“A very effective ode to familial connections and the unbreakable bonds that are often formed in times of crisis.”

Losing a loved one is a harrowing experience, but it’s often made even more daunting when we are given the chance to say goodbye, in which case time is not always the most comforting of assets, particularly when it comes to terminal illnesses. Watching someone slowly fade away is a brutal process, and can be as psychologically scarring for the family and friends that witness their slow demise as it is physically painful for the person that heads towards it. This is the point from which Vladimir Tagić chooses to build Yugo Florida, a deeply personal story in which he is inspired by his own experiences watching his father battle terminal cancer. The film follows Zoran, who is stuck in a dead-end job editing a tacky reality show and leading a generally banal existence, all of which comes to a halt when he discovers that his estranged father is rapidly deteriorating after a late diagnosis of leukaemia, which gradually strips away every bit of liveliness that defined him. Suddenly, father and son are forced to set aside their differences and come to an agreement to help each other through their challenges; two profoundly lonely men come to realise that they have much more in common than they initially expected. A poignant work that finds the director processing his own personal emotions while also carving quite an effective, tender story that looks at several resonant themes, becoming as heartbreaking as it is life-affirming, despite its occasional reliance on certain overly simple and pedestrian conventions.

The inspiration for Yugo Florida was the director’s own experiences helping his father navigate the final few months of his life, with Tagić taking the opportunity to use this film as a means to work through what is clearly a traumatic chapter in his life, and one that he seemed intent on exploring by recreating certain memories. This may imply that the film is nothing more than a melodramatic demonstration of the pain that comes when watching a loved one battling a terminal illness, but there are additional ideas that form the basis for many of the film’s most compelling moments. There are essentially two additional narrative strands that the director uses as the impetus for the film, weaving them together in creative and moving ways. The first is the theme of family – Yugo Florida follows two men who have lived almost entirely separate lives, and if they were not bound by being father and son they would most likely not have any connection. Yet, in a time of immense crisis, they come together and set aside whatever animosity that they had in the past. The root of their falling out is not made very clear, but the tensions pulsate throughout the film, indicating that there were many strong emotions shared between them that had to be resolved in order to make their way through these challenging moments. This connects to the other main theme: masculinity, which is present throughout the film, albeit subtly explored, with motifs such as the titular car (a very popular brand of car in Yugoslavia between the late 1980s and the early 2000s) – a jalopy that seems to consistently be on the verge of falling apart, but through careful maintenance and a lot of care, it manages to be repaired, much like the relationship between the protagonist and his father.

Perhaps some of the metaphors throughout Yugo Florida are a bit heavy-handed and obvious, but the intention here is not to be some subtle, aloof deconstruction of complex characters, but rather a heartfelt, meaningful story of two people connecting with one another under circumstances that are far from ideal. There are several instances where the film depends on certain conventions to tell the story, and the structure is quite familiar. However, it does manage to show just enough restraint not to be too predictable, with the director highlighting some unusual qualities that are clearly brought forward from his own experiences. Tagić makes it evident early on that he is not seeking sympathy – there is enough gentle humour scattered throughout this film to counteract the underlying melancholy, making it obvious that his focus is on presenting a nuanced, multifaceted portrait of the process of helping a loved one through the final stages of their life; a welcome change from the usual approach that makes such stories overly dour and miserable. A film about death – or rather the journey towards it – is always going to be somewhat sombre, but it doesn’t need to be defined by these qualities, and a varied range of emotions is not only possible, but very valuable. We can credit the central performances by Andrija Kuzmanović and Nikola Pejaković (playing the protagonist and his father, respectively) for anchoring the film, giving it a sense of consistency and deep humanity that can only emerge through a strong collaboration between a director and his actors as they work together to find the primary motivations of the characters and their actions over the course of what proves to be a very moving film.

There is something to be said for art as more than just a means of entertainment, with many creative individuals taking advantage of the freedom of different media to process their own emotions and come to terms with certain issues that would otherwise be difficult to handle in any other way. Yugo Florida is an example of how impactful it can be for someone to turn towards art as a means to work through these unresolved or complex emotions, using their grief and sadness to show that there is a path forward in even the most excruciating of circumstances. It’s a film that wears its heart on its sleeve, and will therefore need to be assessed as such – it doesn’t do anything particularly innovative, but rather focuses on telling a deeply personal story, the emotions expressed being expected but undeniably authentic as they come from a place of genuine honesty. It hits familiar notes, but in a way that feels sincere, with the exceptional lead performances and the overall tonal balance between haunting depictions of the grieving process (making it clear that it begins even before someone has died in some cases) and more lightweight observations of the dynamic between a father and a son that unfortunately only truly get to know one another when they are about to be parted forever. It avoids clichés for the most part and only relies on conventions when it is necessary, which is a welcome change of pace from the usual approach of layering the most relentlessly devastating depictions of the challenges that come with facing death. Straightforward but nonetheless effective, Yugo Florida achieves what it sets out to do, and while it may be familiar in both story and structure, it still resonates quite powerfully. It is a strong and reliable work that tackles an enormous subject with grace, tact and an abundance of soul, enough to make it a very effective ode to familial connections and the unbreakable bonds that are often formed in times of crisis.