On the map of our lives, there are points from which it is impossible to get out. Functioning somewhat beyond time and space, acting on the principle of powerful blockades that neither therapy sessions nor what we could describe as a return to normality are able to overcome them. It is about them that the outstanding Aida tells. Jasmila Žbanić's film is a unique, cinematic magnet that draws us towards pain. It comes like an emotional roller, it destroys and crushes faith in humanity. The horror of the Srebrenica massacre in the work of Bosnian women is subtle, but its intensity is shocking and will not leave anyone indifferent. You will spend the screening with a lump in your throat, looking for safe escape routes - you will create analogies to the tragedy of Auschwitz, you will distribute the burden of responsibility for the crime between the specter of ghastly nationalism and the derailed, soulless bureaucratic machine of the United Nations, listen to a symphony of horror at least for notes of reconciliation. Contrary to appearances, the latter does not appear in the excellent epilogue of the story, just as Żbanić does not in any way pretend to be called the one that only testifies to the truth. For the production of a "warning" perspective would be too banal and threadbare. First of all, Aida becomes an attempt at liberation from hatred, a foundation on which a society that is already new, though still haunted by the ghosts of the past, can emerge. I would like to believe that in the devastatingly sad 2020 film Žbanić will become the most important film, even if it brings us catharsis in its spookiest form.
On a basic level, Aida is an attempt to reconstruct the historical events of July 1995, during which the Bosnian Serb army led by General Ratko Mladić committed genocide on over 8,000 people. Muslim men and boys, while raping many of their wives and mothers. This greatest tragedy in Europe since World War II was described by its perpetrators as "ethnic cleansing", all the more terrifying as it took place in the immediate vicinity of one of the UN security zones. 400 Dutch soldiers stationed there under the command of Colonel Thom Karremans took virtually no action to stop the coming crime, and the blame for such a turn of events should be placed primarily on decision-making officials who remained deaf to any appeals for air support or other form of response . In the film Žbanić, however, the historical dimension of the massacre has the same meaning as the personal drama of the title character taking place in its center. Aida (brilliant Jasna Djuricic) who lives in Srebrenica works as a UN translator who tries to use her position at every step to save her husband and sons. First, it tries to smuggle them into the base, where only some of the tens of thousands of Muslims wandering beneath find shelter, and then it does everything to prevent them from ending up in a transport planned by Serbs and agreed with the UN - this seems to be a camouflage from the very beginning and an introduction to mass murder. There is something disturbing and at the same time fascinating in the fact that even knowing the historical realities of the Srebrenica massacre, we discover the truth about the film events in a punctual manner, as if the inevitable future remained veiled of mystery. Žbanić puts fictional elements on the real nightmare, which outline and enhance the causative power of the message. The destruction of the individual goes hand in hand with the catastrophe of the entire civilization. Srebrenica's echo can never be silent; otherwise, in this Bosnian city, humanity will symbolically perish once more.
We constantly look at the world carefully outlined by the director through the eyes of the main character, the woman of a million faces, even if each of them shows a grimace of pain and a scream of helplessness. Although the protagonist sometimes disappears from the central plan of events, the viewer follows them through the prism of Aida's knowledge about them. The reactions are immediate: running between the rooms of Karremans and other superiors of UN missions, desperate attempts to hide her husband and sons, pleas, escaping into the world of imaginations. As the screening progresses, we will realize that the heroine carries on her shoulders not only the cross of personal drama, but also the inevitable burden of the fall of all humanity, phenomenally documented and preserved in the attitudes and behavior of Dutch soldiers. The latter are drowning in the ocean of fear, losing control over the act of crime carefully directed by Mladić, unwittingly becoming its silent observers. It is no coincidence that the Serbian general goes to the next places with the accompanying camera. He is a carter and a death writer at the same time, posing on the outside as a man of honor, and in fact spoiled to the core. Oh, a barbarian who places Karremans and company in the corners, blurring the blame for the whole situation. Mladić's actions will awaken in us the same discomfort that emerges from the sequences depicting the meetings of Serbs and Muslims. Recent friends, students from the same school, and neighbors are facing each other. I am not sure, however, whether the term "man has prepared this fate" would be appropriate in the context of Aida. The human element in Srebrenica was completely lost in the wave of dehumanization, taking the form of a macabre joke told from the very center of the crime scene. A ghastly spectacle which, like the entire Žbanić film, paralyzes with a mixture of fear, helplessness and animosity.
I am almost sure that the most shocking scene for you will be the macabre sequence evoking a ghostly variation on the procedure used in Inglourious Basterds. In itself, it would be a moving summary of the screen events. Žbanić wants to go one step further, towards a completely new reality. The epilogue of the film appears like a mourning song over the graves of the dead, lasting continuously for 25 years. What is left of Srebrenica? All-consuming pain, which will infect you long after the screening, but also social harmony subtly enchanted in Aida's eyes, refreshing in all its gloom. However, this is neither a hope for a better tomorrow nor a light in the tunnel of long-term feuds. Rather, it is a belief that the generation that is growing up before our eyes will be more reasonable than the previous one. The most important lesson that the title character can teach him is that of overcoming hatred. Leading us to an empty room, from behind which comes the cry of a child. Don't ask Aida where she's going. It is just where all of us should go.
