“A film that veers towards the unfurnished in a way that is perhaps slightly too bleak and unwieldy.”

Every parent wants to provide a better life for their children, especially when they occupy the position of the main breadwinner for their family. However, we’ve seen many examples of how the contemporary socio-economic system seems far too difficult to navigate, forcing even hardworking individuals to overexert themselves simply to survive. It is a daunting process, that has broken far more people than it has strengthened, leading to something of a social and cultural epidemic. This is where we find Visar Morina focusing his attention in Shame and Money, which follows Shaban, a man who would do anything to put food on his family’s table (as long as it is garnered through moral means), but who makes the stark discovery that the world does not reward those who just work hard. This forces him into desperate attempts to outsmart a system inherently stacked against people like him, ultimately leading him down a path of self-destruction in an effort to rise above insurmountable obstacles. A film that veers towards the unfurnished in a way that is perhaps slightly too bleak and unwieldy, despite promising subject matter and a sense of earnestness that we can at least appreciate, Shame and Money proves to be a simple affair, albeit one that does try to say more than we would expect at first glance.

I was once told that all matters of money should be avoided when it comes to family dynamics, since talk of finances can sometimes put strain on even the strongest of relationships. While many are fortunate enough to keep such conversations to themselves, in the vast majority of cases, this is nothing but a luxury, since there are families that rely on absolutely every cent they can come across. Shame and Money is an in-depth look at one such example, with every adult member of this family working together to try to make ends meet (all under the watchful gaze of “Mother”, the stern matriarch whose presence intimidates them into submission), but where most of the responsibility falls to Shaban. He has to not only be a provider for his own wife and children, but also for the peripheral members of their family who don’t believe he’s capable of achieving much, as he’s perceived as nearly a simpleton, despite his efforts to prove otherwise. This is the impetus for a fascinating character study that not only looks at the often tense bonds between family members, but also the physical and psychological impact of pushing yourself beyond the limit in order to provide the bare minimum. This leads to some discussion around the conflict between tradition and modernity (particularly in the protagonist’s eventual decision to seek more formal employment), as well as the extent to which someone will go to navigate various social and economic obstacles that stand in their way.

There are certainly some strong ideas embedded in Shame and Money, but it does often feel heavy-handed in a way that can be difficult to embrace. Despite telling a story that will resonate with many viewers to some extent (even if the specific cultural or economic milieux may not be directly relatable), there’s a sense of alienation that persists throughout the film, always keeping the viewer at a distance, which is not ideal for what is essentially a deeply complex character study. Morina presents an interesting concept, but the problem arises in the execution of his ideas, as the film slowly meanders towards its central point, all the while shrouding itself in a thick layer of despair from which it takes far too long to emerge. Most of the film is spent following Shaban as he is put through various ordeals, and by the end of Shame and Money, we aren’t entirely sure if the pessimistic, distressing tone that lingers over every scene is intentional or just a flaw, especially since there doesn’t seem to be as strong an emotional or narrative payoff as we’d have hoped. It is starkly honest and steeped heavily in social realism, almost to the point where the agony eclipses the central message, leading to a film that feels like it should’ve been slightly richer in investigating the inner quandaries of the protagonist in his efforts to overcome daunting obstacles without losing his sanity in the process.

The one aspect of Shame and Money that is undeniably strong is the cast, who single-handedly make these somewhat underwritten characters feel so much more complex. Every effective emotional nuance is the result of their efforts, much more than the sometimes didactic writing that contains too much exposition to be entirely satisfying. Astrit Kabashi is both the narrative and emotional anchor of the film, delivering a devastating performance as a man scrambling to prove that he is a worthy father and husband in the face of continuous criticism and disdain from those who believe he’s inferior just because he has chosen a simpler, unfurnished life. This weaves in well with the rest of the performances; many of the supporting players (including Flonja Kodheli as his loving but discerning wife who does what she can to support her husband, and Kumrije Hoxha as the family’s intimidating matriarch whose approval is sought by everyone) make valuable contributions to this story, especially when the film focuses on the simmering tensions between family members, their dynamic making it seem like each of these characters is dangerously close to complete emotional eruption. It all works towards a portrait of a modern family trying to survive by any means necessary, and the film works best when it focuses on the intricate vignettes of these people’s daily lives as they work towards an uncertain future.

As far as social realist dramas about difficult subject matter go, Shame and Money is quite conventional and doesn’t do anything innovative or daring, which proves to be a bit of an impediment, although it isn’t too overwhelming a problem beyond some tonal irregularities that could’ve been remedied with a bit of effort and attention to detail. As we can see even in the title, Shame and Money is not a subtle affair, and it often becomes overwrought in certain respects, particularly in how it struggles to communicate a message much deeper than just acknowledging that life is inherently difficult for those not privileged to be born into wealth. However, there is still some merit in its exploration of a man driven to desperate measures in order to provide for his loved ones, while also covertly trying to prove that he is just as capable as the more successful people that drift in and out of his orbit. The small, detailed moments feel much more valuable than the central plot, meaning that Shame and Money works best as an observational mood piece rather than a social realist drama. Ultimately, it proves to be decent enough as an examination of the cycle of capitalism continuing unabated and the ongoing dominance of an oppressive economic system, and with some additional work, it might have been able to achieve greater things with this very promising subject.