Any individual who’s always laughed at an organization alluding to its representatives as family will promptly hear alerts ringing when Zhanna (Lyudmila Vasilyeva), the matron who runs Produkty 24, tells her laborers they aren’t simply workers, they’re her youngsters. It won’t take long for “Corner shop” to legitimize that doubt to say the very least: A feature of the 2022 Berlin Film Festival’s Panorama program, Michael Borodin’s glance at a Uzbek outsider working in the Moscow edges is even more upsetting for the way that it depends on a genuine instance of illegal exploitation.
The marriage of Mukkahabat (a delicately annihilating Zukhara Sanzysbay) to an individual specialist is our course into this world, yet it’s not really a storybook wedding. Occurring in a private cabin of Produkty 24, it seems more like a constrained association than the start of joyfully ever later. Glinting lights and uproarious music intended to cover anything that could be happening in that and different reserved alcoves give a false representation of the store’s spotless surface, as do the assistants’ aversion to allow a client to look around when he hears what sounds like a lady in distress.We before long come to consider Produkty 24 to be a sort of jail, one where the last part of its name is however dismal as it seems to be clear: Mukhabbat and the others live here, importance they’re under its rooftop (and, more forthright, Zhanna’s bondage) 24 hours every day. Abuse is the standard, by and large maltreatment normal. “You should watch them better,” a cop who turns out to be Zhanna’s sibling tells her after returning an eventual escapee. That specific representative (assuming that is even the word now) is severely rebuffed soon after, with her kindred prisoners compelled to allot the sentence.
Motion pictures regarding how settlers are treated in their assenting nations tend not to be particularly elevating, yet “General store” is bleak even by the principles of that specific type – not that Borodin allows it to slip into miserablism. Horrendous as quite a bit of it is, the activity is introduced in a direct, unadorned way that on occasion infers Myroslav Slaboshpytskyi’s “The Tribe,” and at last the story is more with regards to Mukhabbat observing office than it is about her affliction. As is regularly the situation, notwithstanding, this is an endless loop – abuse will in general conceive greater abuse, and the mishandled again and again become victimizers themselves.
With basically all of the activity of the primary half occurring in the store, we come to share Mukkhabbat’s feeling of constrainment. The impact of those wiped out brilliant lights is amplified by cinematographer Ekaterina Smolina’s master lensing, which regularly witnesses characters through the opposite side of partially open entryways or even from tk’s shut circuit security film – there’s a feeling that Produkty 24 is too confined to even think about fitting us notwithstanding the representatives and that, regardless of whether it weren’t, we wouldn’t be permitted in any case. Indeed, even past its entryways, Smolina continually utilizes striking tones to counterbalance in any case bleak environmental elements: a jam-packed train vehicle in one scene, an as of late developed town in another. That difference is no place more obvious – or telling – than in a concise trade between a lady and her better half who help Mukkhabat: “The stars are so high above this evening,” she tells him in what might be the film’s just snapshot of wonderment; “What stars?” he asks contemptuously prior to advising her it’s an ideal opportunity to return home.