A Film a Week - Mother Mara / Majka Mara

 previously published on Cineuropa

Films centred on women of a certain age are not that common in Serbian cinema, and those that look at things from a distinctive, feminine perspective are even rarer. However, actress-turned-filmmaker Mirjana Karanović (of Esma’s Song fame) has decided to forge her filmmaking career with exactly this kind of movie. Her first directorial effort, A Good Wife (2016), in which she told the story of a woman who has to face up to her husband’s involvement in war crimes during the 1990s wars in the former Yugoslavia, made quite a splash on the festival circuit after its world premiere at Sundance. Her sophomore film, Mother Mara, has just premiered as an out-of-competition gala at Sarajevo.

The titular protagonist, played by the filmmaker herself, has just lost her son Nemanja (Pavle Čemerikić in flashbacks and short mobile phone-shot inserts), who was the apple of her eye. Mara raised him as a single mother, while also building a career as a corporate lawyer, and now, everybody from the ranks of her family and friends both at and after the funeral reminds her that she is left with nothing to live for. Since the stern Mara is not exactly the crying type, she tries to overcome her muted grief by returning to work.

There, a young man called Milan (Vučić Perović, mainly seen on Serbian TV) insists on her representing him in a routine probate case. Although this type of case is something more suitable for a junior lawyer at Mara’s firm, Milan has a strong argument: he knew the part of Nemanja’s life that was hidden from his mother, the gym sessions and the wild nights out in the floating river clubs in Belgrade. The strictly professional relationship between the middle-aged woman and the man, who is one generation younger than her, turns personal, carnal and romantic, placing Mara in a completely new situation.

As an actress, Karanović has a commanding screen presence, and she is quite expressive both in the muted and in the more vocal parts of her role, and the chemistry she shares with Perović is compellingly awkward, as is usually the case in slightly repressed cultures where many things are still taboo. The presence of regionally recognisable actors such as Boris Isaković (Karanović’s acting partner in A Good Wife), Jasna Žalica (recently seen in May Labour Day) and Alen Liverić (of No One’s Son fame) in supporting roles also works in the film’s favour.

Karanović has also developed a certain style as a director, based on intriguing and clear ideas, such as the camerawork by Igor Marović corresponding with the protagonist’s current state of mind, with the symmetrically arranged, static shots (usually taken from mid-to-long distance) and the more dynamic, hand-held ones both having their respective functions. The centrepiece scenes also look good, thanks to Lazar Predojev’s methodical editing. Production designer Dragana Baćović should also be commended for her work, since the sterile coldness of the sets corresponds with Mara’s milieu and her personality (or at least the façade of it), and the same goes for the discreet score composed by Ephrem Lüchinger.

Relying on the help of her co-writers Maja Pelević and Ognjen Sviličić, as well as Darko Lungulov, who is credited as a creative consultant, Karanović has made Mother Mara as a solid, controlled and well-thought-out piece of contemporary cinema. However, the lack of proverbial “dirt” in it sometimes makes it seem a tad too “doctored” to be heartfelt.

A Film a Week - Gym

 previously published on Cineuropa

Some 20 years ago, it seemed like the cinema of Bosnia and Herzegovina was enjoying a boom, and Srđan Vuletić was one of the torchbearers after the success of his 2003 debut feature, Summer in the Golden Valley, which won the Tiger Award at IFFR the following year. Now, it has been 17 years since Vuletić’s second film, It’s Hard to Be Nice, and finally, we can see his third effort, Gym. The venue for the premieres of all three of Vuletić’s features has been the same: the Sarajevo Film Festival. This time, his movie is part of the Open Air programme.

Gym is a film with which its writer-director (working from a story by Mirela Tepanić-Grbešić) tries to explore the well-known, yet frustrating, situation in which a loud and aggressive minority manages to subdue the quiet majority. Vuletić attempts to do so by mixing the notions of situational comedy and social-realist drama with some twists and turns that veer towards a thriller, using one particular event as the stage for his intended metaphor.

The event in question is a banquet organised to celebrate the launch of a new telephone helpline aimed at solving ecological problems, and our point of view is that of the employees of the small firm in charge of the catering. Led by the boss, Damir, who is still torn between whether to close his firm owing to slow business or whether to keep on fighting in the hope of better times to come, the company is also the scene of a power struggle between the crazy, aggressive and offensive Ado (Dino Sarija), and his calmer and smarter brother-in-law, Riki (Edin Avdagić).

The source of the discord between them are their opposing attitudes towards their former colleague and the boss’s ex-girlfriend, Melisa (Dina Mušanović), who went on to found her own business. Ado’s plan is to beat Melisa into submission, quite literally, while Riki reasons that she had every right to try to strike it lucky on her own. The rest of the crew is rationally with Riki, but they are not willing to take a stand against the crazy Ado. And when the Chekhov’s gun appears by the end of the first act, we can be sure that it is going to go off by the end of the third.

Most of the problems with Gym stem from the notion that Vuletić has lost touch with the medium of cinema, since he spent a prolonged period teaching and working on TV-series projects. Although the initial situation and the basic characterisation are established pretty quickly, Vuletić takes his sweet time with the exposition and drags it out to the two-thirds mark of the film’s merciful 84-minute running time. In that regard, it seems like an extended pilot of a semi-ambitious TV show that tries to blend sitcom driven by local humour with social-realist and critical undertones concerning the hardships of young, working-class people in contemporary Bosnia.

The fact that it is pretty much set in a single location and has minimal production design also suggests a modest budget and/or production values, rather than some intended realism. The same could be said for Darko Herič’s cinematography, the digital crispness of which could serve better on smaller screens, rather than big ones, while Željko Šošić’s editing could have been smoother.

Gym is a stellar example of a piece of work whose noble intentions are hampered by bloated literary, didactic and preaching ambitions, compounded by a flawed, unspectacular execution. It’s a pity that even the central metaphor is relegated to the sidelines for such a long chunk of the running time.

Borderlands

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Kompjuterske igrice su ovih 40-ak godina bivale konstantno optuživane da kvare omladinu, ali te optužbe nisu uticale na njihovu popularnost i među tom omladinom, a i među starijima. A gde je popularnost, tu i je lova, a gde je lova – tu može biti još love u konverziji s formata na format.

E, sad, dok je relativno lako koristiti film kao bazu za video-igricu (treba samo priču učiniti interaktivnijom), obrnuti postupak je ipak malo zahtevniji. U to smo mogli da se uverimo u nekim ranijim talasima pomame za adaptacijama video-igrica, odakle poreklo vuče i najveći deo treš-opusa Uvea Bola.

Opet, da ne grešimo dušu, verovatno je i filozofija bila takva da se s minimumom uloženih sredstava i (mentalnog) napora brzo i lako izvuče još nešto love na tuđu popularnost po principu grebanja. Stvari su se, makar kad je reč o visokoprofilisanim igricama, ponešto promenile, pa su i njihove adaptacije u druge, manje interaktivne formate poput filmova i serija, zapravo postale ozbiljan posao koji se ozbiljno radi. O kvalitetima pojedinačnih završnih proizvoda nećemo – oni ipak variraju.

U tom svetlu, najnoviji primerak Borderlands, nastao po istoimenom serijalu, ogledni je primer katastrofe na svim nivoima, ali čak ni one zabavne, trešerske na čiji se račun makar možemo svi skupa dobro zezati. Ne, ovo je primer poslovnog poduhvata koji je poveren ljudima koji materiju ne razumeju, čiji su troškovi narasli kombinacijom loše sreće i pogrešnih odluka i koji možda neće „sahraniti“ svoje investitore, ali će ih makar prilično „ugruvati“. Kritika i publika prilično su unisoni u presudi: Borderlands ne valja, a tu se slažu i fanovi igrice i potpuni „ne-igrači“.

Pitanje je zapravo je li u tim uslovima išta i moglo da bude drugačije. Od momenta najave do početka snimanja prošlo je šest godina dok se zaokružio kreativni i produkcijski tim, kao i glumačka postava. Godinu i po dana kasnije, palo je i malo dosnimavanja, ali sa drugim rediteljem jer je Ilaj Rot u to doba snimao Thanksgiving. U isto vreme, scenarista Kreg Mazin je na svoj zahtev skinut sa špice, što je verovatno bio izraz njegovog zadovoljstva time kako su mu „iskasapili“ čedo, odnosno delo.

Ono što smo na kraju dobili je priča o Lilit (Kejt Blančet) koja radi kao lovac na ucenjene glave, a od magnata Atlasa (Edgar Ramirez) je dobila unosan zadatak da spasi njegovu kidnapovanu kćerku Tinu (Ariana Grinblet), a za šta mora da se vrati na svoju rodnu planetu Pandoru. Tamo je, iz neznanih razloga, kao pseudo-vodič i zapravo levo smetalo, čeka robot Kleptrep (glas Džeka Bleka) i njih dvoje uspevaju da lociraju Tinu u „zatočeništvu“ bivšeg plaćenika, a sada lovca na blago Rolanda (Kevin Hart) i njegovog psihotičnog pomoćnika Kriga (Florian Munteanu) s kojima se zapravo skompala.

Kada ih sustigne Atlasova privatna vojska, oni svi zajedno moraju da beže, a svoju potragu za preživljavanjem pokušavaju oplemeniti lovom na blago ili već neku tajnu velike moći koji zapravo želi i Atlas. Put će ih preko „skrovišta“ i šankerice Moksi (Đina Geršon) odvesti do poznavateljke planete i njenih tajni Patriše Tanis (Džejmi Li Kertis) koja je ujedno nekada bila Lilitina pomajka. Dok im opasnost preti i od Atlasovih plaćenika, i od poludelog domaćeg stanovništva udruženog u hordu maskiranih razbojnika, a i od zamki kojima su važne tačke njihove avanture prožete, hoće li naši junaci preživeti i pobediti ili, pak, nastradati?

Od serijala igrica film zapravo preuzima vrlo malo, a to su imena mesta i likova, te generalni utisak derivativnosti koji u igricama smeta mnogo manje nego u filmovima. Izostaje, međutim, onaj angažman koji igrica može da nametne igračima / gledaocima, ali, što je još i važnije, njen duh i atmosfera. Inače zanimljivi i potencijalno ikonički likovi svedeni su na dronove s jednom do dve funkcije, humor se potpuno izgubio, a isto se može i reći i za detalje izgradnje sveta, zbog čega Borderlands deluje kao vrlo nespecifična SF-akcija, nekakav Star Wars za siromašne.

Nije ni izbor glumaca bio najsrećniji, odnosno njihovi dokazani kvaliteti nisu iskorišćeni. Ma koliko se trudila, a trudi se do nivoa da „skida“ hod lika iz igrice, Kejt Blančet zapravo nije akciona heroina jer za tako nešto ima suviše jako izgrađenu auru prefinjenosti. Kevin Hart je potpuni promašaj kao vojničina bez komičnog „ugla“, dok se komičnost malog robota Kleptrepa i potencijal Džeka Bleka potpuno distorzira jer on u filmu, za razliku od igrice, nije dovoljno iritantan da na tome ubire poene. Iritantna je, doduše, Ariana Grinblat kao Tina, ali ne komično i, reklo bi se, čak niti ni namerno, koliko u nedostatku ideja kako s njene, tako i s Rotove strane, kako liku prići. Đina Geršon je protraćena u kratkoj epizodi, a Džejmi Li Kertis je zarobljena s likom koji praktično služi da čita fiktivnu „vikipediju“.

Scenario je, rekosmo već, prilično „frankenštajnski“, a ni Rotova režija tu ne pomaže, posebno u akcionim scenama koje bi trebalo da su njegov „forte“. Koreografija tih scena je takva da se u njima čak i ne može naslutiti nekakva interna „topografija“, a izbor muzičke za pratnje za njih je stereotipan da ne može biti stereotipniji. Opet, nisu ni Rot, ni Tim Miler koji ga je na dosnimavanjima zamenio, jedini krivci, budući da montažeri Džulijan Klark i Evan Henke vode neku svoju, nama smrtnicima nedokučivu politiku šta će i na kom mestu „seći“.

Kada se tome dodaju posve generički vizuelni efekti koji se ne uklapaju s glavnim dizajnerskim adutima filma („used future“ koncept kao u Star Wars serijalu i distopijski šmek nalik na Mad Max: Fury Road), Borderlands deluje naprosto sklepano i to prilično nevešto. Čini se da filmu preostaje tek jedan kvalitet: gledaoca ne muči predugo, sve je gotovo za nekih 100 minuta.

A Film a Week - Rita

 previously published on Cineuropa

The greatest thing that Spanish actress-turned-filmmaker Paz Vega has done with her directorial debut, Rita, is that she convinces the audience that they are watching one movie until the very end, when it turns into something quite different. Rita has just premiered on Locarno’s Piazza Grande. Given the star power of Vega, here fulfilling a four-fold role (that of writer, helmer, actress in a prominent part and executive producer), and the urgency of its topic, it could gain some more festival exposure, a theatrical release in the Spanish-speaking world, and then end up on television worldwide.

The titular protagonist is a seven-year-old girl (played by magnetic newcomer Sofía Allepuz) who lives in Seville with her family, consisting of the taxi-driver father José Manuel (Roberto Álamo, glimpsed in supporting roles in numerous Spanish films), homemaker mother Mari (the filmmaker herself) and younger brother Lolo (Alejandro Escamilla). The year is 1984, it’s late spring, and the Spanish national football team is doing well in the European Championship tournament, which seems to be the father’s main preoccupation.

In the meantime, Rita spends most of her time playing with her brother or with her neighbour of the same age, Nito (Daniel Navarro), or being taken care of by her mother or by their neighbour Chari (Paz de Alarcón) when the mother has to run errands or visit the ailing grandmother. As we watch the events unfold from her sensitive, yet playful, perspective, we observe certain things: her dad’s quick temper and negative attitude towards the world, but especially towards the mother; her mum's initially silent, but later more vocal, despair; and her brother’s fear and panic attacks whenever the parents argue. All of this leads to the notion that home is not necessarily a safe place (especially for her mother) and that Rita’s growing up is no fairy tale.

Allepuz is a perfect choice for the role of Rita because of her natural energy that easily transforms into an organic chemistry with her acting partners, both the children and the adults. Álamo does a great job of hiding José Manuel’s menace behind a façade of the typical blue-collar blues, while Vega offers a master class in playing Mari’s sadness – that of a woman unable to do a single thing about her misfortune.

Apart from her acting talent, which we have also witnessed in more than 70 previous roles, in Rita, Vega also demonstrates a knack for storytelling, both as a writer and as a director. Her script is cleverly written and masterfully controlled by her directing, with a good sense of visual narration. She uses simple tricks such as the levitating camera movements in Eva Díaz Iglesias’s cinematography and an abundant use of lower angles to mimic the perspective of a child. The editing by Ana Álvarez-Ossorio keeps the pace at a moderate level, while the score on piano with some orchestration by Pablo Cervantes further accentuates the dreaminess and the gentleness associated with a carefree childhood.

The end result is something akin to a collection of detailed, yet diffuse, memories constructed around a series of events that the child protagonist could only see as low-intensity ones. However, darker tones are always subtly hinted at, and gradually introduced and amplified. By the end of the film, those innuendos converge into a striking, harrowing picture of abuse, making Rita an unpleasant, yet necessary, wake-up call.

A Film a Week - Block 5 / Igrišča ne damo!

 previously published on Cineuropa

Life is not easy for a new kid on the block. At a certain age, moving seems like a total reset: with a new neighbourhood also comes a new school and the obligation to make new friends and fall in with a crowd that has already been there and shares a certain, established dynamic. Having a cause in common (or creating one) might help, but it might also drive a deeper rift between the kids’ and the adults’ worlds. This is something that we see in the new film by versatile Slovenian filmmaker Klemen Dvornik, Block 5, which premiered at Locarno, in the Locarno Kids sidebar, and is now screening at Sarajevo, in its Children's Programme.

Our protagonist, preteen girl Alma (Kaja Zabert), has just moved into a flat in a housing block in Ljubljana with her father, Filip (Marko Mandić, seen recently in Sonja Prosenc’s Family Therapy and Hanna Slak’s Not a Word). Life seems hard for her, since the same gang of skateboarding kids bullies her at school as well as in the neighbourhood. Once she finds out that her father is handling the development project that will turn the block playground, complete with its skating park, into a car park, she reaches out to them, so they all overcome their differences and form a pact to put a stop to it. Alma has a deeper personal reason to take part in this environmental project, since her mother died on such a mission in the Amazon. The adventure, which resembles a war game between the kids and the adults, begins, and along the way, animosities will be turned into friendships and a sense of community will be forged.

Working from a script written by Croatian-born, Ljubljana- and Prague-educated writer-filmmaker Dora Šustić, Dvornik demonstrates his versatility and eye for detail. Although they both occasionally rely on clichés, they manage to capture the life of kids and adults in a complex neighbourhood that is ethnically mixed and has class divisions, much like most of the estates on the outskirts of Ljubljana. Dvornik also shows he has a decent knowledge of contemporary young-adult culture, as he insists on TikTok-style interludes of vertical videos of their skating shenanigans set against a background of contemporary trap-pop music.

The director also knows how to work with young actors and newcomers, when to give them directions and when to step back so they can create their own interplay in an organic way. It results in great chemistry between them, with Kaja Zabert and Kaja Šuštar (who plays Alma’s nemesis-turned-best friend Luna) being standouts, while the rest of the young cast also fare pretty well. The adult cast members, except for Marko Mandić, reliably good in his role, have bit parts, and some of them, such as Ivana Roščić (playing Luna’s mother), Enes Bešlagić (playing a local kebab parlour owner) and Gregor Zorc (playing an unemployed man who wants to stick it to the system and therefore shows the most empathy for the kids’ venture), imbue their characters with life, while Tihomir Stanić (who plays Filip’s boss, Brabec) nails the vibe of the main villain.

Shot observantly by Czech DoP David Hofmann, who captures the details that could easily have been neglected by a cinematographer more familiar with the setting, scored by David Herceg to highlight the emotion in a discreet way, and edited vibrantly by Ivana Fumić, Block 5 is a film that should find fertile ground with elementary-school children, while also keeping their parents’ and teachers’ thoughts occupied for 80 minutes.

Three Kilometers from the End of the World / Trei kilometri pana la capatul lumii

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Ovogodišnja igrana takmičarska selekcija Sarajevo Film Festivala bila je svetskim premijerama najsiromašnija u poslednjih oho-ho godina, kao da se ne radi o jubilarnom, 30. po redu izdanju najveće regionalne smotre filmova. Možda se programski tim baš zbog toga odlučio na proverene festivalske naslove iz regije koji su svoje premijere imali nedavno na festivalima u Kanu, Njujorku (Tribeka) ili Lokarnu, ili, pak, nešto ranije – u Berlinu. U takvoj konkurenciji, pobedio je film s najprominentnijom svetskom premijerom, u glavnom takmičarskom programu Kana. Cinici bi rekli, očekivano.

U pitanju je film Three Kilometres from the End of the World rumunskog prevashodno glumca, a sada i reditelja Emanuela Parvua. Reč je tu o tipičnom predstavniku Rumunskog Novog Talasa čije izdanke već dvadesetak i više godina pratimo po svetskim festivalima. Uz ipak nekakve stilske varijacije u odnosu na klasike Munđiua, Porumbojua, Kalina Petera Necera ili Pujua, teme Parvuovog filma očekivano su iste...

Mladić Adi (Ćiprijan Čujdea) prebijen je na povratku kući iz jedinog diska u zabitom selu na delti Dunava odakle je on sam i gde provodi letnji raspust nakon završene srednje škole u obližnjem gradu Tulči. Inicijalna reakcija njegovog oca (Bogdan Dumitrače, zvezda brojnih rumunskih filmova) je da je prebijanje zapravo poruka njemu da vrati dug lokalnom bogatašu, pa slučaj prijavljuje policiji, odnosno lokalnom šefu (Valeriu Andriuca) koji mu savetuje da proba da postigne dogovor.

Ali, kada dozna da Adi nije prebijen zbog očevog duga, već zbog svoje seksualne orijentacije (viđen je kako se ljubi s turistom iz Bukurešta), priča se okreće na drugu stranu... Svi bi u selu najrađe okrenuli glavu od problema homofobije i zataškali slučaj, a otac i majka (Laura Vasiliu) bi svog sina „izlečili od bolesti“, zbog čega upomoć zovu i sveštenika (Adrian Ticijeni) čije molitve liče na egzorcizam. Dok se svi trude da nekako „izbalansiraju“ situaciju kako se ne bi pročulo do grada, na Adijevoj strani stoji jedino prijateljica Ilinka (Ingrid Beresku), i to u skaldu sa svojim skromnim mogućnostima...

Homofobija, lokalna korupcija i toksični uticaj raspomamljene crkve standardna su tema savremenih rumunskih realističkih filmova i Three Kilometres from the End of the World tu nije nikakav izuzetak. U Parvuovom filmu čuju se odjeci klasičnih autora koji su mu svakako poslužili kao uzor. Razlika je prisutna donekle u miljeu (močvarna delta Dunava je prilično specifično područje), koloritu (leto zahteva žive boje nasuprot sivkastih kojima obično pribegavaju rumunski novotalasni autori) i načinu snimanja. Umesto kamere iz ruke koja prati protagonistu, ovde po pravilu imamo seriju dužih kadrova statičnom kamerom u nešto širem planu, što gledaoca stavlja na distancu i omogućava mu da sagleda celu situaciju.

Glumački, film je dobar, što se i moglo očekivati s obzirom da Parvu poznaje snimanje filmova i iz te perspektive. On glumce vodi sigurnom rukom i omogućava im da ostvare vrlo dobre uloge, dok je Bogdan Dumitrače, očekivano, impresivan kao otac koji se našao u nebranom grožđu po nekoliko pitanja. Valeriu Andriuca kao šef policije i Adrian Ticijani kao sveštenik uspevaju da ostvare pamtljive epizode, a mladi Ćiprijan Čujdea da izazove kod gledaoca empatiju za nepravednu sudbinu koja je njegov lik zadesila.

Opet, Three Kilometres from The End of the World ne donosi ništa posebno novo čak ni u sferi savremenog rumunskog filma, a o nekom globalnom planu je izlišno i govoriti. Sve smo to već videli, i to više puta, pa nema iznenađenja. Sasvim je jasno da Emanuel Parvu ovde puca zicere koje pogađa jer ih je zapravo teže promašiti. (Da li bi iko pri zdravoj pameti „navijao“ za ludog popa ili ljigavog šefa policije?) Zbog toga dobijamo solidan, dobro urađen film, ali ništa više od toga i ništa što bi zavređivalo festivalsku slavu.

A Film a Week - My Late Summer / Nakon ljeta

 originally published on Cineuropa

We have watched enough Croatian movies by now to know that those “wacky” islanders have their own saints and relics that should not be defiled, touched or disrespected in any way. In the newest film by Danis Tanović, My Late Summer, the pantheon of an unnamed, remote, miniature island consists of Comrade Tito, the Virgin Mary, the Hajduk Split football club and the golf cart belonging to the mayor (who also happens to be the owner of the only bar). There, we also find a female World War II veteran who cannot stand any German- or Italian-sounding music, free-roaming cows that get high by ingesting marijuana, hidden bottles labelled as “experiments”, not-so-friendly neighbourhood affairs, and dirty secrets involving the most highly respected locals, which are not that well concealed after all.

It seems like Bosnia’s most highly decorated filmmaker Tanović (who was behind the Best Foreign-language Oscar winner No Man’s Land) has now become a regular Sarajevo Film Festival opener. Three years ago, it was with Not So Friendly Neighbourhood Affair, and now we have My Late Summer. Both films could be defined as romantic comedy-dramas (with a dash of melodrama) infused with humour connected to specific places and the mentalities of their locals, which makes them a hard sell for the international festival circuit. But, like its predecessor, My Late Summer should fare reasonably well in the region of the former Yugoslavia.

Our protagonist, Maja (Anja Matković, also the co-screenwriter), comes to the island on a very specific mission: to prove that the late sea captain Jakša was her father and to collect her fair share of her inheritance. Since the procedure can be lengthy, she decides to stay there for a while. The only option for her is to take a waitressing job at the only bar, owned by Mayor Ićo (Goran Navojec), which also comes with free accommodation. There, she meets an older US expat of Yugoslav origin, Saša (Uliks Fehmiu), who fancies himself as an aspiring writer and moved there for the nostalgic aspect of the place. A romance sets in, but his life situation is just as complicated as hers. As the summer season comes to an end and seemingly innocent incidents threaten to destroy the fragile “ecosystem” of human relationships on the island, all three will have some serious figuring out to do…

My Late Summer starts off strong and snappy, with rapid-fire jokes, but the director cannot maintain this pace, so he chooses to switch the tone first to romantic comedy, and then to (melo)drama, while frugally using what is left of the humour reserves to keep viewers at least mildly entertained until the end. Apart from Anja Matković, who was promoted to the big screen by Tanović in his previous film, and who really owns her character here, the rest of the actors, in supporting and episodic roles, are basically left in improvisation mode, so they opt for recycling their usual types with some minor variations to them, which just about does the job.

The splendorous production and craft values serve the film well. Miloš Jaćimović’s cinematography alternates between intermezzos of the picture-perfect Adriatic vistas and the seemingly floating hand-held mode that imitates the predominant state of mind on the island. The production design by Veronika Radman complements the locations perfectly, making My Late Summer an easy, watchable viewing experience. However, its low-risk philosophy and the fact that it runs low on fuel for the better part of the second half hinder its ambitions.