Sunday Review: Before the Rain

A tale of the unexpected

By Christopher-Joseph Ravnopolski-Dean

You have picked the wrong film if you expect a banal happy-ending fairy tale from Milcho Manchevski’s Before the Rain (1994, from the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, titled Пред дождот [Pred ‘dojdot] in Macedonian Bulgarian). Indeed, in the beginning we are promised a “tale in three parts,” and when we see the mesmerizing Macedonian natural surroundings, we are more than willing to believe the promise is true. Yet, the ensuing events make it impossible for the film to fit such a conventional form. It is still a tale because of the love stories, the sense of magical reality, the illogical and fantastic events, the reminiscences of the middle ages, but its content and construction continuously reveal an unexpectedness unusual for fairy tales.

Before the Rain starts with a prologue, in which we encounter a young monk, Kiril, who is picking tomatoes. An older monk looks at the sky and tells him it is time they went back to the monastery, because it will soon begin raining. Then immediately follows the first part (“Words”), in which Kiril discovers a young Albanian girl, Zamira, in his cell. She is hiding from some peasants who are seeking revenge for a relative of theirs she supposedly killed. Kiril falls in love with her and together they escape. As soon as Kiril starts planning for their future, out of nowhere spring the relatives of Zamira and in no more than a few minutes she gets killed by her own brother.
    In the second part (“Faces”), a famous Macedonian photographer, Aleksander, living in London, wants to return to Macedonia and bring his girlfriend, Anne. She is married and is trying to choose between her husband and Aleksander. When she tells her husband that she is giving him a second chance, he is suddenly killed by a drunken Serb who has run amok.

Aleksander (played by Rade Serbedzija)

    In the third part (“Pictures”), Aleksander returns to Macedonia, where he hasn’t been for 15 years. His home village is no more the idyllic place it used to be. A few days later, his childhood love, Hanna, comes to his house and asks him to save her daughter from his cousin Zdrave, who believes the girl killed his brother. In an attempt to save Hanna’s daughter, whom we immediately recognize as Zamira, Aleksander gets shot by his own cousin. Zamira runs toward the monastery and then we come to a scene similar, though not identical, to the prologue. This scene proves the repeating phrase from the movie – “The circle is not round” (Krugot ne e trakalezen in Macedonian Bulgarian).

Although this was the first film of then young writer and director Manchevski, it was a great success. It received numerous awards and nominations from different film festivals, including nine awards at the Venice film festival and an Academy Award nomination for best foreign film. In fact, it was the first Macedonian film to receive such a nomination, which speaks about the attention that Manchevski drove towards Macedonia and its cinema.
    Additionally, the New York Times included the film among its list of best 1,000 films ever made. Despite the good reception of the film, there has been some criticism of Manchevski’s decision to show Macedonia in a rural light, even in a medieval image. For example, nobody would disagree that the religious banners (the Orthodox khorugvi) at the funeral were so torn they might literally have survived from the Middle Ages.
    Manchevski’s film is an intriguing piece, and it challenges the audience with different messages. One of the central messages is related to the Bosnia civil war. The quote before the formal start of the movie, the references to that war, and the ethnic conflict that erupts in the film signal what could happen in Macedonia. This is why the film has been interpreted as a “history of what has not yet happened” [Robert A. Rosenstone, “The History of What Has Not Yet Happened,” in Rethinking History, Vol. 4.2 (2000), pp. 183-192].

    An additional message can be read in the contrast of the highly urban West (London) and the highly rural East. We can interpret this as a certain nostalgia towards a slower and more natural pace of life, which gradually will vanish in the arms of globalization. A hint of this we see in the omnipresence of an English rap melody recurring throughout the film.
    Nevertheless, in the film, Macedonians, though to a certain extent primitive, seem a people that are still part of nature. This drives us to a kind of acceptance of Balkan stereotypes, which is commonly observable in Balkan films. I am talking about the idea that Balkan people may be uneducated and barbarian, but they live a better, more intensive life. Here this idea is assumed by a Macedonian director. (For an extensive discussion of this and related issues read Dina Iordanova’s book Cinema of Flames).

Last but not least, the film reminds us of the importance of universal values such as life and love. It tells us that bad things can happen anytime, no matter if we expect them or not. In this light the film is not just about the Balkans, it is about humans and the unexpected events that we fear or whose threat we dismiss.
    One of the weaknesses of the film, which I suggested above, is the image of the Balkan people, which a non-Macedonian audience would probably accept. I already mentioned the internalization of Balkan stereotypes and the critique of some authors towards the depiction of Macedonia as a medieval country. In addition to this, a non-Macedonia viewer might be left with the impression that the Balkan people are uneducated, irrational subjects who, if they by some chance show any sign of reason, do so because they visited the West, as is the case of Aleksander.
    Also, there is a sentence of Aleksander that cannot be missed by any Bulgarian viewer of the film. In a taxi, as he is talking to Anne, he tells her of a “Macedonian” king, the soldiers of whom were blinded. This is apparently a reference to Tsar (Emperor) Samuel of Bulgaria, whose soldiers were blinded by order of the Byzantine Emperor Basil II after the battle of Kleidion in 1014. According to historical documents, Samuel was a Bulgarian emperor, and a country with the name Macedonia did not exist at that time. So if he was a “Macedonian” king, it was because he was born in the region of Macedonia.
    Disregarding these issues, the film remains a wonderful Macedonian classic with universal values.

Copyright © 2015 by Christopher-Joseph Ravnopolski-Dean