The Hip-Hop Years exposes this scene and does a good job of narrating its history from modest beginnings to industry album publishing to performances in front of thousands. Hip-hop artists run the gamut in Slovenia. There are hardcore gangsta-style acts like Thug Connect, personable lyricists like Klemen Klemen, and offbeat, witty specimens like Ali En. These artists, and others like them, rap with passion and take pride in representing their cities. Judging from the musical samples that are provided in the documentary, it seems apparent that there is genuine talent in the country. One can feel it.

This sort of expository narrative on the history of hip-hop in a particular country helps one to learn about the international nature of hip-hop culture and how it merges with local specificities. If only someone would embark on a multi-part documentary series examining the history of international hip-hop from Europe to Africa to Asia and everywhere else.  I would look forward to seeing similar documentaries from many countries around the world, in contributing to the global narrative of hip-hop, and would hope that all of them are as well-made as Petkovic’s film.

www.beldocs.rs

There is a lot of seemingly rare and revelatory archival footage shot by the skaters themselves which shows them leading a hedonistic lifestyle.  It is almost as if they predict the codes of reality television with their narrative decoupage (combined with the strategic editing of the filmmakers).  The focus turns to one skater in particular, “Panic”, who becomes something of the rebellious hero of the group and the mysterious protagonist of the film.  Most of the interviews revolve around recalling his unique personality.  It soon becomes apparent that the film is a requiem, as by the conclusion it is revealed that Panic joined the army and died in Afghanistan.

This Ain’t California had some genuine emotional moments and was somewhat touching in its deployment of a universal tale of lost youth.  It must also be said that it was interesting to learn about skateboarding subculture and its particular history in East Germany.  Beyond that the film was a stylistic bore, also predictable on the level of recounting the drab depression and repression of life behind the iron curtain.

Somewhat related to this was the film In Search of the Belgrade Underground by Muriel Buzarra, which was also a descendant of the MTV style and also about youth subculture amid a repressive regime.  In this case the subculture is alternative culture in general (music, graphic arts, performance, etc.), the era is the 1990s, and the antagonist is Slobodan Milosevic and a  right-leaning nationalist Serbia.  It would be difficult to call this anything other than a bad film, yet somehow it mimics the DIY aesthetic of the alternative amateur culture it highlights — which doesn’t necessarily make the film any better, proving that form mirroring content is not always a guarantee of success, as Dziga Vertov claimed.

Buzarra’s film starts out as a road trip of sorts in which a foreigner attempts to investigate the existence of a true underground culture in Belgrade.  It then clumsily shifts into a series of rather stagnant interviews about alternative culture in the 1990s, combined with footage of these various artists in their milieu.  Like Persiel’s film, we learn a lot about the history of Belgrade subculture — though rarely through archival footage.  It would have been interesting to examine some of these sights and sounds rather than learning only through recollection

If the film was slightly interesting, in part, it is because people talk about the 1990s like it is the 1960s.  I mean that in both senses: as if it was so long ago that it belongs to a different world, or a different country, as a wise man once said about the past; also, as if the decade of 1990 represented the same principles for its generation as that of the 1960s for a prior one.  The 1990s are quickly becoming mystified in Serbian culture, as a maturing generation looks back nostalgically (for the most part) on their coming of age.  It doesn’t seem so long ago but then again, this is also my generation, and this is the deceptive and seamless flow of life.  As the old Chinese proverb goes: “May you live in uninteresting times.”  I realize now that they mean not only to insure a peaceful existence but also to enjoy a languid one.

www.beldocs.rs

Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Herzog’s film was exhibited in 3D and it looked absolutely beautiful — regardless of the fact that it was projected in the wrong aspect ratio. We can chalk that up to one more missed opportunity at Beldocs, though the 3D glasses worked well and the effect of relief on screen combined with the high definition images made for a truly tactile experience.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams documents Herzog’s guided exploration of a cavern recently discovered to contain the oldest frescoes known to man, dating back to the pre-historic period. As we explore the cave along with Herzog, sliding through its deep crevices and in-between its spiked stalagmites and stalactites, one realizes the worth of the 3D format. This film presents as otherworldly an experience as James Cameron’s Avatar with more lasting emotion and a meaningful human connection. I eagerly await another opportunity to watch a nature-based documentary in this format, perhaps even in IMAX.

Herzog’s loopy voice-over sometimes gets in the way of allowing the visual experience to wash over you but supposing the film went without it, we would likely have a nondescript television documentary for National Geographic or the Discovery Channel. That might not be such a bad thing, because the content of the documentary is truly awe-inspiring and needs nothing of aesthetic dressing up. Should one not be able to say this about all documentaries?

www.beldocs.rs

Mladen Vusurovic is the festival director, though no information can be found on him on the festival website. For the moment he can remain a mystery man. The selection committee is comprised of: Miroljub Stojanovic, film critic and editor of the publishing section for Film Center Serbia; Vladimir Perovic, a film director whose Ordinary People made an impression at the Auteur Film Festival in Belgrade in 2009; and Boris Mitic, film director. The team has put together a diverse program that contains everything from world-class names (Werner Herzog) to a Palestine-Israel-France-Holland co-production.

The press screening for Marina Abramovic: The Artist is Present by Matthew Akers was fairly well-attended. I expected a larger crowd, given that the artist is from Belgrade and the audience was likely filled by collaborators and comrades. It remains to be seen if there will be a large amount of local interest for this docu-portrait on Abramovic. The film will play as the closing night gala of the festival.

Akers has made a  riveting portrait of the artist at work, with a majority of the film focusing on the major retrospective at MOMA for Abramovic, including her preparations for a demanding performance piece in the gallery itself that lasted for three months. The Artist is Present is the name of the performance piece just as it is the name of the retrospective. It consists of Abramovic sitting at a chair behind a table for an entire day, silent and motionless — day in and day out, month after month. Museum visitors are free to wait in line for a chance to sit in front of her and gaze into her eyes, also silent and motionless. This proves to be a moving experience as many are brought to tears, including the artist herself. The idea is produced that Abramovic serves as a mirror, or better yet a blank slate.

The documentary flows easily and never gets repetitive, though the extended climax is something of an un-cinematic subject (but not if one discounts the Kuleshovian structure at the heart of the performance piece). Unfortunately, there are gaps in Akers’s chronicling of the history of Abramovic as an artist. First, related to the relatively un-cinematic subject of her latest performance piece, there is the video art that Abramovic made that is passed over. Second, the Belgrade phase of her career was left untouched. However, the truth is that these gaps can be forgiven because the film still serves an an excellent primer on Abramovic’s career for the uninitiated.

In fact, the film makes you want to learn more about Abramovic, as both a person and an artist. She truly is a seductive figure, as described by numerous people. With the MOMA retrospective plus this excellent documentary film there appears to be a renaissance brewing for Abramovic and the international attention surrounding her. Her physically-demanding performance art has taken her all over the world and as a beautiful young-looking 60-something, full of energy and still capable of pushing herself to her limits, she may just now be getting her second wind — which is an amazing prospect.

www.beldocs.rs

Clip (2012) by Maja Milos

The new film Clip by Maja Milos continues on in the spirit of recent Serbian cinema that dwells in explicit sexuality mixed with explicit violence. The film tells the tale of a teenage girl named Jasna (Isidora Simijonovic) who spends her time shooting video clips of herself in sexually suggestive poses when she is not engaging in wild sex or drinking and drugging herself into a stupor. The picture painted is of youths gone astray in contemporary Serbia. Nothing quite new either thematically or stylistically but once again, the film becomes interesting for continuing the trend of hardcore sex in mainstream Serbian cinema.

The extent of the hardcore sex is conspicuous in trying to push boundaries not to shock but rather it seems to render such acts mundane. With all of its full frontal nudity, tangible ejaculations, and fetish games the film seems made for an audience that is accustomed to pornographic content, or perhaps to introduce an audience to such content housed in the haven of art cinema. Indeed the children in the film play act as porno stars and seem awfully advanced in their sexuality for their age. Is this because the director wills it so or because young kids really do express themselves in extreme sexual manners as a regular way of life? To ask that question is something of a red herring because it would assign an objective to the film, which we should not take for granted that it has.

Clip won the Tiger Award at the Rotterdam International Film Festival, given to work by promising young directors with promising young films. Of course, if we want to be political about it, one must question the choice of this award if only to ascertain whether the brutal depictions of life in Serbia cater to stereotypes and soothe foreign preconceptions about the barbaric Balkans rather than challenge them. To be fair the film is very well-made with crisp and sumptuous digital cinematography — all the better to render the semen shots in glorious detail. The performances by the entire young cast are first rate and rendered in such a visceral and mimetic manner that a disclaimer runs before the closing credits stating that no young people were involved in any sexual activities. Truth be told a concern about this ran through my head while watching the film, which would confirm the gritty sexual realism that Clip traffics in. Shall we celebrate the director for suspending our disbelief so seamlessly? For “telling the truth” about Serbian youth in such a naked manner? For winning an award at a major festival?

And what to make of that final shot? Jasna’s boyfriend, in a fit of jealous rage, punches her in the mouth in the middle of a house party, sending her to the ground a bloody mess. She hops up and attacks him, he turns around and grabs her, and they share a passionate kiss smeared red with blood. The end. Clearly we know where the young people in The Life and Death of a Porno Gang came from, and how they grew into adults in A Serbian Film. I would like to call Clip a prequel and to celebrate the director for taking part in a macabre incidental trilogy of sorts with her fellow filmmakers Srdjan Spasojevic and Mladen Djordjevic  in investigating the sexual politics that plague modern life in Serbia.

The only competition section in the festival is Europe out of Europe, which highlights films from European countries that are not part of the European Union.  The Europe out of Europe jury awarded the main prize to the Russian film Bedouin by Igor Voloshin.  The story about a Ukrainian woman acting as a surrogate mother to afford money for her daughter’s cancer operation wallows too much in a typical post-socialist miserabilism.  Of course she falls in with criminals in Russia and things spiral downwards.  The film is well-made but seems washed-out, hollow of any redemptive qualities.

The Europe out of Europe jury awarded a special mention to the Croatian film Spots by Aldo Tardozzi, which seemed an excellent choice to this reviewer.  Similar to a Croatian Something Wild featuring teenage girls, Tardozzi’s debut feature has heart and soul.  The two girls (played by Iskra Jirsak and Nika Miskovic) go on a mischievous crime spree through the city of Zagreb after one of them is raped by her boyfriend.  She loses her virginity in this backseat sexual encounter but is really deflowered by her wild new friend who shows her how to live for the present moment, free of fear.  Of course catastrophe waits for the two girls in this fairly routine scenario but still the film is populated with those simple moments of joyful liberation that life and all good films should share alike.  The future of Croatian cinema is in good hands with new young directors like Tardozzi.

Overall this year’s 40th anniversary edition of the Belgrade FEST seemed a bit weaker as far as programming goes.  Many of the films, often by directors with either only one or two films under their belts, felt like measured choices and revelations were few and far between.  Among the few genuinely pleasant screening experiences included the Montenegrin film Local Vampire by veteran director Branko Baletic, a comedic romp about an almost undead young man with trademark Balkan-style exaggeration.  Hopefully the next edition of the Belgrade FEST will see more adventure and structure in the curating of the selection.  Here’s to 40 more years of Serbia’s biggest and brightest film festival.

Waltz and Winslet were surprisingly good as a comedic pair, though Foster and Reilly left something to be desired.  The type of premise in this film is very predictable and all of the jokes are telegraphed with simplicity.  It is a stage drama in essence and the film really does not try to be more than that.  Polanski phoned this one in, which should be unacceptable for a visionary director such as he is.

The conspiracy theory documentary Unlawful Killing by Keith Allen feels like it belongs on television more than it does on movie screens.  Allen plays the role of the crusading journalist with a Michael Moore-ish sense of ironic humor on his quest to ascertain the truth about the death of Princess Diana.  In films such as these the lighthearted and jokey approach does nothing to advance the gravity of the charges claimed.  So the film shoots itself in the foot, or maybe it isn’t at all about convincing us to believe that the Royal Family along with the help of MI6 killed Princess Diana as part of an international conspiracy that also involved France and the United States.

Unlawful Killing features dramatic reenactments of journalists gathered to watch the inquest on closed circuit television, which is then interspersed with shoddy-looking interviews with various doubters and critics.  The reenactment of the inquest itself is shot in a high-contrast lighting scheme that makes it seem as if we are watching a film noir, or some sort of expressionist nightmare.  The whole thing is very disjointed and the less said about this documentary the better.  Though hopefully Allen will be able to sell it to The History Channel or National Geographic, as it should fit in perfect with their overall programming strategy.

Sean Penn  is absolutely wasted in the film, which is a crime in and of itself.  He does little more than wander around and stare at the skyscrapers that dwarf him, running his fingers through blades of grass, looking either forlorn or inquisitive.  Brad Pitt does a great job as a harsh father figure and the child actors all perform beautifully in the film.  Of course, the centerpiece of the film is a visual rendering of not just the formation of the Earth but the very first sparks of existence of the universe too.  I don’t believe this has already become de rigueur but here it seems that The Tree of Life deserves comparison with Kubrick’s 2001.

Both films would seem to narrate the life cycle of the Earth and man himself.  One is naturalistic and the other the opposite.  Both are supreme ambitions from directors with elevated reputations.  2001 exhibits more formal control but is every bit as experimental as The Tree of Life, perhaps even more so.  And for all the beauty of Malick’s show-stopping creational montage it still can’t compare to the lucidity and power of the most famous cut in film history from 2001, which boils Malick’s entire complex montage down to one outwardly simple yet deeply transformative moment.

Obviously I prefer 2001 but the comparisons should end now.  It seems that Malick tries too hard to capture poetry and then to force feed it down the viewer’s throat.  The film smacks of effort and flails all over the place.  It is not a failure, but I would also argue it is not the great game-changing film it so clearly aspires to be.

Drive by Nicolas Winding Refn is absolutely brilliant.  True B-film expression in the classical mode.  This film was well-deserving of the Director’s Prize at Cannes.  It has a concise and effortless feel, the choice of music seems to hit exactly the right note, it is well-acted with a panorama of great faces and personalities, and the story is entertaining from start to finish.

To be fair the scenario is also full of cliches from start to finish.  But in Drive it is all about the execution, just like Ryan Gosling’s title character who must survive based on his method, his execution of a craft that he is able to elevate into an art form.  Therefore this film is a great metaphor of the directing process and the joys inherent in good genre cinema.  It also proves the theorem that in order to transcend genre you must stick to its rules.

Gosling outdrives his pursuers with cunning and sheer talent.  Rarely does he outperform them with raw speed.  Rarely does he bowl them over with brute force .  Rarely does he outmaneuver them with flashy tricks.  One can say the same of Refn and his film.  It is unassuming and efficient, like the first getaway car the driver uses, full of potential under the hood and more than meets the eye in sum total.

As an example of Los Angeles neo-noir the film does not feel of its apparent time.  It should be from a lost era but is also a relic that takes place in that effervescent alternative LA that exists in our collective cinematic imaginations.  This is why the driver works as a stunt car driver, because this is the setting he belongs in — the movies.  As the closing song implies he exists as a hero, a real stand-up guy.  Not because he leaves behind a million dollars that do not belong to him (and that he knows will only bring him more trouble), not because he risks everything to protect a mother and son, also the prison convict father who he barely knows, not because he only hurts those who deserve to be hurt.  Because the driver drives, we watch, and no more need be said.

The second of the notable press conferences was one of the highlights of the day, in which special festival guest Peter Bogdanovich took the podium direct from a New York flight.  Bogdanovich is something of a hometown hero here as his ethnic heritage is Serbian, his family originally coming from a small town in Serbia called Ruma.  He spoke of being proud of his roots and also reminisced on his time at the Belgrade FEST in the mid-70s.

Jiri Menzel and Peter Bogdanovich

Though visibly tired and jet lagged Bogdanovich tackled a number of diverse questions, speaking about everything from the history of his career to his working methods.  He revealed that he is in pre-production on a new comedy film called Squirrels to the Nut, which would mark his first feature since The Cat’s Meow in 2001.  On the subject of online film criticism Bogdanovich noted that he is awed by its breadth and quality.  He also mentioned that one of his favorite pieces of online criticism written about him is now being turned into a book.  Regarding his blog Blogdanovich (http://blogs.indiewire.com/peterbogdanovich/) he mentioned that he uses it to keep his critical voice in the public space and he will continue to write about classic films on it.

In the evening I was able to view the new documentary essay film by the accomplished veteran of Yugoslav cinema Purisa Djordjevic, called I’m Afraid He Understands Everything.  The focus is Jiri Menzel and an opera he directed at the National Theater in Belgrade.  The documentary suffers a bit from depicting extensive segments of the actual performance but otherwise lavishes us with Djordjevic’s witty and warm personality and cinematic signature.

It seems that Djordjevic and Menzel share a creative spirit and certainly also a sharp sense of humor.  Truth be told, they look a bit alike and even share some of the same mannerisms.  In his press conference Menzel mentioned that he has been friends with Djordjevic for many years.  Though history has shone on Menzel to a greater extent, no doubt in part because he has won both an Academy Award and a Golden Bear, Djordjevic exists as the forgotten man of Yugoslav cinema regardless of his many awards and the fact that his career has stretched from the 60s to the present day.  It’s not so easy to place Djordjevic in a rigid category and he is constantly working and constantly evolving, which is what likely frustrates critics and historians from properly annotating his importance to the history of Yugoslav and East European cinema in general.  At 88 years old and still going strong, we can salute Djordjevic along with the festival that is his junior.