Honeyland

“One half for me, one half for you” — this is the golden rule of Honeyland.

The captivating, harrowing narrative documentary opens with Hatidze Muratova in her signature yellow shirt — a bright spot shining amid the deserted, wide-open landscape — as she fearlessly scales the side of a North Macedonian mountain. Wearing no protective clothing, she carefully moves pieces of jagged rock with her bare hands, revealing her secret treasure trove: glimmering in the sun’s glow are rows upon rows of wild golden honeycomb, buzzing with hundreds of happy honeybees. Europe’s last female wild beekeeper, Hatidze is the lone remaining member of a dying breed, and she has one goal: maintaining balance of both her land and her life.

The second feature documentary from filmmakers Tamara Kotevska and Ljubo Stefanov (Lake of Apples), Honeyland is a fascinatingly intimate look into the harsh reality of one woman’s quest for harmony. What initially began as a commissioned conservation project quickly turned into a stunning modern day parable of the Good Samaritan.

Hatidze lives in an abandoned village, miles away from modern civilization, that only she and her extremely ill mother inhabit. She spends her days meditatively singing to her hives and comically squabbling with her mom — undertakings that put her fiery, indomitable spirit on full display.

When a raucous family of nine rolls in right next door, her peaceful existence is turned completely upside down. Hussein Sam, a father of seven, moves in with his wife, a rusted trailer, a broken down truck and a large herd of unruly cattle without a clue of how to care for them. A few comical first-time farmer high jinks ensue, but there’s an overwhelming sense that this family is here to disrupt the delicate ecosystem Hatidze so lovingly cares for.

Still, she is gracious at the prospect of having a community so close by — after all, we’ve only seen her interact with her mother, pets and bees up to this point. She meets her new neighbors with an open heart, offering honey, brandy and advice on how to adapt to the austere landscape. She takes the children under her wing and guides them in the ways of her ancient beekeeping process, extending an olive branch to the outsiders next door.

Soon after, however, Hatidze’s generosity is met with contempt and selfishness. Her livelihood is irreparably damaged by the people she so thoughtfully extends herself toward, and what’s worse, there’s nothing she can do about it. Viewers quickly realize that her struggle is all the more tragic as it extends past her personal war and becomes a microcosm mirroring the larger environmental battle in which we are all currently engaged — a warning against the wasteful nature plaguing us all. Are we Hatidze, thoughtfully caring for the world around us? Or are we the unthinking neighbors next door? This premise looms large on one’s consciousness as the film proceeds and feels altogether distressing, but it’s a question vital to our future existence.

For those wondering if Honeyland is a conventional nature documentary, the answer is decidedly, “No.” This isn’t a film about “saving the bees” — it’s about the protection of something sacred, uncomplicated and untainted. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of taking advantage of resources that aren’t ours, but it isn’t preachy — it’s prophetic.

The film beautifully weaves the familiar lens of a nature documentary with a covert narrative that’s distinctly human in its exploration of strife, persistence and hope. It examines the lengths to which one woman is willing to go to maintain natural order and just how much she’ll endure to preserve something she holds so sacred.

The directors as well as both cinematographers, Samir Ljuma and Fejmi Daut, beautifully utilize the desolate locale with gorgeous natural lighting, sweeping landscape shots and stunning close-ups of the rugged, untamed wilderness. After three years, 100 days of shooting and not knowing a word of Turkish during the filming process, it’s a wonder that the narrative came together so effortlessly.

Though the film dazzled me with its truly stunning, otherworldly appeal and the inarguable charm of its protagonist, I couldn’t help but feel slightly bereft after the final scene. I found myself apprehensive and a little hopeless but mostly left with myriad questions: Is that it? Where does she go from here? Are we all destined to become the inconsiderate neighbors who move in, pillage, destroy and move on when things don’t work out? It sounds depressing, and parts are absolutely heart-wrenching, but now that I know what to expect, I’ve found the beauty in not knowing.

Honeyland is certainly worth seeing, as its crucial message and extraordinary visuals do not disappoint, but be forewarned — you might need a box of tissues close by. It’ll make you cringe and cry and implore you to empathize with someone who’s had more than a few lifetimes’ worth of struggle. But it does so without saying too much or too loudly. It’s subtle, intense and stirring, and lingers long after the credits roll. It’ll compel you to question your way of life and urge you to uncover the gratitude you undoubtedly already have. Honeyland and Hatidze are sure to remind you that life is simple and you are lucky — just remember to be kind.

Honeyland stands alone as a beautifully heartbreaking piece of art, but its relevance in today’s climate is what takes it from personal to powerful. It’s a tale that’s not for the faint of heart, but if you’re willing to brave the ruthless landscape, the journey is so incredibly worthwhile.

Starts Aug. 30 at the Fine Arts Theatre