In the quiet tranquility of a small but comfortable apartment sits Euridice (Vera Tschechowa), a young woman who has been sentenced to spend an unknown amount of time as a prisoner to an unseen entity, which constantly calls the apartment just to mock her situation and to give her false hope that she will soon be moved. Struggling with boredom and existential ennui, Euridice is patiently waiting to be rescued, with her salvation hopefully coming in the form of a man who says he is Orpheus (John Moore), and purports to having been one of the heroine’s lovers in the past, a fact that she simply cannot recall. Suffering from a variety of mental insecurities, such as paranoia (which is not helped at all by the shadowy figures that seem to linger around her apartment, both inside and out), as well as derision from scoundrels who peer into her home just to make light of her plight, Euridice is currently experiencing an entirely banal existence, and should she ever be able to escape this place, which suits her physical needs, but not her mental fragility, she is bound to find herself better off. The question is, will she ever be able to leave, or will she continue to be taunted by physical and mental demons that exist merely to remind her of her compromised position in a hostile world?

The Wikipedia entry for Euridice BA 2037 (Greek: Ευριδίκη ΒΑ 2Ο37) refers to it as ” black-and-white dramatic experimental independent surrealist underground art film”, which are seven terms that instantly made this a film that was very much in my wheelhouse – a work of absurdist fiction that borrows liberally from Greek mythology, as well as the cinematic schools of Surrealism and Expressionism, this is a fascinating exploration of broad themes on behalf of one of Greece’s most brilliant filmmakers, Nikos Nikolaidis, who may have made his magnum opus with this film, a piece that goes deeply into the roots of the human condition, exploring some potent themes in a way that is simple, efficient and ultimately truly riveting, even if the execution can, at times, be quite bewildering. This is not an easy film – but to borrow from the introduction to Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red (a similarly Revisionism mythological tale that modernized Greek folklore through the lens of contemporary issues), “If you find the text difficult, you are not alone” – and films like Euridice BA 2037, which take on the herculean task of being challenging, provocative works that may not be appealing to the general public by virtue of their puzzling undercurrents, but are rewarding experiences for those that wish to take a sometimes impenetrable journey into the complex roots of the existential quandaries evoked by a director, whose own fascination with broader social and cultural issues manifest in this poignant and brilliant work of contemporary experimental cinema, and like any art film, Euridice BA 2037 is not for everyone.

One question that needs to be asked when looking at this film: what precisely is Euridice BA 2037 about? What should be a relatively straightforward question is actually a lot more difficult to answer, because there isn’t necessarily a direct storyline underpinning this film – Nikolaidis is clearly not interested in chronology of narrative cohesion, as he openly dismisses it with a certain vigour that is not all that rare in the work of the great experimental surrealists (of course by this point we understand how postmodernism disregards any overarching metanarratives, and rather chooses a unique path of its own own). Euridice BA 2037 is essentially just a series of moments in the life of a protagonist, whose past is mysterious, present banal and future uncertain. A snapshot of her life as she patiently waits to be rescued quite literally from her own personal Hell, where she is being kept hostage for whatever reason by someone who is implied to be a contemporary version of Hades, the God of the Underworld. Thus, the film obviously finds its inspiration heavily within the realm of Greek mythology, and thus a basic understanding of some of the more popular stories, while not necessarily imperative, does bolster the experience somewhat, especially when we consider how Nikolaidis is revitalizing the story of Euridice in a way that isn’t directly correlational to the folkloric tale but rather pieced together through fragments of the story – much like her counterpart in the antiquity, Euridice has been sent to the Underworld, where she is waiting for her hero, Orpheus, to rescue her. In this version of the story, however, the chivalrous Orpheus isn’t constructed as necessarily the hero, but rather someone whose presence is eventually unwelcome, and thus his murder at the hands of the person he was supposedly rescuing has numerous implications in terms of revisiting these ancient myths in a way that neither follows them directly, nor abandons their guiding principles, but rather finds the core of their meaning, asserting it into a contemporary context.

Vera Tschechowa’s performance as the titular character is astonishing – the film is entirely a showcase for her talents, with the actress taking every opportunity to get under the skin of the character, bringing her to life in ways that would have been otherwise entirely amiss had they not been done with such conviction. With the exception of a few minor characters appearing throughout, normally only for a scene or two, Tschechowa carries this film entirely by herself – and whether in moments of quiet introspection, such as her desperate pleas over the phone to know when she is due to be moved or her attempts to seduce the man that purports to be her saviour, or the broadest moments of panic and anxiety, where she fends off the (often unseen) spectres that cause her to descend into something very close to madness, with the forces of the world around her driving her to see and hear things that aren’t really there (but then again, Euridice BA 2037 is so strange, it is difficult to come to a definitive understanding of what is real and what is constructions of the protagonist’s wild imagination and growing mental instability). Tschechowa’s marvellous expressivity, as well as her ability to oscillate between delicately subtle and broadly physical depending on the narrative situation occurring around her makes her performance in Euridice BA 2037 one of the best of the year, and a masterclass in restraint, where even the most frantic of moments are delivered with a certain elegance that ultimately works extremely well. It’s a portrayal of a tragic heroine that is, above everything else, profoundly moving and earnestly sincere, which makes a big difference when the film around it is purposefully cold and bleak.

Euridice BA 2037 is a film that seems to exist outside of time – had I not known the period in which this film was made, I’d have predicted it could’ve been produced anywhere from as early as the 1940s to as recently as last year – Nikolaidis does well in isolating space and time, making great use of his visionary style to create something so complex, yet so effortlessly beautiful at the same time. Euridice BA 2037 is mainly a visual achievement – borrowing from innumerable artistic sources, the director liberally takes advantage of the works that come before this one in order to craft something that is so poetic, yet not at all pretentious or unnecessarily complex in how it depicts the story. The images presented throughout Euridice BA 2037 leave an indelible impression, and I can’t help from recall so many memorable moments of unflinching beauty – and the fact that this film, despite being made nearly half a century ago, feels so fresh and radiant, and extremely modern, is a testament to the work of a director whose style clearly didn’t know any temporal or geographical boundaries – the events in this film could have taken place in any year, anywhere in the world, which makes for truly enthralling viewing, because it allows us to be submerged into this world of chaos and despair in a way that creates the sensation that we ourselves are active participants in this film, engaging in a form of innocuos voyeuristic observation towards the titular character, who is going about her life, waiting patiently to be rescued from her banal routine – Euridice BA 2037 reminds me of another towering 1975 art film that looked at eerily similar issues in much of the same way – not to mention both films have titles that are almost identical, featuring the doomed heroine and the location of her existential suffering.

Euridice BA 2037 is a fascinating film – it is often very difficult to understand, and its complexities sometimes mean it has to unfortunately appear as being quite unappealing to those in search of something that is somewhat more cohesive. Yet, this is a film that doesn’t avoid openly acknowledging its experimental nature – had Nikolaidis opted to make something that was more resonant, he’d have done so. His intentions in making Euridice BA 2037, while not always entirely clear (as this is a film that requires a vast amount of rumination and analysis), were obviously to explore human existentialism and the decay of the mind in certain contexts, and it ultimately does succeed, because in its pursuit of some deeper understanding of routine and entrapment within a particularly disconcerting society, the director manages to comment on some broader issues that extend further than just the realm of revitalizing Greek mythology from a modern standpoint. Euridice BA 2037 is a fascinating film, and an effective experiment that goes in search of the key to the human condition, and while it certainly may not be successful (it never promised to be), it definitely is memorable, and its stark beauty and unimpeachable elegance, combined with its dizzying absurdity, make for a truly terrific, and perhaps even terrifying, experience, a psychological journey into the core of humanity that is haunting, uncomfortable and ultimately beautifully rewarding for all of those who dare to peer into the deranged mind of a true cinematic genius and his rambling understanding of the human spirit.