In her documentary feature The Beauty of the Donkey, sold by First Hand Films, Swiss-based filmmaker Dea Gjinovci and her exiled father Asllan return to his former village in Kosovo to recreate his childhood memories, together with the help of local townsfolk. This is, at times, desperately painful as a core storyline emerges, that of the search for traces of Asllan’s mother, Dea’s grandmother, who was lost in 1998.
But the business of remembrance and reconciliation can also be highly inventive and joyous, as a new house is constructed on the site where Asllan grew up, and as we attend the reimagined (and vigorous) wedding of his older brother.
“In Kosovo, 25 years after the war, the country’s landscape has been completely transformed,” Gjinovci explains the core of her film. “More than 90% of its villages were destroyed, stone houses replaced by concrete structures, artisanal crafts lost, and personal photographic archives burned. This extreme material and human loss is being echoed today in Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Yemen, and other places in the midst of conflict. My film contemplates the traces left behind and asks, can they be woven back together? Often, what remains are the memories of those who survive—and how they pass them on.”
At the heart of a film resides a deep sense of catharsis for Asllan and for director Gjinovci, as well as for the villagers. “I think for both my father and I, the film was also a pathway towards acknowledging the pain of the loss of his mother; how the distance, absence, then disappearance of his mother affected us, even though it was a story that was silenced for many years,” she tells Business Doc Europe.
“Starting the film with this return to the village was a way to first reconnect the images of the past with those of the present – to recreate relationships with relatives that we had never met,” Gjinovci adds. “I think the collective relief and catharsis was expressed through the sense of community that was created around the film: since the destruction of the village during the war, everyone would tell us that the social life was different, people kept more to themselves and the sense of community was lessened. So, the sets that we created became a sort of pull to form community again, with people coming to act in different scenes, or helping us out with accommodation, construction of sets or food, or also celebrating together the wrap of the film shoot.”
There were, unsurprisingly, significant obstacles to overcome throughout the production, not least in the film’s financing. “I think some of the early hurdles were related to the atypical form of the film in convincing funders to come on board,” Dea explains. “As a director and producer, I was pitching a personal film that had a hybrid form, and that was not reassuring to Swiss funds when I asked for production funding (we had received early support for development from the Swiss national fund). So it took some waiting, re-writing and strategising to move into production without national support.”
Help came in the form of “fantastic” US executive producer Maida Lynn, who stepped in to finance the start of production, a “leap of faith” which helped secure further funding in Switzerland and in Kosovo.
“On the ground in Makermal, we had to negotiate our space for the film inside the village,” the director highlights another area of concern that had to be circumvented. “With our first filming session, since our crew was much smaller, we managed to find accommodation with family relatives inside the village. People were so generous with their time and home, and from the beginning supported us in the process.”
On the other hand, the second filming session was much bigger, with Gjinovci wanting to reconstruct Asllan’s house. “For that, I had to have a meeting with about forty men from the village, convincing them of our project and what we were going to do. It was a tough crowd! But we managed, and in the end, many of them were cast for the film.”
How does Gjinovci describe her filmmaking strengths, as well as those of the production? “My strength as a director lies in my fascination with the idea of construction—not just in crafting a film, but in creating an experience during filming that benefits both the film itself and its participants. With The Beauty of the Donkey, we fully integrated the creative ambitions and well-being of our young protagonists into the design of our sets, costumes, and scenes. For me, it’s crucial to foster an atmosphere where everyone feels invested in the vision and understands their role as essential to bringing it to life.”
“On the production side, the key is working with people who are open, hardworking, transparent, and genuinely committed to the film. Swiss-Kosovar filmmaker Ilir Hasanaj, who began as our first assistant director, exemplifies this dedication—his relentless effort on set made him the ideal co-producer in Kosova. A strong production team is built on trust between producers, and fortunately, we had that throughout the process.”
Back in April, when the project was pitched as a work-in-progress at Visions du Réel, Gjinovci was determined to secure festival selections that could “embrace and nurture” the film. The film subsequently world-premiered at Zurich FF in September before travelling to Chicago IFF for its North American premiere. The Ji.hlava selection marks its international premiere.
“I love festivals that have an intimate and close relationship with their audience,” she tells BDE. “In Ji.hlava, I feel that the audience has incredible faith in the programming – ready to be surprised, touched, and challenged by the forms of the films screened. It’s quite rare for festivals to be so audacious in their programming exploring all the forms and nature of non-fiction filmmaking. I feel like The Beauty of the Donkey is at home in a festival like this – we don’t need to justify the form, what it is and it is not, since audiences are just ready to experience it and are accepting of its hybrid [nature].”
