Few days ago parliaments of Serbia and Montenegro have ratified new constitutional charter, which, among other things, renamed their (con)federation into "Union of Serbia and Montenegro". Thus the name "Yugoslavia" was finally allowed to go to history books, where it should have arrived twelve years earlier. For most of the world name "Yugoslavia" is synonym for violent break-up and senseless ethnic carnage. The events responsible for such perceptions were as traumatic for the people of those areas as were confusing for outside observers. Vukovar poste restante, 1994 Serbian film directed by Boro Drašković, is not likely to clear such confusion.
The plot of the film is set in Vukovar, picturesque city on the border between Serbia and Croatia, known for centuries of ethnic and religious tolerance. In 1989 the fall of Berlin Wall coincides with a wedding of Ana (Mirjana Joković), ethnic Croat woman, and Toma (played by Boris Isakovic), ethnic Serb man. Few months later, collapse of Communism would allow long-suppressed nationalisms to rear their ugly heads – Croats are increasingly determined to seek independence, while Serbs are increasingly determined not to be reduced to minority in newly independent state. Mistrust and paranoia gradually lead to violence with young couple being caught in the crossfire. Toma is drafted into Federal military, while his parents, fearing the worst, leave the city. Ana's parents still believe in peaceful solution and stay in the city, which would become major Croatian stronghold. Because of that, Toma would have to assault his home town, where his pregnant wife, just like thousands of other frightened citizens, has to live in shelters in order to escape utter destruction.
In 1994 many world's critics praised Vukovar poste restante as "powerful anti-war" film. But its "anti-war" credentials were somewhat compromised by the ironic fact that its worldwide release became part of propaganda war between Serbia and Croatia in early 1990s, best symbolised by rival Vukovar-themed Croatian film Vukovar: The Way Home. Its objectivity was even more compromised by the fact that the film was shot with the logistical support of Serbian military and on the authentic locations of Vukovar, at that particular time under control of irredentist Serb authorities.
Calling Vukovar poste restante a mere Serbian propaganda would be injustice to its makers, though. If it is indeed Serbian propaganda, it is much more subtle for standards of Milošević's Serbia. Croatian characters are shown with lot of sympathies, and even Croatian soldiers – usually potrayed as genocidal Nazi child-killing psychopaths in early 1990s Belgrade media - have some human qualities. But Boro Drašković takes very selective approach to the recent events he has to portray, thus subtly giving away pro Serb bias. For example, Toma's father (played by Mihailo "Miša" Janketić, the actor who represented Milošević's party SPS in Serbian parliament) is allowed to express Serb outrage over Croatian Serbs having their status reduced in new Croatian constitution, while Ana's father (played by Predrag Ejdus) doesn't mention Croat grievances that led his country to seek separation from their eastern neighbours in the first place. Lack of Drašković's objectivity is even more apparent in its portrayal of war and its atrocities - very accurate in the case of Vukovar Serbs being subjected to humiliations, beatings, rape and murder at the hands of Croatian paramilitary thugs; conspicuously absent when in the case of Vukovar Croats suffering the same or worse fate at the hands of Serbian paramilitary thugs. The worst thing comes at the end of film, in the scene that shows the fall of Vukovar and its aftermath - those events, that included some of the most notorious massacres and ethnic cleansings of former Yugoslav wars, were well- documented (including television images of victorious Serbian soldiers singing songs about upcoming massacre of Croats); but here they are absent.
Presenting Serbian view of Yugoslav break-up is something that the viewers from Croatia might not like, but they at least can understand. But this is not the worst thing about Vukovar poste restante. The film suffers from the disease known as "artistic pretensions". Mozart (with occasional pop songs from former Yugoslavia in late 1980s and early 1990s) dominates the soundtrack, while the story is being told in sterile and utterly unconvincing narration by two main characters. The acting is also bad, and the accents definitely don't have anything to do with people of Vukovar. Even worse is Drašković's portrayal of actual battles - with soldiers performing Shakespearean theatrics in the midst of heavy urban combat. Actually, the more I think about Vukovar poste restante, the more I am convinced that this film is not that different from 1990s Croatian films that covered the same subjects. And those subjects shouldn't be touched in this way, at least because of the people who had endured such horrors in real life. If they happen to watch films like Vukovar poste restante, they would not only have to experience their war traumas all over again; they would have to experience them in the form of bad film.
RATING: 2/10 (-)
(Note: The text in its original form was posted in Usenet newsgroup rec.arts.movies.reviews on February 1st 2003)
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