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BREAD
AND MILK
8/10
Kruh
in Mleko, aka Black and White : Slovenia 2001
director/script
: Jan Cvitkovic
cinematography : Toni Laznic
editing : Dafne Jemersik
music : Drago Ivanusa
lead actors : Peter Musevski, Sonja Savic, Tadej Troha, Perica Radonjic-Pepi
68 minutes
They’ve
qualified for their first World Cup, and the poshest ex-Yugoslav state
can also boast one of Europe’s rising-star directors: Cvitkovic barely
wastes a frame as he brings in Kruh in mleko at a lean 68 minutes
of monochrome. As in the drollest short stories, every moment of the movie
has to pull its weight. Crucially, the pacing is just right – we build
and build from a very low-key start, as recovering alcoholic Ivan (Musevski)
is sent by his wife Sonja (Savic) to buy groceries. On his way back home
he bumps into an old pal and is persuaded to visit ‘The Tavern’ bar for
old times’ sake. As night falls, good intentions are soon swept aside
as Ivan rapidly falls off the wagon, with catastrophic consequences for
all: Ivan, his son Robi (Troha), who turns up in the Tavern toilets shooting
heroin, and Sonja, who eventually arrives to see what’s happened to that
bread and milk...
It
doesn’t sound much like a comedy, but the disasters escalate so quickly
and cruelly that they spiral into crazy farce: think Some Mothers Do
‘ave Em, as written by Raymond Carver. But the film isn’t just an
acid, black (and white) joke: with the minimum of effort, Cvitkovic captures
the atmosphere of this town (Tolmin) by night, especially ‘The Tavern.’
Identified in the credits as the Hamurabi Bar, this scruffy pub becomes
one of the movies’ great dives: “If this town is Eden, then this Tavern
is the apple” reads scrawled graffiti on the wall outside. On another
wall, there’s the legend ‘Love never dies’, under which Robi slumps among
cardboard boxes – in lesser hands, the irony would be too cheap, but Cvitkovic
knows he can get away with it if he takes things to sufficient extremes.
And he pulls it off, loading Ivan with truly Job-like afflictions, only
faltering at the very end: the director builds to a terrific dirty-poetic
image, only to cobble on a poem, a dedication, and a final shot that goes
just a step too far. At 67 minutes, this really would have been something
special.
12th
December, 2001
(seen Dec-8-01, Sakala Keskus, Tallinn, Estonia – Black
Nights Film Festival)
Why not read
our interview with the director Jan
Cvitkovic
by Neil
Young
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