During early self-assessments of personal identity specific social and institutional systems that mediate each phase of our growing up in society are bound to come up as contributing factors. Still, there is no invisible threshold through which a person can just walk through and find themselves, on the other side, instantly knowing how to live past the point of recognizing that external expectations should not entirely decide one’s life trajectory.
Overviewing the conflicting powers at play during this necessary process of defining a sense of self, the next section of this year’s official Competition festival programme consists of various reality check scenarios with lifechanging potential, surely not limited only to those experiencing them fictionally.
To Telos tou Ponou (Mia Protasi) / The End of Suffering (A proposal) (2020) provides the much-needed metaphorical space to breathe and wonder for the protagonist’s restless mind and heavy heart. Detached from narrative expectations, the conversation between Sofia (Sofia Kokkali) and the Universe puts into perspective concepts related to the multiple dimensions of reality (emotional, intellectual, physical, metaphysical, known, unknown, concrete and absurd understanding) which may influence, at will, a human’s sense of belonging. Continuing life anew requires, in Sofia’s case, a crucial effort of remembrance which visually manifests as a planetary reconnaissance mission submerged in timeless Mars red. Ruled by love and existence in a state of everlasting dreaming, and although “not ideal”, like the Universe affirms, “just different”, every seemingly Earth-like aspect of this originating zone retains other-worldly qualities that, on our planet, a great majority of people might only connect to spiritual practices. Truthfully, at least for those who, just by existing, can attest to Sofia not being alone in her suffering, not giving up can look a lot like taking a few deep breaths while staring into space, patiently admiring (probably once again) the slowly vanishing panic fog, as there is no point in trying to control or deny its presence. When moved by powers beyond ourselves, like love, miracles and daily happenings are hardly distinguishable, very much Earth-like but still, somehow, something else. A coincidence that feels like it’s meant just for you, a message received at the right time and place, that one bright star appearing again and again in the same spot when you lie in bed looking out the window in front of you around 9 pm, seeing strangers join in a dance they’ve all learned separately as kids, pressing roses from a bouquet your mother gave you to keep and later frame alongside one of her letters, crying with gratefulness at a mental image of looking into the eyes of someone you love, finding unexpected comfort in the sun still rising after a time of submitting to dark thoughts, your parents as children asking for a hug, freckles like constellations, nature’s endless Beauty, someone (or something) just existing or having existed making you want to live, a healing scar. Jacqueline Lentzou’s planet symphony can magically make you feel at home while also resonating with Universes near and far.
Going from open reflection to passive defiance and resistance, if a decision to leave has been made, at least in the physical realm, the idea of migration and its implications come into play. By means of watching Pregoreo / Burnout (2021) and Hero of the Desert (2022) the viewer is invited to reflect upon two different meanings of the question “where do I belong?” as thoughts motivating the actions of Nicola or Nicky, the burnt out young man trying to outgrow his old self by expressing a wish to move away from his place of birth, the capital of Serbia, Belgrade, and as part of what triggers unpleasant memories for Nadif, an illegal immigrant forced to flee his home country by outside forces and to relocate in the town of Pristina, Kosovo. Director Nemanja Mladenovic’s one day slow burn unfolding of events comprises enough information on the dissatisfaction implicit in the closed-off Burnout protagonist’s endeavor of leaving for Miami, Florida. One is almost bound to wonder about a connection between the short film’s suspenseful pacing complementing the broody character of Nicola (his blank stare, repressed impulsive behavior, cynical mood and simmering anger), his schedule (going from a bar to a nightclub business meeting with a dodgy old acquaintance), the Miami Vice poster in his bedroom and a cinephile’s cultural and filmic influences related to the desire to have The United States (and more specifically, Miami) as a preferred escape route. Crucially though, a few elements radiate Balkan pessimism (mind corruption and abuse of power hitting too close to home, one could say) which help give personalized essence to Nicky’s early anti-hero craving of a change of scenery. The girl-meet- boy scenario in Lorena Sopi’s short film addresses in a much more straightforward manner its underlying subject of “where do I belong?” after the main character is left with no choice except for migration as his last survival resort. In approaching the serendipitous chance at closure on residual trauma and other feelings of social isolation that can be associated with the experiencing forced displacement, Hero of the Desert finds potential for a healing resolution in the meeting between Nadif (Mikel Markaj) and Ana (Vjollca Tasholli), their still fresh togetherness opening up a world of opportunity in terms of beginning to understand and appreciate each other’s differences.
Finally, an uncertain driving force made out of gut instinct and impulse sets the pace for the viewer’s growing interest while watching Sara (Anita Ognjanović) and Lukica’s (Čubrilo Čupić) turbulently truthful personalities juxtaposed as sides of the same coin in the parallel montage leading up to the title card of Jovan Dimoski’s Krotki / Lamblike (2022) as well as to their imminent meeting. In daylight the Belgrade suburban landscape exists naturally, as the place of residence of the two protagonists. It does not take away from Sara being radically herself nor prevent Lukica from continuing to explore his close to none options available of making himself useful and earning a living the right way. It is only after a very well-placed wide shot that their environment and the darkness of the night can begin engulfing a group of unaware youngsters at their most innocent, revealing the hostile playground of its lamblike players. Left to fend for themselves on the regular the two young adults seem to have grown up learning that they can’t afford to take a breather. The short film’s tense final moments vulnerably reflect that impossibility, suspending any clear outcome in favor of the attempt at a crisis diverted through melodic daydreaming. Symbolically a wild horse and a blatantly honest Leo who’d waste no time driving into the sunset with her perfect lover, Sara grounds herself in hopes of escape evocative of those expressed through the use of voice over, in English, during the opening sequence, yet this time in her native language. The only other time the girl does not communicate in Serbian is with the purpose of answering online viewers paying for her adult work. The most popular globally spoken language mediates sincere expression of self, thoughts of leaving as well as the means of making money. In part a usable online bio, in part a direct non-diegetic address to us, the diverse unreachable cinema audience, it hints at one core theme of this programme section: outgrowing one’s current surroundings. Sara might not be able to see the option of lasting change existing anywhere close to what already defines her.