“An absolutely essential work of social commentary”

According to recent statistics, one in every eight women experiences sexual assault or rape before the age of eighteen. This is a harrowing figure that becomes more disturbing the further we actually realize how widespread a problem gender-based violence has become across society. There has been a movement towards highlighting assault in all its forms, but we still have a long way to go, especially because the culture has still proven to be quite hostile to many voices of victims. They tend to be put in precarious positions when attempting to report on their assault, which leads many to remain silent in the hopes of just processing the trauma. This is a subject that Kosara Mitić uses as the starting point for 17, her distressing but powerful feature-length debut that explores the aftermath of an assault on a protagonist who realizes that her life has been forever changed, despite her efforts to erase all memory of what she endured. We are introduced to Sara, a quiet young woman who, during a sexual encounter with two of her classmates, finds her attempts to express her right to consent being ignored by both partners, who decide that they would rather get satisfaction than honour her wishes. In the months that follow, Sara becomes far more reserved than ever before, going into a kind of psychological retreat where she attempts to distract herself from the intense trauma she had suffered. However, when she is forced to accompany her class on school trip to Greece, she finds herself having to not only confront the perpetrators (who show no remorse, likely not even remembering what they had done to her), but also has to address one uncomfortable reality: she has fallen pregnant from the rape, a secret that she has not told anyone. With the baby’s birth imminent, she has to try to find a way to resolve this enormous problem without anyone discovering the truth. A daunting, complex psychological drama that is both provocative and deeply upsetting, 17 is not an easy film in terms of both subject and structure, but proves to be an absolutely essential work of social commentary.

Sexual violence is a global problem that impacts every community, regardless of background or social status. It’s also a very difficult subject to explore artistically, with many filmmakers earnestly trying to unpack the complexities of this subject without becoming exploitative; a daunting task and one that takes a lot of skill and compassion. 17 is a film that sets its sights squarely on providing an overview of the aftermath of such an assault, as told through the eyes of someone who has been forced to live with both the physical and psychological burden of being a victim of such a heinous act. With the exception of the opening scene in which we see the assault happening (mercifully without too much detail, since it would be too harrowing to witness in its entirety), the film takes place over roughly a single day nine months later, as Sara attempts to survive a school trip only a few feet away from the people who put her in this position in the first place. It’s a deeply harrowing character study about how impossible it can be to process these emotions, especially without any real support – Sara’s family life is not part of the narrative, but we can assume it is not a situation where an unwanted pregnancy caused by a sexual assault is something that can be openly discussed, leading her to have to rely on her own internal strength to make it through what is proving to be an unbearable experience. Navigating the world as a victim is already difficult, so without the necessary support (or the belief that anyone can actually provide the help she needs), we can understand how the film positions her as someone who is not willing to open up, preferring to retreat from society as far as possible. There are some truly difficult moments present in the film, and the director does not shy away from showing them, provoking a reaction without becoming exploitative, which is an admirable skill that helps us understand exactly what makes this such a moving, complex film.

17 is constructed as a character-based drama about a young woman who learns to rely on herself to get through a difficult period, and as a result of this approach it needed an actor who could play into the inherent complexities of the role. This is not a particularly easy character to play, especially since Sara is supposed to be a teenager, making it just as necessary to find someone who could also capture the youthful naivete and insecurity that are equally as important to the development of the character. The director finds a perfect collaborator in the form of Eva Kostić, who delivers an absolutely stellar performance as a young woman who sees every day as just another obstacle that she has to survive, doing what she can to make it to the next without succumbing to the often intense emotions that emerge frequently. Mitić’s direction always has the camera perched uncomfortably close to Kostić, likely a very subtle way of alluding to its intention to be a deep psychological study of a young woman who is constantly on the edge, and therefore never allows anyone else (except the viewer) to peer into her mind. It’s a fascinating performance that is incredibly sensitively written, with the director being steadfast in her refusal to just reduce Sara to a statistic. She rather positions her as a three-dimensional character who may be intentionally quite aloof and not as open as we may perhaps hope, almost to the point where certain decisions she makes can be very frustrating, a deliberately choice to show that, regardless of how world-weary she has become in the aftermath of her assault, she is still a terrified, insecure teenager trying to understand the world. Sara has layers though that the film gradually excavates, allowing the viewer to form a strong emotional bond. Not many young actors could so successfully play such a complex part, which requires both deep psychological vulnerability and a sense of social detachment, but the incredible work being done by Kostić is the anchor around which the entire film is structured, and an impressive and haunting depiction of someone trying to make sense of a chaotic world, and one in which she never quite feels like she belongs.

As bleak as its subject matter may be, 17 is an undeniably important work, and a film that sets out to explore not only the widespread abuse that often occurs behind closed doors, whereby someone can become a victim of a horrifying assault in a matter of seconds and solely because their agency is removed in a moment of extreme vulnerability, but also the aftermath of such an event, where everything can spiral out of control and lead someone to the point where they are barely hanging on from a thread. It’s an undeniably brutal film by design, with the director refusing to soften the often intense psychological blows that occur throughout the film – there’s a scene towards the end that proves to be the culmination of nearly two hours of intense psychological inquiry, where the camera lingers on Kostić’s face as she endures both physical and psychological pain – and in refusing to even momentarily cut away, instead forcing the audience to sit in that enormous discomfort, Mitić achieves something quite remarkable. Its emotions are dense and complex, but at no point does it feel manipulative, especially since it is examining a subject that needs to be spoken about frankly, rather than being hidden from view as a result of the discomfort that comes when discussing what has proven to be a major global issue. Tense and unnerving, but ultimately vital, 17 is a profoundly complex work, and one that is not afraid to have the difficult conversations, using a harrowing allegorical tale (that is also superbly well-directed, with Mitić avoiding traditional social realist tropes) to show the impact, both mental and physical, that abuse can have on its victims, in the hopes of continuing to bring attention to this horrifying reality faced by far too many people.