By Andrej Nikolaidis, CdM columnist
You’re well aware, of course, that the war between the Kavac and Skaljari clans will inevitably end up on screen—that Netflix, HBO, or Hollywood will one day produce a high-budget series or film about it.
No one cares about 1918—about as much as they care about the Kurdish issue. Veljko Bulajic already filmed what needed to be filmed about World War II and the partisans. Films about the Chetniks aren’t made for Western audiences, but for the grandchildren of Chetniks—that’s for internal consumption. To the average Westerner, it’s impossible to tell a Chetnik from a Taliban fighter—they do look alike, and frankly, I probably do too. Our wars in the 1990s were of little interest to the West even while they were happening, let alone now. And what has been filmed—”Welcome to Sarajevo”, for instance—frankly, would have been better left unmade. But the tragic clan war has massive potential for cinematic exploitation.
It offers everything today’s online viewer wants to see: stunning natural scenery, the sea, mountains, old stone towns, ports, yachts, luxury (but also some poverty-stricken neighborhoods—just briefly, a shot or two), beautiful women, dangerous men, two settlements not even a kilometer apart as the crow flies, and a war to the death between clans named after these picturesque places.
Of course, it will all be heavily stylised: Montenegro will resemble Sicily, and the clans will be portrayed the way film and TV portray the Calabrian and Sicilian mafias. But that’s inevitable—viewers don’t want to think too hard or do their homework. They prefer familiar narrative and cultural landscapes.
Some melodrama will be necessary too. The only question is: will it be a Romeo and Juliet twist (two young lovers from rival clans)? Or, if the producers want something darker, maybe something inspired by Saviano’s work—a take on Oedipus Rex? By the way, let’s test your knowledge of ancient drama—do you know who Jocasta is to Oedipus? All in one: wife, mother, queen. Or as they’d say in the Montenegrin parliament: three in one.
You’ve watched mafia movies and shows. The police will be portrayed as corrupt. Politicians—corrupt. Judges and prosecutors—corrupt. Journalists—corrupt. And how will the actual protagonists, the clan members, be shown? One possibility—less likely—is a romanticised, almost propagandistic depiction like in “The Godfather”, portraying them as men who reject the law and society’s rules, but live by a strict internal code. The more likely version: an endless cycle of brutality, paranoia, and betrayal—within the clans and the society that produced them.
Either way, whatever this film or series ends up portraying will become the global truth about Montenegro—it will be the first thing that comes to mind when people hear the country’s name.
There will be no mention of a thousand-year statehood, no epic battles against the Ottomans, no Montenegrins who “do not kiss the chain,” no honour and heroism, no Njegos, no Marko Miljanov, no Serbian–Montenegrin divides, no traditional, nor European Montenegro.
Whatever it ends up being, what we’ll watch will be radically different from how we see ourselves.
And whatever it ends up being, it will be uncomfortable to watch.
And the chances of it being made aren’t small.
Because the clan war is the only thing we truly have to offer the (cinematic) world.
(Columnists’ opinions are not necessarily those of the CdM editorial board)
