SIFF 2022 | MOVIE REVIEW: "Celts" is a Fun Time in the Fray with Family

9/12 ForReel Score | 3.5/5 Stars

Belgrade in 1993, and it is Minja’s eighth birthday. All her friends from school are coming over to join in the revelry of a Teenaged Mutant Turtles-themed celebration, as are many of their parents—though, many of the parents have bluer festivities in mind. Minja’s parents, Marijana (Dubravka Kovjanić) and Otac (Stefan Trifunović), play hosts, but a chasm of icy indifference widens between them.

If you have knowledge of Serbia and its tumultuous positioning amidst the breakup of Yugoslavia in the early 90s, this premise might yield layers of subtext and metaphor. For the casual viewer, though, Milica Tomovic’s Celts presents itself more immediately as an unassuming and naturalistic hangout feature, and a rather charming one at that. Granted, politics are discussed spiritedly by a handful of the film’s characters, but this discourse is always relegated to background chatter, wallpapering Tomovic’s world, only to be waylaid by less serious topics.

Composing the forum is a motley ensemble of middle-aged friends, all of whom make Tomovic’s debut effort feel casual and homegrown. The camera floats restlessly but assuredly amongst them, never dwelling for too pregnant a moment on one particular monologue and giving every individual breadth. This has the double-edged effect of making Celts feel directionless, “mumblecore,” but also organic. And while the large number of characters can be difficult to keep track of, in terms of who they are, who they’re related to, and who they’re dating—or, eyeing—the sensitive, democratic handling of each and every one of them means Tomovic’s portrait of Serbian living feels authentic and fleshed-out. This, of course, is owed in large part to the effortless feeling, deeply nuanced performances of all cast members involved—even the children.

While the adults of Celts take up the majority of the screen time with their drinking, their flirting, and their squabbles, Tomovic always circles back on her spritely youths, whether it be Minja coming to terms with her party maybe not being the greatest, or Minja’s quiet brother, Fica, making comical attempts to rid his clothes of a cake stain. By grounding her film in her youngsters, Tomovic consistently steers us away from the bleaker, heavier moments.

There is plenty that is wholesome and droll about the adult characters, but each of them also brings with them their baggage and their self-abasing behaviours. Marijana, so terminally unloved by her glum husband, actually goes so far as to venture out into the night to find herself a warm body, while Marijana’s sister, Ceca (Jelena Đokić), makes it her night’s mission to win back her ex, who has shown up at the party with a young fling. And then there is the tension in positioning the adult debauchery alongside an eight-year-old’s birthday party, or having Minja’s teenaged sister toeing the fraught middle ground between the two age groups.

All this considered, Celts isn’t wrought with anxiety, nor bent on inducing a sense of social claustrophobia. It is both like and unlike recent indie hits like Shiva Baby and The Girl and the Spider, intent on prodding the simmering insecurities within large gatherings, but dialed-back from these films’ hysterias and obstinate quirks. The characters of Celts are well-intentioned, but at battle with their contradictions. The overall portrait is warmly authentic-feeling, a simultaneously specific- and universal-feeling snapshot of loved ones that wobbles in a lively manner between moments stable, elating, frustrating, and escalated. Whether you see yourself in the film or not, Celts might be the closest you feel to fictitious characters all year.