BHFFNYC ’16: Our Everyday Life

There are things you never get accustomed to. Sasha Susic is a Balkan War veteran still struggling with relatively mild PTSD. He has witnessed death, but he is still not prepared when potentially fatal illness strikes within his nuclear family. His father is even less so. However, everyone is used to carrying on in the face of whatever chance and circumstance throws their way in Ines Tanović’s Our Everyday Life (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Apparently, Susic got a close look at the dark side of humanity, but a marriage to a foreign journalist saved him and his mates from the worst of it. He now lives with his sixty-something parents in Sarajevo, mostly just brooding around the flat. His father Muhamed makes no secret of his contempt for Sasha’s lack of ambition or his frustration with the Bohemian lifestyle of his very pregnant sister, Senada, who is currently living abroad with her Slovenian lover. Their mother Marija tries to play peacemaker, but a not-so cold war still rages between father and son. Nevertheless, they will come together when they have to, because they are not tacky people.

You could think of OEL as something very much like a Bosnian Ozu film, which is very high praise indeed. Some might say very little happens in it, but frankly we see all the stuff of life therein. It is also rather fascinating to watch how Tanović’s screenplay addresses the Balkan War and its ramifications. At most, they are secondary issues, albeit important ones. Frankly, it is not so very different than the treatment you might find of 9/11 in major American films that cannot pretend it didn’t happen, but are circumspect in their references. The War is still a bit more prominent in Tanović’s mix, but it is put on equal footing with economic challenges and generational conflicts.

Emir Hadzihafizbegovic and Uliks Fehmiu are terrific as the mildly semi-estranged father and son. Whether it is a scene of spiteful bickering or tender rapprochement, there is not a false moment shared between them. Vedrana Seksan is massively charismatic in her brief but pivotal scenes as Senada, while Jasna Ornela Beri is all very well and good as Marija, but her sainted mother material feels predictably familiar.

Frankly, it was not crazy strategy on the part of Bosnia and Herzegovina choosing OEL as the nation’s official foreign language Oscar submission. It is a very fine film that will impress viewers who take the time to engage with it. However, it is so understated it was unable to cut through the pomp and noise of awards season. It is nice to be able to catch up with it now. Highly recommended for those who appreciate smart, realistic drama, Our Everyday Life screens this Friday (5/27) at the SVA Theatre, as part of this year’s BHNYC.

BHFFNYC ’16: One Day in Sarajevo

At least in one respect, life in Sarajevo has changed for the better since the 100^th anniversary of Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s assassination in 2014. After three years in mothballs, the National Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina has re-opened, in part thanks to a donation from the U.S. Embassy. The Archduke came to Sarajevo to preside over an opening ceremony at the museum, but as you might have heard, he never made it. Jasmila Žbanić samples the wide spectrum of Bosnian opinion on Franz Ferdinand and the trigger-man Gavrilo Princip, while documenting the commemorative festivities through crowd-sourced footage in the docu-essay One Day in Sarajevo, which screens during the eagerly anticipated 2016 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

To some Sarajevans, Princip was a righteous anti-Imperialist resistance fighter, while others are understandably put off by his Greater Serbian ideology. The latter often recognize the Archduke’s sadly unrealized policies for decentralizing and liberalizing the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Frankly, it is hard to understand the affection for Princip, given how his attack directly led to WWI, which in turn sowed the seeds of WWII, which subsequently led into the Cold War, and eventually the Balkan War, but maybe you have to give him some credit for punching above his weight class.

Naturally, there are a number of festivities underway that Žbanić frames to maximize the irony. However, she also captures the “you can’t go home again” emotions of a Canadian émigré’s return visit with his preteen daughters. Perhaps the most poignant moments are the nearly empty museum, where unpaid staffers still show up for work daily to keep up basic maintenance and prevent theft. Although Žbanić’s cameras document it as its loneliest and shabbiest, the museum is still a lovely building with great potential (so it is nice to know it is now serving its proper function).

In between the crowd scenes, cab rides, and general life happening, Žbanić inter-splices scenes from various cinematic portrayals of Franz Ferdinand’s fateful motorcade. Spoiler alert: it always ends badly for the Archduke. Sometimes One Day in Sarajevo feels like Žbanić is just hitting the random button, but there are enough interesting moments to make it worthwhile, especially when seen with a knowing audience, like Bosnian-Herzegovinian Festival’s patrons. Recommended for those in the mood for some provocative sight-seeing, One Day in Sarajevo screens this Thursday (5/26) at the SVA Theatre, as part of this year’s BHNYC. (The brutally powerful No One’s Son is even more forcefully recommended when it also screens earlier in the evening.)

SXSW ’16: Papagajka

The apartment complex where Damir lives and works probably looked great as a scale model, but the hulking brutalist building does not exactly have a homey feel. There hardly seems to be any people living there, but it is probably just as well. He isn’t much of a night watchman. His life is about as modest as it gets, yet a mystery woman will try to take control of it anyway in Emma Rozanski’s Papagajka (trailer here), which screens at the 2016 SXSW.

The building definitely stands out, but Damir prefers to go through life unnoticed. He only interacts with a handful of residents, including the party girl, Kamala, whose interest confuses him. One day, Tasya starts wandering through the complex’s once grand external staircases, lugging a suitcase behind her. Approaching Damir, she claims to be a tourist, whose purse and passport were stolen. Somehow, Damir agrees to let her stay in his flat until she can sort herself out. Clearly self-assertion is a problem for him, but saying no to Tasya will be particularly difficult.

Soon Tasya drops all pretenses of leaving. She shrugs off questions about her friend and starts clearing out Damir’s possessions. She even starts to have an ominous effect on his dreams. With both his mental and physical health suffering, Damir loses the strength to fight Tasya’s dominating control games.

Rozanski studied under Bela Tarr at his Sarajevo based film.factory and it is not hard to discern his influence on the debut filmmaker—so viewers should consider themselves warned. Indeed, this is exactly the sort of story that works better with more genre trappings. The locale is wildly sinister, but the pace is art house extreme, all the way.

Still, for those willing to cowboy-up for some slow cinema, Rozanski’s control of mood and atmosphere are quite impressive. Adnan Omerovic (resembling Iggy Pop’s malnourished grandson) is deceptively quiet and reserved, expressing volumes with hardly any words. Susanna Cappellaro is also keeps the audience consistently off-balance. There is something hard to describe but eerily disconcerting about her presence.

Aside from the recognizable building itself, there is little about the film that readily identifiably Bosnian per se. It is tempting to read into the Bartleby’s character’s existential annihilation some sort of analogy for the atrocities of the Balkan Wars. However, it is healthier to see the film as a sign Bosnian artists are ready to process other topics and sources of inspiration. Recommended for a narrow strata of cineastes, the aesthetically demanding Papagajka screens again tonight (3/14) and this Thursday (3/17), as part of this year’s SXSW.

Frameline 39: Love Island

It’s like the Love Boat or Fantasy Island, except this Adriatic resort caters to a dumber, hornier clientele. Naturally, it is the perfect spot for a precariously pregnant woman to chill out for a week or two, until she runs into her former lesbian lover. Things get very triangular in Jasmila Žbanić’s Love Island (trailer here), which screens during this year’s Frameline in San Francisco.

Island is your basic shticky LGBTQ-friendly farce, but it is notable for the people involved. Believe it or not, it was directed by Žbanić, whose last film was the dramatized documentary For Those Who Can Tell No Tales, about an Australian performance artist’s investigation of the war crimes that were perpetrated at a hotel she unwittingly stayed  in. It stars Ermin Bravo, who previously appeared in Angelina Jolie’s In the Land of Blood and Honey as well as Danis Tanović’s short film Baggage and his feature Cirkus Columbia, alongside Ariane Labed (best known for demanding Greek films like Alps and The Capsule) and Ada Condeescu (who didn’t get much opportunity for comedy in Romanian New Wave films, such as Loverboy and If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle). Yet here they all are, determined to distract us with sweet nothings.

In a way, it is a rather happy development to see a Bosnian film going for crowd-pleasing laughs rather than cathartically analyzing the war’s lingering wounds once more. Perhaps it represents a healthy corner turned, but there is still the film to deal with and it’s a mugging, shameless parade of clichés.

Poor Grebo is an amiable working class buffoon who is indeed taking his mega-preggers French wife Liliane on their long planned Croatian vacation, even though we can tell from one look she will be delivering late in the third act. The schlubby former rocker still fancies himself a ladies man, so he briefly entertains thoughts of some side action with Flora, the scuba instructor with the hot bod. Turns out Flora has different ideas. She wants to win back her former lover, Liliane. Grebo will need some help to stay in contention, finding an ally in the resort’s cover band vocalist, Stipica, who inexplicably fancies the lug himself. Oh, the complications. Where’s Gopher and Isaac when we need them?

Love Island was a crowd pleaser at this year’s Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival. Perhaps it is gratifying for its domestic audience to see Balkan characters making love rather than war. If they enjoy it, more power to them, but for regular festival-going cineastes, it is kind of embarrassing. For cult film fans, it is particularly painful to see Franco Nero ham it up as the island’s old Casanova (Django, No!). Those looking for a sugary, fun-in-the-sun rom-com will get more entertainment out of the admittedly shallow Walking on Sunshine, now available on VOD. For patrons of Bosnian and Croatian cinema who want to see it for themselves, Love Island screens this Tuesday (6/23) and Thursday (6/25) as part of Frameline 39 in San Francisco.

BHFFNYC ’15: Racket

You can tell what preoccupies a nation’s subconscious from the villains and nightmares that appear in its films. As one would expect, the Balkan War, the Siege of Sarajevo, and the frustrated attempts to prosecute war criminals have loomed large in many, many previous Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival selections. However, this year’s slate suggests something of a turning of the corner, including several films addressing concerns New Yorkers understand only too well. That would be gangland shakedowns and public corruption in the case of Admir Buljugić’s crime drama—two New York traditions if ever there were any. Representing an intriguing change of pace in several respects, Buljugić’s Racket (trailer here) screens during the fondly anticipated 2015 Bosnian Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Amil Pašić is a globe-trotting nature photographer, who does not come home to Sarajevo very often. His latest stop-over will be a mere seven days, to be divided amongst his father, his neglected best friend, and his even more neglected on-again-off-again girlfriend. However, his plans go out the window when his father has a heart attack induced by the stress of defying a protection racket.

Of course, Pašić is even more obstinate than his father. When he seeks out Bakir, the extorting gangster, he is not about to come to terms. Instead, he will be serving notice. However, that will not entail unleashing his inner Van Damme. Pašić is hardnosed, but not superhuman.

In fact, the just-rightness of the Pašić character and Adnan Hasković’s lead performance are what really distinguish Racket. He can easily beat up one gangster, but he is probably in serious trouble facing two or three. Striking an intense but not psychotic vibe, Hasković (he killed Jamie Bell in Snowpiercer) makes a compelling everyman action hero.

While admirably scrappy and impressively moody, Buljugić’s screenplay is still undeniably uneven. Frankly, it heads in a legitimately interesting direction, but his third act is rather perfunctory. Given his budget constraints, he might have been under-pressure to wrap things up quickly. Look, this is a rare case where we would argue thriller fans really need to relax and grade on a curve.

The truth is spending time with Pašić and his circle is rather enjoyable. In fact, it would be rather nice to see subsequent Pašić films come to BHFF, but with a few more zigs and zags coming down the stretch. Recommended as a rare Bosnian gangster film and for Hasković’s winning star turn, Racket screens this Saturday (5/23) as part of this year’s Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival, a New York tradition for twelve years and counting.

HRW ’14: For Those Who Can Tell No Tales

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.

Tell is a rather short, quiet film that does not have a lot of narrative fireworks. Yet, it packs a surprisingly potent emotional charge, thanks to Vercoe’s performance and Žbanić’s eye for visuals. Cinematographer Christine A. Maier capitalizes on the striking (if often wintry and severe) backdrops. As a result, it is surprisingly cinematic, especially considering its meditative nature. One of a few standout films at this year’s highly uneven HRW Film Festival (along with Sepideh Reaching for the Stars), For Those Who Can Tell No Tales is recommended rather highly when it screens Monday (6/16) at the Walter Reade and Tuesday (6/17) at the IFC Center.

BHFF ’14: A Stranger

For cineastes, the notion of divided cities conjures images of The Third Man’s occupied Vienna. In contrast, there is nothing particularly mysterious about the effective religious-ethnic cleaving of Mostar. The bridge has been rebuilt but the distrust lingers between Muslim Bosniaks and Catholic Croats. Unfortunately, Slavko is not the sort of man to personally span that gap in Bobo Jelčić’s A Stranger (trailer here), the closing selection of this year’s Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Slavko has surely seen plenty of funerals by now, yet the death of his Muslim friend Đulaga still represents quite a dilemma. Although they had not seen each other since the troubles began, he knows he should pay his last respects. However, if he is seen attending the Muslim service, there could be very real repercussions in the neighborhood and perhaps even with the local bosses. On the other hand, if he does not go, he will completely lose the respect of his wife Milena, as well as his remaining shreds of self-worth.

Evidently, Jelčić’s character-types have deep resonance with the local audience, but they will not be so difficult for Americans to relate with. Frankly, Slavko is not a bad man. He is simply a small man. This often leads to minor everyday tragedies whenever he might find himself tested.

In a way, Slavko demonstrates how divided cities do not just cause divided peoples, but also fractured people. He is the “Stranger,” a title that evokes Camus and Graham Greene more than a painfully self-conscious, late middle-aged protagonist. At the very least, he is prone to profoundly darker Walter Mitty flights of fantasy. Yet, we start to wonder how firm his grasp truly is when his grim reveries start to jarringly intrude upon the on-screen narrative.

Bogdan Diklić, a Croatian born veteran of cinema across the Balkans, is a nervy screen presence, completely pulling viewers into his neurotic inner turmoil. He makes it dashed tricky to pass judgment on Slavko (lest we be judged under similar circumstances), even though Milena and Jelčić clearly have no problem doing so. In fact, Nada Đurevska undercuts him rather powerfully as the increasingly disappointed Milena. At times, her body language is quite the scathing indictment.

Without question, A Stranger represents art cinema at its least compromising, yet its themes still have resonance, particularly for those with roots in Bosnia-Herzegovina, or so we should hope. As the closing feature, it played to an impressively packed house, with overflow forced onto folding chairs in the aisles.

Regardless, it is nice to see the festival slowly but steadily grow year-by-year. Always a major event for the expat community, its general interest film following is also starting to build. While the themes are often heavy, patrons will find the festival itself to be friendlier and more relaxed than the other New York film happening that typically precedes it. Highly recommended as a New York film tradition, the eleventh annual Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival came to a close last night, but watch their social media for news on next year’s edition.

BHFF ’14: Documentary Shorts

They are the things that unify a country. Music, culture, humor, and you had better believe sports all very much define a nation’s character. Four short documentaries addressing such aspects of Bosnian cultural identity (to varying degrees) screened last night at the 2014 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival now underway in New York.

Dragi Šestić efforts to assemble and record a sevdah supergroup are not unlike the Buena Vista Social Club record and film, except the producer was working in his own country, documenting a musical form that was very vital in his beloved Mostar not so long ago. Arguably, Sevdalinka song and the sevdah sensibility are roughly akin to American blues song and the larger feeling for the blues, but the former is more refined compared to the latter’s earthiness.

Amir Grabus focuses on Šestić’s Mostar Sevdah Reunion, keeping an emphasis on performance throughout the program opening Tales from a Forgotten City (trailer here). While the playing is virtuosic, the mood is rather wistful, befitting Šestić and Grabus’s elegy to the romantic Mostar that no longer exists. Although Grabus had directed straight-up music videos for the MSR, Tales is a proper documentary that deserves further play at musically-focused festivals.

Once again, BHFF regular Nedžad Begović returned with Beško, another short documentary profile. While musician-filmmaker Beško is more prominent than the working class protagonist of Zizi, they both project everyman personas and share ruckus senses of humor. Clearly, Beško was a hit with festival patrons, but it might be best enjoyed by those who can fully appreciate the idioms and cadences of his jokes, sans subtitles.

Unfortunately, Mirna Dizdarević’s Vita Mulier is sort of the ringer of the short doc program, documenting the hard times that have befallen classical ballet in Sarajevo. It is earnest, rather pessimistic, but relatively brief.

In contrast, Sixten Björkstrand’s Bosnia in Our Hearts is heartfelt and optimistic. 2014 is the first year Bosnia-Herzegovina qualified for the FIFA World Cup as an independent nation—and don’t you forget it. The Finnish filmmaker followed several expatriate fans as they traveled to Lithuania for what might be the game to clinch their World Cup berth. For the fans that came to Finland as wartime refugees, a Bosnian victory will be especially sweet.

Although forced to serve as a crew of one, Björkstrand always managed to be in the right place to get the right shot. It is the sort of film that captures the extent to which a sports team can carry its nation’s hopes and aspirations. Frankly, ESPN should take a good look at it, because it is considerably more engaging and satisfying than Maradona ’86 and The Opposition, their two very so-so short football/soccer docs that premiered at Tribeca.

It is hard to go wrong with sevdalinka and soccer. Tales from a Forgotten City and Bosnia in Our Hearts were definitely standouts when they screened last night during Program #3. As satisfying, self-contained films with broad popular appeal, they deserve a serious look from other festival programmers. This year’s Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival continues tomorrow (5/3) with a full day of films at the Tribeca Cinemas.

BHFF ’14: Finding Family

In a cruel twist of fate, Oggi Tomić’s Sarajevo orphanage may very well have been shelled by his Bosnian Serb relatives he had never had a chance to meet. It could have been an ironic tragedy worthy of Sophocles, but somehow Tomić survived the Siege. In collaboration with fellow filmmaker Chris Leslie, Tomić documents his bittersweet Bosnian homecoming and a somewhat reluctant journey into Srpska in search of his roots in Finding Family (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Born with excess cranial flood, Tomić is arguably lucky to be alive. However, the infant came through emergency surgery with no long term damage, except for a bit of scar tissue on his scalp. The question of how much his birth-mother knew of his prognosis before abandoning him will understandably nag at the British based filmmaker.

Despite his Serbian name, Tomić always identified as Bosnian. After all, he was just as vulnerable to Serb shells as his fellow orphans. Without question, enduring the Siege instilled profound feelings of Bosnian solidarity in Tomić, undiminished by his new life in the United Kingdom.  As a result, he has serious misgivings about meeting his blood relatives, well beyond mere abandonment issues.

Given its structure (including an opening teaser), the hour-long Finding Family was clearly produced with the European television market in mind. Obviously Leslie & Tomić’s film addresses deep issues of identity and family, but its emotional impact is considerable nonetheless. Tomić is remarkably honest and direct expressing his lingering pain and resentments to Leslie and his camera. He also vividly recreates a sense of what it was like to come of age during a time of war.

There are moments in Finding Family that are raw and very definitely unscripted. Yet, it is a surprisingly optimistic film, capturing Tomić’s reunion with his early protector and his reawakened love for the city of Sarajevo. While several of Tomić’s encounters are indeed quite moving, the film never relies on cheap sentiment. Recommended for general doc watching audiences as well as loyal festival patrons, Finding Family screens this Saturday (5/3) as part of programming Block #6 at this year’s BHFF in New York.

BHFF ’13: Halima’s Path

Supposedly, Tito held Yugoslavia together as one big happy family.  Nonetheless, a late 1970’s episode of ethnic-religious strife eventually causes unimaginable anguish for a Bosnian mother decades later.  Her story, inspired by, but not directly based on a documented historical incident, vividly illustrates the painful legacy of war in Arsen Ostojić’s Halima’s Path (trailer here), which screened last night as part of the narrative feature competition at the 2013 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Having lost her husband Salko and son Mirza during the war, Halima has been unable to complete the grieving process while their remains are still unaccounted for.  However, a breakthrough appears to have been made.  Her husband has been recovered.  Perhaps her son will be too.  The international team just needs her DNA to match to her son, but she seems strangely reluctant to comply.

Flashing back to 1977, Safija is also in a very difficult position.  She lives in a Muslim village and is pregnant with the child of Slavomir, a Christian boy from the nearest Serb village.  Her father does not take the news well, beating her severely.  After Slavomir violently intervenes, he is quickly dispatched to Germany, for fear of reprisals.  He will return though.  Indeed, everyone’s lives will become knotted together in Halima’s bitter tale.

Given the wartime issues Path addresses, it is important to note Ostojić is in fact a Croatian filmmaker, working with a Bosnian screenwriter, Fedja Isovic, and a Serbian co-producer.  While most of the cast is either Croatian or Serbian, nearly all had family ties to Bosnia-Herzegovina (including Srpska, where the film has yet to screen, for obvious reasons).  Yes, Isovic’s screenplay unambiguously depicts Bosnian-Serb war crimes.  Yet ironically, during the first act, it is Serbian characters, most notably Slavomir’s father, who exemplify tolerance.  Of course, war changes people and countries, as viewers see in dramatic terms.

It would be a mistake to dismiss Path as just another film about the war and its aftermath.  While it is intimate in its focus, the substantial portion set in 1977 gives it a much wider historical scope.  Nor does it rely on stock characters or simplistic moralizing.  At its moments of reckoning, Path is mostly closely akin to classical tragedy in the Sophoclean tradition.

Perhaps more to the point, it also happens to be an excellent film, anchored by the devastating power of Alma Prica’s honest and dignified lead performance.  It is remarkable, award caliber work.  Sarajevo native Miraj Grbić (recognizable to some as Bogdan in Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol) also gives a finely nuanced performance as Halima’s brother-in-law, a character who suggests it is possible to become more humane with age, even after suffering the loss of loved ones.

Ostojić is best known for the black-and-white neo-noir A Wonderful Night in Split (co-starring Coolio), but with Path he drastically cranks down the auterist impulse, subordinating style to character and narrative.  As a result, Path is visually lean and spare, communicating directly to receptive viewers.  More commercial than film scouts have heretofore recognized, Halima’s Path has picked up numerous audience awards thus far.  Strongly recommended, it was one of the clear highlights of this year’s Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

BHFF ’13: Mirza Delibasic—the Legend

Mirza Delibašić vaguely resembled John Stockton and played a similar style of basketball.  He was a lethal outside shooter, who regularly racked-up the assists.  He also wore those old school short shorts.  Delibašić survived the Siege of Sarajevo, but eventually his own body would turn against him.  Miro Benković profiles Bosnia and Herzegovina’s sportsman of the Twentieth Century in the reverential Mirza Delibašić—the Legend (trailer here), which screened last night as part of the documentary competition at the 2013 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Delibašić won just about every championship he was allowed to compete in.  As part of the Yugoslavian national team, he won a gold medal at the 1980 Olympics.  He also led Bosnian teams to victory in the European and Intercontinental Cups.  Unfortunately, he was a half generation older than players like Dražn Petrović, who were the first to be allowed to sign fat contracts with NBA teams.  Still, he had some success playing for European powerhouse Real Madrid before health problems cut short his career.

It is not hard to understand why Delibašić is a national hero in Bosnia and Herzegovina.  One of the most striking images in Legend is a PSA Delibašić recorded shortly after the Siege in a bombed-out ruin he identifies as the country’s main television studio.  Actually, it would have been nice to have a bit more context on that.  Frankly, Legend is not the most technically polished documentaries and its organization makes my desk look neat as a pin.  Still, how many Mirza Delibašić documentaries do you get a chance to see in New York?

Without question, Benković puts Delibašić on a pedestal, never giving viewers any sense of the man’s private persona.  Nevertheless, Legend clearly struck a nostalgic chord with last night’s audience members, many of whom were humming along to the Delibašić tribute song heard several times during the course of the film.

Obviously, Legend connects with its target market.  It also clearly establishes Delibašić’s international significance as an athlete.  It would be interesting to see what filmmakers like Marius Markevicious (director of The Other Dream Team) or the team behind ESPN’s Once Brothers could make of his story.  Regardless, watching Mirza Delibašić—the Legend at BHFF opens up a real window into recent Bosnian-Herzegovinian experiences.  Definitely a fest deserving wider recognition amongst cineastes, the expanded BHFF continues tomorrow (5/11) with three blocks of programming.

BHFF ’13: Children of Sarajevo

War is not conducive to stronger family values.  It is not great for the economy either.  One Bosnian woman will struggle with both aspects of the war’s trying aftermath in Aida Begić’s Children of Sarajevo (trailer here), which opens the 2013 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York tonight at the Tribeca Cinemas.

Rahima and her younger brother Nehim are war orphans.  Although they spent the better part of the war in separate orphanages, she has temporarily assumed custody.  However, busy-body social workers constantly torment her with their condescending intrusions.  Working semi-off the books in the kitchen of a mobbed-up restaurant, she is in a difficult position, made more difficult by Nehim’s behavioral issues.  Things only get worse when he gets into a fight with a politician’s son.

Begić clearly establishes exactly how Rahima’s tribulations are fundamental rooted in the recent war, without ever belaboring her points.  Slowly, we learn only Nehim started acting out in response to the mockery he faced at school when she began wearing the headscarf that she adopted as a source of solace. Similarly, we gradually come to understand the severity of Rahima’s post-traumatic stress as she goes about her daily routine.

“Routine” is the correct word.  Children is a quiet, intimately observed drama that fully captures the monotony of Rahima’s struggle.  We revisit the same stretch of her decaying urban environment, time and again.  This might peel off some antsier viewers, but Begić fully captures the realities of life for marginalized survivors like Rahima.

As Rahima, Marija Pikić subtly conveys multitudes of anger and desperation, often relying solely on body language or a fleeting glance.  When late in the third act when Rahima privately removes her headscarf, viewers will realize the truly chameleon-like nature of the striking Pikić’s performance.  Ismar Gagula certainly makes a convincingly petulant teenager, but Nikola Đuričko leaves a more lasting impression as Tarik, Rahima’s would be suitor of ambiguous character.

Periodically, Begić eerily incorporates archival footage of the Siege of Sarajevo, underscoring the lingering influence of the war.  Implying much, she relies on viewers to fill in considerable gaps, yet she methodically leads us into some very dark places.  Although Children unquestionably qualifies as “art cinema,” it showcases some powerful work from Pikić and Begić.  Recommended for adult attention spans, Children of Sarajevo screens as the feature part of Program 1, launching the 2013 BHFF tonight (5/9) in New York.

BHFF ’13: Shorts Sampler

A film ought to be just long enough to tell its story.  While Hollywood has not conditioned audiences to think of short films as star vehicles, the better ones have much more power than a padded feature.  In fact, several big name filmmakers found twenty minutes was about the right length to tell some important stories.  As a result, those who follow the international festival scene will be particularly interested in a number of the short films selected for the 2013 Bosnian Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

As an Academy Award winner, Danis Tanović is truly a filmmaker of international stature.  A past alumnus of the festival with Cirkus Columbia, Tanović again revisits the Bosnian War and its painful aftermath.  Amir survived the war, ultimately settling in Scandinavia.  He has returned to Bosnia hoping to recover his parents’ remains, but sadly, reports of their discovery prove false.  Revisiting his former hometown, he comes face to face with the war’s flesh-and-blood ghosts.

Not only is Baggage (trailer here) is more visually dynamic than Cirkus (thanks in part to cinematographer Erol Zubcevic’s stylish work), it taps into far deeper emotions.  Despite his grim subject matter, Tanović portrays both sides of human nature, producing an unusually resonant film (that might just overshadow the feature it precedes).

The man known to friends as Zizi is no celebrity.  He is a good-natured everyman, whose nickname is untranslatable in a family outlet such as this.  Director Nedžad Begović however, also made the international festival rounds with Jasmina, another past BHFF selection.  His simply but aptly titled documentary profile Zizi allows his subject to tell his story, through his own words and anecdotes.  Zizi proudly proclaims his love for Italy, where he was sheltered as a teenager, but he returned to help forge a new Bosnia.  Even more than Baggage, it is a hopeful film—a quality that has sometimes been in short supply at previous festivals, for understandable reasons.

Ante Novaković has certainly worked behind the scenes of dozens of films viewers know quite well.  For The Fix (trailer here) he also recruited a familiar face, Armand Assante, who portrays Vincent, a gangster kingpin nobody wants to have a sit-down with.  Unfortunately, two incompetent thugs will have to have the big talk.  Fix is not a groundbreaker, but it is entertaining.  It is especially nice to see Assante, Mike Hammer in 1982’s I, the Jury, can still bring his tough guy thing.

BHFF has a strong track record for programming short, but this year’s slate is especially notable.  Very highly recommended, Tanović’s Baggage screens this Friday (5/10) with Krivina (a bit of a tougher sell) as part of Block #3.  Upbeat and likable, Zizi screens later that same evening, as part of block #4.  Perhaps the most commercial and accessible selection of any length, The Fix screens this Thursday (5/9) as part of Block #2.  As always, BHFF is always one of the City’s friendliest and most welcoming festivals, showcasing some of the most serious and sensitively rendered films.  Recommended as the cure for a Tribeca hangover, this year’s edition gets underway Thursday at the Tribeca Cinemas.

Disappearing Act V: 1395 Days without Red

In an inspiring example of artistic resiliency, the Sarajevo Symphony Orchestra maintained their public performance schedule throughout the Bosnian War.  Of course, getting to and from their concerts was often the most difficult part of the show, particularly for those traveling through “Snipers’ Alley.”  The day-to-day life-and-death experience of pedestrians during the Siege of Sarajevo is recreated in Šejla Kamerić’s 1395 Days with Red, which screens this Thursday as part of Disappearing Act V.

Originally conceived in collaboration with Albanian artist Anri Sala, the 1395 Days project resulted in two like titled films.  This is Kamerić’s, which is somewhat longer and features a little art-house star power.  Maribel Verdu, the wicked stepmother of Blancanieves, appears as a woman trying to get from point A to point B.  She seems to be walking through the peaceful (but still war-scarred) Bosnia of today, but she and those around her act as they did during the Siege.  That means they avoid wearing bright colors and run for all their worth at each intersection.  Her long walk is accompanied by the Sarajevo Orchestra rehearsing Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6, Pathétique.

Essentially, Kamerić’s 1395 Days (the length of the Siege) is experimental, non-narrative filmmaking, but it represents the most accessible tip of the genre.  There is a real point to the film, but it is not didactic or obtuse.  Viewers can easily grasp what it has to say about the lingering post-traumatic stress of the Siege as well as the healing power of music.  Indeed, the city’s Orchestra and the choice of the stirring but not overplayed Tchaikovsky symphony are quite powerful.

Likewise, Kamerić and cinematographer Patrick Ghiringhelli (ironically shooting with Red digital) create some striking visuals, well capturing the damage that continues to mar Sarajevo.  Verdu also gives another silent but potent performance as the woman. We can see her body tense whenever she passes an intimidating looking man on the street, while her eyes speak volumes about the resolve required simply to cross a street during the siege. 

However, 1395 might have benefited from a mild injection of narrative, such as establishing where she is coming from.  Is it from work?  If so, we can double her trek for a full day and then multiple by the 1,395 days, backing out weekends and days the fighting was too intense to leave home, thereby approximating the cumulative terror of the Siege.

1395 demonstrates how much the right music can add to a film.  As a result, it is not a bad starter candidate for someone looking to dip a toe into experimental cinema.  Nonetheless, 1395 Days without Red is only recommended for those who know they will be receptive to its aesthetic nature.  It screens this Thursday (4/11) at Bohemia National Hall on the Upper Eastside.  Films also screening during Disappearing Act V enthusiastically recommended for wider audiences specifically include the richly mysterious interconnected German trilogy Dreileben, which will screen the following Thursday (4/18) at the IFC Center, and Wojciech Smarzowski’s gritty and haunting post-war drama Rose (featuring Spies of Warsaw co-star Marcin Dorociński) screening at MoMI the following night (4/19).

Canadian Front ’13: Krivina

A Bosnian immigrant is not overly enamored with his new Canadian residence.  His feelings towards his homeland are even more complicated.  It will be a strange homecoming for the dispossessed wanderer in Igor Drljača’s Krivina (trailer here), which screens during MoMA’s tenth annual Canadian Front film series.

A wartime immigrant, Miro’s travels took him to Toronto, by way of Montreal, Germany, Venice, and Croatia.  Venice was an especially eventful leg of his journey, for reasons he is reluctant to discuss.  In need of closure, a sense of belonging, or perhaps both, Miro has returned to Bosnia in search of his old friend Dado.  Formerly a shy Bosniak kid, Dado was profoundly changed by the war.  Still considered a war criminal, Miro’s former chum apparently lives as a fugitive in the hills, receiving furtive assistance from the remaining old-timers.  Or perhaps not.  The truth of Dado’s fate is rather slippery, no matter how hard Miro tries to get his hands around it.

The basic premise of Krivina could make a great thriller, sort of like a Balkan Third Man.  However, this is not that film.  Instead, Drljača presents a cerebral meditation on how war fractures not just countries, but relationships and personalities.  There are ample scenes of Miro’s back as he trudges along country roads in search of his ambiguous friend.  Eventually, writer-director-producer-co-editor Drljača ventures into somewhat surreal terrain, but since he maintains the same cold, quietly austere tone, viewers really need to watch closely to notice the pivot.

In many ways, Krivina is more like watching a psychoanalysis session for the Bosnian Diaspora than a dramatic film.  While the product of a Canadian company and a director now residing in Canada, the TIFF-selected Krivina still feels like a bit of an outsider in this year’s Canadian Front.  It certainly does not romanticize the Canadian émigré experience or the conduct of Canadian peacekeepers during the Bosnian War.

Nonetheless, Goran Slavković brings a brooding physicality to the film as Miro.  While not exactly a great thespian showcase, the wild looking Jasmin Geljo gives the film an edge as Miro’s Canadian co-worker, Drago.  However, it is probably cinematographer Roland Echavarria whose work most defines Krivina, conveying the deceptive verdant peacefulness of the Bosnian countryside.

Krivina is a tough trek and it clearly does not care whether general audiences come along or not.  It is deeply personal filmmaking, arguably too much so.  Frankly, for Bosnian War survivors, it might be too cerebral, lacking that big cathartic pay-off.  Admirable for its integrity of vision, it is best reserved for hardcore cineastes and festival patrons.  For intrigued MoMA members, it screens today (3/13) and Saturday (3/16) as part of the 2013 edition of Canadian Front.

BHFF ’12: Jasmina

Stipe might be a misanthropic drunk, but he periodically seeks enlightenment through a New Agey handstand exercise.  It is not much to hang your hat on, but a baby Bosnian refugee is in no position to be picky.  A few heartstrings just might be tugged in Nedžad Begović’s Jasmina (trailer here), which screened last night as part of the 2012 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Jasmina is not an orphan, at least not yet.  Her parents are doctors in Sarajevo, who care enough about their baby girl to secure a place for her and her grandmother Safa in a humanitarian convoy headed towards a picturesque town on Croatia’s Adriatic coast.  As the shelling begins in earnest, Sarajevo is cut off from the rest of the world, leaving Safa and Jasmina entirely on their own.  To make matters worse, Safa must also contend with the aggressively obnoxious behavior of their next door neighbor, Stipe.  The compounded stress takes a toll on her health.

At first, doing the right thing does not come easily to Stipe, but once he reluctantly starts looking after Jasmina and visiting the hospitalized Safa, he starts to care for them both quite deeply.  It would sound like quite a convenient transformation, but Begović deftly establishes a sad backstory for Stipe that makes it all quite believable.

While Jasmina is a cute kid, the film is not cloying, always remaining cognizant of the tragic event unfolding in Sarajevo.  The real life daughter of cinematographer Almir Djikoli, young Amila is an unusually expressive, camera-friendly baby, which helps a lot.  Bosnian theater actor and television star Zijah Sokolivić nicely conveys both Stipe’s drunken buffoonery and genuine pathos, without blatantly imitating the old Chaplin shtick.  His late blooming pseudo-chemistry with Nada Durevska’s Safa is particularly touching.

As is sometimes the case with independent filmmaking, the production of Jasmina was a real family affair, with Begović’s daughter Naida serving as co-production designer and also representing the film last night during the BHFF’s post-screening Q&A.  Despite the scant budget, the film looks great.  Evidently, their primary location is a Croatian village practically rendered a ghost town because of water-supply contamination, which is a terrible waste, considering its old world character and stunning seacoast scenery.

Jasmina is a very humane film in an appropriately messy way.  It might frustrate some viewers by leaving many questions for the future unresolved, but that is how things are during wartime.  A very strong representative of Bosnian-Herzegovinian cinema, Jasmina was one of the highlights of the 2012 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York, which still has further screenings this afternoon (5/5), continuing well into the evening.

BHFF ’12: Shorts sampler

Is it possible to lead a normal life after witnessing the horrors of war?  During the upcoming 2012 Bosnian-HerzegovinianFilm Festival, at least two short films will directly grapple with that question, while one suggests it is indeed possible, through its very example.

One of the best shorts just hitting the festival circuit, Jons Vukorep’s outstanding Short for Vernesa B. is a lamenting tribute to Bosnian actress-vocalist Vernesa Berbo, starring Vernesa Berbo.  Through a complicated narrative structure, it depicts the challenges of her life after seeking asylum in Germany.  It is hard to analyze in-depth, without comprising the initial viewing experience, but it is safe to say Berbo is a very compelling screen presence.

Sadly, many viewers will have a good idea where Elvir Muminović’s Neverending Story is headed, but it is still a powerful trip.  Emir was also an asylum seeker in Germany, who eventually met and married Kirsten.  When a miscarriage ends their hopes of having their own children, they turn to his native Bosnia with the intention of adopting.  They find the perfect girl, but the revelation she is in fact Serbian causes a deep fissure between the couple.  Muminović eschews neat and tidy Oprah lessons, forcing the audience to face up to some hard facts about human nature.

In marked contrast, Al Mehičević’s English language Gold Diggers is a humorous anecdotal film in the tradition of O. Henry.  As it opens, three miners trapped by a cave-in are eagerly anticipating their thirty minutes of fame as they await their imminent rescue.  However, when their mistresses confront their wives at the disaster site, the media gets wind of a bigger story.  Gold Diggers is amusing but rather light weight.  Frankly, it is the sort of short that plays well at festivals, but its appearance here is somewhat significant.  Never referencing the war (which would be out of place in this context), it has none of the terrible weight of history distinguishing many Bosnian films in recent years.  Rather, it takes a potential tragedy and turns it into a vehicle for comedy.

Indeed, the paradox of the annual Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival is that it is one of the friendliest and most welcoming festivals in New York, screening some of the deepest, most elegiac films.  (Of course there are always notable exceptions, like last year’s drolly entertaining music documentary White Button.)  A now well-established tradition coming hard on the heels of Tribeca, the BHFF is once again highly recommended, featuring many excellent short films making their American debuts.  It opens tomorrow (5/3) with Danis Tanović’s sensitively rendered Cirkus Columbia, featuring the great Miki Manojlović, and ends this Saturday (5/5) with Angelina Jolie’s In the Land of Blood and Honey.

Before the War: Cirkus Columbia

Communism was supposed to create the “new man.” Somehow it did not take in the former Yugoslavia. Perched on the brink of war, a small Bosnian-Herzegovinian town engages in some major score settling throughout Danis Tanović’s Cirkus Columbia (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

In Martin Buntić’s village, the Serbian Communists are on the outs and the politically connected Croatians are in. Much to the surprise of his mother Lucija, this includes her long estranged husband Divko, who has returned from a twenty year exile to evict them from his family home. He also brought along a German trophy fiancé and a considerable bankroll. Supposedly, he will marry her as soon as he divorces Lucija, but it does not seem to hold much urgency for the prodigal father, as the displaced Azra cannot help but notice.

In turn, Martin and his friends certainly notice her. As old man Buntić belatedly tries to play Daddy Warbucks to Martin, at least when not berating him for being such a slacker, the son starts to get ideas about his prospective step-mother. Meanwhile, with the shelling of Dubrovnik reported, choosing sides appears increasingly inevitable. Martin’s surrogate father Ranko Ivanda, an officer in the Serbian dominated People’s Army, is explicitly told to put his ethnic loyalties first, while Martin’s best friend enlists with the local Croatian paramilitaries.

Selected by Bosnia-Herzegovina as their official foreign language 2011 Oscar submission, Cirkus portrays a considerable amount of ethnic conflict within their borders, but perpetrated by other nationalities. It also presents Germany as a Switzerland-like safe haven, first for the senior Buntić under Communism and later for those seeking to flee ahead of the anticipated carnage.

Petty and manipulative, the audience should loathe Divko Buntić. However, the haggard looking Miki Manojlović humanizes him to a remarkable extent, clearly conveying the emotional weight of his years of alienation. In contrast, Boris Ler’s squirrely Martin Buntić comes across like a commercial for Ritalin. What the worldly Azra, played with admirable charm and conviction by Jelena Stupljanin, could see in him is quite the head-scratcher.

Indeed, their Summer of ’42-ish relationship is the weakest link of the film. Rather, Cirkus is most successful capturing the milieu of impending war, as the country appears to hang in mid air, like a towering fly ball at the top of its arc, about to come hurtling down into a maelstrom of violence. (That purple metaphor was dedicated to Tom “Flat Earth” Friedman.)

Frankly, the politics of it all are somewhat tricky to entangle, at least as presented in Cirkus, which is probably appropriately realistic and deliberate. There is a part of the film that laments the fall of Communism, because it allowed the once unified country to splinter along ethnic lines. Yet, who does it think supplied most of the arms to the Serbian Army and their Bosnian-Serb allies, who committed the worst (but not only) atrocities? At one point, the former Communist mayor expresses regret the Berlin Wall was brought down from the western side. Again, who does he think put it up in the first place? On the other hand, the clear Serbian nationalism of the dissolving Yugoslavian Army is depicted in no uncertain terms.

There are some lovely moments of innocence soon-to-be-lost in Cirkus. Handsomely lensed by cinematographer Walther van de Ende, the film captures the village’s Old European charm and also dramatically illustrates why lifelong citizens would become desperate to leave. Evocatively rendered if somewhat uneven, Cirkus is not essential but worth checking out when it opens this Friday (2/17) in New York at the Quad Cinema.