Bobo Jelčić
Divorced father Marko is hardly ever alone: he is surrounded on all sides by family, friends, co-workers and neighborhood fixers. Yet he is driven to the brink by limited contact with the one person he loves more than anyone – his daughter, who lives with her mother. When he starts the legal proceedings to get more time with his child, he enters the Kafkaesque world of a social-services system in meltdown. His fierce, paternal love for his child is both the source of his misery and his greatest joy.
One film made by 15 directors, Each one, after seeing the last minute of the previous one.
When Slavko's old friend Djulaga dies, Slavko feels obliged to go to the funeral. But in his hometown of Mostar, in Bosnia & Herzegovina, this simple social obligation has the potential to get him into all kinds of trouble: with his neighbors or even with local political bigwigs. Yet if he does not go, his wife will think he's a coward, the grieving family will never forgive him - and he might have trouble forgiving himself. This is a compelling tale of everyday life in a fractured society, and a world where paranoia, comedy and drama co-exist. It is also an astute psychological portrait of a man who is forced to cross the invisible line that divides two communities. Above all, it is the story of a man who lost everything that defined him, when his country disintegrated.
Zagreb. A family: Ana, the mother, Katarina, Tvrtko and Drazen, her three grown up children, and Tvrtko's girlfriend Natasa. The story begins in the morning when Natasa, after a quarrel with her boyfriend, comes back home, a two-bedroom apartment where her mother and brothers live. This brings a little bit of confusion in the family's everyday schedule. Through many dialogues we get acquainted with the members of the family, their personal problems and frustrations and their interesting and sometimes strained relations with no serious hard feelings, though, their biggest problem being the financial inability to move away and start living on their own.
