Film director Veljko Bulajić was born in Montenegro in 1928. His family moved to Sarajevo when he was three years old. His father was an opponent of the monarchist regime, and was often tried, imprisoned and forcibly expelled from his place of residence because of it. It is obvious that his father’s progressive beliefs, arguments, and political activities as the president of the professors and teacher’s association had a profound impact on Veljko’s personality. In addition to his father, another person very close to him was his brother Stevan, a writer and well known screenplay author, who also worked on screenplays for several of Bulajić’s films. A natural course of events for Veljko was joining the partisans during World War II, where he was wounded twice. As with many other young men who participated in the Yugoslav partisan movement, Bulajić was destined for a military career. After the war he was supposed to attend the Naval academy in Riga, but he decided to take a different path instead. In Zagreb, he joined the work at the film studios of Jadran film and the Ministry of culture, wrote for Kerempuh and Narodni list, and made his first documentary films, among which Kamen i more (1953) and Brod lutalica (1953) stand out.

Three years spent in Rome definitely cemented the connection between Bulajić and film–making. During his studies at Centro Sperimentale he first volunteered in Vittorio de Sica’s film Krov (Il Tetto

— The Roof, 1956), and then in Fellini’s film Il bidone. He later became a professional assistant to Luigi Zampa and Giuseppe de Santis.

Almost all of Bulajić’s films, and in particular those considered to be his greatest works, were strongly influenced by the Italian neo–realism, which Bulajić was able to masterfully translate into the cultural layout of his native environment.

Veljko Bulajić looked for, and found, numerous similarities between the Italian mentality and that of the Mediteranean and highland regions of his own land. Just like the Italian neo–realists, he really loved his film characters, who in his films were simple, common people struggling for their place under the sun. He cultivated a noble affection towards them.

Not long after his Italian film experience (1958), Veljko Bulajić made his first feature film, Vlak bez voznog reda. He first offered the script to »Bosna film« in Sarajevo, but they considered the topic too sensitive for a young, first time di- rector. »Lovćen film« from Montenegro refused to cooperate with »Jadran film« on this film, sta- ting that a film about poor colonists leaving the impoverished and devastated regions in search of a better life will not attract audiences. Thus »Jadran film«, a Zagreb film studio whose head at the time was Ivo Vrhovec, decided to produce the film on their own.

His first full length feature film Vlak bez voznog reda (Train Without a Timetable, 1959) was a film about relocating and searching for a new home. In Vlak, as in his other top films, Bulajić is interested in protagonists who within their communities stand out as leaders or the outspoken opposition. Both positions, in their own way, generate the conflict which forms the backbone of his films.

After the Yugoslavian liberation, the new government enacted agrarian reforms, and it also expelled many of the remaining ethnic Germans. The socialist government managed to convince a large number of inhabitants in the poorest areas of the country to leave their land and homes, where they had lived for hundreds of years, and to relocate to new and to them unfamiliar lands.

Bulajić tells his story about the peasants coming from their rocky and infertile lands on two levels. One deals with human problems arising from replacing their old environment with a completely different one, and which not only signifies a geographical, but also major social change. This theme is interwoven with another one, dealing with political ambition interested only in reaching the proclaimed goals at any cost, and embodied in the character of the former partisan resistance volunteer Lovre. Some of the characters are eager to move, almost enthralled by the promises and stories of a better life. Others stubbornly refuse to leave, choosing to stay in their ancient homes, hesitant to leap into an unknown adventure, and distrustful of the promises.

Bulajić places both groups in a circle akin to that in Greek tragedies: the protagonists enter into an empty circular space of a wheat threshing floor, in which they express opinions for or against relocating. One can sense the hardship and fright in those that wish to stay on their barren lands, and uncertainty in those who decided to leave.

Bulajić understands both groups, because one speaks the language of tradition, the other that of the future; one group emphasizes resistance, and the other, hope.

Bulajić then opens up that circle, using the train to turn it into a straight line, which leads towards a goal, but that goal is yet unclear and unknown. Inside that train are passengers with different expectations, mixed together are old men and men in their prime, children… The journey becomes a sort of adventure built from individual human destinies. The passengers carried everything they owned onto the train, including their livestock, some furniture, and in the case of one old woman, a cross from the tomb of her ancestors, which will symbolize her old home when she comes to her new one in the fertile Baranja region.

Lovre is the leader of a heterogeneous group which, once on the train, start forming alliances based on family ties. For all of them, this journey is not just a trip to a new land several hundred kilometers away. To many, it is also a journey through time, into a different civilization, where some of the rules of their own region will not be valid any longer.

New worlds are opening up before the colonists. An old woman sets her eyes on the sea for the first time in her life; Zagreb is a metropolis, so enormous that the colonists, holding close together in small groups, appear like flocks of frightened sheep. Every new experience is a surprise to them. It seems that they are on a path from backwardness into a new world of the future, where they will have to lead entirely different lives.

For Bulajić, expectations and aspirations of the characters are equally important as their fears.

Sometimes the endeavor and possibilities for a better life appear more important than the uncer- tainty, more important than quivering faced with challenges of the unfamiliar place to which they are going. Bulajić’s characters in the end gain a lot more than they lose, although the price paid is of- ten very high.

The journey itself begins to cause strife and conflict between families — the basic units of their society — but also within families themselves. The overriding social changes present new opportunities and new freedoms, but primarily to the young. Around the time of departure there are already first conflicts between the mentality of the older and younger generation, when the young begin to sense they can push traditional boundaries and conquer newfound freedoms — like Periša and Dana, who fall in love while on the train, although Dana is already promised to another by her father. We also see a sailor, reaching for the opportunity for a better life, and we see Ike, a widow attracted to the sailor, but who chooses the mature and dependable Lovre instead, knowing her future would be uncertain with a young sailor. With Lovre, life would perhaps be duller, but also safer.

Every railroad car in this film tells its own story, and none of the individual or collective destinies end up the way they were imagined at the beginning of the journey.

Politicians of the day paid little heed to the changes their decisions brought to the lives of ordinary people. They were not concerned about the disappointment felt when people realized they had to give up the land they just acquired because they are obligated to join the cooperative, or when they finally understood that there is no way to go back to their ancestral homes and infertile lands. Village communities of the old native lands begin to fall apart in the new environment. People who shared the experien-

ces and hardships during the journey now begin to grow isolated in large new houses they were given, so different from their cramped but intimate old homes.

Love between Dana and Periša finally manages to win against patriarchal traditions, with the help of Dana’s mother, who stands up to her patriarchal husband for the first time in her life.

Rebellion of the youth, and opposition from a wife and mother to her husband, are very effective and convincing metaphors of the victory of new over the old, of modern over the archaic. Individual rebellion at the most intimate level is convincingly portrayed, and the reluctance to abandon the old patriarchal values personally overshadows in its tragedy the eu- phoria stemming from the knowledge that the new environment also means a better life for the settlers.

In his feature film debut, Veljko Bulajić used a mosaic approach to storytelling in order to paint an im- pressive fresco made up of human destinies, in which the spirit of the times is reflected. When treating his characters, Bulajić is sensitive and benevolent. His camera records intimate moments, in which the protagonists reveal their deepest and most hidden hopes and expectations.

Symbolism of the circle and line, and a meaningful use of the classical Greek dramatic chorus, are only some of the creative novel inventions introduced into Croatian film–making by Veljko Bulajić. He main- tained this dramaturgical approach in his subsequ- ent films as the best way to tell an epic story, while maintaining its intimate perspective.

Vlak bez voznog reda was very successful internationally, at the Cannes film festival, and also later in worldwide distribution. In Cannes, French and Italian film critics were fascinated by the film. In a later poll of French film critics, Vlak bez voznog reda was chosen in the top ten films of the year.

27 years had to pass for Bulajić to make Obećana zemlja (The Promised Land,1986), a sequel to Vlak bez voznog reda. Obećana zemlja is a story of disappointment among the colonists, of the errors of political authorities who promised much, and failed to deliver most of it. On display are the leaders of the revolution, who in their dedication to »the cause« committed fatal errors in their own lives, and for the society at large. Bulajić believes in the ideals of prosperity and respect for individual identity, but points out that the torchbearers for such ideals, including revolutionary leaders, consciously (or unconsciously) misinterpreted the revolution and revolutionary ide- als and thus desecrated their essence.

The dramaturgical model of Obećana zemlja is different from the one in Vlak bez voznog reda. Many years have passed between the making of those films, gone is the time of large social changes, and the attitude towards the post–war era lost some of its romanticism and became much more objective. Additionally, Bulajić’s own life and film–making experience was now much greater. During this time period other films were also made, which changed Yugoslavian film–making and cultivated a critical approach towards the blunders of its socialist system.

In Obećana zemlja, Bulajić does not allow himself or anyone else the right to judge or claim to knowing the only, salutary truth. His story of major errors com mitted by Markan Radišić, leader of the cooperative, and culminating in a murder, is rashomonian in style.

Bulajić’s »rashomon« takes place in a courtroom, in front of a judge, jury, and interested, but already decided and deeply divided public. Standing accused are Markan, charged with murder, and secretary of the agricultural cooperative, Milan Zec.

The witnesses put forward several testimonies which are all intertwined, but none of which can possibly be entirely true and objective. The witnesses simply tell their own stories, their own interpretations of events that in the end led to murder. Every story is different, not because the witnesses are intentionally trying to deceive, but because each of them tells what they would like to believe is the truth. Each of them is in one way or the other involved in the events, affected by the forced collectivization of agriculture. So their relationship with Markan, whose decisions impacted all of their lives, is burdened in one way or another. Just like Lovre in Vlak, Markan is the only true bearer of »the idea«.

However, a major difference between these characters is that Lovre is still naïvely pure, whereas Markan, under the influence of da- ily politics, is capable of anything. So his mistakes cannot be attributed to good faith and naïveté, as is the case for Lovre. Markan is a persistent and strong willed person, but with little regard even for those closest to him: he is capable of betraying and decei- ving Marta, and when the mayor criticizes him over the insufficient pace of collectivization, and gives him a signal to use more radical methods, Markan becomes an obedient executor, acting without mercy towards the very people he helped bring to Veliki Dunavac. He is not ready for any concessions, and his conflict with the persistent Miliša is not so intense simply because of Miliša’s opposition to collectivization, but also because of the romantic relationship between his son Niko and Miliša’s daughter Nada, of which Markan does not approve.

Whereas in Vlak bez voznog reda a young couple manages to defeat tradition and stand up to the will of their parents, Niko and Nada have a much harder time achieving that, because the differences of opinion are not based solely on tradition anymore.

In Obećana zemlja, these differences are first and foremost ideological. Miliša’s hostility towards Markan is so intense (and vice versa), that using the young lovers’ case becomes just another form of expressing ideological and personal disagreement. In this context, of course, it is less important whether the murder was committed in self defense, or under extreme emotional stress. All the circumstances based on the social situation and ideological constructs require a violent solution to the conflict between Miliša and Markan, whose world views are so different from one another. Severity of the final sentence is not important, as no punishment can clear the guilt from Markan, or from the champions of revolutionary change, whose ideas also carried in them the seed of individual human tragedy.

Catharsis is therefore impossible, and at the very end of the film, Markan hears on the radio that the national government decided to put a halt to collectivization, making it voluntary rather than compulsory.

Agricultural cooperatives have thus been exposed as a failure. This make Markan’s personal defeat even more severe.

Bulajić dramatrugically, and partially in his directing, modeled the film Obećana zemlja on American »courtroom« dramas; the overlay of different testimonies is rashomonian in the best sense of the word.

After his film Vlak bez voznog reda, Bulajić’s next work was Rat (War; Atomic War Bride in USA). Per- haps Bulajić wanted to prove through this film that he can deal with radically different subjects, that he has no thematic or genre limitations, that from the national focus of his films he can also enter the European film environment where, in addition to a new literary discourse, a new approach to film was also starting to take shape.

The end of 1950s and beginning of 1960s was a time of escalation of the Cold War. The tension between east and west was growing, it was a time of divided Germany and divided Berlin, and the world lived under constant insecurity of the nuclear threat. Any military attack would have spelled doom for humanity, and the threats of that cast a long shadow over the future of human race. Under these circumstances the basic idea behind the film Rat took shape, with C. Zavattini writing the script. The subject was extremely attractive at the time, and because of its political openness, Yugoslavia seemed like a perfect place to make (such) an antiwar film.

At this point Veljko Bulajić already had a useful experience with Italian film. During his studies in Rome he was a volunteer assistant to several famous Italian filmmakers. Perhaps the formative experien- ce for Bulajić was working with Fellini, who in the mid–1950s already moved away from neorealism, which was prevalent at the time. It is therefore not a coincidence that the writer of Rat Cesare Zavatti- ni, and Bulajić himself, decided to set the film in a world of »fictitious states«. The story begins in an imaginary country, a world superpower that is threa- tening its rival with nuclear weapons. Both states are fictitious and it is difficult to determine which one corresponds to which real superpower, but that was probably not the authors’ intention anyway. The very event of a cataclysmic war was powerful enough, and thus any ideological designation of the states invol- ved would have been superfluous.

The danger of war hangs in the air, and the hostile rhetoric of national leaders is uncompromising. Re- treat is probably not possible at this point. The first day of war is Toni’s wedding day. Everything is ready for the beginning of a new, happier life: a new, mo- dern and furnished (in a socialist style) apartment, with flowers on a living room coffee table, fine china, gifts from the neighbors… But before the church ceremony is finished, the war begins, and the wedding is interrupted by an air raid. Just as the couple mana- ge to say their »I do«s before the priest, sirens go off and the attack from above begins.

The nuclear cataclysm does happen, and the citizens, scared and outraged, are unable to prevent or stop the military conflict. Politicians’ aims are different, and when eventually events spin out of control, not even they can do anything but panic. They fall from their position of political power and find themselves, like everyone else, a part of the terrified crowd whose majority is made up of ordinary people they deceived and manipulated such a short time ago. Now the politicians are just as scared as the citizens.

Occasionally, Rat is a very impressive film; it is con- vincing both on the level of its anti–war message, and in its portrayal of individual’s powerlessness to do anything to stop the war or help themselves.

Even the nation’s president is powerless. He took part in starting the war, but now he too fears for his life. Even for the president, there is no place to go, no way to save himself.

When directing this film, Veljko Bulajić attempted to achieve the impossible. In the end, his efforts and the film itself were noticed and rewarded. Among the awards it received, the one at Pula film festival was also compensation for an earlier injustice, when his film Vlak bez voznog reda, and unquestionable directing success, was not recognized by the jury, rather than just a well deserved recognition for Rat.

In Pula, Veljko Bulajić received a Golden Arena for his directing, and the film itself was awarded a Grand Silver Arena, a Golden Arena for scenography, while actor Antun Vrdoljak received a Golden Arena for a male leading role, and actress Ewa Krzysewska received a special recognition from the jury for a lea- ding female role.

In Yugoslavia Rat received little praise from the critics. At the same time, the film was politically con- troversial because it fostered an explicit idea that in a future nuclear war there can be no winner — only the defeated. After its showing at the Pula film fe- stival, the film was quickly forgotten at home, but it continued its life in neighboring Italy, where it was well received. Rat also received glowing reviews from film critics at the leading French papers, while in all the Eastern Bloc countries it was banned by the censorship boards.

Due to a set of unique circumstances at that time, today it is fair to say that within Veljko Bulajić’s body of work, Rat is a »forgotten« film.

In addition to changes in the agriculture and forced collectivization, another prominent aspect of the post war era in former Yugoslavia was the intensive industrialization of the underdeveloped regions of the country. One of these large construction sites was the town of Zenica, where construction workers from all over Yugoslavia participated, and where in addition to engineering experts and the working class, peasants made workers also took part in building the giant steel mill, as well as the lower middle class carrying revolutionary ideals, who saw a better future living in a newly built industrial town.

Building the steel factory in Zenica was a priority task of the first five–year plan. In making a film about it (The First Fires), Veljko Bulajić faced a delicate task of crea- ting a story based on real events, and dramatic individual destinies raised to the level of artistic fiction.

In the middle of a backward town, a new industrial city was taking shape, and all the nationalities of Yugoslavia took part in building it. These people were convinced to participate (in the same way that Lovre tried to convince the colonists in Vlak bez voznog reda) by their political leaders, and in some extreme cases were even forced by decree to come to Zenica. The deadlines were set by politicians, as this was the time of workers’ five year plans and ideas, which in these revolutionary times were made compulsory, and nobody cared about the price of meeting the overambitious goals.

The story begins with the arrival of new workers to Zenica, who are met there by the former partisan resistance volunteer Šiba, a man made to follow orders and see them carried out, who is in charge of the most delicate task at the massive Zenica construction site: managing the workforce.

Several hundred new workers have arrived, and among them is only one construction engineer, Plav- šić, who has been working at construction sites all over the country since the end of the war, and is fed up with moving, the unbearable pressure of deadlines, and unrealistic goals placed before him by the Party.

In Zenica, a new steel factory is being constructed, but at the same time new social structure is being forged there. The workers’ shacks are in poor condition, and they are a home to both single workers and those with families. Many of them will not only contribute to the construction, but also learn to read (one book per month was required), to dance, and most importantly, to live in the new, socialist society. Šiba, who strongly believes it is the state that shapes the individual, is at the same time burning out trying to realize the overambitious construction plans.

Bulajić manages to build up the film’s structure concurrently with building of the city. Same as the city which is being built from scratch, during that time the characters are changing and evolving as well.

The impossible can be achieved when leading by example. Thus when it becomes necessary to repair some damage at the site, Šiba is the first to put his life on the line, entering the collapsed smelter room. He is the type of person who during difficult times gives a second chance to former felons; he tolerates even those women with questionable reputation, allows the workers to move into a housing block, intended only for the educated experts, by force; he makes sure that the train carrying much needed cement makes it to Zenica, even though it was intended for another construction site.

Bulajić manages to construct a world made up of »small« people in an impressive way, thus building up a mosaic of very different characters, who bring with them their past and look towards a better future with optimism. The workers’ quarters are constantly near the boiling point, and only Šiba with his kind spirit and optimism, which turns impossible things into possible, manages to keep it under control.

Once again Bulajić focuses on human destinies which he is able to combine, like a skilled storyteller, into an impressive fresco. The tie that binds the film together is a common goal for all involved, and the torchbearer for that goal is Šiba, for whom the ta- sks handed down from Party leadership are sacred. However, Šiba could not imagine he would become the first victim of that same Party, which punishes him and casts him away with ease.

The realism and credibility of Bulajić’s Uzavreli grad (The First Fires, 1961) were too impressive for its own good. In Bosnia and Herzegovina the film was banned after sharp criticism from the Central Committee of the Socialist Party of BiH.

This film confirms Bulajić as an extraordinary film director who is able to masterfully tackle both the film as a whole, and specific details. In his films it is impossible to find a detail that doesn’t function well in both space and time, which makes the film authentic and transmits through it the spirit of the times whose authenticity can not be questioned. In his realism, Bulajić borders on documentarism; in fact, Uzavreli grad is not just a true to life story about the time of post war rebuilding, or just another tale about that time, it is rather a monument to the unsung heroes of that uncertain and difficult peri- od. For this reason, Bulajić is not interested in the winners as much as he is in those who pay the highest price for their idealism.

Through this approach, Bulajić is able to win over the audiences and film critics alike, thus securing his films a prominent place in the history of film–making in the former Yugoslavia.

Uzavreli grad earned a Grand Golden Arena at the Pula film festival, as well as a Golden Arena for best original script, the Film Critics Award, the FIPRESCI award in Venice, and the Audience’s award in Pula, among many others.

The film Kozara (1962) represented a great challenge for Veljko Bulajić, because whereas Vlak bez voznog reda and even to some extent Uzavreli grad allow for relatively broad freedom of interpretation and fiction, Kozara deals with sensitive and tragic events during the People’s Liberation War (World War II) in Yugoslavia. At the time, the participants’ recollections of the tragic ordeal of thousands of soldiers and civilians, women, children, the elderly and wounded, were still very vivid. Each of them had their own »personal« truth about the events and their own (sometimes clouded) memories. In this context, Bulajić wanted to stay true to historical events, while at the same time not giving up his own creative vision of historical reality.

In Kozara, Veljko Bulajić encountered the subject of battling for freedom, and specifically an epic struggle in which the partisan units and people of Kozara found themselves completely surrounded by the enemy over the course of forty days of fierce fighting.

Bulajić decided to make a film whose main character is the mass of people who, through perpetually be- ing on the move, look for a way out of enemy’s grasp, while parts of the partisan units, having already fou- ght their way out through the encircling enemy, choose to return into the fold.

The resistance by the population itself is demoralizing to the occupying soldiers; there is an unforgettable scene in which the enemy soldiers cannot but fall silent facing the grief of a father mourning his murdered son.

These enemy soldiers begin to realize that they have against them not only the partisan army, but also the people, ready to make any sacrifice necessary.

French film critic Marcel Martin wrote in his review that with Kozara he voluntarily gives up the critical use of a written word — truly, Kozara can not be adequately described with words, its impressive emotional impact simply carries the viewer away and does not lend itself to thinking about and assessing the craft of film–making. It is a film that leaves the audiences and critics — silent.

In some ways Kozara was also familiar ground for Bulajić. He once again demonstrated his creative abilities, first and foremost in connecting the individual and a mass of people within a sequence, which brings a distinctive and convincing metaphoric aspect to the film’s story. In Kozara, Bulajić’s studious work with the actors also did not go unnoticed. Some of the roles in the film do not have a long story arc, which necessitates that the actors, including a large number of self–taught actors who took part in the filming, »grasp« the feel of the moment, so that their performance can be shaped into convincing characters by Bulajić. Using this method, which is very demanding for the director and actors alike, he was able to bring to life an unforgettable group of powerful and credible characters.

After his film Uzavreli grad, there follows a twenty year leap into the future, more precisely into 1981., when Bulajić began to film Končarevci.

Končarevci was the film’s working title, and it came from the name of »Rade Končar«, a Zargreb–based factory. The film Visoki napon (High Voltage, 1981) represented a continuation of the subject first explored by Bulajić in his 1961 film Uzavreli grad, about the construction of steelworks in Zenica. Visoki napon deals with the endeavor to build the first electricity generator in Zagreb. The aims of this project were both economic and political. The young Yugoslavian state wanted to prove to itself and the world that it can achieve what most thought was impossible. In design and construction of this machine, Yugoslavia relied on help from other Socialist Bloc countries, led by the Soviet Union.

Once again Bulajić starts the film in a train, with young people traveling to Zagreb, led by Stjepan, who is joined by a young activist Sonja. Stjepan is the leader and carrier of ideals, but his blunder is different than those of Bulajić’s previous protagonists. This time it has to do with Communist Information Bu- reau (Informbiro) resolution which was accepted in Bucharest in 1948. Political activists had to make a choice in the wake of this resolution, but when faced with this choice, Stjepan refuses to give up overnight the previously idealized portrayal of Stalin, and the Soviet model of socialism, dictated by Moscow. Sonja, on the other hand, thinks differently and chooses the Yugoslavian side, opposing the resolution.

When she is chosen to speak at a rally of Končar workers, she gets carried away with the emotions from the crowd, and the ideas she shares in that speech sound even more extreme than those put forward by the national leadership. However, Stjepan remains loyal to the Soviet ideals, so he ends his love relationship with Sonja and readies himself to fight and sacrifice for what he believes in.

The light from »Končar« did come on in the end, but not for Stjepan and Sonja.

In Visoki napon, Bulajić captures the spirit of the times, pealing back the layers of disagreement and conflict stemming from the Informbiro resolution on the one hand, and on the other hand portraying the dramatic building of the power generator, and the struggle to meet the deadlines dictated by the first five–year plan — no matter what sacrifices are required on the part of the builders.

Particular circumstances in which Visoki napon came into being should also be considered. A year after Tito’s death, it was still impossible to predict whether the hardliners in the Party will prevail in the new power structure, and thus again limit different free- doms, including artistic ones. In such times, Bulajić decided to stand with the democratic option, with an appropriate level of criticism expressed in his film. For Yugoslavia as a whole, those years were as much of a turning point as was the year 1948, and so from that standpoint, Visoki napon was a very topical film.

If the film Kozara had to be based on recollections of past events, Skopje 63 (1964) is a film about a tragedy in the present tense.

Preparations for the film project Bitka na Neretvi were interrupted by a powerful and tragic earthqua- ke, which nearly razed Skopje, the capital of Macedonia, to the ground. Bulajić and two cameramen decided to travel to Skopje for a few days to make a film report, which would then become an appeal to the world public, calling for help to the injured city. But instead of a few days, as originally planned, they ended up filming in Skopje for several months.

How does one make a documentary film about pain, about such a huge tragedy?

Among the ruins under which the life of a city and its inhabitants was so brutally interrupted, Veljko Bulajić decided to observe both the earthquake’s consequences, and the first signs of emerging optimism among the survivors. The film includes the local people’s reactions after being shown the early, »un- finished version« of the film.

Their observations, suggestions, comments and emotions help create a vision of truth about themselves and the disastrous earthquake they lived through.

In addition to impressive documentary footage carried onto the film screen, Bulajić’s sensitive and humane approach managed to create, from the originally envisioned factual report, an exciting film about hope, communal solidarity, and faith in life even when the odds seem insurmountable.

This excellent film, worthy of the magnitude of this tragic event, was also very successful. It is justifiably placed among the greatest films of that period, in both the European and world contexts. Skopje 63 received a Golden Lion Grand Prix in Venice, a Golden Nymph Grand Prix in Monte Carlo, the KALINGA UNES- CO award, a Grand Prix at the Valladolid festival of religious films and films promoting humane values, the City of Zagreb award, and the Honorary Citizen of Skopje award, among many others.

Historical facts are indisputable, and we know that the slaughter that was World War I began with shots fired by Gavrilo Princip into the Austrian Archduke and heir to the throne. The context of this violent act has been examined many times, thus leaving little freedom and room for innovation to the film author trying to deal with the subject.

Bulajić has proven to be a successful realizer of a very demanding script. He relied on the attractiveness of the subject matter and remained within the boun- daries of a studious directing concept with antholo- gical sequences which show Bulajić in a completely new light.

Reviving the Balkan past which still haunts this regi- on today reminds us of the past and present tragedies of the area in which we live.

The Balkans truly are a tragic environment for its population made up of many different nationalities and religions; this multi–nationality is still a destructive burden rather than the wealth of diversity it ought to be — and there are dire consequences for everyone, insiders and outsiders alike, who involve themselves in Balkan events.

We can only wonder what was Bulajić thinking when he was given a chance to »assassinate« the Archduke and start the slaughter of the First World War again, this time of course on film. In the 1970s, he probably could not fathom the tra- gic events which were once again to take place in the Balkans, at the end of the 20th century.

It was far more likely that Veljko Bulajić, with his multifaceted directing interests, was attracted to working with an international and well known cast, with the potential to attract the attention of viewers around the world. With his sharp instincts of an experienced film director, he also discovered an array of promising young actors, whose later roles would represent an important contribution to the deve- lopment of national film art in the region.

The clips of reality in the film appear to us like jewels. Bulajić manages to attract the viewers’ attention and get them emotionally involved with the film’s cha- racters, regardless of whether they are Habsburgs or the assassins. We accept his characters even when circumstances lead them to make wrong decisions, for which they are later punished. Nevertheless, in a human sense they remain pure.

Even in the films in which the crowd is not a central »character«; The Man to Kill, Donator — Bulajić frames his protagonists through their relationship with the crowd, in the context of a tragic fate, which occurs when the characters, through their own conscious choice, are excluded from the general path of the masses.

Čovjek koga treba ubiti (The Man to Kill, 1979) is a story of a self–proclaimed emperor Šćepan Mali (Šćepan the Little), in which Veljko Bulajić gave up his artistic realism for surrealism.

In 1955, Montenegrin film production company produced the film Lažni car, directed by Velimir Stojanović, and almost a quarter of a century later, Veljko Bulajić felt the need to once again tell the story of the controversial Montenegrin emperor. His reasons for filming this remake are probably similar to the ones that led him to return to the stories of his earlier films, when he would be intrigued by an aspect of the story he did not completely finish telling, and by the knowledge that there is still plenty of room for his artistic interpretation, in which he would try to find a link between the past and present. When it comes to the subject of Šćepan Mali, Bulajić decided to try something extravagant and venture into an area unfamiliar to him — that of satire and surrealism.

According to the legend, Šćepan Mali came from Russia as a spy, whose task was to subjugate the small country of Montenegro and make it conform to the interests of powerful Russia. The false emperor was thus an invention of Satan, and his actions were planned in hell. But this false emperor betrayed the intentions of Satan and his instructions from hell, as he became so benevolent to his Montenegrin subjects that they accepted him as one of their own. Because the powerful nations were not happy about having such an emperor in Montenegro, and even the Montenegrin dignitaries are not in favor of such democratization, the emperor’s fate is bound to be tragic. In the film, Veljko Bulajić decided to use stylization on one side and satirical grotesque on the other. The scenes of hell, with elaborate costumes and perversely erotic in a calculated way, were unprecedented in Yugo- slavian film, and the ethno–costumes and sceno- graphy in the film were equally rich and elaborate. In his artistic design of some sequences Veljko Bulajić surpassed all expectations; one can even argue that occasionally he went too far in the stylization of Montenegrin reality.

At the Fantasy Film festival in Paris, Bulajić received the award for best director, and the jury’s explanati- on stated that in both the realistic and fantasy ambi- ance of the film, an allegorical folk legend has been presented at the highest professional level.

At the initiative from Croatian political leadership, Tito agreed to allow Croatian Radiotelevision to produce his memoirs. Tito promised to speak about the new Yugoslavian constitution, which was the most important political subject at the time, and also, in the last episode of the series, about his vision for Yugoslavia after his death.

From the start, Bulajić did not envision the series as an aesthetically pleasing film, but rather as a current political film and as a testimony about less well known events on which Tito had an impact, or which impacted him.

Bulajić managed to complete several episodes, which were shown after Tito’s death. Although unfinished, this series remains a unique documentary film.

The reasons why this series was never completed remain a mystery. Could it be because the politicians, who in 1971. provided the initial impulse for the series to be made, have in the meantime been forced out of the political arena?

Nevertheless, even in its unfinished form, this documentary’s direct and personal approach make it unique and valuable.

In his film Veliki transport (The Great Transport, 1983), based on the actual events that took place during the war, in 1943, Veljko Bulajić made a film within a then typical genre, but which was completely different from scores of other films from that genre being made in all the Yugoslavian film production centers at the time.

Far away, somewhere in the Bosnian mountains, partisans are cut off from their base and facing defeat, and they are in desperate need of help. After a meeting of the people under the photographs of Roosevelt, Stalin and Churchill, a decision is made to send help, and a great adventure begins. From the fertile Vojvodina region the transport was initiated, filled with food, clothing and medical supplies. From one ambush to another, crossing rivers and endless plains, constantly bombarded by enemy aircraft and artillery, the transport is moving ever closer to its goal, but that goal becomes more and more elusive. Typhoid fever, wounded soldiers and civilians, family tragedies, German prisoners of war, gypsies, Allied officers, priests and accidental companions, together make up a varied bunch of characters and events in this film.

A hallmark of Bulajić’s directing in this film is his use of a highly mobile camera, which through its constant portrayal of the transport’s movement seeks out individuals and captures their stories. Unlike the dramaturgical use of circles, which can be opened or closed (as in Kozara and Uzavreli grad), Veliki transport uses the symbolism of a line, an uninterrupted motion towards the final goal, much like the one in films Vlak bez voznog reda and Bitka na Neretvi. As a director, Bulajić does not forcibly interfere in the events, but lets them unfold based on logic and common sense.

Bulajić has proved himself a master of miniatures and detail, able to single out individuals from a crowd of thousands and focus on their personal drama, joy and tragedy. Foremost among Bulajić’s interests is his focus on the inspiring persistence of his characters in reaching the virtually unattainable goal — bringing the »great transport« to its final destination.

Veljko Bulajić found inspiration for his film Donator (1989) in a real–life character of a fanatical art collector. The main character is a young man of Jewish origin — Erih Šlomović, who traveled from Belgrade to Paris to join the famous art patron Ambrois Vollard, a key figure on the Parisian art scene before World War II. Through his talent and his knowledge about painting (and perhaps also his virility), he managed to win favor with the old man, who allows him access to the inner circles of art dealers. Very soon, the young man becomes a central figure among art dealers and collectors. After Vollard’s death, Šlomović inherited most of his priceless art collection.

After the war begins and German forces occupy Paris, the main character is torn between his love of art, with the added obligation to protect his precious inherited collection of paintings, and his love towards Joanne Martinez — a passionate Spanish art model, who supports the French resistance movement with all her heart. Their paths are bound to diverge, and Erih Šlomović escapes to Belgrade, where he wants to make his dreams come true by displaying his collection at the Corbusieresque exhibition pavilion.

After the occupation of Belgrade, the Germans also begin to show interest in this unique art collection, and so Bulajić follows a German colonel, an art connoisseur, in his persistent attempts all the way until the final German defeat, to find out what happened to Erih Šlomović and his priceless paintings.

Donator brings an element of novelty into Veljko Bulajić’s body of work, both in terms of its theme, and in terms of directing style. Erih Šlomović, who is portrayed in the film as a man with insufficient passion for art, is convincing in his unscrupulous attempts to make his dreams come true by becoming an important art collector and patron.

In his films, Veljko Bulajić knows how to choose a story that the audience finds relevant, as evidenced by the warm reception audiences gave to his films, including Donator.

Bulajić decided on impulse to make a very small film (A look into the pupil of the sun) in terms of production, with two professional actors and two amateurs, placed in an empty, snow–covered expanse.

The story follows four partisans, lost in the harsh snow–covered wilderness. They have all contracted typhoid fever, and they cannot distinguish reality from hallucinations, nor tell the difference between the humane and inhumane, and between morality and crime, in their desperate struggle for survival. This film is not an affirmation of partisan heroism, but rather a display of crises, moral degradation, hopelessness … The characters’ suffering is not simply a »clinical feature«, it is also an account of human relations, which this film critically examines.

Because of this, the official establishment at the time, as well as different film commissions and juries, all displayed a very reserved attitude towards this unconventional approach to a »revolutionary subject«. On the other hand, film critics recogni- zed this unexpected, minimalistic film as a valuable work of art by Bulajić. This was true both domestically and at international film festivals, including Cannes, Cairo, Cuneo, and others.

Built on excellent acting, where the interpretations of Antun Nalis as Mlohavi and Bata živojinović as Mornar are particularly noteworthy, this film, even though it was made completely devoid of commercial ambitions, became on of the most widely watched ones.

When filming Bitka na Neretvi (The Battle of the River Neretva, 1969), Veljko Bulajić found it unnecessary to experiment with novel directing and storytelling approaches. His experience and international success of the film Kozara seemed too recent, tried, and enticing.

The story of Neretva takes place in 1943, when Hitler launched Operation Weiss with the aim to fi- nally break the bulk of partisan forces, including the Supreme Command headed by Tito. German and Italian divisions took part in this massive offensive, with the aid of quisling domestic Ustaše units and a large number of Četniks, who saw their opportunity to deliver a crucial blow to the partisan movement.

Pushed back by the superior enemy force, partisan units carrying many wounded retreated towards the river Ne- retva, planning to cross it to escape encirclement. Upon reaching the river, however, the partisans unexpectedly blew up the only bridge. This led the enemy command to focus its attack elsewhere. Following the deception, the partisans built a pontoon bridge overnight, next to the one they destroyed, and crossed the river to safety, taking with them all their wounded, as well as civilians fleeing from the enemy.

In Bitka na Neretvi Veljko Bulajić provided an interesting mosaic of characters on both sides of the conflict: partisan fighters, the sick and wounded, and enemy soldiers, all portrayed with equal sensibility and all equally convincing. The film is extremely impressive in its details, on occasion it is grandiose, and it is filled with emotions. It is most powerful and impressive when employing some of Bulajić’s approaches already tried in his earlier films. For this reason, one can often hear opinions that Bitka na Neretvi is not among the very best of Bulajić’s work, despite the numerous awards the film received, favorable reviews, and its success in theaters (literally) all over the world.

Bitka na Neretvi is a unique phenomenon. Although it was made in a country with modest means when it comes to film production, it became one of the greatest film spectacles in European film–making history, and was shown with great success in every country in the world.

Bulajić was clearly fortunate that he had political support from Tito himself for his vision of the film. Tito’s »signature« freed Bulajić from anyone’s control or interference with the film. That victory in the fight for his film was akin to the partisans’ victory in their struggle to save their wounded, against all odds.

Perhaps the most important of Veljko Bulajić’s films, in which he carried the past into present day, as a painful experience of a lost soul of an individualist in a world of political intrigue and manipulations.

The film about Marin Držić brings a distinctly new quality to Veljko Bulajić’s creative work — it is an innovative achievement and one of his most impressive feats as an author, in which he reaffirms his humanistic qualities, and where his characters, although they may sometimes take the wrong path (aren’t those wrong turns an understandable, even expected part of life?), always stay true to themse- lves. In that sphere Bulajić reveals himself, despite his ever present realism and human doubt, as an unwavering optimist. He simply believes that people are ultimately made of such noble stuff.

Did the very relevance of Marin Držić’s life story to present day motivate Bulajić’s never ending search for most relevant and topical stories to tell? Was Marin Držić a metaphor in Bulajić’s eyes for a never ending struggle of an individual, more so because that in- dividual was a free thinking artist? Are the familiar pictures of renaissance Dubrovnik and Italy, which still live in our books, that source of our knowledge and understanding, only one side of the truth?

Even if we allow doubt about this being the crucial motive for Veljko Bulajić, then we must accept that the most important reason to bring Držić’s tragic fate as a fugitive without a home to the big screen was Držić’s yearning, his hope and his quest for a foundation on which to build a better and more just world, which he seeks to build nowhere else but in his native Dubrovnik.

Bulajić’s characters’ travel, they run towards the lands and people in which they might find support and realization of their life’s quest, where desire for freedom is most prominent. However, their journey only brings them to the understanding of the futility of their desire for a world in which the truths of life and artistic truths would come together, and where the government will try to approach this ideal in running the state. The tragedy of the protago- nists in Libertas is that on their long journey from

Dubrovnik to Dubrovnik, they become weakened, and some of them are assassinated by the agents of Dubrovnik’s government, while others are crushed by their own longing.

The story of Marin Držić is a universal story that has been repeated in some way throughout human history, and its elements are still playing out even today. Temporal detachment and historical distance, going back to the time of relatively free and liberal Dubrovnik Republic, make an excellent backdrop for Bulajić’s story in Libertas. It is a story for all times and for all systems, for all free–thinking dissidents and exiles, whose desire for freedom is stronger than their desire for social acceptance and security, bestowed on the obedient by the state governments. To the people like Marin Držić, a deep breath of freedom is more important than wealth and status, which come as a result of bending to the will of the rulers.

The portrayal of the Dubrovnik Republic, an enlightened state of the people professing liberty for all, is dark and oppressive in Bulajić’s interpretation, with all the imagery associated with such a system. The situation in Dubrovnik Republic seems idyllic at first glance, but behind the politeness, love for freedom and pride over their independence, darker currents stir.

The boundaries of liberties are controlled by the conservative part of the Dubrovnik Senate, and by the censor Luka, through their unlimited use of repressive measures, which even the doge himself cannot significantly mitigate.

During that time, a versatile and beloved artist Marin Držić, along with his acting troop, writes comedies and performs them at the main city square, to the delight of nobles and commoners alike.

The comedies are a mirror for the rulers and a vivid commentary on current events in Dubrovnik.

In addition to Držić’s undisputed importance in the history of Croatian theater, Bulajić is also in- terested in the implications of the story for present day. Drawing parallels with the past — when the opposition had to flee abroad during times of repression, where they would be followed by the long reach of the secret services, threatened and occasionally murdered — is more than justified.

Marin Držić’s character and his destiny are relevant even today precisely because of his uncompromising engagement in the struggle for individual free- dom, for freedom of expression and artistic creation without political control. Because of Držić’s political fate, Bulajić focused more on his attempts to change the political climate in Dubrovnik, than on his artistic path, because without complete personal freedom there can be no artistic freedom.

Libertas is Držić’s charter, his manifesto, which would definitively change the Dubrovnik Republic into a state of truly free individuals, in which artistic freedom was to be one of the foundations of human liberty in general. Thus in Bulajić’s artistic interpretation, the story in Libertas, the story of Marin Držić, becomes a story for all times.

For Veljko Bulajić, artistic creation is always political, an therefore just like Marin Držić could not give up his political freedom to secure artistic freedom, Bulajić also views art as more important than politics and ideology, today just as in the past.

Bulajić’s thoughtful emotionality is also a surprise. He decided to tell a story on film in a way that res- pects the privacy of his characters, without revealing and ruthlessly exploiting their intimate affairs, even in the case of censor Luka. He was even more reserved in developing the relationship between Držić and Deša. Their deep love and mutual respect developed, through their changing relationship starting with Deša’s infatuation with Držić’s artistic creations, through mutual respect in their shared fate as fugitives, to love which compels them to make tremendous sacrifices. One of the unforgettable scenes in the film shows Držić and Deša as his supposedly pregnant wife seeking protection from a Tuscan family, but clearly suspicious of strangers and anyone different from them. Deša’s character is just another in a rich selection of Bulajić’s convin- cing female characters, who always gave more depth to events depicted in his films.

One can probably find parallels between Marin Držić and characters from Bulajić’s earlier films. The closest to the film Libertas, in terms of ideas and style, is Šćepan Mali — the »false emperor« of Montenegro — The Man to Kill. Today it is easier to see what Veljko Bulajić was trying to say, skillfully hiding in the story of Šćepan Mali a commentary on the current political situation during socialist times. The biggest difference between Marin Držić and the »false emperor« is that Šćepan ends up disappointed in his own people, whereas Marin Držić through the support of his fellow citizens finds strength to endure his exile and all the humiliations, after he sacrificed his art in order to follow his political, ideological and social ideals.

With Marin Držić, Veljko Bulajić and his co–writers followed historical experience; while his character Lovre is a man that still has hope, Marin Držić is a character of ultimate despair, who only has his deathbed hallucinations to provide the illu- sion of recognition and acceptance, which he could never hope to attain in real life. With Marin Držić the circle is closed, complete.

It is only the artists who offer hope through their escapades that the world can indeed be changed.

Let me get back to the beginning, looking at Vlak bez voznog reda, an then jump to the end, to Libertas and Marin Držić. Lovre’s character was the beginning of Bulajić’s film–making journey, and Držić marks the completion of his creative path. In Bulajić’s films we could see a colorful array of imposing characters, both male and female. Lovre is an extraordinary character, a leader who persists in an effort to complete his task; we also have Šiba, who sadly had to step down to pay for other people’s mistakes; Markan, who knowingly faces his ruin because for him, nothing is more important than power. Ton in Rat is an insignificant man, who even if he was given a chance, would not know what to change. Stjepan in the film Visoki napon pays a price for his ideological fervor, and the false emperor Šćepan Mali wants to break free of the dark forces, but his own people make a pact with the devil behind his back …

How long is Veljko Bulajić’s film (and personal) journey from his film Vlak bez voznog reda to the film Libertas!? Veljko Bulajić’s journey was always, even in the peaceful moments, a continuous struggle for his work.

Bulajić’s film–making journey was a path from success to success, from one gripping film subject to another, but it was also a journey through fallacies. However, this is always the case with artistic creati- vity, in one way or another, it brings to the surface the fears and doubts that accompany it.

With the film Libertas, Bulajić’s work was completed, and this film is a story of human expectations and yearnings. Veljko Bulajić felt that the story of Marin Držić is also his own story of dreams that were never fully realized. Thus even though his body of work was completed by Libertas, he did not go back full circle, because some of these dreams might have come true precisely with Marin Držić. Bulajić is unlikely to find stronger, more moving characters for his future films — which was something he always managed to do throughout his career. He will have to search for new stories, whose protagonists are (perhaps) already determined. It seems that the characters in Bulajić’s future films, indeed the very stories of those films, will have to be woven even tighter into his dreams, just like Marin Držić was.

Bulajić’s film aesthetics were based on verism and (neo)realism in most of his films, and his carefully composed scenes generally transcend the specific dramatic situations and become themselves a sym- bol of human suffering and bleakness. Like, for example, the images of the Stations of the Cross in many churches, Bulajić’s characters suffer to atone for the sins of others, and if they are sinners themselves (in our world full of sin), they pay the ultimate price for it. If we look at images from Bulajić’s films, the twisting of human destinies, we will see that he opens but the smallest windows of happiness to his characters. Certainly, the individual in his films never achieves personal happiness, but is only exposed to fragments of »some kind« of happiness instead.

Bulajić’s aesthetics, his film credo, which was always resistant to changing with the latest fashions, are probably the most unique in Yugoslavian film, with his enormous energy, put into making the films adding another special dimension.

The mark left by Veljko Bulajić’s films is much deeper than Bulajić’s influence on the film–making trends in the former Yugoslavia. Just as Bulajić did not search for exemplars in the film art of his co- untry, other Yugoslavian (and international) film authors did not seek to emulate Bulajić’s film–ma- king style, dramaturgy, or use his stories as a model. The question remains whether this is because they did not want to, or because they couldn’t. It is more

likely they weren’t able to do it, because Bulajić’s handwriting is so unique as to make any attempt at imitation easily recognizable. Bulajić and his contemporaries most often walked separate paths, and clashed only occasionally.

In a way it is fortunate that in Yugoslavian artistic creation, there was never a single prevailing style. There were as many »dark« films as there were »dark« authors. Veljko Bulajić was, and remained to this day, a lone wolf.

Ljubljana, 2009.