"Spoiler alert" is a phrase film critics use to urge you not to read farther if
you don't want to know a plot twist or who dies in the end. But it's not used
often enough to let readers know that a film has an unparalleled moment of
cinematic magic. A moment that, if you know it's coming, won't be very magical
when it unfolds on screen.
Consider yourself warned.
Midway through Jasmin Dizdar's Beautiful People, the first-time director
achieves such a moment, a fusion of theme and content that encapsulates
everything he's wanted to say and might just put a big fat "How'd-he-do-that?"
smile on your face. The film follows a cross-section of modern-day Londoners
who find that war in the former Yugoslavia is spilling into their backyards,
drawing rooms, and hearts. Portia, the rebellious daughter of a stuffy Tory
couple, falls in love with Pero, a poor refugee who winds up in the hospital
where she works. Dr. Mouldy, an overworked physician, ministers to a young
Bosnian couple about to give birth but can't repair his own marriage or control
his hell-raising sons. Kate, a sculptress, anguishes when her journalist
husband is dispatched to the war zone.
Only Griffin, a blank-eyed slacker, and his soccer-hooligan friends remain
unaware of the brutality a few nations away. They kill time scoring smack and
shaking down Caribbean immigrants. What gets them really excited is the
upcoming match between their local favorites and a Dutch team. Scraping up the
money to attend the game in Rotterdam, they arrive at the airport buzzed on
booze and aggression. The woozy, stumbling Griffin takes a wrong turn on the
tarmac and falls asleep in a cargo bin.
A bin, as it turns out, filled with United Nations supplies destined for
Bosnia. As quickly as you can say BBC, Griffin is mistakenly parachuted into
the middle of a war that had come no closer than the family telly. He's put to
work, too, an accidental humanitarian gaping at the gore in the medical tent,
his conscience pricked by the plight of the orphaned and homeless. After an
ambush, he is shuttled back onto a military plane and strolls through the
doorway of his parents' house in time for afternoon tea.
More than many, British filmmakers remain intrigued by how blurring class and
ethnic differences are remaking their nation. Dizdar adds the collapse of
distance: Sarajevo and Shaftesbury Avenue are really not that far away. Born in
Bosnia, he's spent the last 10 years in London, and his film combines British
social realism with the bitter, jagged humor of Balkan directors like Emir
Kusturica (Underground) and Srdjan Dragojevic (Pretty Village, Pretty
Flame). Beautiful People begins on a busy London bus, with a chance
meeting between two former Bosnian neighbors who still have a score to settle.
Their fistfight ruffles some veddy British feathers ("This is London -- we
don't behave this way!"), careers into the street, and continues across the
city. Eventually, the two end up in adjacent beds in the hospital, where --
between efforts to unplug each other from the life-support machines -- they
befriend an injured Welsh anarchist with grudges of his own.
As the other lead characters slowly come into focus, Dizdar introduces his
vision of cosmopolitan London. Yes, racism is plain and hostility always seems
ready to bubble up into violence. No one is immune; when Dr. Mouldy's sons have
a pillow fight, one plays England, the other Ireland. Still, the center holds.
Chance and coincidence, even war, braid together these disparate lives. This
fundamentally hopeful world view is in stark contrast to that of other
directors, who blend comedy and tragedy to describe how Europe has experienced
the horror of the Balkans. A blood feud that doesn't respect the doors of a
hospital caps off Pretty Village. Violence circles back, unceasingly, in
the stunning Before the Rain, where (spoiler alert) an unexpected
shooting born of age-old ethnic hatred shocks a London restaurant full of
Beautiful People doesn't stint on the horror. The good doctor discovers
that his pregnant patient doesn't want to keep her child because it was the
product of a gang rape by soldiers in her former nation. Griffin watches,
slackjawed, as an injured Bosnian has his leg amputated, and we watch, or look
away, as the bloodied leg is paraded front and center before the camera. For
every brutal sequence, though, there's a comic or tender moment to relieve the
pressure. And Dizdar's cast of actors, most of them unknown here, have a
scruffy charm that makes even the most difficult stuff go down easy. Nicholas
Farrell, as the decent Dr. Mouldy, is the standout.
Throughout the film, I kept expecting the director to wave a stern finger at
the West, to set up Bosnia as the nightmare that other multi-ethnic nations
will wake up to if they don't get over their internal differences. He's too
generous, too enamored with human foibles, to be so pushy. The film wobbles a
little at the conclusion, not sure whether to end on a note of hope or despair.
Consider yourself warned: Beautiful People chooses hope.