The power of film in studying borders and history – Stojan Pelko

The power of film in studying borders and history
First, as a film critic, what comes to mind is, of course, this western border, but not necessarily the western border in terms of the former Yugoslavia to Italy, but

the border of the conquest of the Wild West. This border taught us a lot within the western genre. That all the key things happen on the border, when it comes to how the border is extended, how it is crossed, what is smuggled across, and, of course, when we are from Ljubljana, or even earlier from Novo Mesto's perspective.
Given what happened here, for me, this was the West, not just beyond the border, but also what people brought to Ljubljana, in terms of behavior, books, the very top, and even then, things of the West were coming, even though they may have been distant, eastern or eastward, they were coming from the West. It’s the same today with this border.

Here, I try to approach it a little more theoretically now, in the position of the program director of the EPK. But, of course, it turns out that every slightly more profound debater says we are not abolishing the border. The border will always be here, but precisely as a concept that challenges how it can be crossed. And when we translate this to the field of film, in my opinion, the most lucid films are those that show the arbitrariness of the border. And when you show, for example, with the most ordinary documentary footage, how the border was drawn with white lime, to those much more fundamental human fates that were split because of the border.
But once you sensitize the film viewer to the arbitrariness of the border, then I think that a space of freedom opens up, where the questioning of all borders is allowed.
Slavoj Žižek had a lecture in the Cultural Centre in Gorizia a long time ago. It was titled When the border falls, relating to the border between film and ideology.
Every time we deal with the topic of a border, it opens up questions.
In essence, some fundamental questions arise: who are we, who is on the other side, how much does the other person form you, and so on.

Can film also be a pedagogical tool?
I am actually an author  of a booklet Film Terminology for Youngsters, where the goal was to present this topic to the students. In my opinion, the best philosophy is the history of philosophy. So, my logic was that the best film theory is the history of film. In essence, through the changes in film—technical, production, ideological, genre—you best show its current richness. At this level, I dare say that every film is also a pedagogical tool, no matter how brutal it may be. As a parent, I try to sometimes intentionally ignore the parental guidance rating because I know that I can take my son through something like Gladiator and engage in a dialogue with him. I won't just leave him with the violence but will guide him through it. So, my answer to your question is yes. Film is definitely a pedagogical tool, even in its most brutal forms. But not every film is artistic.

Many films, as Deleuze said, are trash and it is difficult to extract something that has a status of an artwork. What has the status of an artwork for me is often touched by the concept of the sublime, or it touches something so sublime that other disciplines, other genres, do not. However, many people do not recognize this.
It is a fundamental historical dilemma—what truly creates history: is it the brave individuals, or is it the institutionalization of their knowledge into something solid that remains and is often generationally different? When you're younger, you're convinced that the visionary work of an individual is invaluable, and it is, but it is very little help if at one moment it doesn't ossify but rather stabilizes into something institutional, because only then does it gain the power to inspire or, as I would say, educate the next generations. When we specifically talked here about the experiences of different individuals, such as Darko Bratina, Scandolara and Silvan Furlan, perhaps the most fascinating part in the lecture was seeing the breadth of the fields they were involved in. And not just thematically, but institutionally. Back in the day, the philosophy was one child, one book, one tree. But for these people, it was one festival, one book collection, one institution. These are the fundamental things that remain. We can be either in Darko Bratina’s courtyard or at Silvan Furlan’s open-air cinema, in some topographical spaces, but it is actually more important that we are present in places where the institutions share their spaces, such as the Udine university, Mediateka, Kinoatelje, Palazzo del Cinema. These things not only have the power to inspire but literally educate future generations. Since we are in this region, I will mention a name, and not everyone likes to mention it, but I will do it again today, and that name is Toni Negri. When you read his works, you see how at one point you could say that resistance must know how to institutionalize itself.
And that’s not a bad thing. On the contrary, it’s a sign of victory in certain cases. An institution, despite being necessary, has an inherent tendency to become ossified.
And once it is established, it seems to yearn, just like the body, to become less flexible, and again you get to the point where a new individual must revive it from within. But this can be done without offense to those spaces.

Here, I would say that sometimes, for example in the Gorizia region, there is a feeling of the absence of larger national institutions. Because, just like in big industries, we are often fascinated by how precisely the tasks of corporations are ratified, because the quantity factor or critical mass is so large that they can specialize.
You wish that the status of a local or regional institution would, in some cases, extend to the national level. Not to be more prominent, but because you would know that certain niches could be covered. Very often, due to reliance on volunteers, small teams and their organic emergence, it is not possible. This is not good, because all of Slovenia is already small. When you start dividing it into even smaller pieces, you get to very small units that, although they would want to, they simply cannot process what an institution would need.

Do the film stories of this region reflect broader European questions of political borders and coexistence along the border?
I dare to say yes after what I saw at this symposium this year. I can compare it to the questions we are usually asked—whether by journalists or partners—such as, “What is your defining characteristic?” “Why did you embark on this project?” We can try to sell it with the slogan Borderless, but we always end up talking about two cities on the border that experienced both the First and Second World Wars, about experiencing a different kind of coexistence. This retrospective would be relevant in Berlin just as well, which had a similar experience in a different way, but also in a city where tensions between two districts might be just as strong.
This is also relevant in Kosovska Mitrovica. And believe it or not, Gorica was already mentioned there as an example of what can be done. That’s why I believe that with this content—one that is not only cinematic but also political and historical—we are creating something that will, for the first time, allow us to position ourselves more clearly across Europe. I also think that a shift will occur, the kind that happens when you watch a film and then want to see for yourself if it’s really like that. That’s why I don’t see your work in a negative sense but rather as a kind of promotional tour across Europe next year. A way for people to say, “Let’s go see if it’s really like what we saw in the films.”

Film recommendation from the border.
Without hesitation, I answer: Bread and Milk. For me, this film represents this region—not only because of Tolmin but because of its black-and-white aesthetic, its raw emotional intensity. My first association when I come here is Jan Cvitkovič.

What is the significance of the East / West retrospective in the context of the European Capital of Culture?
I must frame the question of the significance of the European Capital of Culture more broadly. For the second year now, I have been confronted with the criticism: “So, what are you actually doing?” I respond: “Excuse me, but that’s like having insight into the research and development lab of a pharmaceutical company. Maybe to an outsider, all that mixing of formulas and powders seems pointless, but when an original medicine finally emerges, you realize that the process was necessary.”
This impatience—both in Slovenia and, at times, even more so at the local level—is sometimes difficult to deal with. But we are engaged in a typical process that cannot reveal everything from the start, much like a first theatrical reading rehearsal. You don’t see the full stage design yet because the process hasn’t reached that point—or because we choose not to show it yet. Sometimes I think it’s essential to understand this process.
 
This particular project, which examines East and West, is a textbook example of a laboratory-style research and development endeavor.
Because when you listen to voices ranging from historians to film theorists, from experienced professionals to high school students, you see knowledge accumulating.
At some point, it will need to be formalized—whether in a catalog in Berlin, a retrospective in Brussels, or something smaller in scale in Italy. This knowledge will accumulate, which is why I see the value in this. And I dare to say that among the projects, we have around 80 main ones. In the official program, we have 30 to 40 projects that will only reveal their true dimensions in 2025, and there is a great deal of impatience—why was this money spent? Where is it? Why don't we see it yet?
But we must understand that, simply put, this is how it works. This year, certain cities hold the title of Capital of Culture. Next year, the title moves to Norway, Estonia, and Austria, and three years ago, people there were also asking, "Where can we see something?" Now, it is visible, and next year, it will be even more evident.
So, my response to this is that if we consider the difference, it is like a shift in thought. A scriptwriting residency, which is also one of our official projects, only shows its results when a film is eventually made based on that material. But everyone will then say, "You know, that came from the screenwriting residency in Via Malta, for example." And this investment, which will return multiple times over, seems crucial to me. Your project is a prime example—an investment in dialogue among ourselves, even if at times we are disappointed by an empty auditorium. Yesterday, we were disappointed, but then a film comes along that fills the theater. But you will see—when this retrospective is accompanied by a roundtable discussion, people will ask, "How long did it take you to put all of this together, to identify those remarkable Super 8 reels, to find the source of that footage?" For me, one of the most fascinating aspects of the East / West catalog is always the list of partners at the end. 

This is one of the projects currently boasting the most European but also highly specialized, institutional partners, something that is not always visible in every project. But you know who you had to work with behind the scenes to make this happen. Just for two excerpts that Šprah had to present yesterday, he had to contact some sources. This, I believe, should be understood as one of the luxuries of the European Capital of Culture—to afford a two- to three-year research project and then, quite rightly, demand that something tangible comes out of it. I am convinced that it will, just as we see with theater projects. Similarly, the MN Dance Company did not come into existence just to perform a single dance in a quarry; it has become an institutionalized contemporary dance group, continuously producing results that can already be showcased this year. But the result is also this: the fact that East / West exists is, in itself, a result—the reflection on borders and their meaning in film and history. The retrospective will, in a way, serve as an exhibition of this exploration.