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| Source: Wikipedia |
In this Serbian film (not THAT one), two exquisitely mustached sociopaths run amok in Belgrade, Yugoslavia, during the opening credits and over the whole three hour runtime. They save and kiss and punch each other, squabble over a woman, and spark bloody revolutions. (According to Ten Seconds of Googling, the director wanted FIVE hours.)
This manic tragicomedy spans generations, decades, wars. Or what the poor bastards who spend decades in a bomb cellar think is one war.
A.D. 1941. Some battered citizens of Belgrade retreat underground to make weapons to fight the Nazis. But the war ends. The brilliant bastard running the operation convinces his people that World War II still rages. While his comrades toil, he sells their guns and the movie rights to his exaggerated memoirs. Underground, children grow up. People marry. Then some wander outside…
It’s a strange ride. A surreal emotional carousel: constant motion, fluctuation between high drama and low comedy, and a persistent sensation of nausea. There’s slapstick, pointless death, and spontaneous brass ensembles. Pratfalls, mistaken identity, and electroshock torture. Weddings, funerals, movies, and a chimp in a tank. A grisly finale with genocide, complex politics, and unconvincing old-age makeup.
If there’s any message, it’s too obscure or too obvious for me.
Overall, it’s a bizarre, rambling parable about exploitation, enforced ignorance, and facial hair. To quote one mustached sociopath, “We’re all crazy. We just haven’t been diagnosed yet.”
Recommended for psychedelically inclined historians, mole people, and clinically depressed former Yugoslavians.
167 minutes.
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