Burning buildings shrouded in dense fog and people fleeing through harsh mountain landscapes in zigzagging lines immediately draw you back to some of the most familiar scenes of the 1998-1999 war in Kosovo. Then, a typical scene of post-war Prishtina daily life: a small bus, the sound of a folk song and familiar faces of children selling peanuts and cigarettes, who are all drowsy and exhausted on the back of the bus.
One of these children stares at the camera profoundly as he says, “I get up and go to school. After school, my cousin comes and brings me cigarettes. I take the bus into the city and start selling them. I come home in the morning and give all the money to my mother so she can buy food for my brothers and sisters.”
As he speaks, it becomes clear that the filmmaker aims to confront the audience, challenging their sense of complacency and the idea that feeling sorry equates to taking action.
The film “Afterwar,” directed by the internationally acclaimed Danish writer-director Birgitte Stærmose, follows Besnik Hyseni, Gëzim Kelmendi, Xhevahire Abdullahu and Shpresim Azemi over 15 years. The film was made in collaboration with them and blends raw realism and staged performance as they transform into adults before our eyes, confronting and surviving and showing how the aftermath of war is more complicated than the war itself because it never ends. The film premiered at Berlin International Film Festival (Berlinale) at the beginning of 2024 and is part of the Balkan Dox competition at the 2024 edition of Dokufest, an international documentary and short film festival in Prizren.
Stærmose conducted long interviews with them, creating confrontational monologues based on their input, which they had the opportunity to revise. This process resulted in storylines related to the characters’ private lives but in a fictionalized form.
Xhevahire is surrounded by her real mother and her sister-in-law in their real home. Gëzim had a very intense and often unpleasant relationship with his father in real life and did not want to be filmed in his home or with his father, but he did want the story told. The baby in the film is his real son, and the raps he performs are his own. His father in the film, however, is a professional actor, and the locations are not his real home.
“The film is shot like a fiction film. I am a fiction director. They are performing; they have a script, they learn it and they perform a scene. We are not filming their actual lives; their lives remain private and not in the film. It’s important to note that they are all great performers, performing stories based on their and other people’s lives,” Stærmose said. “It represents a collective truth.”
Originally, Stærmose made the award-winning short film “Out of Love” (2009) with the four characters she met as children selling peanuts and cigarettes in Prishtina. “Out of Love” premiered at Berlinale 2009. In the years following, she kept in touch with some of the cast and followed their lives. She was fascinated by how their lives unfolded. As a result, the film “Afterwar” began to take shape.
In recent years, Stærmose has also worked internationally as the lead director on drama series for HBO, Starz and Netflix. Her most recent feature, “Camino,” premiered as the closing film at the Geneva International Film Festival (GIFF) in 2023 and was released in selected theaters and on the Viaplay platform in April 2023.
“Afterwar” was screened at Dokufest on August 5, 2024 at 8 p.m. at Lumbardhi Bahce and will be screened again on Saturday, August 10, 2024 at 3 p.m..
K2.0 met with Stærmose to discuss co-creating with Gëzim, Xhevahire, Besnik and Shpresim, filming over 15 years and what living in the aftermath of war entails.
Credit: Marek Septimus Wieser
K2.0: Your first time in Kosovo was when you were a guest at Dokufest around two decades ago. It was only a few years after the war, yet you were part of a lively film atmosphere at Dokufest, and the effects of the war seemed distant. In Prizren, the destruction and harm caused by the war was less visible compared to other cities and villages. What were the elements or events that struck you during your visit?
Birgitte Stærmose: It wasn’t an intensely post-war experience, but it was clear that this was a post-war country, even in Prizren. The atmosphere made it evident. It might depend on your personality, but I’m quite intuitive, and I could feel it emotionally. You could sense it in everyone you spoke to. Though people were very energetic and happy, the post-war presence was noticeable. It wasn’t about visible destruction or tragedy; it was more about the realness of the situation. There was a palpable energy that was unexpected, fascinating and interesting. This sparked my curiosity about making a film. Everything was practical and in transition. The people and the situation were very real, which made me curious about how to convey that through a staged form, and that’s where my interest began.
How did you meet Gëzim, Xhevahire, Besnik and Shpresim?
It was a long process. I worked with [Kosovo-based film director] Kaltrina Krasniqi, and she helped me a lot. She worked with me, and I met Gëzim through Veton [Nurkollari] from Dokufest. We were trying to meet some of the kids, and he said, “I know this boy who’s really fascinating.” So, the different kids we met in various ways; some we approached in Prishtina. We would approach them, talk to them a bit and ask if they would talk to us. It took about a year or a year and a half before we filmed them.
It wasn’t like we met them one day and shot the next day. It was a very slow process of getting to know them and building trust, to ensure the trust was in place before we actually shot anything.
“Afterwar” takes a long-term view on its co-creators’ lives, filming over 15 years. Still from “Afterwar.”
Children who work as peanut and cigarette sellers have been particularly present in Kosovo’s pub/café culture. Their disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds are especially visible when they are performing their jobs, contrasted with others enjoying their beers in comfortable social environments. Why did you become interested in these profiles?
Of course, I was interested in the disadvantages they had, but I was more interested in the idea that they were not seen, that we tend to ignore other people’s misery. I wanted to confront the audience with what they felt and had experienced, told through their monologues to the camera. The film is structured around this idea.
This idea of pitying someone as a way to escape discomfort provoked me.
For example, when I first met them, I would come home and tell family and friends about my experience. People would often cut me off and say, “Oh, how terrible and sad for them,” and then move on to talk about what they had for dinner last night. This idea of pitying someone as a way to escape discomfort provoked me. So, the film is made to put you in a position where you can’t do that. You’re not able to say, “Oh, poor them, I feel so bad,” which is a privileged way of reacting to someone who is suffering more than you are.
I think many films, especially documentaries, often create that response in the audience: “Oh my God, what a terrible situation.”
But when I met them, I felt they were extremely strong characters. I still feel this way today. They are incredibly strong. I don’t think they are there to be pitied. It’s important to look at the circumstances that put them at a disadvantage, but it’s not a disadvantage they are not fighting. They are big fighters and survivors, to an extent unimaginable for many people. I consider them very strong individuals.
Neither purely documentary nor fiction, “Afterwar” tells four people’s stories from childhood into adulthood. Still from “Afterwar.”
I think the strength you mention is particularly evident when they talk directly to the camera. It’s like they are confronting you, preventing you from victimizing or pitying them. The moment you start feeling sorry for them, they pull you either up or down, constantly asserting their agency in your interaction with them.
You may not look at them when they come into the café, but they look at you. They know what's going on.
Yes, I’m extremely happy that you had that experience. I actually made the film more for a Western European audience than a local one. As a Danish audience, a Western European audience, we are often unaware of our own privilege and consider it natural that we are in a better position. I wanted to put this audience in a slightly uncomfortable spot, where they couldn’t escape. The monologues are written based on interviews with the children, and in a confrontational style. When they were children, they probably didn’t have the security to be that confrontational, but they had the depth and the thinking. You may not look at them when they come into the café, but they look at you. They know what’s going on. They experience all of it, and there’s a lot of understanding and thought that goes with that.
After the opening credits, immediately after your name, the four names of the characters appear as co-creators, suggesting co-authorship with you. Is this an attempt to give them back the microphone, and allow them to be in charge of their representation, so they choose how to be represented?
Definitely, definitely. It is a co-creation in that Cast Producer Gazmend Bajri and I interviewed them extensively, and the film is structured around these interviews and their intentions. A lot of what came out in the interviews were things they wanted to talk about. So, the film is structured around what emerged from the interviews and what I observed while hanging out with them and talking or visiting.
For example, when we first met Shpresim, he said his religion was very important to him. He wanted to be in the film, but he wanted his religion to be portrayed because it was a very meaningful part of his life that he wanted other people to be inspired by. So, a lot of his story in the film is centered around his religious life.
In talking to Xhevahire, her mother emerged as a very important person in her life. We discussed this a lot and visited with her mother. Consequently, a significant portion of her story in the film is about her relationship to her mother.
When I reconnected with them years later, it struck me that everyone, if not themselves, had someone in their family who had fled. The theme of fleeing was prevalent, either in the past, present, or as a future hope.
The film was created over several years, filmed in small steps. Each time, there were extensive talks about what we would shoot, what the text would be, and how it would be portrayed. It was a constant negotiation to ensure everything felt right. While I am the director and understand filmmaking, they were participating in the process in one way or another. I very much intended for the film to reflect their lived experience.
Stærmose and her co-creators collaborated throughout the whole process of the film being created. Still from “Afterwar.”
Would you act similarly if the children or youngsters were Danish and you made the movie in Denmark? Does this caution come from being a foreigner taking on a local story? Would equivalent Danish characters have had the same space to contribute to and shape the storytelling?
I think, of course, [being a foreigner] made it even more important. But if they were kids in Denmark in a similar situation, I would do the same. The fact that the film has been made over 15 years makes it very difficult to separate the filmmaking from the time and everything that happened during that period. There’s a parallel relationship between me and them, or other crew members and them. It’s different from other films, even those made over three years, especially since it involves documenting their journey from childhood to adulthood.
There’s a witnessing in many ways. The whole crew and I have witnessed their growth, and they have witnessed us making this film. This long-term collaboration contributes significantly to the film. You can’t just replicate this collaboration without considering the time involved. The 15 years are crucial. It’s not just about the labor; it’s about the relationship that develops over such an extended period. Sticking with someone for 15 years creates a different relationship compared to just two years. It’s a significant part of their lives and ours.
It’s longer than [Richard Linklater’s] “Boyhood,” which was shot over 12 years. Why did you decide to follow these characters for 15 years? Why did you decide to keep going back and following their growth over such a long period? Was it enough to have a perspective on living after the war?
Some of them I had contact with over the years, some through other people and some I could follow on social media. I was curious. I wanted to see what was happening in their lives as they grew up. I became very interested in how their lives were developing.
For myself and the entire crew, shooting with them in 2007 was a significant experience. They left a big mark on all of us. Meeting them was unforgettable and had a profound emotional impact. Creatively, it was also a very exciting film to make. There were various reasons, but primarily, I was very curious about them.
What was more gripping than what the first film could tell was the opportunity to show that their struggle didn’t end. In Hollywood storytelling, if something is not good, it’s going to get better and the struggle ends. But their struggle hadn’t ended, which was heartbreaking. So I thought there was an opportunity to tell the audience more concretely that growing up with the kind of disadvantage and unfairness they experienced doesn’t just go away.
The media focuses on the war, the drama and then how the drama ended, but for those who lived through a war, the effects can last for generations.
It was an opportunity to tell a story about being disadvantaged and struck by poverty, but also about the long-term effects of war. We talk about war and peace, but we don’t often discuss the aftermath. The media focuses on the war, the drama and then how the drama ended, but for those who lived through a war, the effects can last for generations. With these characters, there was an opportunity to tell a story about the lasting impact of war because of the extended time frame.
Some people in the film play themselves, like Gëzim and his son, while others, like Gëzim’s father, are played by external actors. Still from “Afterwar.”
Migration seems like the only choice when you live in a post-war country. Living in the aftermath of war has the magnitude of a Greek tragedy, where the path of life is already predestined. It’s not necessarily defeatist, but there are not many choices. Is this the ending you would have imagined 15 years ago?
This is a co-creation that grows out of what was on their minds. A lot of the film is about surviving, struggling to survive and creating a decent life for yourself and your family. It’s about insisting on having the possibility of a decent life. The ending wasn’t meant to make a statement; it emerged from their minds. Xhevahire’s last monologue is based on things she talked about in her interviews. It’s not my ending; it reflects what they said and what I observed.
This article has been edited for length and clarity. The conversation was conducted in English.
Feature Image: Still from “Afterwar”.
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