Anna Hinz’s gripping documentary film, The Sisterhood of the Smoke Sauna, tells the story of a group of women who connect on a deep level in the small space of a smoke sauna in the Volo community of Estonia. Smoke saunas are places of ritual purification and sanctuary, sacred spaces where women can release the burden of their experiences, wash away dead skin, heal spiritually and psychologically, and experience a kind of rebirth. Saunas are so sacred that UNESCO has included them in its list of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, in the same category as Tibetan opera and Chinese calligraphy – arts that are difficult to put into words but that convey the human spirit.
Tips This profound documentary attempts to capture the human spirit. That spirit is present and abundant, but also suppressed by a patriarchal society, allowing the women who gather in the sauna for many seasons to break free. Women of all shapes, ages and sexual orientations are in the room naked, sweat pouring down their bodies and words flowing from their mouths. They share secrets to dispel shame and build community. These women are naked, not in the art world’s “nudity,” but naked, raw and carefully captured in Ants Tamik’s photographs. His photography is not meant to be exploitative, but rather to create a sense that while people’s bodies are individual, they are also one.
Some of the women are shown in full, some are obscured, and some are blurred. But their stories and experiences are never hidden. Some women are shown casually, discussing penis photos and dating apps. Others delve into their own twisted body image, which stems from their mothers defining them through the male gaze. In Cue, the male gaze is not allowed at all – it is not used as a visual tool or something to be promoted. In fact, as the story progresses, we see women who have been subjected to horrific violence. Domestic abuse, pressure to only have girls, and the powerlessness of not being able to leave a man, even one who is abusive. But when the women come together, they wash away these patriarchal shadows and say goodbye to a world where they were disenfranchised.
The stories they told were partly meant to create a sense of community among them. They admitted to having abortions or not wanting to become mothers. They acknowledged their sexual orientation or uncertainty. They sought out people who shared their experiences. As they talked, the women rubbed their bodies, pouring water over their heads to draw out excess heat and let it escape through their pores. They sang, chanted, and blessed each other. Although they spoke of many traumas, they also felt a sense of joy and freedom when they emerged from their huts and frolicked naked in the grass or swam in streams.
This documentary is incredibly personal, so personal that we sometimes forget about the existence of individuals and see only close-ups of the collective. The experiences are universal and profound, and even when one experience stands out, it still resonates with the audience. One woman spoke about her experience of giving birth when her daughter died. She spoke about the birth process in a way that many mothers could relate to, but as she held her dead child in her arms, the experience became her own, and by sharing it, she was able to slowly heal from the pain.
Against a backdrop of billowing smoke, an old woman tells the story of those who came before her – women who had to live in ignorance and shame because no one dared talk about their bodies. Young women tell how their families did everything they could to keep their feelings quiet. They laugh at themselves as they describe their vaginas. They talk about bodies tormented by disease. These imperfect, but always beautiful bodies.
“Namek” uses a single shot to tell the harrowing story of a woman who was raped and thought she was going to die. The film initially explored the virtues of chastity, but when the woman described how she had been thrown into hell for 24 hours—not only raped at knifepoint, but beaten again by the man who claimed to be her savior—she lamented that chastity, “the most precious thing,” was far less valuable than life. The women sat silently around her, one of them gently stroking her hair. “How can I protect my daughters from this?” she lamented. Perhaps going to the sauna wouldn’t protect these women, but it would give them a chance to be heard and acknowledged.
Hints’ documentary is visually stunning, and is complemented by a series of folk songs and musical pieces written and performed by Hints and others. There’s something divinely feminine about the work, a word that’s hard to define but palpable. Women bless babies with chants of “Be Strong.” The film’s power is in recognizing the past and how it oppresses women, including those who go to the sauna, and then walking away from it with a new and stronger soul.
Sometimes being a smoke sauna sisterhood is hard – cathartic, traumatizing. These stories are both light and dark. At times the darkness felt unbearable, and the sauna too small to contain such unbearable pain. However, it is not the sauna that absorbs the pain, but the women in it who share the pain and then dissipate it. Anna Hinz’s observations and writings are significant in themselves. It may seem like a group of women gathered in the wilderness, but in fact it is much more. It is the expulsion of shame, the rejection of oppressive restrictions, and the support of women who realize that they have judged themselves and are willing to listen to others without judgment. The smoke that fills the sauna is a tentacle of hope and freedom, a source of healing and rebirth.
Nadine Whitney is a Rotten Tomatoes certified film critic, co-chair of the Australian Film Critics Association, Golden Globe voter, OFCS, GALECA, AWFJ member and occasional film festival judge. She often wished she were a spoiled cat.
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