“Slow cinema is difficult, but when done well it can be enchanting. Desire Lines is one of the enchanting ones.”

Branko follows a man (who later turns out to be his brother) through nightly Belgrade’s train stations and shopping malls, ending up at a cruising spot. He can’t remember the last time he spoke to his brother; in fact, he doesn’t interact with him at all. Branko’s physical existence is acknowledged by nobody directly, only through phone calls. So Branko just walks and walks, and walks some more, through army barracks and mountain landscapes and dense forests, until he falls down. He is found by three strangers, part of a small, but later expanding commune who live more in harmony with nature. Can they pry Branko loose from the darkness in his life?

Dane Komljen’s fourth feature-length project Desire Lines is an assured piece of associative cinema and very much open for interpretation, as it eschews strict narrative rules. Those seeking a clear three-act structure, or any sort of narrative structure for that matter, will fail to fall for this beguiling but opaque film. The transience of human existence and the symbiosis between man and nature are recurring themes in Komljen’s work, and the commune is a reinterpretation of the group of people he followed in his most recent documentary The Garden Cadences. He conjures up notions of death and transformation, and a recurrence of military motifs alludes to trauma rooted in the Balkan wars and their aftermath.

But what does it all mean? That is where Komljen leaves things entirely open, leaving the audience to grasp at straws, especially because the film is very slow; when there finally is human interaction and dialogue it remains cryptic. There are certainly clues that Branko is dead (while on a tram, a security cam screen shows he is actually not there), if not literally then at least metaphorically. There are odd connections to the past, like a phone call from a former female acquaintance who says she is in another town while we see her outside of Branko’s apartment, but there is nothing that links him to the present. Is the idyllic Garden of Eden-like environment of the commune purgatory, perhaps? They are preparing to move on to another place, but is that a physical place or a transcendent one?

From a technical perspective Desire Lines is very strong, with a dominant sound design that navigates between unsettling and soothing. Gorgeous cinematography and powerful compositions dominate, which means that even for people who don’t like slow cinema there is enough to admire. The large concrete structures that Komljen uses as locations, overgrown and taken over by nature, add to the thematic ideas and to the strong tactility and sensuousness of the film; even the characters can’t stop touching them. The atmosphere that is conjured up is mysterious, and events are deliberately unexplained; why does a small tree branch start to grow out of Branko’s back?

Slow cinema is difficult, but when done well it can be enchanting. Desire Lines is one of the enchanting ones. Whether the forest Branko walks though can enchant everybody is debatable, but those attuned to its unique tone and contemplative approach to cinema will find a surefire masterpiece in Komljen’s latest and strongest film. It is one to ponder and an invitation to be open to other people’s interpretation; a definitive explanation of its intent will never be reached, but that is not what Komljen’s cinema is about. The transcendence of Desire Lines is the key, defying the logic of our world.