Presented as the closing film of the 28th RIDM, Andrés Livov’s feature is a warm, gentle embrace; one that accompanies grief and guides us toward the light.
Every year in Quebec’s region of Lac-Saint-Jean, the fields are covered with tiny beads of deep blue. They draw in, like a silent migration, all kinds of people who come to lend a hand in harvesting the region’s famous blueberries: young and old, longtime Quebeckers and newcomers alike, along with migrant workers. For decades, this “blue gold” has been picked by hand, using homemade tools or more efficient machines—but always with the same delicacy.
These people, brought together by the sheer abundance of the little berries, bend down side by side in a humble, repetitive motion that demands patience in the face of the task’s vastness. Hand-picking forces you to let go: to surrender to the process, to trust that the sum of these small gestures will eventually fulfil the larger task. And that is precisely what the film invites us to do: slow down, appreciate, accept. And perhaps, even heal.
The Blueberry Blues is a tender, sensitive film, shaped by soft, steady images. A gentle gaze, attentive to the people it portrays and to the little things we sometimes forget to cherish. It’s a film that breathes to the rhythm of those who inhabit it.
Among the scenes that drift through it like a silk thread, the one with the two pilots in their small plane has a rare poetry. Packed into a cockpit they nearly fill, dressed in their crisp pilot uniforms, they fly over the region as though wandering through a suspended dream. The engine’s rumble fades away, leaving space for their conversation: the co-pilot’s soft, luminous voice drifting into a reflective meander about classical music, about life, about what moves him. A light, soothing, aerial kind of speech that floats in the air as weightlessly as the plane itself. A magical scene—perfectly emblematic of what Livov manages to glean in this mosaic of people who breathe life and brightness into Lac-Saint-Jean.
There is also Carmen, who runs a small snack bar, and whose warmth, gentle whimsy, and generosity turn many of her on-camera moments into something precious. Despite the lingering pain of her daughter’s death, which the film allows us to sense, she offers the filmmaker—and all who cross her path—an authentic, comforting warmth. And then there is the elderly man who loves to sing in nursing homes: his happiness is born simply from the smiles he brings to others. A quiet joy, but deeply genuine.
Music, too, is a motif Livov carefully shapes. Whether it springs from the film’s world or comes from outside it, it weaves a warm, lyrical wrap around the ballet of life unfolding in Lac-Saint-Jean.
For in The Blueberry Blues, life unfolds as it must. There is no lamenting its hardness or its injustices; instead, the film chooses to celebrate the resilience of its inhabitants and the flashes of magic along the way. Conversations among seasonal workers, like those among longtime locals, carry neither heaviness nor melancholy. With spontaneous touches, they sketch a landscape of solidarity, connection, sharing, and kindness.
Throughout the film, the documentary subtly evokes grief and renewal. The wildfires that sometimes ravage Quebec are not shown as forces of desolation, but as part of an essential cycle—the very one that allows blueberries to bloom again. Gently, the film accompanies the idea that death, too, belongs to the flow of life.
This is another strength of Andrés Livov’s work. The film does not present the notion of cycles with cynicism. Livov sees, instead, regeneration—the vital spark that always returns. Seasons pass, some loved ones may pass away, but the blueberries come back, faithfully, year after year. The cycle endures.
The Blueberry Blues unfolds with gentleness and humility, celebrating life and solidarity. Andrés Livov offers a uniquely comforting film, full of human brilliance. A film that accompanies grief and gently guides us toward the light. A warm, tender embrace that invites gratitude.
The 28th edition of Montreal International Documentary Festival (RIDM) is running on November 20-30, 2025 in Montreal, Canada.
