All language subtitles for Hotel.Jugoslavija.2017

As a child, I used to go
to Yugoslavia.

The coastline, the sea, Belgrade,
that was my Yugoslavia.

I remember catching octopus
with my bare hands in the Adriatic.

I remember the islands’
ragged rocks.

I remember the howling jackals
and forest fires I’ve never seen.

I remember the sound of the fishing
boats and the gas lamps at night.

The surface of the sea
after sardine fishing.

I remember the ferries with
their strange names, like Tintoretto,

which I only understood later.

I remember needing a Yugoslav
passport to go to Lastovo,

and that I visited
a military submarine.

I remember the 2-dinar slot machines
of the hotel Argentina in Dubrovnik,

and the Stradun clock.

I remember the Duga playmate
and her breasts.

And Vucko, the mascot
of the winter games in Sarajevo.

I remember the smell of heating oil
in the streets of Belgrade,

and watching President Tito’s
funeral on French TV.

I remember bank notes
worth millions of dinars.

I discovered the building
of the Jugoslavija in 2005,

as I was rekindling
my contact with this city

and with a country that I had
not visited since my childhood.

Yugoslavia was no longer

but the Jugoslavija
still stood.

The hotel had been
privatised

and was about to close
for renovation works.

It was as if the building
sent me back to my own memory,

and, at the same time,
to a collective memory,

an experience shared
by a country that had vanished,

my mother’s country.

My mother left Yugoslavia
in the mid-60s

to join her future Swiss husband.

She left at the best of times,
with her experiences of youth

and her childhood memories.

As a child, I held
a Yugoslav passport,

and I carry a strange nostalgia
for a country where I never lived,

like a mythological place,
an origin, a lost kingdom.

Like something
we’ll never find again

and yet that is part of us.

For a decade, I came here
with near-religious regularity.

I filmed and filmed again
these rooms and walls,

convinced that witnessing
what they were to become

would help me regain
a hold on that history.

Filming to retain.

To retain and regain.

Here, there is what I see
and what I project.

What is real or imagined.

What was and what is.

What are your earliest memories

of this country that was
once called Yugoslavia.

I imagine that after the war

as Belgrade was heavily bombed...

Was the post-war
landscape still present?

The post-war landscape, no.

I probably didn’t realise

the severity of the disaster,
of the tragedy.

I remember the ruins

right next to
the 19th century house

where we lived
in the centre of Belgrade,

drawing us, the street children,
to dig around and play.

It was, of course,
strictly forbidden,

as we had no idea
what was still lying there.

But it was intriguing.

There was the “Dom Armije”,
the Army House,

just opposite our home.

Whenever there was
a summit meeting,

and there were many events
involving high-ranking officers,

a soldier would come
to our home.

it was a communal
apartment,

before they became
fashionable,

we had no choice,
Belgrade was largely destroyed.

Each family had a room

that looked out onto the street,
therefore well-lit,

and on the famous “Dom Armije”,
the Army House.

The building served that purpose,
even before the war.

So, an armed soldier

would come and sit
next to my bed.

My parents sent me to bed,
it was time to sleep,

and the soldier would stay
until the meeting was over,

with his rifle, held
like a walking stick,

to stand guard
and prevent attacks.

It was strange at first,
but I got used to it.

Whenever the neighbourhood
was closed,

for the arrival of political
or military dignitaries,

I knew I would go to bed
with a soldier standing guard.

I must’ve been
7 or 8 back then.

It’s one of my memories
of that time.

My parents didn’t explain,
it was just like that.

Then came “Radna Akcija”,
when we were older.

It was a symbol of Yugoslavia,
it happened all over the country.

This was useful, communal work,
which we enjoyed a lot.

A bit like the scouts,
but more politicised.

We liked it because
it was our first way out of home.

With other youths, boyfriends,
some of them a bit older,

some flirting,
our first flutters...

It was work though,
because we were building,

filling a canal on the site
that would later become

the “Ada Ciganlija” sports centre
next to Belgrade.

It was a commitment
of dogmatic proportions.

We were committed
to our future, our country.

It happened only in
socialist or communist countries,

and it was happening
all over Yugoslavia.

Unless I’m mistaken, the 400 km
Zagreb-Belgrade motorway

was then called,
imagine how ironic...

If you mention it to a driver today,
he’ll know what you mean.

It was called “Put Bratstva i Jedinstva”,
the road of Brotherhood and Unity.

It was highly symbolic.

And it was built
by young men and women

who volunteered, not professionals,
but working under professionals.

It was a project in which
the young took an active part.

There was also the
Šamac-Sarajevo railway line.

The same happened in Bosnia.
There were similar actions.

The country was
so destroyed and ruined,

it was impossible to have
it done by professionals.

It had a significant
symbolic value.

We were keen.
I was keen.

I have photos at home,
I’ll show you.

My mother was “keen”
because she was young,

but also because
she had no choice,

because they had to
rebuild a war-torn country,

and it had to be done
with and by the people.

Such was the ideology,
such was the belief at the time.

With this scene staged
by State propaganda,

a country was being built,
and with it, an identity,

a feeling of belonging,
of a shared history.

It all came under
Tito’s slogan

“Bratstva i Jedinstva”,
Brotherhood and Unity.

A post-war ideal
to unite the peoples,

to level out historic, cultural
and religious differences.

The idea that nothing
belongs to anyone

and that everything
belongs to everybody,

the people, the worker,
the young, the old,

with the authoritarian father figure
of the nation watching over you.

It was the vision of a country
that had defeated Nazi Germany,

and stood up to Stalin,

a country that could only exist
in opposition to dominant blocs,

by choosing a third way,
an alternative,

like the destiny of a nation
and a people on its way to modernity.

The Jugoslavija building
was part, in the late 40s,

of an ambitious urbanism project,

“Novi Beograd”
a modern utopia,

at first realised only
in the form of a housing estate.

The building remained
unfinished for nearly 20 years,

until Tito decided,
in the mid-60s,

to turn it into
a grand State-run hotel.

The authoritarianism of
the beginnings had relaxed a bit

and the country, serving as
a buffer to the USSR,

had to find new
alliances in the West,

and with non-aligned countries.

The biggest hotel of the Balkans

would therefore serve
as a showcase for the country,

by welcoming tourists and businessmen,
celebrities and heads of state.

A costly and plush display
that the ordinary citizen

had no access to,

but could nevertheless
admire from a distance,

maybe feeling some pride

in the manner in which
he was being represented.

There is the greater history,
that commands,

and the lesser history,
of those who suffer, the people.

This is what the old
keys look like.

Are you filming this?

- Have you started filming?
- Yes...

Here are the flags...
Colombian flag.

It still works.

Hotel Jugoslavija was
the biggest hotel of the Balkans,

the grandest of its era.

We had prestigious
guests, VIPs.

I was very excited to work here,

delighted to have found
a position in this establishment.

I’ve seen many celebrities,

The presidents of the US,
of Russia, of Kazakhstan,

and many others
who stayed here

when they were
in Belgrade.

Artists, athletes,
bankers.

Everyone came to
hotel Jugoslavija.

People from every
Yugoslav republic

worked at the
hotel Jugoslavija.

Without exception.

There were Albanians,
Muslims, Croats, Macedonians,

every nationality
was represented.

Only your skills counted,

and, I have to admit,
your political compatibility.

Back then, they considered
your membership to the Communist Party,

or your participation in youth
and sports organisations...

It was like that.

They looked at
your parents, their jobs.

There was a personnel commission
that examined candidacies

and chose applicants.

Then you had to go
before a Workers Council

that made the final decision.

I was part of several administrative
bodies in the days of self-management.

I was the vice-president
of the Workers Council,

I took part in many
important decisions.

My voice counted
in everything that happened

during that time,
between 1980 and 2006.

We made decisions
relating to commercial strategies,

the amount of salaries,
employees.

I must say that ours
was a tight-knit collective.

It was struck by disaster
with the bombings of 1999.

On the 7th of May, 1999,
hotel Jugoslavija was bombed.

At that moment
we were all united.

We were united before,
but then we really came together

to work on
rebuilding the hotel.

That’s the main difference
between then and now.

Before, we had
sporting competitions

involving employees from
various companies.

We made new acquaintances,
new friends...

The practice was encouraged
by companies working in a given sector.

We had friendly exchanges
with hotel Esplanade in Zagreb,

the Lev in Ljubljana,
the Bistrica in Jahorina.

Between 50 and 100 of us
would visit them, and then

their employees
would come to us.

All expenses were paid
for our employees and theirs.

The company was our home.

It’s no longer like that.

Now, the head of a private company
is never going to release funds

to send a delegation
to another hotel for 3 or 4 days,

nor welcome a delegation
from another hotel.

The practice has ended,
and people don’t interact as much.

There were also competitions
for hotel employees from Yugoslavia,

organised in Portorož,
Herceg Novi, Kopaonik, Ljubljana.

Those few days were perfect.

It was the best Yugoslavia
had to offer in that field.

Master chefs, waiters
would share their skills,

learning from one another.

That type of gathering
doesn’t exist nowadays,

nor do those friendly
exchanges between employees.

“ Yugoslav ”, the Southern Slavic people.

A name that sounds like
that of a tribe,

a vanished species.

My mother once told me that
when she argued with my father,

she’d reproach him that
he hadn’t married her,

but had only married
a certain idea of Socialism.

As if her husband only saw in her
the image of an ideal.

As if this building also sent
me back to the image of an ideal.

An image that allows me to believe,
but prevents me from seeing.

Although I know,

I can’t stop believing.

I searched for footage
of the Jugoslavija in its heyday,

for footage of celebrities
and heads of state.

All I found was
an advertising film in German,

dating from the early 70s,

promoting the country
through the hotel,

or the hotel through
the country.

A film that mixes
advertising and propaganda,

tourism and politics.

I also found these scenes
from a fiction film,

where the hotel is the backdrop
to a harsh criticism of power,

a film that was banned
by the regime for a long time,

as if fiction could’ve taken
precedence over reality.

It was exciting and instructive.

A fine ending,
as my dad used to say.

Dad was killed.
He died as he lived.

You reap what you sow,
and so forth...

You’re pulling my leg,
absolutely no truth in it.

Gangsters only die
in old films.

It’s the opposite in life.
So, to summarise:

justice exists only in films.
In life... a happy end?

I hope we will meet again.

I am your future.

I often hear
that life was better before.

I’ve also heard that
today’s generations

are paying the price of
their parents’ generation,

that the country had lived
beyond its means,

that it had been disconnected
from its own reality.

Did this country exist
only artificially?

Did it exist only because
it had left the Soviet bloc?

Did it exist only through the authoritarianism
and opportunism of its president

and his skill at
adapting to circumstances?

Did it exist only because
the world was divided in two?

Was there really nothing worth
inheriting from that Yugoslavia?

Where shall I sit?

They don’t know?

Tell me when you’re ready.

- Can we start?
- Hang on...

Comrade Tito has died.

The Central Committee of
the Yugoslav Communist League

made the announcement this evening
to the working class,

to the workers and citizens,
to the peoples and nations

of the Socialist Federal
Republic of Yugoslavia.

I wasn’t that sad
when he died.

He had many happy years,
he lived a good life.

Still, if he’d ruled a bit longer,
we would’ve had a bit more...

How can I explain... the country
could’ve lasted a bit longer.

But when you think about it,
we all die one day,

no one is born
to live forever.

Honestly, I wasn’t afraid the country
would break-up after Tito’s death.

I thought that...

it was in the interest of every
republic to stay in the Federation.

I didn’t think that Tito’s death would
play a role in the break-up.

We were on guard duty here,
there was a general mobilization,

it was exaggerated,

because people were
constantly on their guard

against some alleged
external danger.

But it wasn’t the case.

If we’d come under attack,
we wouldn’t have been divided.

We would’ve stayed united.

But since no one attacked us,
we imploded on our own.

Even then
I didn’t believe in communism.

That is to say,
at first I did believe in it.

It was propaganda.

They said that our
self-managed society

and our socialist system
were ideal,

whereas the Soviet system
was rigid, it was bad,

and the western system
exploited the working classes

while the rights of our workers
were being upheld.

At first, I believed
it was true.

Later, however,
in practice,

when the law on Associated Labour,
the “ZUR”, was passed,

directors lost a significant
part of their powers

to self-managing
bodies within the company.

We found ourselves powerless.

We couldn’t use our skills
to do anything,

unless the entire company
was involved in one way or another.

Through the Workers Council,
or general assemblies

in which everyone
took part.

It slowed down the process, and
by the time decisions were made,

the ship had sailed,
and the idea was shelved.

Everything took
a very long time,

and there was
no perspective in sight.

And in the workers’ minds
there was always

the notion of State property,
we called it social property,

and of individual property.

In this conflict of interest,
individual needs always came first.

If one could profit from
the system, as we say,

one did so without hesitation.

No one is perfect,
and no system is ideal.

This self-managed society
was founded on an ideal,

as if personal property
and state, I mean social,

were at the same level.

It’s impossible, personal interests
will always come first.

That’s why the system
didn’t work.

Some people were like this,
but they were the minority.

I had stopped going to Yugoslavia
when it went to war with itself.

The passport of my childhood
had turned into something foreign,

some suddenly impossible
form of identification.

The words that had accompanied
my mother’s childhood

were to be diverted,
made meaningless,

and yet I still want
to believe in those words today.

Or at least believe in
the idea I have of them.

Unity,

brotherhood,

collectivity,

self-management,

non-alignment.

The words are
not to blame.

I once read that
the founding myth of the region

dates from more than 6 centuries ago,
when the regent went

to fight a battle that
he knew he would lose.

Like a destiny, stronger than anything,
but promised to a sure defeat.

A warrior’s ideal, enabling the people
to stand up to the others

but that ends up pitting
itself against itself.

Tito’s Yugoslavia is the fruit
of struggle, hard work,

and of the love of the nations
and nationalities of Yugoslavia.

Today, as Yugoslavia
faces many challenges,

we must all
raise our voices,

awaken our hearts,
use our intelligence

and join forces
to protect our country.

Yugoslavia was created

by the glorious revolution
of Yugoslav communists,

of the working classes
and the peoples of Yugoslavia.

Yugoslavia will not fall

at the negotiating table,
as our enemies hope.

Yugoslavia, born
from a great fight,

will be defended
with a great fight.

Long live socialist Yugoslavia,
our homeland.

Long live the Socialist Republic
of Serbia, free and united.

Long live Belgrade,
capital of our country,

forever open to all brave
men and progressive ideas.

Hail the courage we have
always shown in our struggle

for freedom and justice.

Long live our comrades
gathered here today

at this meeting for
brotherhood and unity,

for Yugoslavia and for
new and better days.

The 90s came upon us
in an unexpected manner.

No one expected that
our disintegration could happen.

When it all started,
first with Slovenia,

then in Croatia, the peacemakers
started coming to the hotel.

The European Community sent

one of the first delegations
to soothe us.

Back then, I was in charge
of the Djerdap restaurant,

and I had a very good opinion
of the EEC.

Then, all sorts of other guests
started coming to the hotel.

I’m talking about people
on the fringe of the law.

They were more numerous
than in the previous decade.

It was a good time
for criminals who came here.

There were people who were
well-known in criminal circles

who came to meet at the hotel.

As for me, I had
little contact with them.

I had other duties:

grand receptions,
congress meetings, balls,

dances, as they
are called, seminaries.

I never had much
contact with them,

but my colleagues downstairs
had many problems.

Those people didn’t spend
much time upstairs.

When the Bosnian war started,

men from the UNPROFOR
and the United Nations

arrived at the hotel.

They stayed for a while
and then they left.

Only we and our so-called
guests remained.

You could see
guns on the chairs.

There were shots
fired in the hotel,

and when a wedding was celebrated,
weapons were also around.

There was even a security service
in charge of confiscating weapons

for that kind of event.

When I tell you that Arkan
had rented the hotel,

not all of it, just the section
with the pool and the casino,

to turn it into
an establishment for the elite,

I think it says it all.

What could I hope for,
coming back here after so many years?

What had I really inherited
from this country?

Maybe my Yugoslavia
had never actually existed.

Maybe I see the dead
where they are not,

and don’t want to see them
where they really are.

Since I started coming here,

the building has changed
hands three times.

There have been three
transformation projects,

each time grander,
bigger, more luxurious,

and the country has changed
name three times.

Yesterday a Yugoslav,

today a Serb.

There has been
a symbolic destruction,

a physical destruction,
a moral destruction,

and when people talk about
reconstruction and investment,

I continue to see
destruction,

a destruction
of values and meaning.

What is there
to remember or to keep?

Are you alive?

Get out of here.

Come here.

They say that the Jugoslavija
was shelled because

Arkan, an infamous criminal
with ties to the power,

had owned a casino there,

because a minister
had attended, or because

the hotel could’ve been used
by the federal army

in case of a land invasion
by NATO forces.

The bombs that
fell here helped

bring down a criminal regime
that dreamed of a great Serbia,

they destroyed the symbols
and tools of power

of a country that
had already ceased to exist.

But by paving the way
to a new post-socialist economy,

they also took part
in the process of erasing

a socialist past,
an entire history.

The grandeur and misery of capitalism
that has nothing to sell apart

from the ruins of its own history.

What can grow in ruins,

on a moral wasteland?

I would like to take the opportunity
to extend my special thanks

to the National Unity government
of the Serb Republic,

without whom this work would never
have started, let alone be completed.

I would also like
to take the opportunity,

and I think we could
never say this enough,

to thank the Yugoslav army,
our Ministry of Interior,

for all they’ve done during
the aggression by NATO forces,

and, later on,
for the renovation works

and particularly, for having
revived the tourist industry

and allowed hotel Jugoslavija
to run successfully.

Following the bombings,
hotel Jugoslavija,

which had a staff of
400 to 450, was closed.

And the Metropol hotel, which
wasn’t even shelled, struggled

to function because
of UN sanctions.

We managed to secure
a loan to restore

a part of the Jugoslavija
and make it operational.

But we lacked the means
to restore the kitchen and restaurants.

In order to overcome
this dire financial situation

and return the hotel
to an operational state,

we made a decision that seemed
perfectly sound in those days:

we joined forces
with a powerful company,

an insurance brokerage firm,
called Dunav-Belgrade.

According to our merger contract,
they were meant to

invest five million dollars,
sorry deutschmarks,

in the renovation of the Jugoslavija,
and one million for the Metropol.

Unfortunately, after the changes
in 2000, I left my job

and Dunav failed to
fulfil their commitments

to the Jugoslavija
and the Metropol.

After some time, Dunav
gained control of the hotels

without having any right to.

They were sold
as real estate.

If memory serves, and
I hope you’ll forgive inaccuracies,

the Jugoslavija was sold for 33 million,
and the Metropol went for 26 million,

- which was a good price, but,
as I said, secured illegally -

since the buyer didn’t have to
invest in the hotels’ refurbishment.

Dunav therefore pocketed
significant amounts,

having failed to fulfil any of the clauses
of the contracts that had been signed.

Back then I sued
Dunav personally.

Unfortunately, owing to events
and the political situation of the country,

the dispute was never settled.

The complaint was cancelled
despite contractual elements

that showed clearly
to anyone concerned

that Dunav had failed to comply
with the contract’s clauses,

and had therefore
no right to sell the hotels.

I’d like to add something else.

I can now say
that I have a good life.

I enjoy a good status in society,
a good income and

if you consider my financial
situation, and my house,

I live better than
in the 80s and 90s.

I live better now,

but that’s not the case
for 99% of the population.

I would give everything
I own just to see peaceful

relations among people
restored, as they were before.

I have nothing to add.

The fall of the old masters
doesn’t generally herald a new era,

it simply heralds an era
of new masters.

I realise that I came here,
all those years, a bit like

one visits a cemetery,

with a strange feeling

that the dead still have something
to say about their history.

I had mourning to do.

Mourning I couldn’t
do as a child.

Mourning of ideals,

mourning of images
to believe in.

How can I believe?

What can I believe in today?

Boris! Boris! Boris!

Thank you all for coming.

Thank you for supporting
a magnificent, beautiful idea

of a Serbia within Europe,
that cares for its people,

of a Serbia that
fights for a better life.

Serbia is the country
of our union,

not the country of our conflicts
and disagreements.

Serbia must never,
never I repeat,

never become
the country of war,

the country of destruction,
of isolation, of hatred.

A country where people are persecuted
because they think differently,

a country where people are killed
because they hold a different opinion,

where people are discriminated against

because of their religious
or ethnic differences.

Serbia is a beautiful country,
a proud country,

a country turned to the future,
the best country of the Balkans.

That is Serbia.

Our people,
the Serbian people,

want to live alongside
all European peoples,

and to resolve
its national issue

in this European house,

under a European roof,
in a European homeland.

Call me
when you need me

From this hole
between centuries

So that together we can
make our dreams real

Alone, where
the worlds meet

Give me a sign

Strong enough

Give me
strength and courage

What no one else can,
only you can

Show me
that playing is a gift

That we have never lost

Without importance,
something important

through which
we fell in love instantly

Give me a sign

Strong enough...

They talk of democratic
process, of transition,

of Europe and of growth,

but I still have the feeling
that a right has been denied,

the right of workers,
the right of a people,

to something far greater
than mere production means.

It’s as if the mirage
of ownership had only

served to better
dispossess them.

But there was the crisis,
there was nationalism,

there was an embargo,
and there was a war.

In the meantime,
Europe was being built.

A Europe that maybe had
no further need for Yugoslavia,

at least not in that form.

It’s as if all notion of communal life,
of shared ideals needed to be destroyed.

It’s as if commercial values and
moral values were one and the same.

The Jugoslavija will continue
to evolve towards new horizons.

And if one day it finally seems
transformed, with its glass towers,

malls and luxury apartments,

maybe I’ll stop coming,

or maybe I’ll come like one visits
an old friend who’s changed,

and whose story we are one
of the few to know,

even if he’s forgotten it himself.

What a strange feeling, to no longer be
bound by one’s own history...

English adaptation: Alex Downing
Subtitles: www.c-sideprod.ch