Tragically,
the bridges of Bosnia-Herzegovina have been irrevocably altered by the war. The
most widely reported example is the obliteration and reconstruction of Mostar’s
Stari Most. Such a fate would have better fallen on the Mehmed Paša Sokolović
Bridge in Višegrad. Once best known as a symbol of permanence in Nobel Prize
winning native son Ivo Andrić’s The
Bridge on the Drina, it is now a carries the baggage of wartime crimes atrocities.
Of course, the locals do not exactly advertise its recent history. Australian
theater performer Kym Vercoe had to uncover it for herself. She revisits the
process in Jasmila Žbanić’s dramatized documentary, For Those Who Can Tell No Tales (trailer here), which screens
during the 2014 Human Rights Watch Film Festival in New York.
Vercoe
(who plays herself), brought two books on her Balkan tour. One was Andrić’s
famous novel. The other was Tim Clancy’s guide book. Wanting to see the bridge,
Vercoe plans an excursion to Višegrad, booking a night in the Vilina Vlas Hotel, based on Clancy’s recommendation. She spends a fitful, sleepless night
there, feeling physically ill when she checks out. A quick bit of internet
research back in Australia reveals the hotel was a notorious rape camp
maintained by Bosnian-Serb paramilitaries. Approximately two hundred women were
held captive there, but most of their bodies have yet to be found.
Haunted
by her proximity to genocide, Vercoe returns once more to Višegrad as a sort of
investigative tourist. This time it is winter and the reception she receives is
just as chillier. Yet, she doggedly films the scenes of the crimes against
humanity, in hopes they can form some sort of documentary record. She also
becomes driven to somehow craft a memorial to the victims of Vilina Vlas. That
impulse led to the creation of her one-person show, which ultimately evolved
into the film at hand after Žbanić saw a performance.
Even
though she is playing herself, Vercoe shows tremendous range and subtly. We get
a sense of her artistic sensibilities, but also the fortitude it took to
withstand intimidation from Srpska’s finest. This is her first screen performance,
but it should not be the last. Old Tim Clancy will probably never live down the
deliberate omissions of his guidebook, but Simon McBurney’s brief portrayal is
certainly memorably turned, if not necessarily sympathetic.
Given
the genesis of Tell, an
autobiographical work created by an outsider, there is obviously a risk the
film treatment could build drama around Vercoe at the expense of the underlying
subject. However, Žbanić and her co-adapter-lead maintain a palpable awareness
of just what happened at each Višegrad location. There is an overreliance on
the video diary convention to convey exposition (they probably knew it too, but
were stuck for alternatives). Nonetheless, following the course of Vercoe’s
private inquiry is quite compelling.
