In Conversation: ‘The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent’ Director Nebojša Slijepčević

by Sydney Reyes

In an unexpected yet welcomed opportunity, I had the chance to speak with Director Nebojša Slijepčević about his Cannes Palme d’Or winning short film The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent (2024). I got to see this chilling and thought-provoking short back in August at the Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF) where it also received the Grand Prix for Best Short Film. 

The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent utilizes history as a commentary on our present. It depicts the happenings of the 1993 Štrpci massacre in Bosnia that killed about 19 people who were on a train to Bar in Montenegro. 

Getting to speak with Nebojša is a pleasant chance that I didn't see coming when I watched and was in awe of the film a couple of months ago. Here’s our conversation on how The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent tackles the intersection between the past and present, and how the universal dilemmas or situations we face throughout time should unite us to do better.

This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.

I wanted to tell you that I was able to watch the film in the theater because I was a volunteer for the Melbourne International Film Festival. I remember it was the first of the series of international shorts, and I really loved it. It was impactful to me, and I thought about it a lot even after watching it. Thank you so much for giving me that experience. 

Thank you for such a nice verse. Thank you. 

And am I correct that winning the Grand Prix has helped in your qualification for the Oscars? 

Well, we were already qualified. We qualified by winning Cannes. So it was our second qualification already, but I'm sure it helped in getting recognition. Because there are, I think, more than 150 films that get qualified for the Oscars from all over the world. But when you come to this qualification with two strong festivals such as Cannes and Melbourne, you know, I'm sure it helps. We will see because we are still far away from short-listing and nominations, but I'm sure it will help. 

It definitely helped gain a lot of local recognition here in Melbourne, and I'm sure a lot of the attendees were able to see the film and learn a lot from it. Could you please talk us through the process of getting the film screened at MIFF, and what was your reaction when it was chosen to screen there and in winning the Grand Prix?

Well, actually, I don't know the selection process, because I was just notified after Cannes Film Festival that it was one of the first festivals that invited us to screen. But I've never been to Melbourne or to Australia at all, you know. But I knew about the festival, and I knew that this is the biggest festival in this part of the world. So, obviously, I was delighted to learn that they have chosen our film to be shown there. And then, I was on my summer vacation with my family when I got an email that we won the award. I was in my swimming suit, just checking emails by the pool, and . . . it made my day fantastic, you know. So I was very excited about winning the award, and then I was so unhappy that it was too far for me to go personally and to accept it, but I got a beautiful trophy that is in my room, one of the few that I keep in my room. 

I wanted to next talk about you as a director. Final Cut magazine describes you as a storyteller that quote, “explores complex human experiences and historical events.” My question has two parts: Why are historical events a notable area for you to explore humanity and our emotions, and second, how do you make sure you do it in an accurate and respectful manner? 

Well, first, I would agree, but not completely with what they wrote about me. It's the complete truth that my couple of films are dealing with historical events, but in my view, these are films that are dealing with our actual reality today. You know, by present time. First, because these situations are universal. Second, for me, none of these films—and especially not this film—[are] meant as a historical lesson . . . the problem of my region where I live, and not only of my region—think of many in Ukraine and Russia or in the Middle East, just to name a few—is exactly some historical burden that we carry, and that you can feel in everyday life. And people in this region, although it's now 2024, are heavily influenced still by what happened in the beginning of [the] ‘90s, in this Balkan War. By talking about happenings in the 1990s, you're actually talking about today's society in my region, if that makes sense for you, because these are the wounds that are still open, and people are still watching this film with a very direct emotional response . . .. [Audiences watch this] as going through something that they are dealing with still now, you know. So if you want to deal with the present state of society in my region, then part of it is also talking about what happened in the ‘90s.

I understand that the past is reflecting the present, and we can only explain these things through history, and it's up to us if we want to make a change or not. 

If I can add, my documentary, Srbenka (2018), which is also dealing with a horrible crime committed by Croats against Serbs in 1991 . . . actually has, as a main character, a young girl who was born 10 years after that crime, but somehow she's still influenced by this shadow. So we are watching how today's children are dealing with the shadow of the crimes that happened before they were born. And [in The Man Who Could Not Remain Silent] as well, I try to make it in a way that you can read it as it happened in 1993 but also you can identify, very directly, with characters in this compartment. And think about what we are doing now, today, when we witness some not specifically ethnical violence, but maybe violence against any minority, sexual minority, or whatever else. We did it in a way that today's audience can identify with the situation and ask, “How do we react in similar situations [where] we witness violence against minorities, whoever it might be, not necessarily ethnical minority?”

Tomo Buzov is the hero of the film, but I read that others were refugees, train staff, or simply headed home from a day of work. Why did you choose to put a spotlight on his story compared to the other victims? 

Well, Tomo is special because he was quite safe on this train. He was not Muslim. He was a Croat. But these paramilitary troops were not after Croats that day. They were taking away only Muslims, and Tomo could have stayed silent. As all the other passengers in the train stayed silent, you know. And as I would say, all of us, usually, or a large majority of us stay silent in similar situations. But he decided to intervene. He decided to try to protect one innocent passenger, one young man who probably in some way reminded him of his own son, who was of a similar age, and Tomo lost his life because he decided not to stay silent. This is, of course, a tragic story, but also a very positive heroic character. Tomo is worth remembering. Someone who fought with his words, not with the guns, but he fought for the justice and he lost the battle, but I think he's worth remembering. If on that train, there were 20 or 30 people like Tomo Buzov, maybe this story would have ended differently. 

That's very true. I admire what Tomo Buzov has done, and I learned that through the film, and it's about giving voices or sharing stories to these people. Would you agree?

Exactly, and I think also it's very inspiring today to see someone who is fighting without violence. It’s something that is very inspiring as well. Although this story has a tragic end . . . 

Yes, we can learn a lot from it and hope to be better, and that we should try to speak up whenever someone is facing danger. 

In my film you see, and that's something that's not only my directing, you know, but that's fantastic acting by the these beautiful actors that I had, you know. When we created this scene in a compartment, they started looking at each other . . . They created expectations from each other. And we see Tomo looking at Dragan, and Dragan looking at Tomo and Milan looking at Dragan. And they're communicating without words, only with eyes. And that's a beautiful play that they created by themselves, just by feeling this, something that came natural to them. In this situation, people start expecting solidarity from each other. This solidarity happens or people look away, and then if they look away, what happens next is that the society dies. And that's what happened in Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia died at the moment when solidarity between people in Yugoslavia stopped, and that's, I think that's what happens when people stop caring for each other, you know, in one society. 

You once said that authors or filmmakers from small countries should address topics that are locally significant. I think it’s true that no one else will tell a story better than someone from the inside, and that's what you did with this film.

Yeah, thank you for recognizing because it's very important for me today. Everybody, especially younger students, they dream. And I was not different when I was younger, we all dream of going to Hollywood to make some success, you know. But actually, our task is at our home. As storytellers, as filmmakers, we have to tell the stories that resonate locally. And if they travel abroad, good for them, but that shouldn't be the main goal. But in my career, a strange thing [happened]: Whenever I try to make a film that will be impactful locally, somehow it is impactful internationally as well, you know, because it's something universal in these stories.

Telling these unheard stories from different countries can make an impact on the lives of the people inspired by the film, and I understand that until now, many of the victims’ bodies have not been found or are not recognized as victims of war. How, then, do you want your film to contribute to the call for justice that the victims and their families have been wanting?

Well, about some juridical justice? I really don't know if the film can help, because many great people tried to, and humanitarian organizations, NGOs, lawyers, [have been] working on that already for decades. But I think we can give some other kind of satisfaction to the victims and to the families of the victims. For example, I just had a beautiful screening in Belgrade two days ago at the opening of the Free Zone Film Festival. It was in front of almost 3,000 people, and it was spectacular. The family of Tomo Buzov came to the screening. I met them for the first time. Before, I was in contact only over Facebook and email, but now we met personally. They saw that this whole film meant a lot to them because they feel that now their father and grandfather is fully recognized as a hero, and thanks to the awards that the film got, his name became a household name in the whole region which wasn't the case before. He . . . was one of the many people who lost their lives during the war. But now he's someone. Tomo Buzov is a hero. 

What do you want audiences who are not aware of the history to take away from the film? What do you want them to learn?

 Well, as I said, I did not mean to give a history lesson to anyone. You know, I'm not the right person to do that. And also, I didn't want to lecture anyone about what is right or wrong. I don't feel entitled to lecture anyone about anything. But what I wanted to give them is an intensive emotional experience, that is similar to something that happened in real life, and that had a devastating impact on everybody who went through it. The audience is quite safe in their cinema seats or at their home. But I really hope that this experience in a safe place can change them in some positive way. That they start thinking about their life and how we act in our life, and then everybody will get to some other conclusion, you know? But my task is ending at that point. If I left people with something to think about, as you said . . . that's the most I could hope for. You know, that people go out of the cinema with something to think about.