(Post) Yugoslav Film Festival

Twenty years ago, the Socialist state of Yugoslavia began to dissolve, along with its world-famous film industry and oppressive media censorship. The (Post) Yugoslav Film Festival (31 May–1 June), hosted by the UCL School of Slavonic and East European Studies and the UCL European Institute, celebrated Balkan film-makers, many of whom left their respective countries for several years, and have now returned to produce some of the most refreshing films in world cinema today.

No region of the world, in my opinion, produces films that are simultaneously so intimate, funny and emotionally draining as the Balkans. The four films shown at the (Post) Yugoslav Film Festival were no exception. But this blog post isn’t about how great the films were. What made this two-day event so unique was the attendance of the directors, who could illuminate the difficulties (and joys) of producing films across the borders of countries that two decades ago were at war with each other.

Ethnic tensions still exist amongst Balkan nations, which was examined in the films, and was apparent in some audience comments. While one or two audience members in the Q&A sessions brought up the perpetual debate of who attacked whom in the 90s, thankfully the film-makers and the majority of attendees concentrated on the process of film-making as peace-making for the region.

However, that’s not to say that we should overlook the atrocities of the wars or that it’s easy for everyone in the Balkans to hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’ around a campfire. While the recent history of violence and oppression were common threads through the films, equally powerful were themes of moving on and trying to carve out a future for oneself and one’s family.

Director Goran Paskaljević in particular viewed his film Honeymoons (Medeni mesec) (2010) as an exercise in cross-border collaboration between Serbians and Albanians. What resulted was an open-ended and thought-provoking film that was successful in Western Europe, but sadly, Paskaljević concedes, not so popular in either Serbia or Albania. And yet audience numbers do not matter for Paskaljević; for him, what’s more important was the act of bringing together members of two nations – that in theory should hate each other – to tell a story that resonates with them both.

While the Yugoslav Socialist state suppressed centuries-old ethnic tensions, it also stifled creative freedom, particularly in the film industry. Mila Turajlić’s film Cinema Komunisto (2010) illuminated President Tito’s direct supervision of the industry. One of Turajlić’s interviewees in the film, like Paskaljević and fellow director Rajko Grlić in the 60s and 70s, wanted to confront ‘the bad parts of Communism’ via film-making and was consequently censored. Today the legacy of Yugoslavia’s legendary film industry is a type of cinema that, in my opinion, is powerful for the way film-makers can now openly and honestly address issues in their society.

 

Image: (Q&A session, from left) Dr Bojan Aleksov, Rajko Grlić and Goran Paskaljević