Greg de Cuir, Jr is no stranger to the ex-Yugoslavian concept of “cinema by other means.” And when he wrote about this Belgrade exhibition based on the eponymous book by Pavle Levi, some three years ago, Greg pondered over the idea of a “festival by other means.” It seems like he came close to this fantasy, with his first visit to Sarajevo Film Festival, so he delivered a “report by other means” to rhyme with the experience. Fancy a way-out promenade through one of the most enigmatic cities and one of the most symbolic film events on the Balkans?
If it was one, this festival report might begin with a brief recounting of the legendary history of the Sarajevo Film Festival, and how it was born under fire in the midst of the Yugoslav wars in the 1990s. Or, this report might offer a slightly more distant history lesson with the oft-cited contextualization of Sarajevo as the jump-off point for the First World War, maybe even linking this event on a continuum of international conflicts in the 20th century. However, Sarajevo is much more than a perennial theatre of combat.
In writing this hypothetical report I might mention that I had never visited the Sarajevo Film Festival before, perhaps reciting some second-hand anecdotes or a list of expectations I might have had. Though I would probably elide the fact that I had visited Sarajevo once before, for decidedly non-cinematic reasons, as that would somehow not fit the standard narrative of the intrepid newcomer, treading cautiously into what Danis Tanović might call “no man’s land”. Surely, this hypothetical report would mention Tanović at least once, and Emir Kusturica, as the city’s most prominent cineaste sons. Unfortunately, this report might not mention Aida Begić, because I have not actually seen her films (and maybe here I would insert a note on patriarchy and the very topical concern of female representation in festival selections). This report would also probably not cite the rich lineage of Yugoslav film artists that were connected to the city by birth or some other intimate tie, figures like Bahrudin (Bato) Čengić or Nikola Stojanović. That would make for an interesting critical study, perhaps even a way to avoid clichéd superficiality in such a report.
Maybe I would frame the report as a travelogue, analyzing the curious architecture of the city or detailing various walking tours off the beaten path. Surely that means I would speak of the city in admirable terms, digging deep within myself to appreciate and transmit its unfamiliar charms, maybe in a slightly possessive, yet unintentional, Orientalist manner. I would not have to dig deep to appreciate the city’s ćevapi, burek, or kafa, but writing about food would be an even bigger lark than writing about tourism, at least in the context of the art of cinema. Maybe not in the context of film festival organization and culture, which should not be assumed to be in the service of art at all times. But now this hypothetical report is already becoming a bit too cynical.
After any number or combination of these potential diversionary prefaces, I would probably get around to writing about certain films. Maybe I would organize this into an assessment of the festival’s various program strands. In this case, I would have to dig very deep indeed in order to express something that could not reasonably be said about any number of other festivals, whether in the region or outside of it. Then I would have to ask myself some hard questions about my own festival curatorial practice, eventually coming to terms with Walter Sickert’s notion that a player can also be an umpire, but hardly in the same game. I might be forced to contemplate what it means to write about a certain film in a certain setting, particularly if that film makes the rounds on the circuit. Maybe the value of such a potential report would be in writing about films that do not travel so often. But doing that might cut me off from larger critical debates about films that most cinephiles and critics have seen or eventually will see. Then I would need to ask who I am serving with such a report: myself, my colleagues, my readers, my publisher, the festival, the filmmakers, the distributors, etc.
Somehow, I would probably have to try to capture the spirit of the festival, its animating force. This might make for a good closing passage. Or, I could employ a “cold closing,” and fade off into the distance while contemplating a specific film that might not have any consequential tie to the festival itself beyond the fact of its selection. Surely, any such conclusion would make an implicit or explicit statement of my views about film art in general.
This is not a festival report. Maybe because, in Sarajevo, I was struck with the impression that films, even the infrastructure that surrounds them, may not be the most important things at any given festival. Or, to paraphrase the great Yugoslav film critic Slobodan Novaković, maybe the first film festival without films is necessary. I would eagerly welcome such a festival – and perhaps then my report would be different.
If you are a film industry professional, you can watch films from Sarajevo Film Festival on Festival Scope.
Another exhibition, this time – on the other side of Europe. Credits: Greg de Cuir, Jr
On display at the Museum of Contemporary Art Belgrade, the exhibit Cinema by Other Means, curated by Dejan Sretenović and adapted from the book of the same name, written by the film theoretician Pavle Levi. Cinema by Other Means is a radical refusal of the traditional mode of cinematic expression, sometimes born from a desire to participate in the process of filmmaking without the technical or financial resources, sometimes an avant-garde attempt to undercut or even destroy the very basis of the medium.
The curator in front of the museum. The artist line-up. Abstract traces in Man Ray’s RETURN TO REASON / LE RETOUR À LA RAISON (1923). Bag Film (1974) composed by Slobodan Šijan, executed on a shipping envelope for film stock. Tomislav Gotovac standing in front of an empty screen, offering his body as a projection. My favorite piece, The Frenzied Marble (1930) by Aleksandar Vučo and Dušan Matić, which defies explanation.
Does a film need to be exposed? Does a film need to be projected? Does a film need to be made of film strips? Does a film need to have a picture? Does a film need to have a story? Does a film need to exist to be a film? These are the questions asked by Milčo Mančevski in his piece 1,74 (1984). In the ensuing years some of these questions have already been answered. I will only add the following: does a film festival need to have films? I eagerly await the arrival of a festival by other means.
