Julija has learned, in her 17 years of life, a quick way to deal with just about any problem: jump into the sea. Again and again, in a variety of situations, she turns to this getaway strategy, despite the fact that it doesn’t usually solve much, and only postpones the inevitable. Murina, directed by Antoneta Alamat Kusijanović, centers on Julija (Gracija Filipović), a seemingly self-possessed young woman whose cool demeanor hides equal parts adult-sized resentment and childish impetuousness. She makes for an intriguing and sometimes frustratingly cipher-like center to this story of family tensions set on the barren and sun-blasted coast of Croatia. It looks like paradise, but to Julija, it feels like prison–until an alluring family friend pays a disruptive visit, offering a glimpse of how things could be different.
From the first frame to the last, Julija is surrounded by water. She spends most of the film in various swimsuits, dripping wet, from early morning spear-fishing expeditions with her father, Ante (Leon Lučev), to leisurely afternoons hanging out on boats or carousing with vacationing tourists. The trouble in this paradise is her father and his more-than-prickly demeanor. Indeed, he’s like an open sore of grievance and bad temper. He reliably poisons every interaction he has with anyone, but he reserves special vitriol for his daughter who can seemingly do nothing right in his eyes. This cartoonish truculence somewhat hobbles the story, written by Kusijanović with Frank Graziano, turning the father into a caricature of macho toxicity without much apparent depth. It’s mysterious how someone as repellent as Ante ended up marrying someone as lovely as Nela (Danica Curcic), his long-suffering wife who defends him against their daughter’s growing resentment. In fact, much about the past is left unexplained and unaddressed, which has the effect of marooning these characters in the incongruous present. It might be a thematic decision on the part of the filmmakers, who intentionally isolate Julija in myriad ways both literal and figurative, but it comes at a cost. The unhappy family feels underdeveloped, calculated for maximum vulnerability to the visitor who lands like a meteor in their midst.
This wildcard is Javier (Cliff Curtis), one of Ante’s old friends who is now a billionaire captain of industry with intentions of buying several tracts of ocean front to build a resort. Javier is roguish and charming, sharing an easy affection with Nela and Julija that quickly awakens Ante’s jealousy. Reliably reacting in the most childish manner, Ante calls his daughter vicious names and harangues his wife, seemingly believing that Javier will be impressed. As with the marriage, it’s mysterious what bond might have once united these old friends. Allusions to Ante accidentally sinking someone’s boat during a youthful adventure make for a bit of grim foreshadowing. The unhappy family and the dashing visitor spend hours sailing along the coast and dining under olive trees while Javier flirts with mother and daughter in front of Ante’s darkening face. Meaningful glances and private smiles indicate that Javier and Nela have history as well. The sun-drenched setting acts as a foil for the steadily ratcheting tension between these characters, each of whom are angling for their own advantage.
There’s a weird imbalance of haves and have-nots in this film, where both parties seemingly enjoy lives of beauty and abundance far beyond the reach of common people. Javier is a billionaire, a “god on Earth” in Ante’s words, while Julija’s family, with their rustic seaside compound and smallish yacht, appear to only be fractionally as wealthy. The gap between their material fortunes is the source of much of the film’s conflict, but how much are we meant to sympathize with the fortunes of these privileged folk? Nela suggests that Ante will be better if he has more money from selling his land, but Julija rejects that idea: “No, he will be worse.”
Murina, named for the moray eel that hides in underwater crevices, both attracts and repels with its stark beauty and cold remove. Like the protagonist and her cool regard, the film is observant and prickly, gazing upon beauty and finding ugliness and disappointment. Underwater scenes are filmed with gorgeous color and light where Julija moves through the water like she was born an amphibian. On land, dripping in the sun, her face takes on a mask-like seriousness–a defense against her father’s abuses and the injustice of the adult world. When tensions reach a breaking point in the third act, Julija retreats to the one place where she truly belongs by taking the only action that has ever made sense for her: jumping into the sea.
Photo courtesy of Kino Lorber
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