A Film a Week - Daydreamers / Nguoi Mat Troi

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

The vampire trope in movies is almost as old as the art of cinema itself. They are invented as something foreign, exotic, usually quite elite that does not belong to the “ordinary world”. There are, however, numerous variations regarding their lore, so we, for instance, got an action hero who was born as vampire and grew to look like Wesley Snipes in his prime or a glittery day-walking, self-loathing highschool kid seeking for some sort of redemption in a soap opera masked as a saga. The point is that the vampires are tough to pin down (pun intended!) because one can vary the rules and the cosmology so much. Vietnamese filmmaker Timothy Linh Bui tried to do so in “Daydreamers” and, after a promising start, failed.

The start is actually an animated sequence set against a voice-over narration which explains how we got such a chic European phenomenon in Vietnam. The answer is, of course, colonialism and debauchery that ensued. The people rebelled soon afterwards (see another parallel with the Vietnamese 20^th century history) and chased the vampires into the illegal. The remaining ones either blended with humans or went to live in the wild, but they had to obey the law that forbade them to taste human blood hoping that the diet of animal blood and humane approach would grant them redemption.

Unfortunately, that cheeky anti-colonial angle stays locked in the first sequence of the film, as the filmmaker and his co-writer Doan Si Nguyen decided to tell a “contemporary” story about what happens when the law gets broken. The story revolves around two brothers, Marco (Thuan Nguyen) and Nhat (Tran Ngoc Vang), a young mortal woman, Ha (Trinh Thao) taken to the vampire underground, and the struggle for power between the “humanist” and “anarchist” fractions within the vampire clique ruled by the benevolent “queen” Trieu (Chi Pu).

Basically, what we get is a one season of a vampire-laced soap opera squeezed in a two-hour movie that feels both rushed and lagging. The trouble is not that Timothy Linh Bui does not understand the concept of vampires and their symbolism, because he apparently does, but the fact that he takes his story way too seriously, but without employing the right means to tell it compellingly.

His directing style is either completely plain in more ordinary, clearly dialogue-driven scenes, or hyper-stylized in the action ones, but the style he goes for is simply derived from video-clips or computer games. Everything is overdone, from the lighting, the abundant use of cheap visual effects (the supervisor Nguyen Anh Viet is signed pretty high up on the ending credits, which is significant) all the way to the omnipresence of music, alternating between the otherwise decent neoclassical score by Jérôme Leroy and MiSS NiNE’s electronic loops. The same goes for acting, which is constantly in the over-expressive register, often over the limit of theatrics, which is not the fault of the actors themselves, as they are instructed to go all in all the time. Maybe some of the saving grace could be found in the attempts of the DoP Phu Nam to capture an occasional eye candy of a shot or the editors Dat Tran and Pham Quoc Dung to calm the things down by delaying their chops, but there is only so much they can do.

Eventually, “Daydreamers” is a trash movie, which might be legitimate if it would be a conscious decision by its director to make it exactly that way. Unfortunately, this is not a case here, as the whole trash seems quite involuntary, as a by-product of a combination of high ambition and sloppy execution.

A Film a Week - The Mountain Won't Move / Gora se ne bo premaknila

 previously published on Cineuropa

Usually, documentary projects spend more time in development and production than fiction ones do. Having two projects premiering some two months apart at reputable festivals is an oddity which has happened to Slovenian filmmaker Petra Seliškar this year. After the premiere of her mid-length effort My Summer Holiday at FIPADOC in January, the filmmaker now presents her feature-length work The Mountain Won’t Move at Visions du Réel. It is no coincidence, though, because the two films share the same subjects, location and topic.

Seliškar takes us up into the Šar Mountains, where three brothers, Zekir, Zarif and Zani spend several months a year looking after their family’s flock of hundreds of sheep and their dozens of cows. The youngest, Zani, stays in the lower hut with the cows, while Zekir and Zarif venture to the upper “bachilo” stone-and-wood house with the sheep. During the summer, their younger brothers join them to learn the trade and provide help. Their life is free from the burdens of modernity, but also quite dangerous owing to the harsh weather and even harsher beasts. Luckily, they have a large number of shepherd dogs to protect them and keep them company. Zekir serves as the leader of the brothers and the teacher, preparing them to continue the centuries-old tradition, but as Zarif grows, he expresses an interest in trying out a different, more modern way of life. Zekir is also at a crossroads, as he is getting too old to spend such an amount of time up in the mountains with the sheep, while he also misses his favourite dog, Belichka, who is being held by a shady breeder.

The filmmaker is less interested in telling a story here (the mid-length is more structured to serve this purpose) than she is in observing the relations between the brothers, and those between them and the breathtaking nature that surrounds them. And in such isolation (some of the shooting locations are at an altitude of over 2,400 metres), where the only structure comes in the form of daily routines, the young men’s minds tend to go into overdrive. The occasional bouts of narration that Seliškar applies are both matter-of-fact and poetic, so they better succeed in painting a picture of the mental states, rather than in driving the story, which is also the filmmaker’s intention.

Technically, The Mountain Won’t Move is a maverick work. The filming took place over several weeks-long spans during a period of five years, and the locations are not exactly accessible, so the image- and sound-recording crews had to follow the subjects around during their mundane, repetitive work for days on end over the harsh terrain, taking care not to step into the others’ line of sight and not to disturb the harmony between the animals. The end result is nothing short of amazing on a sensory level. From cinematographer Brand Ferro’s point of view, we can see both the beauty and the danger of the place in bright, summery colours and crisp, digital visuals. This beauty and danger are further enhanced through Vladimir Rakić’s sound design, in which we can make out individual noises over the overall natural cacophony, while the austere use of Iztok Koren’s ethno-sounding music is also a nice touch.

For sure, there are parallels to be drawn with other documentaries about people in nature and people on the fringes of society, as Seliškar is not trying to redefine these sub-genres. However, The Mountain Won’t Move is a deeply personal work and a frank, in-depth observation of an endangered way of life.

Drop

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Moram da priznam, dragi čitaoci, da nikako ne kapiram mehaniku romanse u sadašnjem trenutku. Nekada se znalo: bioskop i zajednička kanta kokica da se prsti dodiruju, ali svakom svoje piće. Posle šetnja po gradu makar do idealnog kafića gde se slažu utisci i planiraju daljnje aktivnosti, možda neka izložba, koncert, „klabing“ ili, pak, neka klopa ili još šetnje u dvoje, daleko od nepredvidljivih gužvi, što je možda i najbolje. Sve je to elegancijom podsećalo na tango, ali bez strogih sudija koji bi brojali greške i promašene korake. Ili to tako biva u dvadesetima.

Možda sam, sad sa četrdeset i kusur, samo mator, pritisnut dnevnim brigama porodičnog života, pa stoga ispao iz štosa. Možda se samo užasavam depersonalizovane komunikacije i aplikacija za sve, pa i za „uparivanje“. Svakako, ako ne bih okretao na komediju, verovatno na tragu neprijatne „stend-up“ improvizacije, ceo taj svet nalaženja, sastanaka i upoznavanja preko komunikacije „zatvorenih karata“ bih percipirao kao ne naročito originalan psihološki horor.

Drop Kristofera Lendona (Happy Death Day oba dela, Freaky, scenario još za Paranormal Activity serijal) napeti je triler smešten u okruženje prvog sastanka između dvoje zrelih ljudi koji se ne odvija po planu. A i za sastanak, i za očekivanja, i za njihovo iznevereavanje krive su, makar delom, aplikacije.

Vajolet (Megan Fahi, zvezda serija The Bold Type i The White Lotus) je udovica i samohrana majka u tridesetim godinama, a radi kao psihoterapeutkinja za žrtve traume i nasilja u vezi. Ona je to i sama bila: njen pokojni muž Blejk (Majkl Šej u flešbek scenama) ju je maltretirao, a još od uvodne scene se sugeriše da ga je ona možda u samoodbrani ubila. Bilo kako bilo, Vajolet od Blejkove smrti nije izlazila na sastanke s muškarcima, ali je Henri (Brendon Sklenar, nedavno viđen u It Ends with Us i seriji 1923) pokazao izuzetnu upornost, strpljenje i takt kako bi je izveo. Henri je inače istih godina kao Vajolet, fotograf je i radi za gradonačelnika Čikaga.

Vajolet uredi čuvanje za svog sina Tobija (Džejkob Robinson) tako što pozove svoju sestru Džen (Vajolet Robinson) da pazi na njega dok je ona po prvi put odsutna iz kuće uveče. Njihov sastanak je zapravo večera u finom restoranu, popularnom mestu za romantične izlaske, na vrhu jednog od čikaških solitera odakle se vidi ceo grad. Henri malo kasni, pa Vajolet odlučuje da ga sačeka na šanku gde se upušta u konverzaciju sa šankericom (Gejbrijel Rajan) koja se nagledala svega, „sapatnikom“ Ričardom (Rid Dajamond, možda ga se sećamo kao detektiva Kelermana u seriji Homicide) koji takođe čeka svoju pratilju Dajen s kojom ima susret naslepo, kao i sa ljigavim i lagano pijanim pijanistom Filom (Ed Viks).

Henri dolazi i sve kreće lagano i ugodno, on je i uživo pun razumevanja i strpljiv. Ne smeta čak ni to što im je konobar Met (Džefri Self) neiskusan, brbljiv i u tome pomalo netaktičan. A onda Vajolet počinju da dolaze poruke na mobilni telefon preko servisa nalik na Air Drop, što podrazumeva da ih šalje neko iz restorana sa petnaestak metara udaljenosti ili manje. Vajolet je zbog toga, očekivano, iznervirana, a Henri pokušava da je smiri i pokaže zdravu dozu razumevanja za njene osećaje.

U početku su to „mimovi“ s interneta i neslane šale, ali se ubrzo otkriva da ona nije izabrana slučajno. Ko god da joj to šalje, ima svog „čoveka“, maskiranog napadača, u njenoj kući, pa joj tako preti. Ista osoba takođe pomno prati i prisluškuje situaciju u restoranu. Od nje zahteva da preduzme tačno određene korake, a konačna meta je upravo Henri, i to zbog svog posla, jer je video i snimio nešto što nije smeo.

Pitanje je ko je koristi kao figuru u toj morbidnoj šahovskoj partiji. Je li to konobar? Je li to možda gost sa kojim se slučajno sudarila na ulasku? Je li to pripiti pijanista? Ili možda neko iz većeg društva raspojasanih gostiju? Vajolet je takođe u problemu jer ne želi biti otkrivena, kako od strane Henrija, tako i od strane osoblja restorana koje već primećuje da se čudno ponaša, a mora nekako i ubediti napadača da sarađuje s njim dok zaista ne želi da naudi Henriju koji joj se jako dopada kao osoba.

Dok Drop ide linijom ekonomičnog trilera s tek nekoliko likova i snimljenog na samo dve lokacije, odlično se drži. Kao prekaljeni scenarista i reditelj sklon inovaciji jasnih koncepata u žanrovskom filmu, Kristofer Lendon sjajno kontroliše situaciju i dozirano dodaje na napetosti u, čini se, sasvim običnim i očekivanim situacijama. Kompozitor Ber MekKriri, direktor fotografije Mark Spajser i montažer Ben Boduin mu tu zdušno priskaču u pomoć solidno odrađenim poslom, bilo da je reč o tačno pogođenim i tempiranim „uletima“ muzike, švenkovima i vožnjama koji nam otkrivaju tačno onoliko mikro-topografije koliko je potrebno ili ubačenim „akrobacijama“ koje nas zabavljaju dovoljno da ne primetimo da scenario na momente ostaje bez „pogonskog goriva“.

Lendon takođe zna da, kada se u trileru ili hororu podižu ulozi, likovi i njihove emocije moraju biti pravilno „usidreni“. Iako nije sam pisao scenario (to su učinili Džilijan Džejkobs i Kris Rouč koji takođe stoje iza filmova kao što su Truth or Dare i Fantasy Island), Kristofer Lendon zna da ga „pročita“ i usmeri glumce. U tom smislu, Megan Fahi i Brendon Sklenar su izvanredni i pojedinačno, ali i zajedno, jer između njih sve pršti od izrazito uverljive hemije. Ostali, u teoriji, imaju manje posla, odnosno po jedan ili dva sentimenta koji moraju pogoditi, ali i njihove interpretacije su vrlo dobre: Vajolet Bin je bezobrazna taman koliko treba kao Džen, Džefri Self izvodi izuzetnu improvizaciju na tragu „krindža“ i anti-komedije, a Rid Dajamond skriva jednu neodređeno preteću notu iza smotanosti i slatkorečivosti.

Problem s filmom, međutim, nastupa na kraju i izvire upravo iz uloga koji su prethodno podignuti do „nebeskih visina“. Jednostavno rečeno, to sve treba nekako raspetljati, scenario u tom smislu ide na nagla rešenja koja zahtevaju previše „saradnje“ od gledaoca da ne primeti logičke rupe, a Kristofer Lendon kao da nema kuda, osim da to izvede kroz žanrovske „set-pis“ sekvence koje pomalo odudaraju od onoga što smo do sada videli. Možda bi Drop ispao bolje da je reditelj napisao i završnu ruku scenarija, ali i ovako je prilično dobar i efektan triler.

A Minecraft Movie

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Kako smo se nadali, još smo se dobro i udali, jer A Minecraft Movie je (još i) gledljiv film, na mahove čak i umereno zabavan. Producentima i kompanijama je, međutim, to „puna šaka brade“, sa zaradom duplo većom od budžeta nakon prve sedmice prikazivanja, te sa statusom najvećeg hita dosadašnjeg toka 2025. godine.

A svašta je tu moglo da pođe po zlu i zapravo je čudo da nije. Za početak, projekat je proveo desetak godina u razvoju tokom kojih su se menjali koncepti, scenaristi i reditelji, što je obično loš znak.

Nadalje, Minecraft je kao video-igrica možda i najdirektniji primer „sandbox“-sorte gde igrači mogu stvarati sami za sebe, dakako po određenim pravilima, ali zapravo bez limita. To znači da sama igrica nema priču, a film je, naročito onaj s komercijalnim ambicijama, pre svega umetnost pričanja priče. Zapravo, u teoriji je teško to „prodati“ kao ideju za film, ali ako je uspelo na primeru Lego-filma (originalni se potpisniku ovih redova nije baš svideo zbog datiranosti ne-Lego referenci i siljenja onih drugih), znači da je led probijen.

I konačno, možda je najviše razloga za zebnju izazivala činjenica da ćemo imati igrani film u vrlo animiranom, zapravo 8-bit „pikselastom“ okruženju. Ako se samo setimo kako je propao originalni Super Mario Bros. (1993), i zbog drugih razloga, ali najviše zbog te konceptualne greške, onda se valja pripremiti na najgore.

Pa čak ni naslov „A Minecraft Movie“, s neodređenim članom, nije ulivao poverenje. U suštini, u pitanju je marketinški trik kojim se s jedne strane podvlači skromnost („to je samo jedna od priča iz Minecraft-sveta, nikako jedina i ultimativna), ali i rano pozicioniranje za franšiziranje u budućnosti, ako ovo prođe. Za sada se čini da je prošlo iznad očekivanja, ali da mi ipak vidimo kakvu su nam priču servirali Džered Hes (Napoleon Dynamite, Nacho Libre, Gentlemen Broncos) i omanja armija scenarista...

Što se priče tiče, Stiv (Džek Blek) koji je celog života bio opsednut kopanjem pronalazi predmet koji otvara portal u idilični svet. Kada otvori drugi portal u pakleni svet, susreće se s svinjskom vešticom Malgošom koja hoće da se domogne njegovog amuleta kako bi zavladala svetovima, pa zato šalje svog pripitomljenog vuka u „naš“ svet da predmet sakrije. Njega će u zabitom gradiću pronaći brat i sestra, Henri (Sebastijan Hansen) i Natali (Ema Majers), pa će, zajedno s bivšim šampionom video-igrica Geretom zvanim „Đubretar“ (Džejson Momoa) i agenticom za nekretnine Don (Danijela Bruks) otići u pikselasti svet gde će se, zajedno sa Stivom, pokušati izboriti protiv pohlepne i beskrupulozne Malgoše.

U suštini, priča liči na Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017), ali je posuta silnim referencama i „uskršnjim jajima“ iz igrice Minecraft, ali i drugima iz Hesovog opusa i generalno domena američke komedije. Jasno, Henri je njihov željeni alter-ego i tačka gledišta nas u publici kojima se prodaje priča da sve možemo ako smo dovoljno kreativni, Geret je hvalisavi pajser, Stiv poznavalac prilika i mentor u svetu, Natali zatečena situacijom, a Don empatična i mentorska figura u međuljudskim odnosima.

Glumci se s njima nose tako što ostaju u zadatim tipovima, a Momoa i Blek posežu za karikaturom, odnosno za svojim potpisnim potezima (poput pevanja i muziciranja iz čista mira) kako bi priča išla dalje, do nove igračke ili ne-igračke reference. Iako uspevaju da ne zabrljaju previše, zapravo se cela priča mogla ispričati i kao animacija dosledna izvornoj igrici koja je pritom i dovoljno otvorena za naknadno kodiranje i programiranje.

Naravno, u samoj priči ima i viškova, pa čak i suludih skretanja kao što je to pod-zaplet s direktorkom škole (Dženifer Kulidž), njenim bivšim mužem i odbeglim Minecraft-seljaninom koji je završio u našem svetu. A scena posle odjavne špice nam jasno daje do znanja da se nastavak sprema...

Percepcija filma dosta zavisi i od početne pozicije, što je u slučaju vašeg kritičara ona ne-fanovska i čak ne-igračka, ali i pozicija oca jednog igrača-početnika. U tom smislu, kao marketing-alatka, teško da će film privući nove igrače, ali to mu i nije cilj. Cilj je bio servisirati postojeće fanove i na tome zaraditi. Zadatak je ispunjen, ali nemojmo se zavaravati da je A Minecraft Movie kvalitetan film.

A Film a Week - Peacemaker / Mirotvorac

 previously published on Cineuropa

There is a consensus, of sorts, on the level of the whole of Croatian society that the Homeland War, or the War of Independence, in the 1990s was inevitable, and the division between the sides was simply black and white: the Serbs were war-mongering aggressors, while the Croats were victims caught off guard by how the situation developed, so their resistance against the aggressor was purely heroic. The war leaders and commanders are still regarded as heroes, while the efforts of those who had tried to defuse the tense situation before it exploded into a full-blown war are swept under the rug. One of those unsung heroes is Josip Reihl-Kir, the protagonist and title character of Ivan Ramljak’s newest documentary, Peacemaker, which has just premiered at ZagrebDox.

Reihl-Kir was the chief of the Osijek Police Department, which covered the area near the Croatian-Serbian border. As the ethnic tensions in the region mounted over the course of one year, from 1990-1991, he was the authority figure that was trusted by both local Croats and Serbs, so he used this fact to avoid the open armed conflict, or at least delay it for as long as possible. However, the “hawks” on both sides misinterpreted his words or publicly attacked him for cowardice. On 1 July 1991, he was assassinated by a Croatian paratrooper, Anton Gudelj, who was convicted for his act, but only much, much later. Peacemaker portrays the last year of Reihl-Kir’s life in an atmosphere that leads to bloody conflict.

Collaborating with journalists Hrvoje Zovko and Drago Hedl in the script department, Ramljak creates a documentary that plays out like the tensest of crime-thrillers, although the events and the people they involved are not exactly unknown in Croatia. Relying on multiple narrators, such as business owner and Croatian Army volunteer Nikola Jaman, former security service operative Zdravko Pejić, local journalist Goran Flauder and, to a minor extent, local politician Gordana Ajduković and Reihl-Kir’s widow Jadranka, Ramljak re-tells the events from 34-35 years ago with clinical factual precision, but also constructs the archetype of a narrative movie, positioning Josip Reihl-Kir as its hero, and political and paramilitary leader Branimir Glavaš as the villain.

Peacemaker is equally stunning on the directing level, since it is quite creative in playing with our expectations and overcoming the objective obstacles in terms of the very material included in the film. It is an archival type of documentary, but the actual archive footage or photo material regarding Josip Reihl-Kir is neither extensive nor varied enough to construct the feature out of that alone. Ramljak fills in the blanks with archival footage on other topics (one of the most stunning sequences provides a prologue and an epilogue to one iconic TV clip where a tank crashes into a small, old car), and with home-video shots that show daily life in the city of Osijek and its surroundings during that period, revealing the increasingly tense atmosphere. Ramljak is clinical in that department as well: the footage and the narration match perfectly and serve the story, but some praise also has to be reserved for the inspired editing by Damir Čučić.

With Peacemaker, Ivan Ramljak once again proves himself to be a contemporary master of documentary cinema. This is a film that requires complete and utter silence in the darkened theatre hall – preferably even without blinking. It is absolutely gripping and is a bona-fide masterpiece.

A Film a Week - Soil and Wings / Krila i tlo / Toprak ve Kanatlar

 previously published on Cineuropa

We tend to see religion in a certain, uniform light that is highly simplified and often unfavourable, to put it mildly. If we were to take Islam as an example, the first images that could potentially spring to mind may be the stereotypes of discrimination against women and fundamentalism. However, Islam is more diverse than that in a theological sense, as it is merely a wider framework of varied “schools of thought” and customs, beliefs and practices that are rooted not just in different interpretations of the scripture, but also in different folklores.

In his newest documentary Soil and Wings, Serbian filmmaker Stefan Malešević takes us to a very small and very specific Muslim community in North Macedonia. They are Bektashi, a small “sect” residing in the village of Kanatlarci. Their origins stretch to the Janissary soldiers of the Ottoman Turkish empire, while their practices are Sufi-Dervish. Soil and Wings has premiered in the regional competition of the 21st ZagrebDox.

On the “soil” level, we get to learn a thing or two about the community through the members of the Arifovski family, their hard-working life in the countryside, where they grow tobacco and watermelons, and their ways and beliefs. For instance, they are pantheists who equate not just women with men, but also humans with animals, plants and other things believed to have a soul. They also drink alcohol and find it medicinal in small doses. They speak an archaic dialect of the Turkish language, but the elders who have more contact with the outside world also communicate in Macedonian. And although they live in some sort of seclusion from other nations and religious groups, they do not reject the modern world. On another level, that of the “wings”, we get to see their psychedelic, mesmerising rituals being practised, and to hear their equally psychedelic and mesmerising myths and legends that shape their inner worlds.

Malešević definitely has a knack for studying small, secluded communities, as he demonstrated in his previous documentary Gora (2016): he proves he has the eye of an anthropologist, trying to capture the human essence beneath the surface of economic conditions, the burden of history and daily politics. With Soil and Wings, he immerses himself in the milieu even more deeply, and the result is not an observer’s film about the Bektashi people and their community, but rather a movie that feels, and is, very “Bektashi” in terms of its atmosphere.

Working as his own cinematographer, Malešević often uses long, slowly rotating panorama shots that become the perfect tool to either portray the tranquillity with which his subjects approach their lives, or to give a visual background to the voice-over narrations of their legends. The intelligently austere use of the music, composed by Branislav Jovančević, and the discreet sound design by Bojan Palikuća complement the visual component, while Jelena Maksimović’s typically inspired editing establishes a fitting, meditative pace.

In the end, and especially in its otherworldly ending sequence, Soil and Wings becomes quite a hypnotic experience that remains respectful to its subjects, and faithful to their way of life, rituals and beliefs. As such, it should also stay with the viewer for a long time after the screening is over.

Funk YU

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Svi smo čuli pesmu Ulica Jorgovana Darka Domijana. Na radiju u originalnoj verziji ili na terasi nekog hotela na Jadranu u izvođenju lokalnog tezga-benda ili klavijaturiste-pevača. Pesma kao pesma, tipičan jugoslovenski šlager.

Ali, zapravo, od same pesme je mnogo zanimljivija priča o singl-ploči koja je postala hit u kolekcionarskim krugovima par decenija nakon što je originalan i prilično veliki tiraž rasprodat. Razlog tome nije naslovna pesma „singlice“ nego njena B-strana. Na njoj se nalazio žestoki fank-komad Zlatokosa koji se tada, 70-ih godina prošlog veka, baš i nije toliko vrteo, ali je koju deceniju kasnije postao hit među di-džejevima koji su ponovo otkrili to blago i krenuli da vrte i remiksuju na svojim žurkama.

Potraga za pločom ujedno je i inicijalna kapisla za potragu u kreativnom dokumentarcu Franka Dujmića, Funk YU. Ova hrvatsko-crnogorska koprodukcija upravo je imala premijeru na 21. izadnju ZagrebDox festivala. Zanimljiva je i pozadinska priča o filmu čija je produkcija trajala dugo i delimično je finansirana donacijama zainteresovane buduće publike, što inače nije naročito česta praksa u kinematografiji ovih prostora.

Franko Dujmić od početka zauzima ležerni, pomalo zezatorski stav „kastujući“ samog sebe kao mladog i „zelenog“ kolekcionara kojem je Domijanova ploča „sveti gral“ koji treba negde nabaviti ili „iskopati“. Da bi za to imao ikakve šanse, Franko mora da angažuje stručnjaka za takve potrage, Jerka (Jerko Marčić) koji će ga usmeravati, ako ne i direktno voditi. Frankov put vodi od Podgorice i Peđe Radovića, preko Toše u Skoplju, Dr Smeđeg Šećera u Rijeci, ekipe oko prodavnice Yugovinyl u Beogradu, trojice di-džejeva u Ljubljani i na kraju nazad u Zagreb na „konvenciju“ regionalnih di-džejeva koji vrte opaki fank.

Putem će Franko, a i mi ćemo s njim, naučiti dosta toga o istoriji fank i pop-muzike ovih prostora, audiofiliji, kolekcionarstvu i konceptu „kopanja“. Poslednje dve stvari nisu iste, ponekad čak i stoje u koliziji. Jer kolekcionari vole da kupuju, prodaju i pokazuju svoju kolekciju, a „digeri“ da iskopaju zaboravljeni raritet, podele ga s drugima i na taj način sačuvaju od zaborava.

Mnogo toga je, ako ne i skoro sve, u Funk YU čisti „gimik“ i jasni su razlozi zašto je Dujmić tom pristupu pribegao. Film sve vreme zabavlja gledaoca i drži mu pažnju u formatu od 80-ak minuta, iako je tu realno bilo materijala možda za srednji, „televizijski“ metar. Uz to, film je visokostilizovan, lepo dizajniran, kompetentno smontiran, pa zbog toga i na režijski pametan način zaobilazi konvencije „govorećih glava“, odnosno takve neizbežne momente organski ubacuje u detaljnije dizajniranu pozadinu.

Naravno, ima Funk YU i svojih problema koji su uglavnom rezultat mladalačke nadobudnosti i precenjivanja sopstvenih mogućnosti. Na primer, ne uspevaju baš sve fore i fazoni koji se gotovo rafalno ispaljuju što kroz Dujmićev skript, što kroz Marčićeve improvizacije, a i sagovornicima se ponekad toleriše ne baš utemeljeno „loženje“ i hvalisanje. Iskusnijim gledaocima će tako vrlo brzo postati jasno da nas režiser pomalo vuče za nos tako što razvlači svoj materijal preko svojih mogućnosti.

Međutim, Funk Yu svoju misiju na kraju ispunjava, nedostacima uprkos. S projekcije ćemo izaći zabavljeni, nasmejani ili čak ozareni. Sigurno ćemo poželeti da uzmemo da slušamo muziku, pa zašto to ne bi bio jugoslovenski fank, idealno na ploči!