El Shatt in Egypt, in the middle of the desert, was both a haven and a projection. This is where in 1944, based on a deal between the Yugoslavian partisans led by Tito and the British allies, not only a refugee camp for the families of anti-fascist fighters from Dalmatia was built. This is where a model was created for the future Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia – a state that was to build its founding narrative on the people’s liberation fight against fascism and declare collectively organised self-administration its social ideal.
Director Ivan Ramljak offers us multifaceted insights into this long-forgotten piece of primordial communist history spelled out in reality. After painstaking research, he combines hundreds of historical photographs and some (few) film recordings of interviews with contemporary witnesses. The lively voices of those who were children back then and are over 80 today tell their stories offscreen: of the struggle for survival, solidarity and lived ideology, in short, of a daily life that included self-organised schools, workshops, canteen kitchens, even a newspaper. Ramljak, tongue firmly in cheek, takes up the thread of history and juxtaposes his skilfully arranged archive material with staged scenes played by the ensemble of a theatre that was founded in El Shatt at the time.
A film about men and games, somewhere in the Mediterranean, directed by a Slovenian master of the playful, somewhere between speculative and pseudo-documentary form. Oily bodies in a wrestling match, hooking fingers, a wheel of cheese rolled through a village – all these are archaic occupations of the utmost importance. The filmmaker meticulously captures the events until he is overcome by a major creative block. From now on, he will experience his surroundings as part of the game. Childhood memories and the footage of the unfinished film project merge seamlessly into an ode to the absurdity of the gesture.
András and his daughter Zsófia enjoy a relaxed Sunday in their stately city mansion, just before the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. But soon the silence in the house is disturbed by an escaped pig, closely followed by an unexpected visit: András’ brother, his large family and lots of luggage barge in through the front door. Running children and garrulous relatives bring noise and bedlam to all floors. Art objects are handled without permission, furniture is moved, objects fall to the ground. The visitors have brought chaos. Zsófia’s father and the maid try in vain to restore calm and order. Though András and his brother get closer to each other, the old house is not up to the changed circumstances. A leaking water pipe heralds a finale that at least makes them all stand still together.
Two women take the ferry to an island cemetery to tend to a gravesite. With the utmost care and perseverance, they remove moss and candle wax from the stone, wash and scrub every chink, trim flower arrangements and set up lights that flash in different colours at night.
It is a work of mourning under special circumstances, as Sara Jurinčić makes plain in an early shot: She edits two picture galleries next to each other, one of male, the other of female portraits. The men suddenly vanish from their photos and thus from the island. The faces of the women remain. And it is these portraits, motifs chosen by themselves for their gravestones, that dominate the film, give a face to its experimental explorations of female genealogy. Jurinčić wraps them in visual metaphors of extraordinary intricacy, sometimes literally as in the spectacular finale, when the portraits of the dead women are superimposed on the faces of the living women – with an eerie effect that is as disturbing as it is sublime.
“Y” sensually draws the progress of a same-sex relationship from playful beginning to turbulent end. Charcoal strokes become the language in which the filmmaker tells us of the process of growing closer to and away from each other, of intimacy and estrangement. A shared chapter of life is sketched, corrected and discarded.
But the line also explores the female body. The tip of the charcoal wanders through curves, hills and valleys, circling soft flanks like a finger and gently stroking breasts and hips. In the darkness of the cinema, the eye is free to glide along the emerging and disappearing shapes. We become part of an erotic triangle and are given an intimate insight into the protean psychological and physical aspects of this partnership.
