Berlinale 2019: Öndög is a sublime meditation on life and death in the Mongolian steppe

Alluring in its approach and inventive in the treatment of its characters, Öndög provides contemplative vignettes of the cyclical nature of life and death with the striking Mongolian steppe as its backdrop. The harshness of the steppe stands in as a metaphor for this noir-like tale in which resilience and fragility of humanity co-exist and both are underpinned by a mute understanding of carnal desires, further fueled by the need for familial structures. [caption id=“attachment_6078391” align=“alignnone” width=“825”] A still from Öndög. Berlinale[/caption] Director Wang Quan’an’s 2007 Berlinale Golden Bear winner, Tuya’s Marriage, also featured a Mongolian herdswoman. Quan’an is a Berlinale regular since 2002 the year that featured his debut feature, Yue Shi (Lunar Eclipse). His 2010 drama Tuan Yuan (Apart Together) opened the festival and went on to win the Silver Bear for Best Script. Öndög, meaning egg in Mongolian, opens with a rather misleading premise for a noir in which chatty cops on a night patrol in a rattling jeep find a dead naked woman’s body in the steppe. They leave the youngest and unmarried cop among them, played by Norovsambuu Batmunkh, to protect the dead body from being eaten by wild dogs. They also instruct a herdswoman Dulamjav Enkhtaivan to keep him company. That night, over freshly slaughtered sheep soup and cigarettes, they have clumsy sex, right after which Enkhtaivan ends up firing into the dark to scare the wolves that come to scavenge on the dead body. Turns out the cop cannot fire to save his life. Enkhtaivan lives the harsh life of a nomad, herding sheep and horses with her on-and-off beau Aorigeletu, a funny and biker herdsman himself, who arrives on call to help her out with everything from sheep slaughter to cow birth. Speaking of which, the film features animal slaughtering and animal birth, both told in undramatic absorption. Aorigeletu slits a sheep’s chest and pulls out the animal’s heart to stop it from beating thereby killing it instantly. Aymerick Pilarski’s camera hovers over the animal while it twitches and surrenders its last breath. In another scene, he’s called again by Batmunkh to assist a cow that has been in labour for four days to deliver the calf. In painstaking detail, the entire calf birth is registered by the camera. These scenes not only serve to fill in the absence of the narrative momentum but also add up to the understanding of life in the steppe and never once make the viewer queasy. It’s impossible to miss the film’s feminist subtexts and the portrayal of Enkhtaivan’s freedom over her body, in the absence of patriarchal restrictions. After realising she’s pregnant, Enkhtaivan is told by a doctor she has two options – whether to keep the baby or to lose it and that the latter process is just like taking a “big dump.” The ease with which this issue is dealt with is perhaps a lesson for the rest of the world where a combination of righteous religious beliefs and social conditioning dictate women’s rights. But Aorigeletu, who has been dropping hints about marriage, and Enkhtaivan have been trying for a child with little luck and this new discovery of an Öndög inside her prompts her to accept his proposal to start a family. Öndög is punctuated by lengthy meditative silences and unspools deliberately unhurried, to no displeasure to the viewer whatsoever. There is at least one scene in which the film’s two lead characters are squatting inside their yurt and munching purposefully on apples while watching a newly born calf they have just brought inside to protect it from the punishing nighttime cold of the steppe. The languid scene that goes on for about two minutes, though serves no purpose in the narrative, is also one of the most immersive of the film’s scenes. Öndög offers enchanting views of the Mongolian grasslands that are littered with fossilised dinosaur eggs – a phenomenon that promotes tourism to the country, a fact that’s also emphasised in the film. With arresting cinematography that chases magnificent sunsets as much as it gawks at ordinary events, Öndög is also a visually stunning work of cinema. As much as it is easy on the eye, the movie is a quiet contemplation on the cycle of life and death in an uncorrupt part of the world yet untouched by the brutal qualities of modern civilisation.