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.

Two decades later, 27 Missing Kisses feels eerily prescient. In an era of debate about age, consent, and the complexities of desire, the film offers no easy answers. It is not a cautionary tale, nor is it a romance. It is a portrait of a summer when a girl learned that kisses, like people, can vanish into thin air. Nana Dzhordzhadze - 27 Missing Kisses -2000-

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. But her primary obsession is a man three

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. Sybilla, counting every stolen moment, declares she will

The answer is devastating. Alexander, torn between his own failing marriage and the inappropriate attention of a child, becomes a tragic figure of indecision. He wants to be good, but he is weak. The final act, involving a stolen boat, a fireworks display, and a sudden act of violence, shatters the summer idyll. There is no catharsis—only the quiet, lingering ache of what could have been . Upon its release, 27 Missing Kisses was Georgia’s official submission for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. It won critical praise at festivals, including the César Award for Best First Feature (France). Yet it remains a hidden gem, adored by cinephiles for its emotional risk-taking and visual beauty.

The film’s tone is unique: it is a comedy of absurd gestures (a stolen pig, a runaway telescope, a village screening of Emmanuelle that goes hilariously wrong) wrapped around a tragedy of unreciprocated love. Sybilla is both the agent of chaos and its ultimate victim. She is too young to understand the consequences of her desires, but old enough to feel their sting. What makes 27 Missing Kisses unforgettable is Nutsa Kukhianidze’s performance. At 15, she embodies a dangerous kind of freedom. Sybilla is not a victim or a seductress in the conventional sense; she is a force of nature. She smokes cigarettes, lies without blinking, and stares at Alexander with an intensity that makes the audience squirm. Yet Dzhordzhadze never judges her. Instead, the film asks a radical question: What if a teenage girl’s desire is not pathology, but poetry?