As Sybilla rides away from the village at dawn, her face is a mask of stone. She has not been defeated, but she has been changed. And somewhere in the distance, 27 kisses float away—unclaimed, unforgettable, and utterly missing. If you enjoy lyrical, bittersweet cinema in the vein of The Dreamlife of Angels or The Virgin Suicides , seek out Nana Dzhordzhadze’s 27 Missing Kisses . It is a small film with a giant, beating heart.
Critics have compared Dzhordzhadze to fellow Eastern European visionaries like Kira Muratova and Emir Kusturica for her blend of the magical and the mundane. But her voice is singular. She captures a specifically feminine restlessness—the way young girls are expected to be sweet but are punished for being passionate. Nana Dzhordzhadze - 27 Missing Kisses -2000-
But her primary obsession is a man three times her age: Alexander (Yevgeni Sidikhin), the brooding, handsome father of the boy next door. While Mikha (Shalva Iashvili), Alexander’s lovesick teenage son, watches her with puppy-dog devotion, Sybilla pursues the father with a relentless, unembarrassed passion. The film’s title refers to a promise: Alexander once told his wife that if he ever loved another, he would give her 100 kisses. Sybilla, counting every stolen moment, declares she will stop at 73—leaving 27 kisses missing, a space for possibility or ruin. Dzhordzhadze, a former documentarian, directs with the eye of a painter. Cinematographer Phedon Papamichael (who would go on to work with Alexander Payne) bathes every frame in honeyed light. Sunflowers droop lazily. A cow wanders into a living room. A motorcycle roars down a dirt road, kicking up dust that hangs in the air like smoke. The village is almost a character itself—an idyll that hides a cauldron of jealousy, repressed desire, and small-town judgment. As Sybilla rides away from the village at