National heroes become scrap metal in Sister Brother Manhole Cover, Milcho Manchevski’s absurdist comedy about Malina and Viktor, siblings who survive by stealing bronze busts and manhole covers in Skopje.
When a theft leaves Viktor injured, an encounter with a corrupt doctor sends them fleeing towards an unlikely refuge, the luxurious home of the doctor’s blind mother.
The Macedonian writer-director first came to international attention with Before the Rain, which won Venice’s Golden Lion and earned an Academy Award nomination. His subsequent films include Dust, Willow and Kaymak.
Talking with ScreenAnarchy, Manchevski recounts the blacklisting and legal battles he says delayed production, and explains how stolen public monuments inspired a story about wealth inequality, defiance and finding family among society’s outcasts. He discusses the film’s inverted Hansel and Gretel structure, its movement from an unruly road movie into claustrophobic interiors, and the pressure he sees from film funds and festivals to prioritise prescribed messages over artistic freedom and beauty.
Alongside his approach to genre, he describes auditions using Macbeth, extensive rehearsals, demanding locations and the collaboration behind a six-country co-production. He also reflects on editing, the limits of test screenings and his belief that entertainment can coexist with difficult truths, before previewing Homecoming, a drama about a man returning home to die, forgiveness and regret.
ScreenAnarchy: How did the film come about? It was quite a long journey.
Milcho Manchevski: It was a long journey. In practical terms, it took unexpected turns, unexpected twists, because for a while I was blacklisted and banned. The creative idea was to talk about important issues in a playful way, by doing an absurdist comedy or satire, and try to understand complicated and contradictory characters.
I started working on the film several years ago, and it was approved by the film agency. But then, because I reported corruption in the film agency, they blacklisted me. All my previous films and this film were banned, basically. They started a smear campaign in the media and filed criminal charges against me. It's similar to what happened to Ai Weiwei and Kiril Serebrennikov and people in Iran.
In the end, what I reported was confirmed by the Anti-Corruption Agency, the State Audit Office, Transparency International, etc. I won two court cases against them. The leadership of the film agency was replaced, and so I could eventually make the film. It was a long hiatus, talking mainly to lawyers and smoking on the balcony.
How did that change the film creatively?
It didn't really change the film. It just gave me more exultant energy to make it once the dam broke. The film is maybe even a little more fun than it would have been otherwise. I wanted to talk about the haves and have-nots, the rich and the poor, the huge wealth gap, which I think is going to be one of the driving forces in the world across different types of societies over the coming years. And it already is.
A lot of the issues we see today, I think, have their root in this increasing wealth gap, in this increasing unfairness in society and in how it's going to affect the world. Wealth inequality is the new global warming. That was one of the issues I wanted to talk about.
I never start out with a message. I start with a story, with a plot twist, with a smell, with characters, with people you like, complicated people you like. Then, while working on it, you refine the themes. Otherwise, I believe you would end up with a message-driven work which would lack depth, which would be a pamphlet, a piece of propaganda.
Another theme I wanted to talk about was family, and finding your family in spite of who your family is, and finding like-minded people. In this case, we have a family of outcasts who find each other and support each other, but do it all with a lot of humour, because the main characters are people of humour.
They are defiant. They don't want to see themselves as victims. They want to be people with agency, people who, they would hope, make decisions about their lives, their life choices. In that respect, they're boisterous, they're funny, while also doing questionable things. You can feel for them as humans, as people. You don't need to approve of everything they do. They're complicated characters, the way we all are.
Was there a news story or a real event behind the story?
There are newspaper reports about busts of national heroes being stolen. I see the pedestals in the city park near my house. Busts that have been standing there since I was a child are now gone. They're replaced by new ones, and they're gone too. That was the original idea. Also, seeing dangerous holes in the street because somebody stole the cover to sell it for three euros a kilo. That's how much they go for.
I also like the symbolic underpinnings of this, because you have heroes of a society that venerates its past, that's promising fairness, promising a bright future, but delivering nothing to some people, to film's protagonists Viktor and Malina. At the other end of the spectrum, you have the manhole covers that cover the underbelly of society, the underside of society. They keep the stink away. Our characters steal them and let the stink come in with polite society.
The film is funny, but also quite violent at times. It has a fable or fairy-tale structure. Did you draw on folk traditions?
It's the tale of Hansel and Gretel meeting the witch, but everything is sort of upside down. Our Hansel and Gretel are not naive children. The witch is not necessarily evil, even though you're questioning that.
At first she seems more helpless. In a lot of places in the film, we set up expectations that we later collapse, turn on their heads. That was the fun of the story. Plus, I believe that's closer to reality, because so many things in life are not what they seem. At first you think it's one thing, and then, as you learn about life, you're like, "Oh, no, actually, it's a little different."
That was one of the archetypes. It's meant to feel like a slightly surreal, slightly wacky fairy tale. It's actually composed of two halves. The film begins as a road movie of sorts. It's a little wilder, a little more open, and then it focuses in, goes indoors and becomes more claustrophobic. At that point, we confront the characters a little more. We confront who they are, and they confront themselves.
A lot of European social-realist drama is quite depressing and stays within a realist register. You went a different way.
I think you can talk about important things while being entertained, as a filmmaker and as a viewer. It doesn't have to be drab and just realistic. There are some brilliant works of realism in cinema, but it's funny you mention this because I think we live in a time of neo-social realism.
I grew up with social realism. I grew up with communism, where things had to be, quote-unquote, realistic. You were told what the message of your film should be and how you should feel at the end. Just when we thought it was all gone, actually it's coming back.
I like calling it neo-social realism, where, again, you have a bit of a diktat on what the subject matter should be and how you should approach it. That comes from film funds, comes from festivals, comes from expectations. Even when you agree, and I usually agree with the agenda, with the messages, I disagree with the fact that you're living under pressure about what you can say and what you cannot, and where the message is paramount.
The message, the theme, yes, they're important, they're good, but art should be telling bigger truths and it should be about beauty. I think we're witnessing the death of beauty because too much emphasis is being put on ideology.
The dream scenes and some of the violent scenes have a choreographed, theatrical quality. Why move so far away from realism?
It wasn't a conscious decision. It felt like this particular story and these particular themes needed to be told in this way. Hopefully there are synergies between the style and the themes and the characters, because the characters themselves are fun and boisterous and irreverent. The film is reflecting who they are. The film just follows them.
I probably felt that, at this point in my life, that is the way I need to tell stories. But it's not written in stone, and it's not a conscious decision. Actually, the next film I'm writing now is probably not going to be as funny.
A depressing drama?
A depressing drama that's hopefully not that depressing. But it's about a guy who comes home to die, so you go figure.
What is your relationship to genre? There are several genre flourishes in the film, and you're playful even in the serious scenes.
I treat genre elements not as rules but as tools. If something has been refined within a genre, it's great to use it as a tool to tell your story or to deliver your emotion.
But I don't think we need to be slaves to genres, which is what the studios would want you to do, or what some festivals want you to do: just conform. I think that kills creativity. It kills the art. Genre rules are a little like painting by numbers. Yes, you will finish it. It's going to look good. But very seldom will it be a great work of art. So I use them. I like them. There are some genre moments that are fantastic, but I would use them in a film that defies genres.
I think this film defies genres. It's not about one unified emotion. It goes between emotions, and hopefully, by the end, you have a homogeneous feeling.
Was the casting difficult?
Not really. Macedonia is a miniature country. It's a small country, but it has good actors. I was very happy to work with Sara Klimoska and Filip Trajkovic and Sonja Mihajlova and the other actors.
I always go through the same process. I talk a lot with the casting director. She makes suggestions. I usually go for craft. The look is not very important. Name recognition is not important at all. We do a first round, a second round. The first round is usually from Macbeth, and once people show they have the craft, we move on.
I've worked before with a lot of the actors who are in this film, but we still go through the casting to see whether the actor's energy is right for the part. It lasted a few months, even for the smallest parts. We look at a lot of people and put people together to see how their energies fit, align.
Once that's done, we do a long rehearsal process where we refine the script and understand the characters better. That also means we can shoot more efficiently, more smoothly. We know what we're doing by the time we come to the set.
What was the most difficult scene to shoot?
Physically, the exteriors of the Copacabana slum, because it was over 40 degrees Celsius. It was the middle of summer, with Viktor and the kids and people running out in the sun, in the dust. That was difficult.
Then we had the illegal dump, which was a night scene. We found a real dump and had to sanitise an area, bring in our own garbage and fend off the dogs and all of that. In that respect, it was those two things.
The rest went pretty smoothly. The death of one of the characters was really emotional for the actors. I didn't expect that, but they were devastated by it. In that sense, that one was difficult.
Which scenes needed the most rehearsal? What was difficult for the actors?
There were a couple of scenes that involved physicality that we needed to get right, like the moment when Rade Corner, played by Stefan Nikolovski, breaks into the shack, or the physicality of the encounter with the doctor. That was mainly choreography we needed to rehearse.
But the most emotionally taxing was the final scene. I didn't expect the actors to respond so strongly. Of course, when you get inside the characters and spend time with them, you get attached, which is par for the course. That's their job. I guess I was a little more detached, having to observe from outside, so I was surprised by the strong reactions. I was happy because we got it on camera. It was fantastic.
Did you shoot everything that was in the script?
Yes, everything. I always end up leaving a couple of scenes out. I try to minimise that. I try to do the editing on paper, but that's the nature of the beast. Sometimes you have to shoot it and see how the scene works. Sometimes scenes work well on their own but stick out. They don't fit the whole. There probably were one or two scenes that were shot and weren't included.
Of course, you always shoot a little bit more. There's always a little fat, but then you streamline it, because I like when things move. I don't like to be slow or static. We rearranged the order a little to give it more momentum, but what you see on the screen is basically what was on paper.
So everything went smoothly in the editing room?
Yes. This was the first time I was working with Blagoja Nedelkovski, the editor, but I was very happy. I asked a senior editor I've worked with on Before the Rain and Dust, Nick Gaster, to come in and give us feedback as a sounding board, as a supervisor. That was invaluable.
Did you hold test screenings of the first or second cut?
A little bit, but not Hollywood-style test screenings.
Did people's opinions change your mind or send you back to the editing room to change something?
Good question. Yes and no. Where it's valuable is in getting feedback on whether something is understood or not.
But the essence of what we're telling and how we're telling it: I think it's a mistake to run after the audience, because you need to find your own audience rather than the other way around. I think your responsibility and your dialogue are to the film itself.
You have to be very tough and very honest and subservient to the film, but not to the audience, because it's easier to satisfy the audience than the film. You can try and bribe your audience, which would hurt the film, if they want a happy ending or a particular cast to make the film more fun or more palatable or more serious or with more message.
They have the right to dislike the film once it's finished, but getting too entangled in the process, unless you really know what you're doing, could be tricky. I'm saying all of this because of the way Hollywood treats test screenings.
Yet your movie is still quite audience-friendly. It doesn't alienate.
I don't think being entertained and being confronted with a big truth or a big beauty are mutually exclusive. On the contrary, most of my favourite films, most of what I consider the best, the most profound films, are also widely watched. They're not Titanic, but they're not Stan Brakhage either.
Can you name one or two of your most cherished films?
Persona. The Decalogue. Goodfellas. Happiness.
But most people would disagree that Happiness is wildly entertaining.
That one I can see. But a lot of people were entertained by Goodfellas, right? I find films like Persona entertaining as well. I guess it could be your definition of entertainment.
Tell me more about the next project, about the man who comes home to die.
It's called Homecoming. It's a story of forgiving yourself and learning to deal with regrets, or with the lack of regret. Usually, when I have an idea, and it starts with a plot twist or a smell or a character, I develop it and work on it and try to fine-tune it. I do it from start to end, until I release it. Whether it takes a year or seven years, this is the film.
Homecoming is an exception, in that I've had this idea forever. Now I finally cracked it open by approaching it in the simplest possible way, emotionally and narratively. All of a sudden it just moved like a river. I'm writing it now. But maybe you need to get a little older to be able to tell this story. I don't know. I'm getting excited about it.
Will it be a chamber drama?
Yes, relatively small. Joyful, in a way. It's not a depressing show where you want to cut your veins.
SISTER BROTHER MANHOLE COVER is a six-country co-production. How was it working with so many countries on one project?
I've learned to do that. Ever since my first film, it was France, the UK and Macedonia. To me, that's pretty much the only way to make films in Europe, and it's good.
On the one hand, you're sort of starting from scratch always, and there are requirements. On the other hand, you're exposed to a wider pool of good people, creative people. I like different takes, different perspectives on filmmaking.
By the time we start making the film, I have a clear idea of what we want. I articulate it, get the feedback and we work together. It's not like you get swayed by it. It's also a necessity, just in order to pull together the finances. We got some great people this time.
You consult each head of department, clarify your vision and receive feedback?
Exactly. I like getting feedback and shaping the film with the people who are making it rather than imposing an idea. I mean, I impose plenty.
Was Copacabana an actual place, or did your production designer construct it?
It's something we constructed based on real slums in Skopje. We went to the slums. Most, but not all, of the people living in them were Roma.
We decided not to shoot in a real slum because we didn't want to disrupt life there. You come in with equipment and with the wealth and with everything. It's insensitive. Also, it's easier to work in a place you've created yourself, especially if you can afford to build it. The slum is, for better or worse, easy and cheap to build.
We also liked the idea of constructing the slum within an ancient aqueduct, both visually and symbolically. Everything else was real: a real junkyard, a real illegal dump, etc. The rich house, obviously, is a real rich house, which didn't need much intervention. We brought in the bust and the piano.
Did that take a lot of location scouting?
Yes, a lot. The exteriors I often scout myself. I just get on the bike and I'm constantly roaming around and taking pictures, even for some future project, both in New York and in Skopje, mostly in Skopje.
But for the interiors, you need a location manager. It took a long time. We would not settle for something, because the house, the second half of the film, is really important.
What did you tell the owner of the house?
He's the former mayor. When we approached him, he was like, "Yeah, okay." I was surprised it was that easy. He said, "I want to help." He appreciates my work. He's known my work since the first film. He was just like that: "You can shoot here."
They didn't ask for money. They just moved out for a month or so and let an army of potentially destructive people walk in. But we were very careful: no shoes indoors, white gloves. I think we didn't break anything there.