“An unexpectedly deep, moving portrait of Yugoslavia at a particular point in the past.”

Most people have never heard of Hari Džekson (or “Harry Jackson”, as he is commonly known outside his native country) – admittedly, he was entirely new to me too. However, in the Balkans he is considered a folkloric figure and something of a national hero, revered by generations who grew up with his name in the back of their minds. He was a photographer who became a pillar of his community, and eventually transitioned into filmmaking in the 1970s. His focus was primarily on the Western genre, by far the most popular form of storytelling at the time, and one that he hoped to master through a seemingly endless string of low-budget films that he produced in his small hometown of Bijeljina in Bosnia and Herzegovina, which has now become the location of many pilgrims faithful to his cinematic vision. Despite his relative obscurity, Džekson has become the subject of The Balkan Cowboy, in which Dragana Jurišić sets out to explore his legacy through the lens of the 21^st century, long after his death left him to fade into a past in which his memory is only maintained by a dedicated cult following, which seems to be growing the more people become aware of his work. A film that is primarily about a modern artist trying to understand precisely what made this figure so compelling, while also reflecting on her own place in the artistic culture, The Balkan Cowboy is a well-crafted documentary that peers behind the curtain of different mythologies (some broader than others) and becomes a fascinating leap into the past from the perspective of one of its most peculiar artists.

We can understand why the director was drawn to tell this story, since Jurišić is an artist herself. While she cannot entirely attribute her creativity to the films she watched growing up, the director gives partial credit to filmmakers like Džekson, who proved that even in an era as politically tumultuous as the final decade before the dissolution of Yugoslavia there was still a space for self-expression and creativity. Džekson represents this brilliantly, since behind the larger-than-life eccentricity he was actually Aljuš Musli, the son of a working-class Muslim family. He decided to forge his own path, using his endless imagination to embrace the kind of artistry that he did not see around him, but wholeheartedly believed was at least worthy of the attempt. It led to him embracing the “do-it-yourself” principle taken by many independent filmmakers at the time, producing low-budget but very entertaining films. Through his story, Jurišić manages to craft an unexpectedly deep, moving portrait of Yugoslavia at a particular point in the past. The director acknowledges that she considers herself an exile from her former homeland, having taken up residence in Ireland, where her own artistic career flourished – but something about dissecting the story of Džekson, not only as a creative individual but also a figurehead of artistic resistance at a time when it was most necessary, appealed to her. We can always tell the story of a place through the artists who called it their home, and we soon discover that The Balkan Cowboy is as much about the entire country as it is about Džekson, his filmmaking career having unexpected correlations to the cultural changes occurring around the same time.

Džekson was the kind of public figure who was a distinct part of his community, and visiting his hometown brings up many fascinating details since everyone in Bijeljina seems to have a story about him, whether through direct encounters or the popular mythology that defines his legacy. Jurišić had to make some serious decisions regarding the execution of this film, since while the subject matter was inherently outrageous, there was also a more sombre element that could not be erased from this story. Džekson’s life was not without its challenges – one of the central mysteries that persists throughout the director’s investigation into his life is whether or not he perished in the violent conflicts that erupted when Yugoslavia was in the process of being dissolved (he actually died in 1999, years after the end of the war), which is something that the film could not ignore. Yet, there was no reason to make The Balkan Cowboy an overly dour or didactic affair, and an inherent playfulness ultimately eclipses the more distressing details that factor into the story, in terms of contextualising the time and place in which the subject worked. Rather than a conventional cradle-to-grave biography (which would’ve been impossible since we don’t actually know much about Džekson outside of his popular legacy), the director chooses a more experimental approach, setting out to tell his story by making her own Western, resulting in the film-within-a-film that occupies the later portions. It’s brilliantly inventive, and functions as a wonderful tribute from one artist to another, paying homage in a way that Džekson would have absolutely adored.  

As those who are familiar with his work will undoubtedly remind you, the irony of Džekson’s life is that, despite being enamoured with the Western genre, he never managed to visit the United States himself. The Balkan Cowboy is not the first instance of his life being portrayed on screen (it follows The Last Cowboy from a couple of years ago, a film that serves as an unofficial companion piece to this one). But with such a rich and fascinating life we cannot fault Jurišić for setting out to craft her own bespoke account of his story; every artist has a few key figures who inspired them to revolt against the status quo, something that she includes as one of her reasons for being drawn to the idea of making a documentary about a man who may not initially seem like a worthy subject. Nevertheless, every aspect of The Balkan Cowboy emphasises precisely what made Džekson such an enigmatic but beloved figure, whether it is his entry into filmmaking as a response to the social and cultural malaise that surrounded him, or his determination to march to the beat of his own drum. Simultaneously affectionate and outrageously funny, the film finds the right tonal balance in its efforts to capture the various nuances of this story, filtered through the perspective of a genuinely brilliant filmmaker whose name may not be known beforehand to the international audience, but will be remembered after seeing this delightfully moving tribute to a truly original artistic voice.