Cinema Komunisto: A History of Yugoslavia Told Through Film
Cinema Komunisto is a meticulously researched documentary depicting Yugoslavian cinema between 1946 and 1991. Already a film festival favourite, Serbian director Mila Turajlic’s debut is a captivating and spellbinding documentary delving deep into the history of Yugoslav cinema.
As the film’s opening titles proclaim, Cinema Komunisto is ‘a history of a country that no longer exists… except in movies.’ An intriguing start to an engaging true-life tale of intrigue, passion, war and Hollywood stars.
Mila has been successfully touring her debut documentary at film festivals worldwide, picking up awards and plaudits as she goes. Most recently she gained praise at New York’s prestigious Tribeca Film Festival. Cinema Komunisto was screened in London as part of this week’s (Post) Yugoslav Film Festival at UCL.
Using period film footage, innovatively chosen dialogue and star quotes as the narrative driver for the story, Cinema Komunisto tracks the post-World War II history of the former Federal state. Via archive news footage Mila plots an absorbing reassessment of the impact and involvement of Josip Broz Tito on film making in the former Yugoslavia and how he defined and dictated the region’s grasp on reality.
From the kick-off, this engaging documentary charms with grainy, high-saturation film clips, a jaunty soundtrack and humorous dialogue excerpts. Added to that, Mila has uncovered some of Tito’s key players in the movie game to help choreograph her reportage on the relationship. Directors, editors and back room boys all step forward to fondly recall their memories.
Pivotal to the film is Leka Konstantinovic. As Tito’s personal projectionist for 32 years, Leka was called on to screen films nearly every night (nearly 8,000 in total), providing him with a genuinely unique insight on the halcyon days of a world leader and his wife.
Some especially warming footage shows a smiling Josip and Jovanka Broz kick back in reclining leather chairs, settling down for an evening with the latest film. Apparently, Tito – a particular fan of John Wayne Westerns – even enjoyed films when travelling or on his yacht.
During her research in the making of this documentary, Mila unearthed a wealth of material by trawling film archives across Europe. Even then, she discovered barely half of all film believed to have been made in Yugoslavia during those years. However, the material she found shone light on a new angle for her cinema project: a story chronicling the love affair between Tito and film.
The Communist Party in all its various guises has always seen cinema as a valuable propaganda machine. While Stalin and his cronies used film as a cold tool, Tito’s passion for cinema (he watched a different movie almost every night over many years) led him to create and support a thriving creative film industry in the former Yugoslavia.
Tito understood the power of cinema and increasingly turned the Yugoslavian film industry to his (country’s) advantage. He definitely wasn’t an silent partner in this set up. Tito was notorious for employing the Balkan ‘nema promblema’ to conjure up whatever was required by a director, including unlimited supplies of serving soldiers and an endless stock of left-over WWII German tanks and weaponry.
It didn’t stop there. Tito was known to make state finances available for propaganda films on Yugoslavia’s glorious wartime history, and even added personal comment to film scripts. Tito’s backing made anything possible, most notably, the destruction of a town’s actual bridge to make filming seem more realistic.
The Avala Film Studios was a Tito-supported project to build the largest film production facility in Europe, a three-studio complex on the outskirts of Belgrade. Although the build was never completed as planned, the studio was a major production house. Over four decades Avala produced scores of partisan war films and patriotic dramas, most notably perhaps the 1969 Oscar-nominated epic Battle of Neretva.
With Tito’s support, they even lured Hollywood giants with Yul Brynner, Orson Weller, Richard Burton, Anthony Hopkins, Anthony Quinn, Kirk Douglas and Sophia Loren making films there.
Tito also took a close role in picking Richard Burton to play him as a young partisan leader in Stipe Delic’s 1973 film Sutjeska. On-set footage featuring Burton and Tito provides a rare insight into the star-struck leader and the true focus on that day.
Tito’s death in 1980 brought studio output to a staggering halt, firmly cemented in the early 90s. Avala is currently lying in ruin, without electricity, awaiting sale and likely destruction. The stacks of props and costumes still piled high in the ramshackle studio could be some of the last remnants of a bygone day. Sadly, it is thought that much of the film produced at Avala could already be lost forever, marking a permanent loss to cinema history.
Cinema Komunisto is a thought-provoking and enjoyable film covering a interesting subject during an fascinating period. But this is not an analysis of film or the effects of Tito’s hands-on involvement in how Yugoslav film (re)shaped history. It is highly entertaining and definitely provokes conversation but Mila has provides virtually no critical scrutiny, veering more towards a cosy, faintly nostalgic tone.
Leka and his pals remain steadfast in their clear admiration for Tito and his film-making ways.
Almost exclusively, contributors are warmly reflective about their golden age and speak with reverence towards Tito and his machinations. In particular, a dewy-eyed Leka gives the impression that his Tito years were the best of his life.
It could be argued, too, that focus on the Avala studio gives only one angle on Yugoslavia’s fascinating history in film. Partisan films and other state-endorsed propaganda movies are given plenty of screen time while, for example, the more non-conformist Black Wave film makers are missing from this particular documentary. But that’s a minor niggle in an otherwise enjoyable and informative film that tells a story clearly under the dictates of a reasonable running time.
World cinema buffs should love this documentary and it serves a clear purpose in recording a piece of history that is already slipping away. But this is definitely not a dry film essay or film school thesis. Anyone interested in film or with even a mild curiosity about the ex-YU should enjoy the well-structured story told with pace, humour and heart.
Cinema Komunisto is an entertaining watch and prompts lively conversation long after viewing. It also encourages further viewing of some of the featured films. Personally, I can’t wait to watch it again.
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