Nothing bonds a family like trauma, since the experience of losing a loved one tends to bring even the most conflicted people together as they attempt to navigate the grief and despair that comes with a great loss. In the case of Wind, Talk to Me, director Stefan Djordjevic makes his feature-length debut, crafting a mostly autobiographical story based on the emotions and internal quandaries he experienced after the loss of his mother. Set roughly a year after her death, the film finds the protagonist (portrayed by the director himself) venturing to his family home somewhere in the pastoral region of Serbia, where he is forced to confront the ghosts of the past through increasingly challenging conversations between members of his family, all of whom respond to this loss in very different ways. A beautiful and poetic ode to the past handcrafted by an exciting young voice in contemporary cinema, Wind, Talk to Me is a very promising introduction to the director’s unique voice as he develops it through engaging with the past, particularly in how it explores certain ideas in a manner that is poignant but never too sentimental to the point where it becomes heavy-handed or unnecessarily dense. A very strong debut, and one that is sure to make an impression based on how it becomes one of the most universally resonant depictions of the process of mourning. Despite its cultural specificity and the personal nature of the story being told, the film captures a very particular side of the human condition that is often overlooked in many films that attempt to tell similar stories, often lacking the nuance brought to this production.

Seemingly every film about the death of a loved one tends to revolve around two very common concepts: they’re usually set in the direct aftermath of a loss (particularly when it comes to looking at grief from the perspective of a family unit), and feature the relevant but overused theory of the Five Stages of Grief, which tends to give these stories structure, despite becoming quite taut and overworked. Wind, Talk to Me takes a different path in both instances, choosing to set the film a year after the loss, which removes the immediate trauma and instead focuses on the lingering melancholy that comes with living your life in a world that is vacant of someone you loved. Recovering from such a loss is impossible, and even saying that it becomes easier over time isn’t entirely true – instead, one adjusts in their own way, which is precisely the concept that Djordjevic uses as the foundation for this film. He offers his perspective on dialogue with members of his family, some of whom are played by his real-life relatives, giving the film a strong layer of authenticity, one of its most prominent qualities. The ensemble-based nature of the film means that several different perspectives guide the narrative, and most of the story consists of each character, whether in isolation or through conversation with someone else, reflects on the past and discussing their own journey as they come to terms with this loss, which has now been consolidated into their memories and is no longer as raw as it was previously, but yet remains a very difficult and uncomfortable subject, but one that is essential to explore as a means to facilitate the continued process of grieving.

Wind, Talk to Me is a film about the process of grieving, and it focuses on the role memory plays in the act of understanding the inevitability of loss. As a result of a slightly more abstract set of themes that do not easily lend themselves to a distinct narrative structure, the director had to ensure that the execution was precise and didn’t default to the same clichéd techniques usually found in these stories. The tone of this film is quite remarkable since it is decidedly much less heavy-handed than we would expect based on the subject matter. It moves at a slow but steady pace, focusing on the smallest and most intricate moments that occur in between the serious discussions, which is the ambiguous space that the director is most intent on exploring, since this is where some of the most heartfelt and meaningful concepts reside. It consists of a few disjointed fragments that offer insights into the life of this family, and while at first it may seem to lack cohesion, everything eventually comes together in the third act, which contains some devastating but poignant moments. Tonally, the film strikes the perfect balance between heartfelt and austere, managing to focus on the connections formed between these people as they venture towards a place where they can feel more comfortable discussing the premature loss of their loved one, a challenging but essential journey and one that is beautifully captured throughout the film. Djordjevic’s direction is simple but extremely evocative, and he brings so much nuance to a relatively unfurnished narrative, finding the intricate beauty in the smallest and most seemingly vague moments of human connections, the ultimate foundation of this daring and poignant film.

Wind, Talk to Me is a very simple film about the poetry of everyday life, which does not recede or cease to exist in times of grieving, but actually tends to become amplified in those moments when we are at our most unsure. Djordjevic crafts a beautiful and engaging narrative that is extremely personal, and he deserves credit for managing to tell such a story without making it unnecessarily dense or didactic when it comes to reconciling the philosophy from his own personal experiences. There are many layers to the film, but he chooses to approach them in a beautifully simple way, weaving a narrative that is defined by its direct, earnest style of allowing the plot to move at a glacial pace, knowing that the message at the heart of the film will eventually become clear to those with the patience to undergo this journey with the director, whose candour and willingness to open up to the viewer gives the film a remarkable amount of authenticity and sincerity, enough to maintain our attention and keep us frequently engaged with this fragile, tender familial drama. Driven by a kind of quiet resilience that seems subtle at first but contains a fiery compassion that enlightens the viewer to entirely new elements of the human condition, Wind, Talk to Me is a stunning and lyrical elegy to the past, crafted by a director who uses his own perspective as a means to explore the past and its sometimes tricky nature, leading to one of the year’s most elegant and moving portraits of family, and a truly extraordinary piece of storytelling that is as beautiful as it is bold.