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 - Requiem for Mrs. J / Rekvijem za gospođu J

There are two kinds of fiction films from Eastern Europe, heavily relied on standard tropes, that are being deemed desired by big festivals. Basically, either we get a serious-as-death social realist drama about the perills of communism, capitalism, transition or war and its effect on Average Joe / Plain Jane and their family, or we get pretty much the same context, but seen throught the filter of irony, pitch-black and absurdist comedy. The question is: “Why should not we have both versions?” And with a dash of surrealism, too. Bojan Vuletić’s sophmore feature Requiem for Mrs J, which premiered in Berlinale’s Panorama Special, is something new, smart and emotionaly charged.

Our title heroine, Jelena (played with great devotion by iconic Serbian actress Mirjana Karanović), lives the daily life of depression. Her daily routine is mundane and empty, her flat in drab residential blocks of New Belgrade suburb is messy. She lives with her elderly mother-in-law (a wonderful, for the most of the time silent performance by the legend of Serbian cinema and theatre Mira Banjac) and her two daughters, grade-school age foul-mouth Koviljka (newcomer Danica Nedeljković) and twenty-something over-worked Ana (Jovana Gavrilović). Ana’s boyfriend Milanče (Vučić Perović) might not live there, but he is never too far away, especially when there is work that needs to be done.

Jelena was widowed almost a year ago and has no real reason to live. So she wants to make a statement with killing herself on her husband’s death anniversary. But before that, she needs to wrap up some ordinary things: to get her name carved next to her husband’s on their gravestone, to try to take out her life insurance money and to validate her health insurance (there is a reason for that, don’t worry), for which she needs some kind of paper from the company she worked for until recently. And since we are in Serbia, that kind of bureaucratic nonsense can get very tricky, absurd and even crazy.

Aside of actors, the strongest feature of Vuletić’s film is cinematography by Jelena Stanković. The pallette consisting mainly of muddy brownish-gray colours may be a bit expected in this kind of film, but the real power is in static master shots, beautifully composed and perfectly simmetrical. When the camera finally gets to move, usually in our heroine’s nighmarish daydreams, it speaks volumes, being at the same time poetic and making a strong statement.

Still, Requiem for Mrs J is an interesting piece of cinema, but not a perfect one. The first change of tone, from kitchen-sink drama to Kafka-esque style absurdist tragi-comedy was done perfectly, but Vuletić doesn’t want to end on that note. So he shifts the tone again in the final act, which leads to the ending that doesn’t quite work, but still has its charm in some details. Additional problem is Vuletić’s writing with occasional long lines of text, that is all fine and dandy when they are delivered by experienced actors like Boris Isaković and Srđan “Žika” Todorović who both have their small supporting parts, but they prove to be a problem for Jovana Gavrilović who over-acts the hell of the scene that should be the emotional center of the film.

Nevertheless, Requiem for Mrs J is a good film, and quite effective parable on everyday life in Serbia painted by poverty, disillusion and overwhelming bureaucracy. Even suicide does not seem like an easy way out. It might not even be possible.

Dobra žena / A Good Wife

kritika originalno objavljena  na Monitoru

2016.

režija: Mirjana Karanović

scenario: Mirjana Karanović, Darko Lungulov, Stevan Filipović

uloge: Mirjana Karanović, Boris Isaković, Jasna Đuričić, Bojan Navojec, Hristina Popović, Vlado Kerošević, Ksenija Marinković, Isidora Simijonović, Jovan Belobrković, Ermin Bravo

Srednje-krupni plan. Grudi i lice u ogledalu. Sredovečna žena, gola. Oblači svečanu haljinu. Ide sa mužem na slavu kod prijatelja. Atmosfera standardna, tu je i pop za sofrom. Žamor. Muškarci verovatno pričaju o poslovima i bistre politiku. Žene razmenjuju recepte. Ona učestvuje u tome. Ona je dobra žena. I majka. I domaćica. Ono nemo prisustvo u kući koje se stara da sve uvek bude u redu. Čak i kad ne može. Čak i kad ne treba. Čak i kad nije.

Ona je Milena (Karanović) i otkriva da boluje od raka na dojci. Odlazi da čisti kuću, dok još može. Pronalazi kasetu, neobeleženu. Početak trake je klasični “home video”, sa njom i mužem joj Vladom (Isaković). Rez i sneg. Vlada u uniformi i akciji. Znamo šta u Srbiji znači kaseta. Znamo i šta znači ona prostačko-morbidna pseudo-humorna replika. Znamo da se završava sa metkom u leđa maloletnika.

Pitanje koju Milenu muči je šta sa tim raditi. Sa jedne strane, to je Vlada, njen Vlada, njen muž i zaštitnik, čovek koji joj je omogućio udoban život u predgrađu. Sa druge strane, on je pobio ljude. Kao ni rak, ni to se ne može više sakrivati. Starija kćerka (Popović) se već odvojila od familije, aktivna je u NGO sektoru i na ratnoj nozi sa ocem. Dvoje mlađe dece (Simijonović, Belobrković) su u svom filmu, o ratnoj prošlosti svoga oca ili ne znaju ili prema tome nemaju nikakav odnos. Slična stvar je i sa majčinom bolešću, jednostavno nikad “nije prilika” da im kaže. Kao ni krugu prijatelja, uglavnom Vladinih saboraca i njihovih žena, od kojih se neki “lome” usled najnovije istrage pred domaćim i međunarodnim sudstvom...

Sastojci su, dakle, poznati, od ljudi koji su u različitim razvojnim fazama radili na filmu, preko “castinga” regionalnih glumaca za očekivane uloge koje im leže, do tema kojih se film dotiče. Te teme su složene u upeglani, ali ipak pomalo “teškorukaški” scenario u kojem nije teško naći poneki propust ili opšte mesto. Oni su najčešće logičke prirode i tiču se motivacije likova, od toga kako ona nalazi kasetu (jedina je u ladici u brižljivo čišćenoj kući, a bilo bi bolje da ih je možda više i da sporni materijal nije baš na prvoj), do toga da li je znala za Vladine ratne aktivnosti (i ako nije, kako nije). Mislim, ona svog muža poznaje, zna kako se “svađa s televizorom” (srpski nacionalni sport), kako je šalje po pivo, kako njih dvoje vode ljubav (nimalo erotično).

  Ako je znala, kako joj to nije smetalo? Kako racionalizacije tipa: “Pa on je ipak dobar čovek”, “Pa on se ipak brine za mene”, “Pa on je otac moje dece”, “Pa on je samo branio svoju zemlju / svoj narod” u jednom trenutku jednostavno prestaju da drže? Lako za poslednji korak preko ruba, motivacija za njega je čak i pomalo blatantna, mene više zanima inicijalna kapisla otkazivanja poslušnosti uhodanom sistemu vrednosti.

Mirjana Karanović, Darko Lungulov i Stevan Filipović se tu relativno vešto izvlače na bolest, Boga i istinu (odnosno mogući odlazak Bogu na istinu) i to je ono što drži scenario na okupu. Pozitivno iznenađenje je i odsustvo patetike u tretiranju raka. Međutim, ono što Dobru ženu čini potrebnim i svežim filmom je nešto sasvim drugo: ženska perspektiva na patrijarhalno društvo i zločine koji mu stoje na savesti. O patrijarhatu se u Srbiji ne govori, on se nekako podrazumeva i Mirjana Karanović ga u svom filmu ruši, ali od toga ne pravi pamflet, već to predstavlja kao intimnu borbu pojedinca, odnosno pojedinke.

Ona je dobro poznata u Srbiji i regionu i kao glumica sposobna da porine u dubine ljudskih emocija, ali i po svojim doslednim i javno izrečenim stavovima. Dok je neki smatraju glasnogovornicom “Druge Srbije”, one koja ne negira zločine nego insistira na suočavanju, i stoga potencijalno neugodnom pojavom na javnoj sceni, drugi će u njenim stavovima pronaći meru normalnosti i ljudskosti.

  U filmu je prisutna u oba ta pojavna oblika, kao glumica čak u svakoj sceni, savršeno odmerena i za uslove srpskog filma atipično utišana, a kao javna ličnost sa poznatim stavovima kao pisac, kroz ideju i kroz scenario. Nažalost, na čisto filmski najzanimljivijem planu, njene debitantske režije, nje, odnosno njenog ličnog pečata nema toliko. Prvo, teško je režirati samog sebe iz scene u scenu, naročito debitantu bez prethodnih pretenzija da ima kompletnu autorsku kontrolu. Drugo, njena znanja i ideje o režiji su limitirane, kao i ambicije da se time dalje bavi. Mirjana Karanović zato ispravno delegira autoritet na svoje ko-scenariste i pomoćnike, obojicu reditelje sa iskustvom i to u konačnici nije loše, ali nije ni sjajno. Dobra žena je školski solidno režiran film, ali se oseća da ne pripada onima koji su obavili gro operativnog posla, niti se oseća elan njegove autorice da i na tom polju pokaže nešto novo.

Iako nije impozantan i maestralan, Dobra žena je sasvim solidan film čija društvena vrednost prevazilazi čisto filmsku. Namećući i obrađujući teme o kojima se nije govorilo, ili se makar nije govorilo na taj način, film je zapravo pametan, potreban, uz malo sreće može biti i lekovit, mada oni kojima treba lečenje u principu ne gledaju filmove. Zato se jedino možemo fokusirati na poslednju scenu, na operacioni sto, blještava svetla, anesteziju... Laku noć i srećno. Možda posle operacije bude bolje.