Accomplished documentary filmmaker Nebojša Slijepcevic makes his first foray into narrative film with the powerful short The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent, premiering this month at the Cannes Film Festival. Packing quite a punch in just thirteen minutes, this film ably demonstrates the potential of short form filmmaking as more than just a stepping stone to feature length work.
Born in Croatia in 1973, much of Slijepcevic’s filmography is concerned with the ethnic conflicts that besieged the Balkans throughout the 1990s, and his latest offering is no exception. Based on the true story of Tomo Buzov, The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent urges us each to examine what we might find it in ourselves to do in a similar situation.
The film takes place entirely within the confines of a passenger train traveling from Belgrade, Serbia to Bar, Montenegro in February 1993. Our central character, Dragan (Goran Bogdan), is fast asleep in his crowded compartment when the train lurches to an unexpected stop in a Bosnian town called Štrpci. With the passengers indulging in nervous speculations, Dragan wanders into the corridor for a smoke, spotting the paramilitary forces preparing to board. The conductor gives them a heroes’ welcome, inviting them on board as the passengers whisper apprehensively to each other. Who are they? Who are they looking for?
At this point, barely five minutes in, Slijepcevic had so effectively ramped up tension that I felt completely absorbed, and already found myself wishing for the director’s feature length take. The setting, thanks to his real-life experience, and drawing on his documentary background, is meticulously realized with immaculate production design and costuming by Ivan Veljaca and Geo Pavlov. Every detail, from Dragan’s leather jacket to a teenaged girl’s ever-present Walkman immerses the viewer seamlessly in this specific place and time. Even the background actors seem to have been chosen and directed with precision, adding to the atmosphere – a strange mix of abject fear and nonchalant denial.
Dragan himself tries to downplay the danger. Surely, they’re just looking for deserters or arms smugglers. Nothing to worry about, but his face betrays him. As the soldiers proceed, checking passenger documents and removing people from the train, a young man in Dragan’s compartment, Milan (Silvio Mumelas), draws the curtains in a futile attempt to hide himself. He admits to Dragan that he has no documents, and worries what they will do to him.
When the armed enforcers finally arrive at their compartment, their objective becomes clear. After checking Dragan’s identification, they ask him to identify his family’s patron saint, and on what date he is celebrated. Saint George, he mumbles. May 6th. It appears that these men are Serbian paramilitary forces, and they have been tipped off that there are Muslim passengers on the train. Moving on to question Milan, they seem poised to take him away when a quiet man in the corner stands up and confront them. Identifying himself as retired army captain Tomo Buzov (played here by Dragan Micanovic), the man is defiant, questioning their authority and demanding they leave Milan alone. As a fellow military man, the fighters had seemed poised to let Buzov go, but he refused to stand by and passively witness such a great injustice. Letting Milan go, they instead cart Buzov off the train as the others sit idly by, hoping to slip by unnoticed. The camera settles on Dragan as the train pulls away into the darkness, a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions playing across his face, contemplating his own cowardice and the overwhelming and all-too-human drive for self-preservation.
In the end, 19 passengers were pulled from the train and killed that day in what has come to be known as the Štrpci Massacre. 500 passengers bore witness to their removal, and only one spoke out: Tomo Buzov. It is telling that Slijepcevic chooses to tell this story not from Buzov’s perspective, but from that of Dragan, a passive bystander. By making this choice he puts the viewer in his place, separate from Buzov, driving home the reality that few of us would likely make the same choice.
The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent premieres in competition at the 77th Cannes Film Festival.
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