Berlin 2011: THE FORGIVENESS OF BLOOD

rating: 4.5

The last of the sixteen films competing for this year's Golden Bear is The Forgiveness of Blood directed and co-written by the American behind Maria Full of Grace, Joshua Marston. It may have been made by a predominantly American crew, and joint funded with help from Denmark and Italy, but this film is at its core Albanian. The cast is entirely Albanian, including many non-actors, and it was co-written by an Albanian filmmaker, Andamion Murataj. Furthermore, the story - which concerns the Northern Albanian practice of blood feuds - is about as culturally specific to Europe's second poorest nation as you can get without including their strange obsession with Norman Wisdom (I've just used up all my Albania knowledge right there). The Forgiveness of Blood is the story of two mutually antagonistic families who both live in a small village. Tensions are raised when one family bans the other from travelling on their land, doing so rudely and in front of a man's young daughter. In a culture based around ideas of respect and honour, this is the final insult and later the wronged party, Mark (Refet Abazi), returns to the scene with his brother and commits a murder. So begins a blood feud - a custom retained from a fifteenth century legal code called the Kanun, unchallenged by local law enforcement - in which Mark's family are to expect a reprisal attack, with blood paying for blood. It's old testament justice in the age of Facebook, mobile phone videos and PlayStation games, and the film shows this problem of a country straddling two eras by highlighting the divide between young and old people. Mark is an agricultural worker and yet his eldest son, Nik (Tristan Halilaj), dreams of opening an internet cafe. However, Nik's dreams - along with those of his siblings - are put on hold after the murder as custom dictates that they stay in their homes on the understanding that any male who leaves is open to a revenge attack. The children are therefore no longer allowed outside and can not attend school. And though women are generally considered immune from the threat of violence, Nik's little sister Rudina (Sindi Lacej) is also forced to abandon her dream of going to college as she has to take on the workload of the imprisoned males, which forces her to grow up prematurely. The film chronicles the universal drama of growing up (of getting a girlfriend, for instance) as well as looking at a very specific Albanian custom and social problem. In doing this it also becomes an essay on the dangers of the kind of pride and ego that perpetuates this mutually destructive system of cyclical revenge. It's a rare anti-revenge movie then, but it is also about the change in pace of life between generations. The village elders dictate the traditional long time frame in resolving the dispute (via an independent mediator: a lucrative career option in Albania), whilst Nik wishes to rush in and confront the grieving family on his own terms. He's a young man in a hurry and it is this fear that life (and love) will not wait for him which sees him grow frustrated with - what he perceives as - his father's lack of honour and courage. The title itself not only concerns the blood that is owed to the "enemy" family, but also alludes to the internal struggle that develops within Nik's family: over whether they can forgive Mark for putting them all in this position, potentially for decades to come. The film is melancholic, but beautiful all the same, as it presents in detail a world most of us know nothing about with such authentic actors and locations. In this way it succeeds in making the unfamiliar seem familiar and relatable. These facts ensure that the people of Northern Albania and their customs are not patronised by Marston's extremely well researched film. Isabella Rossellini's jury will decide later today which films pick up the awards here at the 61st Berlin Film Festival. But I'd be surprised if The Forgiveness of Blood is not one of four or five serious contenders they will talk about. A fascinating insight into a country not usually seen on our screens: a country in 21st Century Europe that - for many at least - still abides by a fifteenth century legal code