There are two popular theories about the etymology of Prvić, a Croatian island in the Šibenik archipelago. The first theory relates to its closest proximity to the mainland in the archipelago: “prvi” means “first” in Serbo-Croatian. The second, and much more fun, theory relates to a name for an old Croatian god of spring, Prvić or Prvina. (At least, these are what the tourism sites claim.) The island is as close to a utopia as the pure natural features of an island can get. The red and white residential architecture of Croatian seaside homes is expectedly reminiscent of the buildings of Dubrovnik, the Southern Croatian city used for King’s Landing in HBO’s Game of Thrones. The strong summer blue of the ocean strikes against the white walls and red roofs. In the 20th century, the island earned itself a long and proud anti-fascist streak, and the monuments left behind reflect that. Today, it’s a car-less island of fewer than 500 people and the setting for the premier Bosnian director Danis Tanović’s tenth feature film, My Late Summer (Bosnian: Nakon ljeta). Like the island’s (possible) etymology, the film grounds itself in the changing of seasons.
The funky bunch of characters here could be found in any siloed micro-community, though their quirks are ineffably unique to their setting on the island. Maja (Anja Matković) comes to the island on a journey of self-discovery — what she is discovering takes time to clarify. Matković always looks a bit restless, even trapped in mystery, as Maja’s past weighs heavily on the character’s shoulders. Goran Navojec plays a Tito-nostalgic mayor who doubles as the owner of the local bar and triples as a weed dealer; his ambitions are limited to the creation of a sewage system, a political victory he believes will enshrine him as a hero in local memory. Saša (Uliks Fehmiu), a handsome author whose bed Maja finds comfort in, has enough baggage of his own before meeting the beautiful newcomer. The strangest of them all could be either the stoned cows or the elderly woman who routinely shoots her gun at imaginary fascists.
Matković is a revelation. It’s her second time working with the director (after Not So Friendly Neighborhood Affair), and hopefully not their last partnership, as she here magnetizes the camera, at times almost to the detriment of everyone else involved. Her chemistry with Fehmiu also results in several of the best scenes. Some of these scenes are spent satisfying one another in bed, the physicality of the two actors accompanied by a sound design overlaying their desirous dance with the sounds of ocean waves crashing against the shore. The approach of old-school innuendo fits nicely with the nostalgic summer on the island.
Working with a new cinematographer, My Late Summer embodies many of Tanović’s hallmarks — layered compositions, reflections and mirror shots, a natural eye for lighting — while also keeping things a bit warmer than any film of his not named Cirkus Columbia. The camera soaks in the sun, while the film’s lighter visual tone works well for this new comedic territory, a genre that hasn’t exactly been synonymous with Tanović, a filmmaker whose artistic sensibilities crystallized while documenting genocide. No Man’s Land and Death in Sarajevo are both funnier than most reviewers give them credit for, though the humor is certainly of a more twisted variety. My Late Summer finds the director hewing much closer to classic comedy.
The combined themes of trauma, generational sin, and, to an extent, reconciliation (as well as debts or repayment), though sheltered in a romance, point to the broader career interests of Tanović, wherein individuals often hint at the fate of nations. It’s difficult to parse such clear one-to-one representations here, especially under all of the humor, but not a fully impossible venture. As Maja looks for a solution to the family inheritance question, it becomes clearer how deeply the sins of her father have festered deep inside — another example of Tanović domesticating one of his career-long interests in inherited ills, a theme that could be connected to the violent history of the Balkans in the 1990s. But even so, it serves little to twist the dynamics of the small island into a larger geopolitical metaphor. Only No Man’s Land works this simply in the great Bosnian director’s filmography, even if every film is, in some fashion, enmeshed in complicated political worlds and social environments.
DIRECTOR: Danis Tanović; CAST: Anja Matkovic, Uliks Fehmiu, Goran Navojec, Marija Skaricic; DISTRIBUTOR: Klassiki; STREAMING: July 10; RUNTIME: 1 hr. 38 min.
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