A symphony under siege

THE FILM 1395 Days Without Red is about a woman going to work. She makes her way across a city, on foot. But the city is Sarajevo and the time is during the siege, which began in April 1992 and went on until February 1996.

Much of Sarajevo, which is surrounded by high ground, is built on a grid pattern, which meant that nearly every junction became a death-trap for its hapless citizens, leaving them vulnerable to sniper fire from the besieging Serbs in the hills. Even the most ordinary errand could cost you your life.

Maribel Verdú plays the woman who negotiates this lethal obstacle course. As pedestrians approach exposed junctions, they linger in groups at each side of the road until one of them takes a chance and darts across.

There is an almost ritualistic quality to the process. Occasionally a shot rings out. Verdú is making her way, we realise, to a rehearsal of the Sarajevo Symphony Orchestra.

We crosscut between the assembling players, as they begin to work on sections of the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique symphony, and Verdú’s perilous journey, during which she begins to hum sections of the score.

While it is not a narrative film in the conventional sense, 1395 Days Without Red is filled with dramatic tension throughout its 43-minute running time. Quite simply, we fear for Verdú and for those she encounters as they run the gauntlet of “Sniper Alley”.

Structurally, the work is a close collaboration between Albanian-born artist Anri Sala, New York-born composer and conductor Ari Benjamin Meyers and French filmmaker Liria Bégéja.

The music – fragmented, layered and repeated – is not so much an important part of the film. It is absolutely integral to it, enmeshed in its shape. What emerges is an intricate construction seamlessly interweaving sound and image. Appropriately, the movement throughout has a choreographed quality. There is, incidentally, a narrative resolution, although you could miss it if you’re not paying attention.

Originally, Artangel invited Sala to do a project. He was talking one day to Bosnian artist Šejla Kameric, who had been in Sarajevo during the siege. The idea grew from that conversation.

Remarkably, the Sarajevo Symphony Orchestra continued to perform throughout the siege. When its concert hall was destroyed it relocated to a television studio, durably built to survive all contingencies, and it is that building we see in the film.

Sala approached Meyers, who he’d worked with previously, and he came up with the Tchaikovsky, although he points out that we never hear pure, unadulterated Tchaikovsky; it’s always altered and shaped.

A little confusingly, the project resulted in two independent films drawing on the same material. Kameric shaped the other. Her cut is longer, at 65 minutes, and more personally nuanced in the light of her own experiences.

It is Sala’s version of 1395 Days Without Red that’s showing in the Real Tennis Court building in Earlsfort Terrace. It makes a fine cinema space, admission is free, and it’s right in the heart of the city.

1395 Days Without Red is at NCH, Earlsfort Terrace Until July 15