Margina

A plunge into the intimacy of a Macedonian family, Margina has no more than its title to signal an outside world. Although it is far from simple to identify the different generations (who is the patriarch’s daughter? who is the second wife?), the physical closeness and the propensity of the men of the house to continually move around with a child in their arms give the impression throughout of close-knit ties, as if these were further reinforced by the mother’s exile. But the world outside this familial “interior” smacks of an appalling—and international—banality, a mix of social snobbery and racism. “Why have I let the gypsies pick my apples for two years now, me?” guffaws one grinning customer. Others, less amenable, expect the family of woodcutters to come and cut twenty-five kilometres away without costing in the price of the petrol. Throughout the film, tiny exclusions and similar comments weave a fine but implacable web. Retrospectively, we understand how the first sequence sets the structure: the engine that the father and son are trying to repair is from a utility vehicle that is of vital importance to the family. As for the circular saw, it stands unwittingly as a metaphor of the impossible circulation of Europe’s Roma gypsies, who are condemned to return to square one—yet another marginalisation that leaves a bitter taste. (Charlotte Garson)