Margaret Mead ’18: The Flying Friar

Father Zvonko Martić is a priest and ethnographer, who exemplifies the best of both callings in a land that could use his diverse skill sets. The Croatian clergyman has preserved the music and culture of Croatians, Bosniaks, Serbs, and probably other Balkan ethnicities. Ljiljana Šišmanović & Davor Borić profile the monastic priest and capture his efforts to rebuild bonds on community in their 50-minute documentary, The Flying Friar, which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

At one point, Father Martić greatly enjoys a performance of whirling dervishes—rather appropriately so, because he was dubbed with his titular nick name, because he is often such a whirlwind of activity. He developed an Evangelical interest in preserving the traditional dress and music of the diverse cultures that make up Bosnia and Herzegovina. His bishop not only approved—he sent Father Martić back to school to get his doctorate.

The good Father is not just a researcher. He also sponsors a regular calendar of traditional musical performances. He is clearly well versed in anthropology, yet he still talks movingly about his own faith. There is no question he walks the walk and still feels the spirit, so it is not hard to see why he moves so easily across religious and ethnic lines.

Šišmanović & Borić take a straight forward observe-and-then-ask-a-few-questions approach, but there is no need for distracting stylization when they have such a compelling and accessible subject. Spending time with him will give viewers hope—maybe even excessively so. Watching Flying Friar could give someone the mistaken impression Bosnia and Herzegovina has healed its divisions and is now totally unified. Alas, this film is unlikely to play in Srpska, but the kindly priest is surely praying for them.

Regardless, the film and Father Martić are a perfect fit for the Margaret Mead festival. General audiences should also appreciate a film that takes music, tolerance, and faith seriously, while remaining optimistic. Highly recommended for anyone interested in the Balkans and boots-on-the-ground cultural preservation, The Flying Friar screens this Friday (10/19) as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

BHFFNYC ’15: Dear Lastan

He looked like Archie and gave advice like Dr. Drew. For decades, the children of the former Yugoslavia and independent Croatia looked to the fictional advice columnist to guide them through the grossness of puberty and the challenges of growing up. Irena Škorić documents the lasting influence of the iconic teenage counselor in Dear Lastan (trailer here), an opening night selection of the 2015 Bosnian Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York.

Modra Lasta (“Blue Swallow” in English) was like Yugoslavia’s version of The Weekly Reader, but somehow it was hipper, despite being part of the state media apparatus. In 1969, they created “Lastan,” hoping kids would open up to a cooler older brother figure. It worked, as mailbag after mailbag quickly proved. Several writers assumed the Lastan persona, but only a few of their identities have been recently revealed. Many of Škorić’s interview subjects argue Lastan was the best kept secret in publishing history—and they are probably right. After all, Lastan predated Woodward & Bernstein’s “Deep Throat” and remained shrouded in mystery well after Mark Felt outed himself. Yet, that is really the least of the Lastan story.

Even if you are a Yankee who never read Modra Lasta, listening former readers’ affectionate reminiscences will bring on waves of nostalgia. Some of the letters are a quite funny, reflecting teenagers’ peculiar predilection for melodramatic self-importance, while Lastan’s often curt responses are wickedly droll. However, readers also wrote in with real problems that received thoughtful answers.

It is fascinating to see how the Lastan column evolved to reflect the tenor of the times. Although it never rocked the boat politically during the Communist era, it was one of the few outlets that provided teens frank sexual advice. As one would subsequently expect, there was often tragic subtext to the early 1990s wartime-era correspondence. In fact, many soldiers and homefront survivors kept reading and writing Lastan well into their twenties to maintain a sense of stability.

Škorić interviews dozens of grown Lastan fans, whose stories range from the eccentrically goofy to the surprisingly profound. She immediately taps into the universal essence of the Lastan phenomenon, so non-Balkan viewers will quickly feel like they too are well acquainted with his columns.

This is one of the biggest sleepers you could ever hope to find on the festival circuit. The story of a children’s cartoon advice columnist in the former Yugoslavia might sound narrowly specialized to potential viewers and programmers alike, but it is actually a film just about everyone can relate to. Consistently entertaining and often quite moving Dear Lastan was a real discovery at this year’s Bosnian Herzegovinian Film Festival in New York. Don’t pass up a screening, should the opportunity arise. Those who missed it can still catch intriguing films like The Sarajevo Assassination, A Quintet, and Racket when the BHFFNYC ’15 concludes today (5/23), at the Tribeca Cinemas.

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.

NYJFF ’12: Lea and Darija

Lea Deutsch’s very name is a cruel historical irony. She was also known as the “Croatian Shirley Temple.” It could have been a hard title to live down later in her life, but Deutsch never had the chance. Branko Ivanda dramatizes the story of the ill-fated Jewish superstar and her German friendly rival in Lea and Darija (trailer here), which screens during the 2012 New York Jewish Film Festival.

Deutsch ruled benignly over the Children’s Realm, her father’s youth theater ensemble. A huge star in Zagreb, Pathé even filmed her for their Parisian newsreels. The only performer who could keep up with her was Darija Gasteiger, a young German expat with a ferocious stage mom. Despite the friction between their mothers, the girls become fast friends. Together, they triumph on stage as Hansel and Gretel. Shortly thereafter, Croatia follows the lead of its German ally, enacting a series of anti-Jewish laws. At this point, the Deutschs’ fortunes suffer a dramatic reversal, while Gasteiger’s star continues to rise.

Although Croatia did not exactly cover herself with glory during WWII, it seems like everyone in Zagreb wanted to save young Deutsch. Yet, for reasons the film cannot explain due to gaps in the historical record, every effort failed. At one point, a rendezvous was arranged with the partisans to take Deutsch and her mother to relative safety, but their contact never showed. They also had a slightly creepy but potentially life-saving marriage proposal from a young fascist soldier acting as their protector, which they do not outright reject, but for unknown reasons, it never comes to fruition. One thing is known for certain: Deutsch would perish in the bloody madness unleashed by the National Socialists.

L&D has far more singing and dancing than the typical Holocaust drama. As Deutsch and Gasteiger respectively, Klara Naka and Tamy Zajec are dynamic and polished performers. They also look awfully young, which is grimly historically accurate. Given the circumstances, Naka logically has the meatier role, painfully watching her sheltered world implode. She is certainly engaging, coming across a bit immature in a believably human way. Zajec in contrast, largely just dances, but she does it quite well. Yet, it is Sebastian Cavazza who really gives the film its soul as Deutsch’s reserved but deeply humane father, Stjepan.

As a conscious strategy on Ivanda’s part, L&D never shows the actual horrors of the camps. Instead, he uses symbolic interlude represent Deutsch’s final moments. It might be expressive, but it has the effect of whitewashing the reality of what happened. To be fair though, the film is never ambivalent or in any way problematic in the way it depicts the anti-Semitism of the NDH puppet regime.

L&D is not the exactly most absorbing Holocaust drama ever, but it is perfectly respectable, well produced and intentioned period production. It also offers a relatively rare (for American audiences) examination of the wartime experience of a minor ally of the Axis Powers. Indeed, the “Ž” worn by Jewish Croatians rather the notorious star is somewhat jarring, but no less ominous. A fascinating and tragic story, L&D is a solid selection for this year’s NYJFF. It screens this Sunday (1/22) and Monday (1/23) at the Walter Reade Theater.