“A well-crafted, deeply melancholic exploration of identity in the face of tragedy.”

As you get older, you begin to realize that life is not as idealistic as you believed it to be when looking at the world through the eyes of your youth. Unfortunately, the stark awareness of life’s hard truths comes to some earlier than others. This is the premise behind Otter (Vidra), in which Srđan Vuletić directs the story of Hana, a teenager whose relatively pleasant journey towards adulthood is halted when her father suddenly dies. She is plunged into a state of extreme depression as she finds herself surrounded by family members and acquaintances who are all mourning in their own way, while still finding time to bring up tensions that Hana and her mother would prefer remained dormant, particularly in relation to her father’s peculiar final wish of being buried in a spacesuit. This contrasts with her own personal challenges, particularly a budding relationship with a schoolmate, which is also paused as she navigates these unexpected obstacles. As much an exploration of contemporary youth culture as it is a heartbreaking coming-of-age drama about the challenges that come with growing up, Otter is a film that keeps its objectives quite close to its chest, gradually revealing them as the film progresses, exploring the depths of sadness to which the protagonist finds herself descending, as well as her efforts to forge a path forward.

We find that Otter is a film that may keep its intentions slightly vague at first, but it is not a difficult film to understand once we realize that it is exploring certain very resonant themes. It begins as a lightweight story of a young woman navigating her teenage years – she oscillates between social media and the real world (including flirtations with a local influencer with whom all of her peers are also hopelessly infatuated), as well as slowly building a strong connection with one of her friends, which she recognizes as being the formative stages of what they both hope will become their first proper relationship. It eventually turns into something more complex once tragedy strikes her family. This is the moment the film begins to evolve into a haunting character study about someone whose entire life essentially changes in the blink of an eye. We follow Hana as she makes her way through the world – suddenly the places that defined her childhood are rendered entirely unfamiliar, almost as if the changes she has been forced to endure have placed her in a different dimension, where instead of being able to express herself openly she is forced to retreat into her own mind, a dangerous place that is not easy to navigate. The film explores themes relating to grief and the impact it can have on someone who is old enough to realize the scope of a loss, but still too young to have the capacity to process these emotions without falling apart entirely.   

Many of the themes that define this film are common and certainly can’t be considered revolutionary. However, there’s always a place for consistent, reliable forms of storytelling, which is embodied quite well by Otter. It follows a familiar structure, seemingly the most appropriate way to handle these themes, as it allows the focus to be less on the simplistic approach, and more on the main point on which the film fixates: the depth of the story. This is a film about death, so it’s important to anticipate some degree of emotional heft, which is mercifully handled quite well, never becoming heavy-handed to the point where we lose sight of the deeper meaning. Vuletić finds a perfect lead in Masha Drashler, who is a revelation as Hana, bringing her story to life on screen with a maturity and honesty that we would not expect from someone still so young, seeming to effortlessly handle the weighty emotions with incredible commitment and nuance. Considering it is designed to be a character study of a young woman whose journey towards adulthood is interrupted by an unexpected tragedy, the central performance is the anchor, and for every moment where it feels somewhat simplistic Drashler’s striking performance stands out even more than the film that surrounds her.

Otter may be quite simple, almost to the point where we crave slightly more from something with such an intriguing premise (especially in exploring the dynamic between Hana and the two boys with whom she develops complicated romantic feelings), but it is difficult not to be at least partially enamored with the director’s firm, elegant control of subject matter that could have been overly saccharine without the right approach.  Looking beyond the performances, the film is a well-crafted, deeply melancholic exploration of identity in the face of tragedy, asking whether it is selfish to continue to grow as a person while those around you are mourning an enormous loss, or if being able to move on is actually the bravest decision of them all. It’s a beautiful film in many parts, and while there is a sense of familiarity in how it examines the coming-of-age aspects of the story (there are only so many ways that the plight of teenagers can be demonstrated before some repetition occurs), it does find space for a few genuinely original moments. Particularly those moments when the protagonist is alone, reflecting on the radical changes that have taken place in her life and trying to maintain her composure in the face of genuine adversity, most of which comes from within her mind. Poignant and melancholic, while also being quite stark in its exploration of the burden that grief can impose on a young person during their formative years, Otter is bound to resonate with audiences, even if only through its spirited commitment to showing the challenges of growing up and finding yourself in a hostile world.