NR | 1h 30m | Drama | 2023
Echoes of War
The film opens with one of the more quietly chilling sequences in recent memory. It’s the early 1990s, and Yugoslavia is unraveling in the wake of the Soviet Union’s collapse. On a train that has stopped in the fractured countryside, a group of armed paramilitary men begin checking the IDs of male passengers. Some are left alone; others are dragged off at gunpoint.Among the travelers is a father with his young daughter, Sanela. After inspecting his papers, the soldiers signal for him to get up. He gently kisses his daughter, his fate left hauntingly unresolved.
Fast forward 20 years. Sanela is now Nathalie (Danica Curcic), a poised and successful attorney living in the United States. She returns to her hometown, now in Montenegro, with her boss, Valerie (May-Linda Kosumovic).
Quiet Power
“Sirin” is a film that demands a patient viewer. It doesn’t shout its themes or rush its revelations. Everything unfolds in deliberate, almost meditative steps. At first glance, Nathalie and Valerie may come across as somewhat cold and emotionally distant.Valerie leans into the archetype of a sharp, no-nonsense career woman, while Nathalie’s reserve is rooted in something deeper, more fractured. Over time, we come to understand that her emotional restraint is not apathy, but survival, something carefully held together by many years of compartmentalization.
What I enjoyed most about Curcic’s performance as Nathalie is that it’s very subtle. She never spells anything out for the audience, but her eyes, posture, and guarded mannerisms speak volumes.
Curcic’s character carries the weight of a woman who has constructed an entirely new identity, yet remains haunted by the one she left behind. When her past begins to surface, she sees faces she may have known, and they seem to recognize her, too. Curcic’s quiet expressions let the viewer feel the tremors beneath the surface.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Niksa Butijer brings warmth and a touch of melancholy to the role of the hotel’s affable owner, while Lidija Kordic offers understated humor as the perpetually preoccupied receptionist. Momcilo Otasevic is quietly charming as Petar, a contractor who appears intrigued by Nathalie.
Milivoje Obradovic’s portrayal of Father Aleksandar is also excellent. He’s a man rooted in memory and tradition, standing in contrast to the town’s mayor, played by Izudin Bajrovic, who wants to pull the community out of its past and into a new era.
Director Sahmanovic deserves considerable credit for the film’s naturalistic pacing and emotional texture. One particularly striking scene involves a quiet conversation between Nathalie and the receptionist, who asks what life in the United States is like. Nathalie responds with a candid mixture of hope and sorrow. Yes, there’s more opportunity, but it often comes at the cost of loneliness and relentless struggle. These small moments resonate far beyond their runtime, thanks to the film’s grounded dialogue and Sahmanovic’s restrained direction.
The film’s power is also rooted in its visual and sonic craftsmanship. The cinematography is hauntingly beautiful without ever feeling overly stylized. Muted colors, natural lighting, and slow pans evoke the weariness of a town still tethered to its past. Shots linger just long enough to let the viewer absorb every nuance of a gesture, a silence, or a nearly empty swimming pool.
Likewise, the sound design is delicate and atmospheric. There’s an underlying quiet in much of the film that mirrors the isolation the characters feel, with occasional swells in music or ambient noise used to heighten a sense of internal or communal tension.
“Sirin” is a quiet but powerful portrait of identity torn between borders and time. It explores the ache of unresolved grief, but it also gently points toward healing.
In its final moments, the film offers a hopeful message. It’s a message that speaks to the enduring strength of family, the possibility of new beginnings, and the quiet resilience found in reconciliation.
“Sirin” is a gripping, introspective drama that rewards patient viewers. Turn on subtitles unless you’re fluent in the language, as much of its hour-and-a-half runtime is in Serbian.
