09/03/2021 - BERLINALE 2021: Serbian director Milica Tomović's feature debut connects her own generation to that of her parents in a story that reflects society's downfall

Marijana (Dubravka Kovjanić) wakes up while her husband (Stefan Trifunović) is in the shower, and starts masturbating. The man comes out of the bathroom and carefully tiptoes out of the room as she is moaning under the sheets.

Their home is in the Belgrade suburb of Borča, neither an urban centre nor a truly rural area, representing one of many half-identities that Serbian filmmaker Milica Tomović's first feature, Celts [+see also:
trailer
interview: Milica Tomovic
film profile], which world-premiered in the Berlinale's Panorama section, deals with. The year is 1993, and Serbia is leading wars in Croatia and Bosnia while its inflation-ridden society is ruled by ruthless politicians and criminal gangs.

Marijana, together with her mother-in-law, is preparing sandwiches for the birthday party of her eight-year-old daughter, Minja (Katarina Dimić), a huge Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fan. While the kid happily puts on her home-made Raphael costume, her rebellious teenage sister Tamara (Anja Đorđević) is shut up in her room, blasting punk music. Dad, who drives a taxi to support the three-generation family, heads off to the neighbours' to borrow a dog for the kids to play with.

As evening falls, it is not only Minja's little friends who come to celebrate, but also an assortment of her parents' buddies and relatives. Marijana's doctor brother (Nikola Rakočević) brings whiskey, Dad's brother Goran (Jovan Belobrković) brings a case of beer, as well as a fresh anarcho-punk ideology and hairstyle. Zaga (Nada Šargin) brings her new girlfriend (Jovana Gavrilović), mostly in order to make her ex (Jelena Djokić) jealous.

It is a messy party, full of heated discussions and hidden passions that easily bubble up to the surface, and this makes Marijana feel increasingly detached. She has heard all this talk before, and the drunken atmosphere just serves to isolate her further. At one point, she simply leaves the party, and it takes a while until the others register her absence.

This is a film about a woman who wants more than some morning masturbation and margarine-and-pickle sandwiches, about a girl who just wants her friends to admire her Raphael costume, about a shy boy who burns his trousers on a bathroom heater in an attempt to remove a stain, and about a husband who feels emasculated by his wife cutting her hair short.

But it is also the story of the director's generation – Minja could be a stand-in for Tomović, who was born in 1986 – who are now parents themselves and who live in a Serbia still ruled by the same people and structures that destroyed countries and murdered thousands in the 1990s, and which are now whitewashing themselves with ostensibly "pro-European" views. Have we learned anything? Hardly, judging by the Serbia of today – but there is a generation of filmmakers, including Tomović and the likes of Ognjen Glavonić and Marta Popivoda, who ask uncomfortable questions, lest we forget the recent past as today's government wants us to, with the imperative that we must do better than our parents, who missed their opportunity.

The story develops in an admirably organic way, much like the chaotic party itself. DoP Dalibor Tonković, set designer Marija Mitrić, composer Ana Djurović and editor Jelena Maksimović create a fully fledged world in which nostalgia is largely replaced with bitterness, a whirlwind of conflicts, romances, resentments and envy, but also of genuine human connection, even generosity. Casting less prominent actors in the lead roles and camouflaging the famous ones in meticulous period detail, Tomović makes the viewer question their own perception and memory, resulting in a film that feels like a stone in your shoe.

Celts was produced by Belgrade-based EED// Productions, and Germany's m-appeal has the international rights.