Film Review: Sky Hook (Nebeska udica, 2000)

The year 1999 could reasonably be described as the annus horibilis for modern Serbia. In that devastating twelve-month period, Serbia lost control of its historic province of Kosovo following NATO's intervention, was subjected to crippling economic sanctions that brought the nation to its knees, and found itself perceived by much of the international community as a pariah state populated by genocidal monsters unworthy of membership in the civilised world. For ordinary Serbians themselves, however, the most traumatic chapter was undoubtedly the three-month-long aerial bombardment campaign conducted by the US-led NATO coalition, which resulted in the loss of thousands of lives, widespread physical destruction, and profound psychological trauma that would echo through generations. It is precisely from this nadir of national experience that Ljubiša Samardžić, one of Serbia's most successful filmmakers, drew inspiration for his directorial debut Sky Hook—a remarkable cinematic achievement that was conceived and produced merely weeks after the cessation of hostilities, transforming national catastrophe into compelling drama.

Set against the backdrop of the NATO bombing in a Belgrade neighbourhood near an abandoned factory, Sky Hook presents a narrative that centres on Kaja (played by Nebojša Glogovac), a man in his late twenties to early thirties who, like most of his generation, finds himself without meaningful employment in a country ravaged by international sanctions. His days are largely spent in aimless limbo, punctuated only by nightly dashes to bomb shelters and the ever-present anxiety of potential military mobilisation. A former aspiring basketball player, Kaja conceives a project that will give purpose to his otherwise directionless existence: he decides to build a basketball court amidst the rubble of his war-torn neighbourhood. Despite widespread scepticism from friends and neighbours who view the endeavour as futile during such precarious times, Kaja perseveres, braving nightly air raids, dealing with hostility from local street gangs, and managing domestic tensions as his wife Tijana (Ana Sofrenović) contemplates divorce and relocation to Italy with their young mute son Jovan (Ognjen Mirković). His determination ultimately pays off—the court is completed—but in a cruel twist of fate, Kaja is killed by a NATO bomb mere moments after realising his vision, leaving behind a poignant symbol of resilience amidst destruction.

What makes Sky Hook particularly remarkable are the extraordinary circumstances of its creation. Ljubiša Samardžić had previously been one of the greatest, most popular, and most iconic stars of Yugoslav cinema, and his decades of experience before the camera clearly informed his directorial approach. More significantly, Samardžić demonstrated considerable producer acumen by transforming what many would consider insurmountable obstacles into cinematic advantages. Filmed mere weeks after the bombing campaign ended, the film utilised the still uncleared rubble of Belgrade as its natural set, creating an authentic backdrop that would have been prohibitively expensive to recreate artificially. This pragmatic approach allowed Samardžić to craft a film that, despite its relatively modest budget compared to Hollywood productions covering similar subject matter, possesses a visceral authenticity that larger-budgeted international films often lack. The director's ability to work within severe constraints while maintaining artistic integrity represents a triumph of resourcefulness over resources.

The true strength of Sky Hook, however, lies in its screenplay by Srđan Koljević and Đorđe Milosavljević, which eschews the conventional single-protagonist structure in favour of an Altmanesque ensemble approach that captures the multifaceted reality of Belgrade under bombs. Rather than focusing solely on Kaja's basketball court project, the script weaves together the stories of various characters who represent different generations, social classes, and attitudes toward the national predicament. Nikola Kojo delivers a nuanced performance as Zuba, a tattoo artist who served as a federal army conscript in Croatia during Yugoslavia's dissolution and has since adopted a cynical worldview regarding the conflicts that followed. Dragan Bjelogrlić portrays Toza, a small-time criminal who thrived during the UN sanctions era by providing black market goods to desperate citizens. Ivan Jevtović appears as Turča, a Sarajevo refugee whose philosophical approach to the bombing stems from having survived similar experiences during the Bosnian War. Meanwhile, Nikola Đuričko plays Siske, a young man constantly admonished for his lack of ambition by his working-class father Zuka (Irfan Mensur). This rich tapestry of perspectives creates a more comprehensive portrait of Serbian society under duress than any singular narrative could achieve.

Notably, the screenplay generally avoids high politics and makes no attempt to provide broader geopolitical context for the NATO bombing campaign. Instead, the events are portrayed strictly from the perspective of ordinary citizens who, for entirely understandable reasons, harbour deep resentment toward the United States and Western nations responsible for the destruction of their country. The film was produced while Slobodan Milošević's regime—widely regarded internationally as responsible for the 1990s Yugoslav wars—remained in power, yet Samardžić wisely steered clear of any overtly propagandistic elements. There is no explicit justification of Serbian actions in Kosovo, nor is there direct condemnation of NATO's intervention; the focus remains steadfastly on the human experience of ordinary people caught in the crossfire of geopolitical forces beyond their control. This apolitical stance, remarkable given the political climate of the time, allows the film to transcend its immediate context and speak to universal experiences of civilian life during wartime.

Despite its many strengths, Sky Hook stumbles in its final act, succumbing to the very sentimentality it had previously avoided. The film's descent into pathos begins with an ill-advised fantasy sequence in which Kaja enjoys a basketball game with a real-life Serbian basketball stars (appearing in a cameo roles), a moment that feels tonally dissonant with the film's otherwise grounded realism. This is compounded by Kaja's death, which while narratively logical, is handled with such overt dramatic flourish that it risks undermining the authenticity that had characterised the preceding scenes. The sentimentality continues in the film's conclusion, with Jovan—who had been mute throughout the narrative—regaining his speech to provide voiceover narration detailing what happened to the other characters. This narrative device feels like an unnecessary concession to conventional storytelling that diminishes the film's earlier commitment to showing rather than telling.

Premiering at the Berlin Film Festival in February 2000, Sky Hook received generally favourable critical reception, though it was somewhat marginalised due to political sensitivities surrounding its subject matter and fears that it might be interpreted as anti-NATO or anti-Western propaganda. The film's timing proved particularly complex, as it debuted while Milošević's regime remained in power but was released just months before the dramatic political upheaval that would overthrow the Serbian leader in October 2000. Samardžić, ever the opportunist, would later capitalise on this historical moment with his political thriller Natasha, which directly addressed the events surrounding Milošević's fall from grace.

Ultimately, Sky Hook stands as a solid piece of cinema made all the more impressive by the extraordinary circumstances of its production. It represents something of a fresh start for Serbian cinema, which had been largely defined in the preceding decade by either government-sanctioned propaganda or apolitical comedies that avoided engagement with the nation's traumatic recent history. What elevates the film beyond mere historical document, however, is its universal theme of ordinary people finding meaning and purpose amidst extraordinary circumstances. The image of citizens building a basketball court in the rubble of their neighbourhood speaks to a fundamental human impulse to create and normalise even as the world around them collapses—a theme that transcends its specific historical moment. One can easily imagine the film's core narrative being transposed to contemporary settings such as Gaza or Ukraine, where civilians similarly struggle to maintain normalcy while living under bombardment. The film's enduring power lies precisely in this universality—it is not merely a document of Serbian suffering during the NATO bombing, but a testament to human resilience in the face of indiscriminate violence, a message that remains tragically relevant in our contemporary world where urban populations continue to bear the brunt of military conflicts they did not initiate.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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