‘Wind, Talk to Me’ Review: A Filmmaker Works Through His Grief With Wit, Grace and Imagination

by

After experiencing profound grief, memories for some of us aren’t neatly organized in a straightforward sequence. Instead, time seems to stretch, contract, and fracture, with significant moments blurring together while trivial details like meals, purchases, or clothing stand out vividly. The mind sometimes rearranges or distorts events in a way that feels authentic even if they didn’t occur exactly as remembered, making the flexible documentary-fiction style of “Wind, Talk to Me” perfectly fitting for director Stefan Djordjevic’s poignant and playful account of his grief following his mother’s passing. This unique personal reflection on loss gradually encompasses various family members’ perspectives, mirroring the chaotic, intense emotions typical of many family get-togethers – emotional one moment, uproariously funny the next.

As a follower, I would describe “Wind, Talk to Me” as a unique, boundary-pushing piece that seamlessly blends personal journal entries and imaginative storytelling. To some, its leisurely pace and fluid perspective might appear challenging, but the film’s heartwarming humor, relatable family dynamics, and standout canine act are sure to captivate a loyal fanbase on the festival circuit. After its debut in Rotterdam’s Tiger competition, this Serbian-Slovenian-Croatian production will undoubtedly journey far and wide, with screenings not only at documentary festivals but also in more diverse programs.

The title is inspired by a heartfelt dialogue between the filmmaker and his mother Negrica during her cancer battle, which opens and closes the movie. The conversation, captured intimately, later provides emotional depth to mysterious audio snippets. In it, she expresses her belief that one can manipulate the wind using only their willpower, to which her son responds skeptically but playfully. After her passing, the filmmaker appears to embrace this idea of the human body harmonizing with nature more wholeheartedly. The wind is a consistent auditory element in the movie, seeming to converse with the filmmaker’s fragile emotions as he tentatively seeks a physical bond with nature and the elements. Cinematographer Marko Brdar captures these scenes with long shadows and lush, end-of-summer greenery. At one point, Djordjevic runs his hand along the grooves of tree bark, both self-conscious and eager for some sort of insight or epiphany.

To prevent things from becoming overly complex or intellectual, Djordjevic’s chatty, down-to-earth relatives help keep him grounded. They find his insistence on filming their get-togethers amusing, but also acknowledge the significance of these events in what effectively serves as a therapeutic journey, concluding a project initially focused solely on his mother. A touch of storyline is woven into the fabric of reality, as the filmmaker – freshly single and still grieving – travels to the countryside to celebrate his grandmother’s 80th birthday with family, marking their first gathering since Negrica’s passing. Afterward, they visit the humble lakeside cabin where she spent her final days, tidying up and sifting through recollections, striving to preserve the place as a memory rather than allowing it to become frozen in time.

Family closeness isn’t always warm and fuzzy, as it can also bring sharp disagreements – both spoken and unspoken – to light. Djordjevic is hurt by his grandmother’s action of washing one of Negrica’s old dresses, but he understands the futility of arguing with her given her fragile state. On the other hand, Bosko acknowledges that he needs some space in the film, stating, “Too many things happened at once.” He thinks there are more things he should keep to himself for now. These interactions feel strikingly honest, though they might be exaggerated. At times, “Wind, Talk to Me” seems to echo conversations we should have with our loved ones but haven’t, while at other moments, it’s beyond its grasp.

The storyline of the film revolves around Djordjevic’s growing bond with a stray dog he hits with his car on a rural road. The dog, named Lija, initially shows suspicion and hostility when treated for her injuries, but eventually softens as she senses genuine affection. This transformation symbolizes the potential for growth even from grief, without resorting to sentimentality. The filmmaker’s own pet portrays Lija.

Later, a heartfelt conversation between a mother and son, filled with fond memories of their past together and longing for their future apart, is depicted. The camera focuses on the mother’s worn yet kind face, occasionally obscured by a breeze-ruffled curtain – as if the wind itself were whispering its thoughts.

Read More

2025-02-06 11:47