“Few films have been more committed to capturing that sense of unease and unhinged nervousness than this masterful, deeply personal account of the past.”

“It happened in a country that no longer exists, except in books, films and memories”

These haunting words are the first we encounter at the threshold of When the Phone Rang, a deeply personal and profoundly moving drama in which director Iva Radivojević returns to the country of her birth to tell the story of a young girl navigating the challenges of displacement she and her family (as well as countless others in the region) experienced in the early 1990s during the fall of Yugoslavia. Existing somewhere between an experimental coming-of-age drama and an autobiographical video essay, the film follows the character of Lana over an indeterminate period of time, punctuated only by a series of phone calls, each one lingering in her memory as conveying important information or carrying some meaning – whether informing her of the disappearance of yet another family member or allowing her brief contact with those whom she left behind due to their efforts to flee the encroaching violence, a contact that becomes increasingly sporadic as the lines of communication grow sparser. A time capsule of a harrowing past as the director remembers it, captured vividly and in a manner that attempts to evoke the period as accurately as possible, When the Phone Rang is a haunting endeavour to revisit this era through a unique lens. Radivojević provides a very personal account of the past, crafting a narrative that is told primarily in hushed whispers as we are guided through the protagonist’s journey, leading to a haunting and melodic coming-of-age drama that is as unconventional as it is deeply affecting.

At a glance, When the Phone Rang seems like a relatively standard glimpse into the past, especially since many films about exploring history tend to adopt a younger protagonist as a means to look at previous events through supposedly uncorrupted, innocent eyes. However, it becomes immediately apparent once the film begins that it is going to venture into a number of unexpected narrative and thematic destinations, using convention to inspire the story, rather than to rigidly guide the narrative, examining the nature of memory through a story of dislocation and uncertainty. The character of Lana is coming of age in a time when the future is entirely uncertain. A daunting process and one that can be extremely challenging, as it was for the many young children who found themselves growing up long before their time due to the circumstances that surrounded their formative years. Seemingly living without a permanent home and where even something as fundamental as the safety of your extended family cannot be assured is enough to permanently scar anyone, especially someone who has yet to fully comprehend the true scope of the world around them. Radivojević actively investigates these themes throughout the film, using Lana as a symbol for an entire generation caught in the crossfire – too young to understand the mechanics of the socio-cultural situation, but old enough to have these indelible memories that linger with them forever, and which can only be processed through directly engaging with them. A challenging endeavour, rarely ever pleasant but sometimes essential to processing the trauma of the past.

Part of Radivojević’s bespoke vision entails stepping away from conventions and instead embracing a more unusual narrative approach. Rather than the traditional didactic coming-of-age film in which a young protagonist experiences an era of conflict, When the Phone Rang takes on a more daring form. The director positions herself as an active participant in the story, seeking refuge in the dull pain of the past – it may have been over thirty years since the events depicted occurred, but the lingering aftershocks are still felt, and her focus is less on crafting a discursive analysis that argues towards the harrowing nature of war, but rather constructing a mosaic of a particular era. The country in which the film takes place is not explicitly stated, only being referred to as “X” (although any knowledge of either the director’s background or the history of the fall of Yugoslavia makes the options quite limited). The year in which it takes place is also not made entirely clear; both these facts indicate that specific details are not relevant. Rather, the film is intent on capturing the atmosphere of the period at a general point in the past, making bold aesthetic decisions to evoke the spirit of Yugoslavia at the tail-end of its existence. The use of colour, composition and framing is stunning, with the grainy imagery and unconventional approach to the visual style being beautifully contrasted with some memorable musical cues which create a moody, dreamlike ambience that persists throughout the film. This serves to not only evoke the period but also instill a sense of uncomfortable nostalgia, the kind of haunting distress that can simmer within those who have endured generation-defining trauma.

When the Phone Rang takes place in a country that is either on the brink of extinction or the verge of liberation – and the director captures that sense of immobilizing anxiety and deep fear that comes with not knowing in which direction your life is headed. When standing on the precipice of the future, it is difficult to tell whether life will improve or get worse, and few films have been more committed to capturing that sense of unease and unhinged nervousness than this masterful, deeply personal account of the past. Told in a manner that is mostly subdued and quite experimental, drifting through the recollections of a protagonist who is an amalgamation of the director and the countless young people who survived the fall of Yugoslavia but still carry some part of it with them, the film presents some deeply unsettling reflections on an analogue past. Recurring motifs, both visual and aural, create a sense of unconventional comfort, indicating some kind of routine even in a time of immense social and political ambiguity, showing the impact of the outside world on the domestic space and how the decisions of powerful individuals have an impact on the lives of even the most impressionable and innocent of souls. Crafted as a chronicle of an uncomfortable chapter in history defined by disappearances, When the Phone Rang is a vitally important film, even beyond a personal series of reflections on the part of the director – many works produced in or about the region acknowledge the liberation that came about after the fall of the brutal political regimes, but not many mourn the losses in such a deeply personal way. An elegy to the past crafted with both affection and melancholy, the film provides valuable insights into a past that should not be forgotten.