How Come It's All Green Out Here? / Kako je ovde tako zeleno?

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Mnogi su se pitali gde je Nikola Ležaić nestao nakon uspeha s revolucionarnim dugometražnim prvencem Tilva Roš (2010) u kojem je spojio naturščike, supkulturu, socijalu i art u dubokoj, deindustrijalizovanoj provinciji Bora. Makar deo odgovora ćemo dobiti u njegovom novom dugometražnom filmu Kako je ovde tako zeleno koji se nakon svetske premijere u sekciji Proksima na filmskom festivalu u Karlovim Varima uputio na regionalnu premijeru u Puli.

Kako je ovde sve tako zeleno je, naime, polu-autobiografski i još više od toga introspektivni film. Reditelj Nikola (Filip Đurić) već dugo nije snimio film jer nikako da dobije sredstva za svoj sledeći ekstremno ambiciozni projekat, ali sasvim dobro zarađuje snimajući reklame. Taj posao ga, međutim, ne ispunjava, pa izlaz nalazi u ispunjavanju fantazije da kupi stari kamper kojim će sa svojom suprugom Aleksandrom (Milica Gojković) i ćerkom koju očekuju putovati okolo.

Pre toga, međutim, Nikola mora na jedan drugi put s nekim drugim društvom i nekim drugim povodom. Put ga vodi u zavičaj njegovih predaka, selo Djeverske kod Kistanja u dalmatinskom zaleđu, društvo su mu otac Mirko (Izudin Bajrović), stric Branko (Stojan Matavulj) i dalja tetka Jovanka (Snježana Sinovčić), a povod je „druga“ sahrana pokojne baba-Pere u njenom rodnom kraju i pored njenog muža. Baba je, naime, kao i Branko i Jovanka, izbegla u Srbiju s Olujom 1995. godine i nikada se nije navikla na život daleko od svog doma.

S njima u drugom autu, odnosno kombiju koji prevozi sanduk s pokojnicom, putuju rođak-prevoznik Neven (Leon Lučev) i zemljak Boćo, a u selu ih čeka rođaka Dara (Rada Mrkšić) koja će ih ugostiti, budući da je babina kuća u stanju propadanja. Tamo je i druga rodbina koju sačinjavaju povremeni ili stalni povratnici u opustela sela oko kojih je zemlja škrta. Nikolu, međutim, more filozofska pitanja identiteta i memorije: čega se on iz svojih poseta tokom detinjstva seća, šta je krivo zapamtio, a šta se zapravo u tih 25 ili više godina promenilo.

Jasno, u pitanju je izrazito ličan film i on svom autoru svakako ima smisla. Pitanje je, doduše, koliko film nama ima smisla, budući da je, objektivno govoreći, usporen, meandrirajući i nabijen „slepim kolosecima“ u smislu nekoliko podzapleta koji ne služe ničemu bitnom i otkrivaju tek sporedne detalje likova. Takođe, ako očekujemo ne znam kako impresivan razvojni luk likova ili ne znam kakvu veliku spoznaju, možemo se duboko razočarati.

To bi, međutim, bila šteta, budući da je „vožnja“ prijatna, naročito u društvu ekstremno raspoloženih glumaca. Stojan Matavulj je apsolutno u svom elementu kao Branko, samo što još i manje ima potrebu da glumi. Leon Lučev i Snježana Sinovčić uspevaju biti upečatljivi i sa relativno malo prostora i sa pozadinskim likovima koje igraju. Izudin Bajrović briljira kao Mirko, a Filip Đurić svojom izvedbom Nikole podvlači Ležaićevu hrabrost da se autorski ogoli, pa makar zbog toga delovao kao distancirani, pomalo blazirani hipster koji nema prečih problema u životu od toga što je zauzet na poslu i što pokušava da pronađe zajednički jezik sa svojim precima i rođacima.

Kada se tome doda i evokativna fotografija Aleksandra Pavlovića u kojoj se smenjuju sivilo i zelenilo, prizori impresivno lepe prirode i zapuštenosti usled odsustva ljudi ili nemoći onih koji su prisutni, te meditativna i odmerena montaža Jana Klemšea, film počinje da nas uvlači u svoj svet, odnosno unutrašnji svet svoga autora. Na kraju, nije ni bitno ima li Kako je ovde sve zeleno smisla gledaocima sa strane jer ga oni svakako mogu pronaći, bilo da ga traže kao studiju života prognanika i povratnika, ili kao put spoznaje protagoniste. Bitno je da je to film s nepogrešivim autorskim potpisom Nikole Ležaića: on ga je snimio za sebe, a mi smo tu samo gosti.

A Film a Week - Wind, Talk to Me / Vetre, pričaj sa mnom

 previously published on Cineuropa

Stefan Đorđević started his artistic path as a non-professional actor in Nikola Ležaić’s Tilva Rosh (2010), playing one of the leads. After that, he lensed, wrote and directed a number of shorts and music videos, often collaborating with his friends and family members. His debut feature, Wind, Talk to Me, has just premiered in the Tiger Competition of IFFR. This docu-fiction might be both Đorđević’s most complete and most personal film to date. And since its auteur and protagonist is dealing with his mother’s death, there was probably no other way around it.

However, Đorđević opens his movie in a semi-abstract way, with a naturally dim-lit close-up of his hand touching a tree and saying a prayer to the wind. He is actually on his way home to his native village, and the stop he has made with his car leads to an encounter with a police officer, from whom he receives a warning. He is obviously in distress, and this will be further compounded when he accidentally hits a stray dog with his car.

At home, his whole extended family has got together – his grandmother and grandfather, brother, aunt, cousin and nephews. Everybody misses his mother, Negrica, but they are all trying to keep their spirits up. He probably misses her the most, not just for personal reasons, but also because she was the protagonist of his unfinished documentary portrait project. And the late mum was quite a character: a free-spirited and free-minded woman who lived in a trailer outside the village, in the woods and on the shore of the lake. She lived her life according to her own rules and unorthodox beliefs.

Stefan’s plan is to move into the trailer, spend some time there and try to finish the film, somehow. Maybe the first step towards it would be healing and adopting the dog he injured. The family is willing to provide support and assistance with his endeavour, but his lashing out at them signals that his wounds might run even deeper than he originally thought.

Thus far, it all seems like a typical documentary self-portrait, laced with some older footage woven into the deeper layers of it that serves as a perfect way for viewers to understand the filmmaker’s bond with his mother and the emptiness that haunts him now that she is gone. But the way he “directs” his extended family members as supporting cast members opens another meta-layer, and because of this, Wind, Talk to Me plays out like a small, intimate, but also universal, fiction film.

The artistry continues on the craft level, as cinematographer Marko Brdar lends an outsider’s eye both to the family dynamics and to the ambience. Julij Zornik’s sound design subtly enhances the sounds of nature, while the moody, synth-powered score by Ivan Judaš highlights the emotion. The pacing set by the joint editing effort of Tomislav Stojanović and Dragan von Petrović is deliberately moderate and comes across as quite natural for the processes of grieving and moving on. In the end, Đorđević manages to make Wind, Talk to Me a captivating film, both about his mother and about himself coping with her passing.