IGRUSHKI

The big plastic eyes stare, somewhat blankly, into the distance, the dishevelled polyester hair flutters in the wind: a batallion composed of big blue elephants, green rabbits and white cats lines the entrance to the railway station in Schlobin. Many of the residents of the Belorussian town make their living from fabricating and selling soft toys to the train passengers who stop there. However, the vendors are forbidden to take their furry wares up to the trains… This grotesque spectacle is the starting point for Lina Lužytė’s concentrated look at the day-to-day life of Schlobin’s townspeople as they grapple with poverty and lacking perspectives. Her searching yet discreet gaze brings to light moments of painful intimacy. But her observations are not confined to individual fates: the private remains political in IGRUSHKI, the criticism of a repressive political system subtly conveyed in seemingly minor details.