Imagine being torn between the life you’ve built and the roots you’ve left behind—a choice that haunts you every step of the way. This is the heart of Nina Roza, a poignant and lyrically crafted drama that explores the intricate dance between art, identity, and estrangement. But here’s where it gets controversial: Can you ever truly leave your past behind, or does it always find a way to pull you back? Quebecois writer-director Geneviève Dulude-de Celles, whose 2017 Berlinale debut A Colony won the Crystal Bear, returns with a film that digs deep into this question, blending sharp lyricism with a broader, more ambitious canvas.
The story follows Mihail, a Canadian immigrant and art curator, who returns to his native Bulgaria on a mission: to uncover whether an 8-year-old girl named Nina is the next great artistic prodigy. It’s a premise that takes its time to unfold, but once it does, Nina Roza transforms into a profound meditation on what we lose—and gain—when we leave home. And this is the part most people miss: It’s not just about finding a child artist; it’s about Mihail rediscovering himself in the process.
Set against the vast, open landscapes of Bulgaria, the film captures Mihail’s journey with an almost epic quality. Cinematographer Alexandre Nour Desjardins bathes the scenes in warm, nostalgic light, while Joseph Marchand’s melodic score and vintage Soviet-era pop ballads add layers of emotion. Dulude-de Celles’ elliptical storytelling style invites viewers to piece together Mihail’s past, revealing a man estranged from his daughter, Rose, and reluctant to confront his Bulgarian roots.
When Mihail meets Nina—a stubborn, straight-talking girl with a talent for abstract painting—he begins to see reflections of his own life. Is Nina a genius, or is her talent a product of her artistic community? As Mihail grapples with this question, he also confronts his own choices: his decision to leave Bulgaria, his strained relationship with Rose, and the parts of himself he’s left behind.
One of the film’s most striking moments comes when Mihail, drunk at a village party, sings along to a Communist anthem, appearing happier than he ever did in Canada. Later, his awkward reunion with his long-estranged sister underscores the emotional toll of his exile. Meanwhile, Nina’s story mirrors Mihail’s in unexpected ways. An Italian gallerist offers her a chance at international success, but Nina, unlike Mihail, clings fiercely to her heritage, even as she resists being reduced to a symbol of it.
Nina Roza—a title that merges Nina’s name with Rose’s—boldly asks: What’s the cost of chasing a better life when it means leaving your roots behind? There’s no easy answer, and the film doesn’t pretend to offer one. Instead, it invites us to sit with the complexity of Mihail’s journey, a pilgrimage to reclaim the self he lost.
Galin Stoev delivers a touching performance as Mihail, a man who starts the film half-alive, gradually awakening to the world around him. Through carefully composed sequences that prioritize visuals and emotion over dialogue, Dulude-de Celles crafts a film that feels both intimate and expansive.
Here’s the question that lingers: Can we ever fully reconcile who we are with where we come from? Nina Roza doesn’t provide a clear answer, but it sparks a conversation worth having. What do you think? Is it possible to leave your past behind without losing yourself? Let’s discuss in the comments.
