chines that the prisoners used for the pur- poses of the war industry. They worked from dawn to dusk, until they’d spent their last at- om of strength. When they were no longer able to work, they were killed. About 11 mil- lion unrealised dreams and lives were lost. Following his liberation from the camp, my father and his friends returned to Belgrade, where they weren’t welcomed by anyone. Then, a few days later, OZNA [The Department for People’s Protection] knocked on the door and took him to the police station. There they asked him – how did you survive? And how did he survive? - His comrades - Ljuba, Bora and Bar- ta – looked after one another. When some- one fell ill, they protected and hid him so that he wouldn’t be liquidated. My father fol- lowed his artist’s instinct. He sketched. They smuggled in papers, charcoal sticks and pen- cils. They kept guard. They had motivation to survive. They had something to ght for. They hid the drawings in a re extinguisher and buried it under the ground. They want- ed to keep evidence of the crime. That kept them alive. They also hid documentation about their murdered comrades, stolen ar- chives that the Germans didn’t manage to destroy. When I started shooting the lm, my dad’s friend Ljuba Zečević said to me: I’ve constantly wondered when you’d come. You’re not too late. Unfortunately, he died six months later, but he is the heart and soul of the lm I made. Your father also experienced Banji- ca, but that story had a much hap- pier end... - It could be said that that was a roman- tic melodrama in the hell of Banjica’s death camp. The Story of the meeting of the Ille- gal Danica and Miloš. He met her at the pris- on hospital, where he’d been brought after being beaten half to death. Did Danica survive? - After the war, in his search for Danica, my father went through the lists of those who’d been killed at Banjica. When you really want something, then life concocts a meet- ing.Yes, indeed.There is no better playwright than life. And from that time life began mov- ing in a more beautiful direction for my par- ents. Dad continued studying painting and became a professor. Mum also became a pro- fessor, but also the long-serving director of the First Belgrade Gymnasium High School. Miloš Bajić was Yugoslavia’s rst ab- stract artist. What did abstract paint- ing mean at that time? - Art was dominated at that time by so- cial realism. The political ideology promoted collective work, industrialisation... It was nec- essary for art to provide a stimulus to the con- struction of the country that had been devas- tated by war. But my father quoted Yesenin,
BELDOCS: MORE THAN PREMIERES
rst frame at the age of six - that shot of my father is included in the lm. We were very close right until the end. Miloš always support- ed me. When I enrolled in Political Science, when I failed the entrance exam for lm direc- tion studies, and when I became a director... You didn’t have any doubt that you would become a director, even though you were indecisive? - I asked my Dorćol people whether they remember when I decided to become a di- rector and they responded – as of always. At that time we didn’t watch TV, we brought re- cords from Trieste and listened to Radio Lux- embourg. We sat on the fence bars in front of the building in Tadeuša Košćuška Street and talked. If someone had seen a new lm, they had to recount it for the entire group. But they had to make an eort. We created and imagined life around us by complement- ing it with what we didn’t have. And then we had spirit, while today we have computers. Do you remember the rst lm that you recounted? - Yes. It was Hitchcock’s The Birds. I told them that after the screening my girlfriend was frightened of every pigeon. We were free to search for what we wanted. And that was my father’s idea, to remain free in seeking self. He also taught you to have a special re- lationship towards art? - While the paints were still fresh and the smell of turpentine permeated, we would sit in front of his newly created picture. He warned me not to rush to draw conclusions, to im- agine together with the picture, but also with every book I read or lm I watched. To nev- er condemn or pass judgement. Today, as a professor, I try to transfer that to my students. You will bequeath the memory of Mi- loš Bajić to the world... - He was a great guy; I was lucky to have him as my father. I wanted to make the lm, to tell the story, but not – as his son – to be excessively personal. With the lm I tried to answer the question – has evil disappear from this planet?
The premiere screening of Darko Bajić’s lm Lifeline at Kombank Hall on 8 th May at 8pm will formally open the 12 th BelDocs International Documentary Film Festival, which unfolds from 8th to 15 th May at several cinemas across the city and will feature more than 100 premieres from around the world in 14 di erent catego- ries. Alongside competitive programmes for do- mestic and international lm, the audience will be able to enjoy musical, biographical and artis- tic documentaries, a selection of contemporary Portuguese documentary lms, as well as retro- spectives of the works of lmmakers Kazuo Hara and Goran Dević.
saying:“I’ll give my soul to October and May, but I won’t give just my lyre”. Former camp inmate #106621 wanted freedom and paint- ed his rst abstract paintings. He was one of the founders of the December Group, and created together with artists who changed the current of Yugoslav ne art in the sec- ond half of the twentieth century. What was your father like; how would you describe him? - Everyone remembers him as being a very amiable man. His friend Zoran Petro- vić, a famous painter and writer, liked to re- count an anecdote about my father: When I bought a new coat, I was afraid to encoun- ter him. Miloš had the habit of hugging you in a bear’s embrace and to tugging you by the lapels [laughs]. He was full of life, ener- gy, the spirit of investigation... He would say: When I complete one painting cycle, I like to sail to the open seas and start all over again. I couldcomparehimwithStanleyKubrick,who never made the same lm twice, but rather found ways of eeing from the previous one. Were you close; did you trust one an- other? Did he support you switching from journalism to lm direction? - He put a camera in my hands while I was still a child. He travelled constantly and carried lm and photo cameras. I shot my
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