Making movies while the world is on fire
A look inside Dokufest’s national competition.
By Valmira Rashiti — 5/8/2025
In the past few years, people have endured a global pandemic, escalating climate crises and ongoing wars –– all unfolding in real time before our eyes. As 2025 unfolds, the world continues to witness a genocide on the fingertips of their phones, leaving many to grapple with deepening uncertainty.
In the midst of such overwhelm –– of grief, rage and numbness –– the International Documentary and Short Film Festival, Dokufest, remains deeply political and in touch with our collective anxieties. Once again, it has invited us to Prizren for a week to reflect on the role of art, cinema and documentation, in a time when watching feels indistinguishable from inaction. Organizers stress that “Endless Greed Mental Void” is not just this year’s festival theme, but a condition we are collectively living through. The slogan captures the growing difficulty of thinking clearly amid relentless suffering.
This year’s program is carefully curated with film screenings and discussions that create space for storytelling and collective solidarity, in an attempt to resist numbness, the void and the seductive pull of detachment.
K2.0 spoke to ten directors from the national category to explore their views on cinema as a means of resistance: asking, what does it mean to make films while the world is on fire?
Endrit Qarolli, Kosovar writer and director.
Qarolli studied film in London, UK, and lived there for three years before returning to Prishtina, Kosovo, where he is currently based. He is premiering his first short film at this year’s DokuFest edition, “Ndera”, which deals with guilt, refuge and the tension between hospitality and vengeance. The film follows a young man on the run after a tragic accident, who is taken in by a stoic villager bound by the Kanun’s strict code of honour.
On his film:
I’ve always admired Ismail Kadare’s work, but “Broken April” left the deepest mark. It sparked my fascination with isolated societies governed by customary laws — something rooted in our history yet often misunderstood. I saw vast dramatic potential in it and knew this had to be the story of my first film.
As I wrote, the process became unexpectedly personal. Like many artists, I wove in my own questions and inner conflicts, especially about my place within the traditional society I grew up in. Instead, I sought to understand the characters based on their historical and cultural context, not judge them. My aim wasn’t to condemn, but to empathize and explore how individuals, often powerless, are shaped by the systems they inhabit.
On greed and mental void:
Do I believe we live in a state of endless greed? Yes. But is greed unique to our time? Not at all. That’s why I appreciate the word Endless. Greed has always been part of the human condition, inseparable from our societies and individual drives. I don’t resist greed any more than I resist love, jealousy or sadness.
If we’re talking about corporations and capitalist systems, then yes –– we must resist, using art and any means available. Still, it’s strange how we separate these entities from ourselves, as if they’re monsters running loose. But they’re made and run by people, just like us.
On cinematic language:
I’m deeply interested in silence as a cinematic form. Silence is torment and bliss; the peace of stillness and the agony of inaction. It is no less political than speech. For now, I use silence as resistance, but I’ll get back to you once I find the right words to express what I mean.
“Ndera” second screening will take place on Aug. 5, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Ermela Teli, Albanian filmmaker
Teli was born in Tirana, Albania, and is currently based in Switzerland. She began her artistic journey as the lead in “Tirana Year Zero,” which premiered at the Venice International Film Festival in 2001. Though she was passionate about film, limited opportunities led her to study theater before completing a Master’s in Film and Television Directing. She is presenting “In Socialist Paradise (It Never Rains)” in this year’s Dokufest national category — a documentary exploring how dictatorship-era propaganda in Albania used art to shape beliefs, relationships and self-perception.
On her film:
“Socialist Paradise (It Never Rains)” was born from a deep need to revisit and re-examine the legacy of propaganda in Albania, not just as something public and ideological, but as something that lived inside our homes, our family photos, our gestures, our silences. Under dictatorship, people couldn’t express their thoughts or emotions freely, and even after the fall of communism that silence remained. Speaking about the past became taboo. Many preferred to forget or to stay silent. This is what inspired me to build a hybrid narrative, blending personal memory and collective experience, because both have been shaped by the same visual language of propaganda that the regime embedded deeply in Albanian society.
On greed and mental void:
I often feel that we are surrounded by a kind of pressure to constantly produce, consume and move forward without pause. This hides a deeper emptiness, where attention, care and introspection are slowly disappearing. In that sense, the “mental void” is not a lack of information; it’s a lack of depth. People are still afraid of speaking out, of being judged or losing their place. So this “void” isn’t empty, it’s full of unspoken things.
On cinematic language:
Silence, in my work, is not emptiness but presence. It’s the space where unspeakable histories and feelings linger. Growing up in a country where silence was imposed, I consciously use both language and silence as tools of resistance –– to reclaim suppressed voices, evoke trauma indirectly and open space for reflection rather than dictate meaning.
“In Socialist Paradise (It Never Rains)” is screening on Aug. 6, 20:30 at Dokukino Plato and Aug. 7, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Durim Klaiqi, Kosovar filmmaker.
Based in Prishtina, Klaiqi comes from a generation shaped by rapid transition, something reflected in his own journey from science to design, video editing and ultimately experimental filmmaking. He is competing in this year’s national category with “The Goddess on the Throne”, a visual exploration that blends archives, music, and 3D reconstructions to trace Kosovo’s history of loss and resurrect memory through absence.
On his film:
The very first inspiration that led me to “The Goddess of the Throne” was definitely an exhibition held by the National Museum of Kosovo, in 2020. This exhibition was dedicated to the unreturned [artefacts of the] Kosovo Museum, of which only “The Goddess of the Throne” figurine was returned due to its importance as the symbol of the city of Prishtina.
It was [based on] this feeling –– that this figurine could have been still locked away in some box, far away from the place where it was found, [like] the remaining 3,724 unreturned [artefacts]. The film is an embodiment of that feeling. One day, I was reading an article about the Archive of Kosovo. It emphasized how three years ago, a “super-secret” room was built with security shutters and an alarm system to store important state documents. The article notes, however, that there are no secrets currently in the room because the room is empty. This single statement made me realize that I was pretty much trying to document something that is no longer there.
On greed and mental void:
I believe that now more than ever, we are surrounded by endless greed and mental voids. So much greed for control and profit, disguised for “a better future”. It often feels pointless to create, even more so if you haven’t found what your creating language is. Yet art continues to be produced. It represents hope that our artistic creations will have an impact on future generations.
“The Goddess of the Throne” is screening on Aug. 5, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Besim Ugzmajli, Kosovar filmmaker.
Ugzmajli was born in Ferizaj, Kosovo, and studied film in the capital, Prishtina. He is participating in this year’s national category with “Five Seasons of My Childhood” — a nostalgic journey through painful and loving childhood memories. The film reflects on a past violently altered, where memories freely roam amid the ruins of time.
On his film:
I didn’t plan to make “Five Seasons of my Childhood.” I started shooting some footage near my house, by the river, which for the first time was completely dry. That image struck strongly; it brought me back to my childhood and made me reflect on how much everything has changed over time. I realized I was rushing forward, not noticing that collective memories are just that, memories without real references anymore. The process of filming took control of me, and I felt like I needed to fight back, to get revenge for that moment. That struggle to capture and understand lasted over five seasons.
On greed and mental void:
The theme of “Endless Greed and Mental Void” is a fascinating aesthetic and moral
question posed by Dokufest this year. It seems to reflect a universal state where people are always wanting more, offering little in return. I think one reason is that many are desperate to accumulate enough to last a lifetime, caught up in a “mental” fear and anxiety about the future. Greed feels like a belief that we’ll live forever, while the mental void signifies a vast emptiness, nothingness at its core.
On cinematic language:
I have a deep love for cinematography. It is a powerful tool, capable of touching the deepest senses in human beings. My cinematic language is about making ugly things look beautiful, much like old paintings depicting massacres and bloody wars from the past. I believe film [resists] simply through its existence. It’s a potent weapon, and it’s up to us to decide how we wield this resistance, against whom we direct it, and for what purpose.
“Five Seasons of my Childhood” will be screening on Aug. 5, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Robert Deçani, German-Albanian writer and director.
Deçani studied directing at the International Film School in Köln, Germany. He is competing in this year’s national category with “Ben’s Birthday”, a film about the impact of ethnic tensions through a child’s perspective, a nine-year-old boy whose innocence is shaken after he witnesses his father being targeted.
On his film:
Two or three years ago, my father, who has lived in Germany since 1992, had an unpleasant encounter with the police. The way he was treated during that incident painfully reminded him that, despite spending most of his life in Germany and starting a family there, he was still seen as an immigrant. It left him feeling unwelcome in a country he now calls home.
Witnessing his pain deeply affected me. Coming from a more privileged position, which my father built for me, I’ve never personally experienced that kind of exclusion. But seeing it happen to him brought back memories from my childhood –– moments when I saw my father being discriminated against. These experiences stayed with me and ultimately inspired the film “Ben’s Birthday”.
On greed and mental void:
We are living through difficult times marked by immense inhumanity. In the West, cruelty and a growing contempt for humanity are slowly but steadily becoming mainstream again. It’s deeply unsettling.
I believe the arts must take a stand for humanistic values. As Joachim Trier said in Cannes, “Tenderness is now a punk movement,” and I think he’s right. I want to be part of that movement, one that tells humanistic, poetic stories in the face of indifference and dehumanization.
On cinematic language:
I’m not sure I’ve fully developed a cinematic language yet. I strive to tell poetic stories, though whether I succeed is something others have to decide. I’m drawn to characters and moments that are often overlooked, and I try to shed light on them with care and empathy.
“Ben’s Birthday” is screening on Aug. 5, 20:30 at Dokukino Plato and 6 August, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Zana Rodogoshi, Kosovar director.
Radogoshi, a film-directing graduate born in Gjakova, Kosovo, began her career as an actress. She is competing in this year’s national category with “No Parking”, a film that explores social media sensationalism, reduced empathy, everyday tension, and collision on the streets.
On her film:
I wrote the script for “No Parking” in 2013. At the time, it wasn’t produced, partly because its theme didn’t yet feel urgent within the local cinematic context. More than a decade later, its concerns have only [become] more relevant.
As with most of my work, the inspiration for this project came from everyday life and the people around me. “No Parking” appears ordinary on the surface, but reveals a deeper truth: how the noise of our society has been replaced by silence, and how our attention has shifted toward a world of clicks, while people’s real struggles remain unresolved.
On greed and mental void:
The themes of emptiness and power have long been humanity’s deepest anxieties, and a central concern for any artist who feels a responsibility toward the world around them. The thirst for control and the erosion of meaning are not new, but what unsettles me today is how these forces manifest in modern life. What troubles me most is the growing crowd of people moving through a world saturated with information, yet are starved of meaning; people who speak, but have nothing to say; who see everything, but don’t see each other.
As an artist, I feel both a responsibility and a deep ache. Art is not just a form of expression; it’s a reaction, a reflection, and often a call to wake up. In today’s world, it’s harder than ever to find an audience truly willing to listen, but that doesn’t mean we stop creating. If anything, it pushes me to dig deeper, to speak more clearly, and to not remain silent in the face of this quiet void that is slowly consuming us all.
On cinematic language:
“No Parking” is more dialogue-driven than some of my other work, and I intentionally used the raw, everyday language of the street for the movie. In cinema, language is always a risk. There’s a fine line between emotional intensity and slipping into cliché.
For me, both language and silence in film are powerful forms of resistance. They’re not just tools of communication, but conscious acts, revealing emotional truths, exposing collective silence, and confronting the issues society often chooses to ignore.
Anita Morina, Kosovar-Croatian writer, director and producer.
Morina completed her master’s in Film Studies in Cambridge, UK, and is currently living and working in Prishtina, Kosovo. She is premiering one of her short films, “SOS”, at this year’s DokuFest edition. “SOS” deals with isolation, routine, and the collapse of identity. It follows Drin as he faces an existential crisis after his job is replaced by a machine.
On her film:
“SOS” was inspired by a brief encounter with a man at the Fushë Kosovë train station. I had only asked him for directions, but he continued telling me proudly, with a smile on his face, how his job was “to watch the train pass by.” That moment sparked the entire story. It’s rare to meet someone so content with what they do. While many of us struggle to find our path, some people seem to define happiness on their own terms, with so little. Through this film, I wanted to explore the passage of time in a remote place, the role of community in shaping individuals and families, and to reflect on love and trains.
I believe we, as artists, need to insist that the act of telling, listening and gathering still matters. When it becomes invalid to think, we must try and feel more. “SOS” is a cry for help –– a reminder of the need to feel.
On cinematic language:
My cinematic language is rooted in minimalism, intimacy and the raw observation of life. I don’t use a fancy camera or appealing lighting setups. I tend to shoot as naturally as I can. I love words, I love poetry, I have so much admiration for beautifully knit dialogue scenes in film, so I tend to write my own that way too.
For me, language in film holds an anthropological weight. Slang, dialect, and the roots of words carry history, geography and identity, all so vital in telling tales. Cinema, in that way, is a means of resistance against erasure.
“SOS” is screening on Aug. 6, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Hanis Bagashov, North-Macedonian director.
Bagashov studied film directing at the National Academy for Theatre and Film Arts (NATFA) in Sofia, Bulgaria. He is interested in exploring the complex layers of identity and culture. Bagashov is competing in this year’s national category with “The Rabbit is Dead”, a sharp and humorous portrait of a young filmmaker balancing personal life as she creates her first film.
On his film:
“The Rabbit is Dead” [is] a graduation film, actually. I wanted to make a film about a young filmmaker coming to terms with herself, touching on the confusing elements that start to emerge along this process.
On cinematic language:
I used quite a lot of words in this film, at least from my perspective. There’s no dialogue; instead, the film is composed of monologues and narration. The narrator is a fictional character from Eva’s (the main character’s) film project, and she often speaks directly to the viewer. So, the act might lie in this attempt at playfulness. And maybe in its overall light tone. As for my cinematic language, I have to keep making films…
On greed and mental void:
There are pictures of people in Gaza gathered for Iftar during Ramadan, sitting together at a table, surrounded by ruins. That speaks of [their] strength, faith and love for one another. A rapid, brutal destruction of humanity is taking place in the world. I think [what is] more important than art for us is to truly become caring and modest people.
“The Rabbit is Dead” will be screening on Aug. 6, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Doreida Xhogu, Albanian visual artist.
Xhogu, born in Selenica, Albania, studied sculpture in Athens, Greece. Her work has been shown in major institutions across Greece. In 2024, she made her first short film, “Mama Klorin”, with which she is competing in this year’s national category. The movie portrays the story of Doreida, a visual artist and daughter of immigrants, as she turns the lens on herself and fellow cleaners in Greece.
On her film:
“Mama Klorin” focuses on the invisible labor of immigrant women working in cleaning; mothers from different countries, each with her own strength and story. For the past two years, I have returned to cleaning work myself, alongside my art. I believe this embodied return –– physical, mental and social –– was essential to making the film.
My first time working at the Amalia Hotel in Skopelos, with my mother and other Albanian women, I was too young to grasp the full weight of the work. Yet, I remember the fatigue, the silence, the glances. I remember their effort to endure, to belong, to stay dignified. Even in exhaustion, they found ways to laugh, to sing, and to live. In “Mama Klorin” I try to let the voices of women immigrants be heard. Through their own narratives, we learn where these women came from, why they left, what they expected to find in the new homeland, and what they actually found.
On greed and mental void:
I believe that the greed and spiritual emptiness we witness today are not new; they’ve always existed, though their forms change over time. To me, life and society are like a volcano: full of energy and constant motion. There are periods of calm, where peace seems to prevail, but beneath the surface, tension builds. Eventually, it erupts through crises, upheavals and transformation. These moments bring political, social and psychological shifts.
As a person and as an artist, I am deeply affected by this unrest. Like everyone, I try to survive in a world that keeps shifting. But I also feel a responsibility to speak, through my work, about injustice and the many voices that remain unheard.
“Mama Klorin” is screening on Aug. 6, 20:30 at Dokukino Plato, and 7 August, 18:30 at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Alban Muja, Kosovar artist and filmmaker.
Muja is based between Berlin, Germany and Prishtina, Kosovo. His work explores the region’s ongoing transformation through historical and socio-political themes. He is competing in this year’s national category with “I Believe the Portrait Saved Me”, a film blending personal reflection and reenactment to tell the story of his father, painter Skender Muja, and his abduction during the 1998-99 Kosovo war.
On his film:
My film resonates with this year’s Dokufest theme, emerging from a moment where human greed — manifested as war, oppression and dehumanization — creates a profound moral and mental void. The detention camp where my father was held reduced life to mere survival, with hunger used as a weapon. Yet within that void, a simple act of drawing became a form of resistance. The portrait he sketched of the commander wasn’t just an image; it was a fragile thread of humanity stretched across a line of violence. The film acknowledges the destruction caused by greed, while also revealing the quiet resilience that survives within it.
On greed and mental void:
“I Believe the Portrait Saved Me” documents personal and collective trauma, but I didn’t want it to exist only as a record of suffering. By showing how a piece of chalk and a drawing could save a life, the film challenges complacency. It reminds us that survival often depends not only on endurance, but on acts of creativity and connection that seem impossible under oppression. At a time when the world is burning with new wars and forced displacements, it feels urgent to tell stories that awaken consciousness — stories that whisper: even in the darkest voids, the human spirit can create.
On cinematic language:
Silence is central to my film. For years, I carried this story silently, unsure how to tell it without diminishing its weight. In the film, my father’s voice is the only one we hear — measured, almost fragile — as though it still carries the echo of fear. By stripping away commentary, I wanted the film to resist the noise of manipulation. No sensationalism, no added layers, just a man reclaiming his story in his own words. The pauses between his sentences, the silences that linger, are themselves acts of resistance. They refuse to let this memory be reshaped or forgotten.
Making this film was an act of reclaiming hope — for both me and, I believe, my father. For years, I was paralyzed by the weight of the story, by the quiet shame that such cruelty occurred, and by my own hesitation in telling it. But bringing it to life transformed numbness into a fragile hope; the hope that by sharing it, the story will live beyond us.
“I Believe the Portrait Saved Me” is screening on Aug. 5, 20:30 at Dokukino Plato, and 6 August, from 18:30, at Shtëpia e Kulturës (salla e vogël).
Feature Image: Atdhe Mulla / K2.0.
Additional reporting from Ardit Hoxha.
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