Ghost Elephants

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Navodno najveći slon, i samim time kopneni sisar, ikada ulovljen je u Angoli na visoravni koja važi za „vodotoranj Afrike“ odakle izviru i reke Kongo i Zambezi koje teku ka različitim okeanima. Primerak je izložen u muzeju Smitsonijan u Vašingtonu i nosi „ljudsko“ ime, odnosno nadimak Henri. Razlike u veličini između njega i drugih afričkih slonova, bilo živih, bilo ulovljenih, očita je na svim planovima, od prečnika traga, do visine u grebenu i težine. Henri je bio pravi div među slonovima, samo koža mu je težila dve tone, a njegov preparirani i izloženi model statički ne može da nosi njegovu lobanju i kljove.

Slon Henri je izvor fascinacije i inspiracije za biologa Stiva Bojsa koji je postavio hrabru teoriju da je najveći slon ikada svakako ostavio potomstvo i da se tu možda radi o jednoj posebnoj pod-vrsti afričkih slonova. Naime, slonovi ne žive na uzvisinama, još ređe u vlažnim šumama i na tresetnim poljima. U pokušaju dokazivanja teorije na putu od Namibije do narečene uglavnom nenastanjene i teško dostupne visoravni u Angoli, Stiva, njegove pomoćnike i njihove bušmanske tragače, poslednje „majstore svog zanata“, prati i Verner Hercog, jedna od najvećih vedeta dokumentarnog i filma uopšte. Cilj cele ekspedicije je pronaći dovoljno veliki primerak i fotografski i na videu zabeležiti njegovo postojanje.

Film Ghost Elephants je premijeru imao u Veneciji, ali je nastao u produkciji televizijskog kanala National Geographic. Tragovi ovog potonjeg očiti su i na vizuelnom planu i na planu tona, kako doslovno, s grandioznom „afričkom“ muzikom, tako i onog pripovednog. Ne radi se tu, dakle, samo o slonovima, već i o ljudima i o planeti kao našem zajedničkom domu. Na početku Hercog svakako igra tu igru i čini se da je iskren u tome: zaista je zadivljen veličanstvenim slonovima, ali i ljudima koji žive jednostavno, u skladu se prirodom, ali koji razumiju i moderan svet pun tehnologije, pa se čini kao da je na misiji da razbije jedan kolonijalni kliše.

Ono što, međutim, u prvoj polovini filma nedostaje je potpisna ironija s dozom pesimizma u naracijama koje Hercog sam piše, čita i snima, ali i to ćemo na kraju dobiti, jednom kada se autor opusti. Ali, opet, daleko je to od Hercogovog najboljeg izdanja, pa možemo sa sigurnošću pretpostaviti da „tezgari“ umesto da ode u penziju. Ali majstor ostaje majstor čak i kad tezgari, a slonovi i afrički pejzaži su sami po sebi dovoljno veličanstveni za relaksirano gledanje.

Paul

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Radio dokumentarce ili igrane, kratke ili dugometražne filmove, frankofoni kanadski autor Deni Kote ne odustaje od određenih principa i postulata. Njegovi filmovi deluju čudno, spori su, opservantni i puni neke neprijatne i nesigurne atmosfere, a likovi (ili subjekti) mu služe kao centar gravitacije oko kojeg se ta neprijatna atmosfera kovitla. Koteov najsvežiji dokumentarac Paul prikazan je u sekciji Kontroverzni Dox u Zagrebu.

Naslovni junak Pol deluje kao ublaženija dokumentarna varijanta debelog Čarlija (Brendan Frejzer) iz filma The Whale (Daren Aronofski, 2022). Proveo je nekoliko godina u „zagrljaju“ depresije, nije izlazio iz svoje kuće ili sobe, nagojio se i zapustio. Jednog dana je rešio da promeni i počisti svoj život i u tom procesu je shvatio i šta mu treba i šta ga „pali“ – da čisti kuće za dominantne žene i da to snima za svoj video-kanal putem kojeg komunicira sa svetom. Finansijski aranžmani takvog „posla“ nisu nigde istaknuti, a nisu ni bitni jer Pol od takve i sličnih saradnji (recimo, snima jednu svoju koleginicu koja „prodaje“ fetiš na prljanje hranom) može da živi. I čini se da je sve srećniji, sve aktivniji i sve precizniji u formulaciji šta želi, a šta ne.

Lako je, makar s te neke generacijske distance, pokazati manjak razumevanja i višak spremnosti da se osudi inherentni egzibicionizam mlađih generacija odraslih s internetom i na internetu. Kote, međutim, to ne čini, već samo pušta svog protagonistu da se izrazi kako i koliko on sam želi, dodajući nekakav umetnički „premaz“ i pečat na ono što Pol sam radi i pritom mu pomažući da se izrazi. Film Paul, doduše, deluje suviše distancirano i s jedva primetnim lukom u razvoju subjekta kao filmskog lika, što je za Kotea tipično, ali svejedno deluje krajnje iskreno.

A Film a Week - Does the Horse Have to Work, Too? / Muss das Pferd auch arbeiten?

 previously published on Cineuropa

The modern world and contemporary lifestyle tend to offer satisfaction through comfort, rather than through the sense of accomplishment that comes from working hard to achieve something. They also tend to overwhelm us with information at a rapid pace and burden us with making decision after decision based on it. That may be one reason why some people choose alternative, simpler, old-fashioned ways of life. A personal desire, and the need for detachment from modern living, is perhaps the only way to explain the choice made by Valeria, the protagonist of Leonhard Pill’s documentary Does the Horse Have to Work, Too?, which has world-premiered in the Regional Competition of ZagrebDox.

Valeria left her previous life to work as a shepherdess somewhere in the Austrian mountains. She lives in a metal container in the middle of nowhere and tends to the every need of every “member” of her flock – taking them to pasture, keeping them safe, helping the females give birth, separating mothers and newborn lambs in the enclosure, treating injuries and trimming hooves. When the time comes, she also takes them to the slaughterhouse, skins them and disposes of the remains. In her free time, she practises crafts and listens to extreme metal, either to set the rhythm of her work or to “wash out” the cacophony of the day’s dissonant bleating that she must endure. She does everything with patience and a certain self-assurance, and she is paid the minimum monthly wage for her work, so it is clearly not about the money. Perhaps the visit from her sister Fidelia, and the opportunity to engage in an in-person conversation with another human being, may shed some light on her motivations…

Does the Horse Have to Work, Too? is not that kind of documentary, as Leonhard Pill opts for a strictly observational style in order to create space for the viewer’s own meditation on topics that rarely extend beyond passing thoughts. He is highly methodical and notably unsentimental in this approach, showing his protagonist’s life and work across all four seasons, with snapshots of incidental beauty, such as landscapes in the light of the setting sun, or the occasional ugliness and cruelty of natural law: stillborn lambs, babies dying for a variety of reasons, or old animals being killed. Much of the imagery captures the sheer mechanics of it all: a large flock moving from one point to another, two young rams head-butting, and Valeria carrying out her daily work with a sense of calm and serenity.

Although the documentary sometimes risks getting lost in repetition with only minimal variations, it is commendable for the filmmaker’s uncompromising attitude in showing things as they are, without explanation or sentimentality. He also undertakes most of the work himself: he serves as his own cinematographer, sometimes steps in front of the camera, or asks his protagonist questions about the specifics of her work and life, to which she responds in laconic fashion. Even the tracks she listens to are provided by his own band. The editing by Florian Lambrecht keeps the pace of the documentary in sync with natural processes, and suits the style Pill has chosen. Does the Horse Have to Work, Too? emerges as a highly sincere documentary that should connect with its niche audience.

A Film a Week - Remember My Song / Sjeti se moje pjesme

 previously published on Cineuropa

The collapse of Yugoslavia remains a subject of interest across generations in the states that succeeded it after the wars of the early 1990s. The central question is how the proclaimed ideals of “brotherhood and unity” in the former socialist regime morphed into nationalist hatred and quasi-tribal wars. Artists across different disciplines have sought to capture this transformation through metaphors drawn from a range of settings, such as ethnically mixed villages and towns, workplaces that employed large numbers of people, and communal spaces – bars, clubs, inns and taverns once widely frequented.

One such tavern that operated in the 1980s stands at the centre of the documentary Remember My Song, directed by Jelena Bosanac and Tanja Brzaković. The film has just premiered in the regional competition at ZagrebDox. The opening scene shows an ageing man reciting a poem about his village of Jugovo Polje beside its road sign. The rhymes are somewhat laboured and the worldview expressed in the poem is slightly naive, evoking the idyll before the war and portraying the war itself as a kind of demon that appeared from nowhere. The scene is followed by material from a personal archive, showing the immediate consequences of the events of the early 1990s: a bare structure too large to be a single residential unit, yet not large enough to function as an industrial building. In the ruins, completely ransacked years earlier, a woman finds an old LP record, and the time capsule opens.

It takes us to a tavern called Jablan, meaning “poplar”, which operated in a village near a busy road. Its owner, Nikola, was a capable businessman, and his wife Milena had a gift for managing staff. During the day, endless meals were prepared for passing truckers, and countless coffees from the first espresso machine in the area were served. On weekend nights, the tavern turned into a folk music disco, with live performances by aspiring singers and even established stars brought in from Belgrade. The owners and staff lived in harmony and unity, while the guests kept spending their money and “producing” countless anecdotes. Questions of nationality were never raised – until nationalism reached Jablan through its guests in the early 1990s, when politicians were stirring people up for war.

However authentic it may be, the story is quite typical, touching on all of the familiar cornerstones of idyll and nostalgia. What makes Remember My Song stand out, however, is the filmmakers’ approach. Much of the film is built entirely from found VHS footage and photographic material re-shot by Željko Felbar and edited by Hrvoslava Brkušić, using experimental forward and rewind techniques to create a psychedelic effect. This effect is further enhanced by the use of (Serbian) folk music, which taps into deeply rooted emotions and is further distorted by being sourced directly from ageing VHS recordings. Over this material, Milena, the waiters, the cooks, the musicians and the regular singer Haska narrate the stories they have collected.

The filmmakers’ decision to shift their approach once the tavern’s golden years are over, turning to a series of shots of empty spaces filmed by Boško Đorđević, proves to be another effective choice, as the stylistic contrast works very well and highlights the consequences of war and destruction. In the end, with Remember My Song, Bosanac and Brzaković may be telling a well-known, oft-told story, but they do so in a captivating manner.

Lista - April 2026.

 

Ukupno pogledano: 43 (34 dugometražna, 9 kratkometražnih)

Prvi put pogledano: 39 (31 dugometražni, 8 kratkometražnih)

Najbolji utisak (prvi put pogledano): The Bride!

Najlošiji utisak: Ready or Not 2: Here I Come

*ponovno gledanje

**kratkometražni

***srednjemetražni

kritike objavljene na webu su aktivni linkovi

datum izvor English Title / Originalni naslov (Reditelj, godina) - ocena/10

01.04. festival Four Minus Three / Vier Minus Drei (Adrian Goiginger, 2026) - 7/10
01.04. festival Mother's Baby (Johanna Moder, 2025) - 7/10
02.04. kino Ready or Not 2: Here I Come (Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett, 2026) - 4/10
02.04. kino They Will Kill You (Kiril Sokolov, 2026) - 6/10
02.04. video Pretty Lethal (Vicky Jewson, 2026) - 5/10
*04.04. kino Extraordinary / Glavonja (Marina Andree Škop, Vanda Raymanová, 2026) - 7/10
09.04. kino The Super Mario Galaxy Movie (Aaron Horvath, Michael Jelenic, Pierre Leduc, 2026) - 6/10
*11.04. video Crime 101 (Bart Layton, 2026) - 9/10
13.04. kino Franz (Agnieszka Holland, 2025) - 7/10
16.04. video Outcome (Jonah Hill, 2026) - 5/10
16.04. video Heel / Good Boy (Jan Komasa, 2025) - 6/10
18.04. kino The Bride! (Maggie Gyllenhaal, 2026) - 8/10
18.04. kino Hajduk u Beogradu (Milan Todorović, 2025) - 6/10
19.04. festival Synthetic Sincerity (Marc Isaacs, 2025) - 5/10
20.04. festival No Mercy (Isa Willinger, 2025) - 5/10
**20.04. festival Sanyi the Rooster / Sanyi kakas (Lotte Salomons, 2025) - 7/10
**20.04. festival Asparagus Bear / Medo u šparogama (Ivan Grgur, 2025) - 8/10
**20.04. festival Greetings from the Secretariat / Pozdrav iz sekretarijata (Ivan Ramljak, 2025) - 8/10
21.04. festival Ultras (Ragnhild Ekner, 2025) - 6/10
21.04. festival A Train Passes Every Day and It Never Stops / In fiecare zi trece acelasi si nu opreste nicodata (Vlad Petri, 2026) - 8/10
**21.04. festival Wed Lock Trad Wife (Gabriele Neudecker, 2025) - 7/10
**21.04. festival Black Gold / Crno zlato (Mitar Simikić, 2025) - 6/10
**21.04. festival Borderline of Freedom / Granice slobode (Jovana Semiz, 2025) - 7/10
**(*)22.04. festival Slet 1988 (Marta Popivoda, 2025) - 9/10
22.04. festival A Few Chunks of Cheese / Za nyakolko buchki sirene (Nikola Boshnakov, 2026) - 6/10
**22.04. festival Delta Oscar Mike (Dea Botica, 2025) - 6/10
22.04. festival Goranka's Time / Goranka (Boris Miljković, 2026) - 7/10
23.04. festival Punk Under Communist Regime / Punk pod komunističnim režimom (Andrej Košak, 2025) - 6/10
23.04. kino Mother Mary (David Lowery, 2026) - 4/10
24.04. festival The Feast of the Wolf / Vučja gozba (Jadran Boban, 2025) - 8/10
24.04. festival Remember My Song / Sjeti se moje pjesme (Jelena Bosanac, Tanja Brzaković, 2026) - 7/10
24.04. festival Meant to Be / Ez így volt szép (Olivér Márk Tóth, 2026) - 5/10
**24.04. festival This Desirable Device (Mina Simendić, 2026) - 5/10
27.04. festival Does the Horse Have to Work, Too? / Muss das Pferd auch arbeiten? (Leonhard Pill, 2026) - 6/10
27.04. festival Being Related to John Malkovich / Biti u rodu s Johnom Malkovichem (Luka Mavretić, 2025) - 7/10
28.04. festival Fragments of Belonging / Tragovi pripadanja (Tatjana Božić, 2026) - 7/10
29.04. festival The Visitor / Svečias (Vytautas Katkus, 2025) - 5/10
29.04. festival Straight Circle (Oscar Hudson, 2025) - 5/10
30.04. festival Paul (Denis Cote, 2025) - 7/10
30.04. festival Ghost Elephants (Werner Herzog, 2025) - 7/10
30.04. festival Kenny Daglish (Asif Kapadia, 2025) - 8/10
*30.04. festival The Girl in the Snow / L'engloutie (Louise Hémon, 2025) - 7/10
30.04. festival The Lights, They Fall (Saša Vajda, 2026) - 4/10

Mother Mary

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Šta je to s američkim nezavisnim autorima i filmovima o (fiktivnim) muzičkim zvezdama kao pokušajem ulaska u „mejnstrim“? Pokušajem, kažem, jer uspeh nije ničim zagarantovan.

Možda je Aleks Ros Peri tu ostao najverniji sebi i svom muzičkom i filmskom ukusu sa Her Smell, budući da je ostao u domenu alternativne muzike (specifičnog „riot girl“ podžanra u pank-roku), pa je u pet činova oslikao pad i pokušaj uspona posrnulog idola. U slučaju Brejdija Korbeta i filma Vox Lux možemo govoriti samo o filmskom habitusu, budući da autor svoj muzički ukus nije javno komunicirao, ali je fokus, kao i u njegovom prvencu, bio prvo na detinjstvu muzičke zvezde, a onda i na tome u kakvu se nesnosnu odraslu osobu ona pretvorila. Oba filma su bila dobra, što se ne može reći za prošlogodišnji uradak Treja Edvarda Šulca Hurry Up Tomorrow, ali neka reditelju posluži kao alibi da to ipak nije bio njegov-njegov projekat, već je on tu servisirao ego-trip izvođača pod nadimkom The Weeknd i zapravo učestvovao u kampanji za novi album. Popisu se mogu slobodno dodati još i Trap M. Najt Šjamalana i Smile 2, iako ne dolaze od „indi“ autora.

Kako će se u tom sada već trendu, skoro pa pod-žanru filmova o demonima u glavama muzičkih zvezda snaći Dejvid Loueri? Za razliku od prethodno navedene trojice nezavisnjaka, on je već nekoliko puta ulazio u holivudski „mejnstrim“, i to s Diznijevim filmovima za celu porodicu, Pete‘s Dragon (2016) i Peter Pan and Wendy (2023), a prisetimo se i prilično konvencionalnog biografskog filma The Old Man and the Gun (2019) o beguncu iz zatvora i pljačkašu-džentlmenu Forestu Takeru kojeg je utelovio Robert Redford u jednoj od svojih poslednjih uloga. Louerija, pak, pre povezujemo s ambicioznim „indi“ filmovima kao što su, meni lično najdraži, Ain‘t Them Bodies Saints (2013), te idiosinkratički A Ghost Story (2017) i The Green Knight (2021).

Kao i potonji, i Louerijev najnoviji film, Mother Mary, dolazi ispod „čekića“ produkcijske kuće A24, čime su očekivanja u startu prilično podgrejana... Prva razlika u odnosu na ostale filmove žanra je što Mother Mary nije film o demonima i padu, nego pre svega o pokušaju egzorcizma i iskupljenja.

Naslovna junakinja čije je ime očito umetničko i koju igra En Hetavej na neko vreme je nestala sa scene. Skrivala se od očiju javnosti nakon dokumentovane i viralno poznate nesreće na sceni koja bi mogla da se protumači kao manifestacija nervnog sloma ili čak pokušaj samoubistva. A to, priznaćete, nikako ne ide s aurom i pojavom pop-zvezde koja puno toga polaže u religijsku (ili, pak, blasfemičnu) ikonografiju, sa sve oreolom kao standardnim delom „autfita“.

Planirajući svoj „kambek“ za koji možda i nema snage, ona zato odlazi kod svoje stare stilistkinje i nekadašnje bliske prijateljice Sem Anselm (Mikaela Koel), navodno da od nje naruči novu haljinu. Interakcija između njih dve je neprijatna toliko da ni Semina asistentkinja Hilda (Hanter Šafer) ne uspeva da je relaksira, pa naslućujemo da se tu ne radi o prostom odnosu mušterije i krojačice, već o nečemu mnogo većem. Ono neizgovoreno polako se izgovara uvijeno kroz metafore, na kraju i otvoreno.

Sem je, naime, u najmanju ruku ko-kreatorka, ako ne i glavna kreatorka persone Mother Mary jer je u kreacije za pevačicu unosila delove sebe. Njih dve su bile vrlo bliske prijateljice, ako ne i više od toga (Laueri šalje difuzne signale i u tom pravcu, bez jasne potvrde), ali je pevačica napustila svoju prijateljicu kako bi otišla dalje, pa se Sem oseća kao da ju je izdala. Zbog toga je „muči“ pasivnom agresijom i navodi na otvaranje i izvinjenje.

Međutim, taj „tango“ koje njih dve igraju polako dovodi do priznanja da su obe posle „raskida“ imale susret s nečim onostranim, s nekim spiritualnim prisustvom crvene boje i s teksturom poput najfinije svile. Sem ga je osetila nakon poslednjeg koncerta na kojem je inkognito bila, a pevačica je počela da ga oseća, pa čak i da manično pokušava da ga dostigne nakon koncerta na nekoj sledećoj turneji i susreta sa spiritualistkinjom (FKA Twigs, jedna od autorica songova za film).

Osim nekoliko „flešbek“ sekvenci neretko postavljenih na način da dve protagonistkinje u sadašnjosti to gledaju kao scenu iz prošlosti ili u nju čak i ulaze, glavnina radnje filma se odvija u toku jednog dana i noći u štali pretvorenoj u krojački studio negde na selu u Engleskoj. To znači da smo uglavnom prepušteni verbalnom sparingu između njih dve i dugim dijaloškim scenama koju Laueri u funkciji autora i montažera, te dvoje snimatelja, Endru Droz Palermo i Rina Jang, pokušavaju da razmrdaju.

Osvetljenje je prigušeno, kolorit limitiran, scenografija Frančeske Di Motole daje natruhe da postoji nekakav red u haosu, ali intervencije se čine neophodnima i ponekad su čak vizuelno impresivne. To sve služi kao nekakav „tizer“ za drugu polovinu filma koja često iskače u nadrealno i spiritualno u scenama s one strane stvarnosti u kojima kolorit postaje žarkiji i upadljiviji, a kamera fokusirana na hvatanje pokreta.

Opet, dosta toga svejedno počiva na glumicama i njihovoj međusobnoj igri. Iako je En Hetavej prvopotpisana zvezda filma u ulozi dive i glumica s reputacijom vrlo posvećene svakoj ulozi, ona ovde izvlači deblji kraj na verbalnom planu. Razlog za to je što je u čisto verbalnoj komunikaciji lik Sem koncipiran kao dominantniji i onaj koji vodi igru, što Mikaela Koel koristi da diktira tempo na ivici teatralnosti, ali nikad preko granice dobrog ukusa. Ipak, En Hetavej se u tišim scenama spreto dočekuje na noge kroz čistu fizikalnost, pokret i mimiku, čime pokazuje širinu svog „arsenala“. Uostalom, imajući u vidu njen karijerni put od „američke drage“ i naslednice Džulije Roberts, preko opanjkavanja i dodeljivanja uloga iritantnih zlica ili paćenica, do reinvencije u dramsku glumicu s karakterom, što opet podseća na kasnije uloge Robertsove, čini se da je Lauerijev izbor En Hetavej za glavnu ulogu jedini logičan.

U svom scenariju Laueri takođe ubacuje dovitljive intervencije, signalizirajući da metafore postaju iznurujuće. Međutim, Mother Mary je ipak film satkan od jedva prikrivenih metafora, otvorenih citata, „pozajmljenica“ i kompozita, pa u njemu nije teško prepoznati elemente drugih i ne nužno boljih filmova. Dizajnom, recimo, podseća na uspelija dela Pitera Striklenda, psihologizacijom, pa, na to kako se Pol Tomas Anderson igra Kjubrika, Fridkina i njegovog Egzorcista na par mesta je takođe teško ne primetiti, dok je sam koncept skršene pop-zvezde i ovde postavljen na sličan način kao i u primerima s početka teksta. Pritom je i sam naslovni lik koncipiran kao kompozit drugih, postojećih izvođačica od Madone do Lejdi Gage i dalje prema sadašnjim divama sa scene koje fanovi, navodno, obogotvoruju. Ali, pitanje je koliko taj koncept drži u stvarnosti, budući da je rok trajanja svake od njih pojedinačno kraći od onoga što scenario sugeriše.

Kad smo kod trajanja, sa skoro dva sata prepucavanja, ispovesti, ilustrovanih košmara i vizuelno impozantnih, ali narativno siromašnih „filera“, Mother Mary zaista predugo traje i postaje zamoran. Čak iscrpljujuć kao metafore koje junakinje koriste. Ali, najviše iznurujuće je to što kroz njihove i autorove metafore koje to zapravo nisu (iz razloga što ih baš tu i baš takve očekujemo) moramo da se probijamo i probijamo. Laueri je uspeo da podbaci, čini se, kao nikada do sada u svojoj karijeri i da stvori upadljiv, a prazan film. Možda je i to uradio s namerom, u svrhu metafore savremene pop-muzike, ali jesmo li dužni da to slušamo ili gledamo?

A Film a Week - A Train Passes Every Day and It Never Stops / În fiecare zi trece același tren și nu oprește niciodată

 previously published on Cineuropa

A night train passes beside a small village graveyard somewhere in the hills of Transylvania. It is late, so we do not hear any sound emanating either from the natural surroundings or from civilisation. The original score, mostly making use of trumpets, is dark and moody, lying somewhere between jazz and drone, and perfectly sets up the atmosphere of Vlad Petri’s newest documentary, A Train Passes Every Night and It Never Stops, which has just premiered in the regional competition of ZagrebDox.

From there, Petri takes us to a house and a garden surrounding it. It is still nighttime – maybe the same night. Men are sitting outside, discussing topics like traffic and roads in Germany, while the women are inside, having their own conversations on topics closer to home. Crying and sobbing sounds in, we presume, the not-so-distant background remind us that the event that has gathered all of these people at the house is a wake, meaning that the day after will be the day of the funeral. And in villages like this one, funerals can be prime social events that bring people, many of whom have moved to cities, to other towns or abroad, together.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Petri takes us through the folklore and technicalities of funerals in rural Transylvania. Orthodox Church customs might seem exotic to outsiders, but for the locals, they are the default way of doing things, and are performed almost mechanically by the clergy and accepted for what they are by their flock. The same can be said of the approach of one of the grave diggers, who have to deal with the steep terrain and limited space for the family tomb, or for the brass band playing melancholic marches, or the trio of elderly ladies singing sorrowful songs.

But not everything is this mechanical. The local barbershop serves as a hub for gossip and the place where philosophical questions are raised. Also, the closeness to death awakens a certain will to live in people, so they “defend” themselves, in a way, by means of some very dark humour. For instance, the oldest member of the aforementioned trio resorts to such humour when a rumour starts swirling that the wake in the village is actually hers.

Serving as his own cinematographer, Petri opts for a clear, old-school observational style and uses static shots from various distances, through which he demonstrates both keenness and patience. The camera moves only once, when it is necessary, and even then, it does so in a geometrical manner. Thus, the filmmaker captures some striking and outstanding details, the sense of ritual and the spirit of the village which seems to be dying out – but also the sudden bursts of beauty, such as the natural surroundings on a clear day or the railway viaducts from Austro-Hungarian times, serving as reminders that the village was once somewhat prosperous.

The project might have started out as something quite different, but the element of the funeral(s) as the connective tissue within the community was discovered later on. A dedicated viewer might notice the trend of things appearing in threes, like three trains passing through the village at different times of day, or three separate funerals being shot, but the editing by Maria Bălănean creates a certain continuity that suggests that the funeral is more of a state of mind, as it all seems to be one, constant event. In this way, A Train Passes Every Night and It Never Stops turns into a proper meditation on life and death that is not framed as a battle, but rather as an organic union.