When I moved to Toronto, my older sister went out of her way to show me the cultured sights of the big city. On her list was a visit to the film festival. She took me to a Spanish film and I promptly fell asleep. This rather embarrassed me and I tried to hide the fact that I couldn't keep my eyes open. I didn't want to look like a hick, I wanted to impress a sibling I admired. As we were leaving the theatre, her friend said, "I'm really sorry about that. Not all foreign films are that boring." Which brings me to Tsintsadze's Gun-shy. I didn't fall asleep this time around but I felt that nagging boredom, the knowledge that we've seen this all before. In lieu of army duty, a young man named Lukas moves to a new town for community service. He delivers meals to the infirm people living solitary lives in small apartments. Although he moves through the outside world, he is just as alone. When he meets Isabella, it seems like he might have found a connection. She is, however, elusive — a beautiful, mysterious woman that appears in the dead of night then disappears just as quickly. It's admirable of Tsintsadze to not draw clear lines in Gun-shy; he lets information seep into the story slowly. We learn about Isabella's life — her family and stepfather — from a distance. Lukas's character is revealed as he takes in his surroundings; he must decide what action to take as tries to save the woman he loves. By not pointing out obvious conclusions, the audience can decide if she really requires saving. However, it feels like the entire film is shot with a telephoto lens — as though everything is seen from a distance. We aren't really involved, just casual observers who may or may not be paying attention. (Tatfilm)