I get creeps every time I hear a split on Serbs and Muslims. Being a Serb is a national affiliation, being a Muslim is a religious affiliation. It's as if we divided cars into German and sports, or movies into comedies and black and white. The tragedy of this area is ironic and I do not know what these people have sinned so much to deserve such karma. Demos divided into three religions, imbued and poisoned with religious hatred, brainwashed to slaughter each other again and again. It would be funny to me if I didn't belong to that folk. As if we have fallen out of some morbid joke. If we neglect the production and flaws of the domestic film that we learned to ignore, we are left with a story that perfectly and painfully portrays all the irony and all the meaninglessness of the Balkan wars. For most of the movie I felt disgust and shame, and in the scene where Halil crossed on his knees over the ruins of the church, I've shed a tear. I think it's one of the most powerful scenes in domestic cinematography. Draskovic wrote this novel in 1982, and with all my heart I would like to believe that the bullcrap of the 1990s would not happen if everyone had read it then. But I don't.
8/10
8/10