The presence of mobsters in our culture turned totalitarian kitsch into a total one. Kitsch reeks from every pore of our social, political, and mundane life. It makes art profane, degrades the individual, and defaces culture.

Ivan Slavov, “The Total Kitsch” (2007)

Had it not been for this movie’s massive budget, the box office, the marketing, the big talk, and the general uproar, we probably wouldn’t concern ourselves with it. And yet, we live in times when the market reality defines what we watch, talk about, and even like. So, it’s imperative we write about “Gundi: Legend of Love,” even though the movie will go down in history for its financial success rather than its artistic merit.

Created with a budget of over €2.3 million (with almost a million in state funding), the movie’s already grossed double that amount. Arena 8888 Sofia Hall reached full capacity at the premiere. “Gundi” insisted on becoming a landmark in the Bulgarian cultural landscape and entering the public debate. It is the first time a Bulgarian movie has done this since the box office record of “Mission London.” The 15-year gap between the two reflects the shift of local tastes toward the mainstream. If “Mission London” was an innovative and self-analytical absurdist satire with anti-heroes that exposed kitsch without falling into it, the heroic ode of “Gundi” is the very embodiment of kitsch and corresponds perfectly to the description of “a sentimental form of popular and mainstream culture,” as Ivan Slavov puts it.

The title is tasteless, and clichés are a building block of the film—from the sugar-coated love story and the vapid dialogue to a poster that looks like a cheap commercial. The concept of a Bulgarian movie under the guise of a Hollywood biopic, where the short-lived appeal of what’s happening on screen is more important than the main character, is considered a successful formula. This produces a theatrical artificiality, which, however, makes “Gundi” look professionally made to a public that’s been bombarded with American blockbusters for the past 30 years.

The screenplay is based on а jumble of class and political conflicts; the historical facts have been bluntly distorted for the sake of an impressive plot, and the result is, to once again quote Ivan Slavov, a “universal system of imitation and hypocrisy, adjustments without any development, exploitation of art with no compensation.” The plot is linear and shallow, but nevertheless stretched into an almost three-hour span. Once again, this is done in a Hollywood manner—perhaps to create a sense of scale.

Here is the plot. We follow the rise of the legendary football player Georgi “Gundi” Asparuhov (played by Pavel Ivanov). He is a natural talent with modest roots who falls in love with Lita (played by Alexandra Svilenova), who comes from a well-off family. Georgi’s success on the field is strongly dependent on Lita’s support and their relationship. Their bond is more about youthful infatuation and harmony than passion, which saves us from a few potentially awkward intimate scenes. A number of challenges test the strength of their bond—namely Lita’s social-climbing parents, and especially her mother (played by Biliana Petrinska), who have far more ambitious plans for their daughter than becoming the wife of a football player. Eventually, they accept Gundi, but then the couple’s domestic misfortunes begin: paint peeling from the ceiling, a leaky water pipe. Georgi’s hands lack the brilliance of his feet, obvious from his inability to fix things around the house. The couple grows apart, another popular American movie trick. Lita is a discontented homemaker, and Georgi is a career climber who’s gotten in over his head.

Gundi faces yet another obstacle when the Committee for State Security (Darzhavna sigurnost) tries to recruit him as an agent. Under communist rule, this was expected from most Bulgarians traveling West. Gundi refuses, and it’s implied this could cost him his career. In the end, the sabotage is preceded by a car crash that ends his life. Still, we wonder, was Gundi really harassed and marginalised by the people in power? No real evidence for this exists, but the contrast between the hero and the evil policemen is a dramatic trick that fills screen time with suspense and distracts from the lack of creativity. Everything is copy-pasted from pre-existing moulds; the main character could’ve been any sportsman in any country, and he could face similar obstacles. This particular Bulgarian football player’s life story could have been misrepresented. Moreover, this would go almost unnoticed, since at this point, Gundi is only a legend in the archives. Those who remember his peak days and are still interested in him are not that many, and far from the target audience of the movie. By the way, “Gundi” is produced by media duo Ivan and Andrey, known for their low-brow entertainment shows. They are currently working on their next flashy projects—movies about the famous Bulgarian estrada singers Emil Dimitrov and Lily Ivanova. Should they use the same approach—spreading fake news in the form of fiction with some biographical elements here and there—they would be committing a series of cultural crimes. And right under the noses of a passive, sensory-numbed audience who’d applaud anything in a stupor.

The film’s biggest trouble is the aesthetic mishmash that it unconsciously concocted. The protagonist thumps his chest with his patriotism, refusing to sign with Italian giant AC Milan. Gundi delivers a speech full of pathos about how loyal he is to his homeland, yet the movie is an imitation of a foreign model. The movie criticises the totalitarian government yet glamorizes the communist era, exploring it through smoky, retro-romantic filters. This historically inaccurate aesthetic makes even the headbands of the village women appear chic, while the men’s shabby caps resemble hipster berets. But most comical of all is the movie’s soundtrack, which mixes originals and covers of estrada songs from the 60s with loud, impersonal compositions in melodramatic moments, typical of a blockbuster score.

Director Dimitar Dimitrov (known for “Corpse Collector,” 2015) delivers a film that could’ve been directed by any experienced craftsman, as “Gundi: Legend of Love” doesn’t excel artistically or culturally. It is a successful audiovisual by-product with no authentic value that exposes the diminished Bulgarian identity, the low national self-esteem surrendering to imitation, and the profanation of taste as a result of the latter, combined with the post-communist transition period in Bulgaria characterised by mobsters and a shadow economy. Viewers can see through the absurd ambition to make cinema like they do “in the West”—an unprocessed complex from communist times when we were isolated from the vibrant world beyond the Iron Curtain.

If this rate of stripping away our cultural individuality persists, in 15 years or so the mass local hits won’t even be in Bulgarian. At that point, artificial intelligence will have probably taken control over notions such as “authenticity,” “individuality,” and “authorship,” so the conversation will be about something else entirely

Материалът е изготвен
с финансовата подкрепа
на Националния фонд „Култура”.