car. Still together like two pieces of a puzzle they slowly make their way back into the car. They drive off, on the road again, always moving. When Tchangalo is beaten by a group of thugs Zingarina cries out in anguish, clutching herself, her belly, and when she cleans him, she kisses his shoulder. He is surprised by her tenderness. The brutal attack brought them to a realisation of their mutual feelings for each other and they consummate their relationship in the back seat of the car despite not having washed in two weeks. Then they are on the road again. But whoa, she’s pregnant; they have to stop at some point.

In the middle of a snowstorm, with the entire film screen filled with white, we see the tiny dot of the car and know Zingarina is about to give birth. Tchangalo runs in the snow for help, blinded by the whiteness, it will be pure chance if he finds anyone. He does and brings back two old men and three old gypsy women who Zingarina is sure are witches. The baby is born and Zingarina has found love. Predictably, Tchangalo abandons Zingarina and her child.

Tchangalo hires musicians, gets drunk and dances with Zingarina’s babushka around his face screaming; “Get out! Get out! Get out!” The musicians stop playing and say that music is for life, not for death and they leave disgusted by his self-pity. Tchangalo can’t get Zingarina out of him. In a bar, working on getting drunk, a prostitute spots his sadness and he turns her down, but gives her money anyhow. He’s getting sensitive. He buys a mechanical bear behind the bar and we know he must return. He’s too late. He enters the farmer’s house where he left Zingarina to see two elderly women playing cellos; they scream, ‘stop bothering us’ like over-paid divas. Small images like this pop up in the movie everywhere, surprising us, keeping us in the moment of the story and the landscape. It is clear Gatlif used people from the villages where he shot the movie. These people are not actors, but they are amazing performers.

This is a love story. Tchangalo finds his love. What about Zingarina? She has her baby yes, but when she wakes and sees Tchangalo standing over her and she smiles, is she smiling at him? Or, is it Milan she is thinking of? The future is clear. They will live the life of gypsies.

My knowledge of Romanian gypsy music is zero but I loved it. It’s like the movie was made to fit the music, its presence is as strong as any character including the countryside. It is credited to Tony Gatlif and Delphine Mantoulet.