Armenian filmmaker Hovhannes Ishkhanyan’s loosely observational, intimate debut feature documentary Beauty and the Lawyer, which had its world premiere at DOK Leipzig in the International Competition, offers a portrait of a young Armenian family. More specifically, it’s the kind of family that more traditional segments of society would prefer not to acknowledge exists or deserves equal rights in Armenia, because one of the parents in it is trans.
Beauty and the Lawyer opens with the marriage of Garik Amolikyan, a 24-year-old drag artist, queer rights activist and former sex worker, to Hasmik Petrosyan, a female lawyer who advocates for greater legal protections for LGBTQ+ people. Candid scenes of family life show a relationship of great warmth and irreverent humour, as they await the birth of their first son, Leonik, and Garik builds a new house for them, laying blocks for the home from the ground up. These casual domestic moments are set against archival television news footage of parliamentary addresses and vox pop that show just how deeply entrenched transphobia is among the general population and institutions of Armenia, even as the Constitution of the small Caucasus nation supposedly guarantees the equal right to a family life for all of its citizens. Anti-discrimination legislation does not explicitly name the categories of sexual orientation and gender identity, and bigots takie advantage of a general atmosphere of impunity.
This is an awareness-building doc that leans into a scrappy, grassroots DIY ethos, rather than high-production gloss. Though it would have benefitted from a more rigorous structuring hand, it has capitalised on the trust and access obviously inherent to a familiar team relationship (both the director and the protagonists are involved with the NGO Pink Armenia, where the couple are shown hanging out) to achieve greater visibility for a community marginalised from Armenian society and cinema. Neighbouring nation Georgia’s recent flourishing of queer stories on screen in the face of staunch resistance from the Church and traditional quarters of society has no doubt helped catalyse space for this project, in a region of strong religious taboos.
Garik appears on-stage as Carabina, in performances drawing on autobiographical experiences and theatrical outpourings of emotions that seem an essential means of processing the persistent threat and anxiety of living in a society in which the violent persecution of those not conforming to conventional gender roles is normalised. A tendency for playful, offbeat creative gestures and musical interludes vitalises even the most mundane domestic moments for Garik, who at one point breaks out into a song by famed French-Armenian chansonnier Charles Aznavour, What Makes A Man, while plastering the house.
Though their home is a shared place of comfort for the family, just what they are up against outside is evidenced in news footage of zealots from the Word of Life sect protesting against the “propaganda of perversion,” as they deem calls for LGBTQ+ rights, which are viewed by conservatives in Armenia as a corrupting western import from the European Union. One protester, making a throat-cutting gesture, produces a knife, which he refers to as an instrument for purifying this generation of Armenians, in a clear statement of violent intent toward anyone who falls outside traditional morality dictates on appearance and behaviour.
The decoration of a tree for Leonik’s first Christmas in the new house is both a hopeful moment as a vision of family achievable for all, but a bittersweet and precarious one. It occurs against a backdrop of the family considering asylum in the Netherlands, wanting their son to be raised with his freedom and rights fully protected, but fearing that might not be possible if they remain in Armenia.
Director, Writer, Cinematographer, Co-Producer: Hovhannes Ishkhanyan
Editor: Wei Yuan Song
Producer: Jean-Marie Gigon
Sound Design: Thomas Fourel
Production company: Sanosi Productions (France)
Venue: DOK Leipzig (International Competition)
In Armenian
105 minutes
