Julija (Gracija Filipovic) lives at her family’s seafront villa with her controlling father, Ante (Leon Lucev), and unsatisfied mother, Nela (Danica Curcic).  When Javier (Cliff Curtis), a wealthy friend of Ante’s comes to visit a parcel of land that he is looking to develop, his eccentric nature instantly captures the attention of Julija and reawakens an old flame of passion in Nela.  Not standing for it, Ante increases his overbearing antics at the household and while Nela crumbles under her husband’s pressure, it only drives Julija closer to the reprieve of Javier. 

Antoneta Alamat Kusijanovic’s delivered Murina to the 2021 edition of the Cannes Film Festival where it won the Caméra d’Or.  From a script co-written with Frank Graziano, it received the stamp of approval from one of the most prominent proponents of international cinema, Martin Scorsese, who is credited as an executive producer on the film which was released in the states by Kino Lorber.  The 96-minute film plays out like an erotic thriller in its tone and essence, and while the film remains incredibly chaste, there is an overwhelming feeling of sinister lust and desire at play that only helps to increase the tension as these four unhappy people come ever-closer to erupting with jealous rage.  

Kusijanovic opens her narrative in the beautiful blue water, shortly thereafter, Ante and Julija swim into the frame, the latter holding her hunting spear.  Hélène Louvart’s camera is careful to catch the point of the spear, injecting an immediate sense of danger which will shade the entire experience.  Wielded only briefly by the brash-willed teen in the film, the weapon becomes less and less of a threat and Julija wages her war of rebellion against her father with very pointed actions of defiance, but Kusijanovic’s script never allows audiences to feel comfortable.  Ante never lays down to accept defeat, or even accept that he is being rallied against, instead he doubles his efforts by maximizing his belligerence and his misogynist language to prove – at least in his own mind – that he is just as powerful as Javi.  Credit is due to Lucev who takes a rather one-note character, opens the film playing him at a ten, and still manages to increase the intensity of the role as tensions become heated between the four key players. 

As Ante’s foil, Javi is played ever so coolly by Curtis whose smooth talking and general attitude act as an immediate salve to Ante’s roughness.  It is no wonder that, when forced to live under the reign of Ante, Julija sees the excitement of freedom in Javi.  What Kusijanovic’s script does so cleverly, though, is that this is not just a story about two men vying for power and influence, nor is it just a romantic thriller in which Javi replaces Ante through the actions of Julija as the head of household.  Instead, it always remains Julija’s story as she grows in agency over her life.  It is more a story about her growing freedom and control – a life outside of her domineering father – than it is about the sexual tension between her and Javi who does not denounce her advances but does not reciprocate. 

At the head of the film, Filipovic is an understated revelation conveying emotions as deep and as wide as the very ocean she finds peace within. Carefully written, Julija has all the unpredictability of a teenager scorned so her next moves are never fully clear to audiences until she makes them. This untrackability, not to be mistaken for unreconcilable, is a force of tension that constantly keeps the characters and audiences on edge and allows Murina to be seen as a thriller, albeit an unconventional one. Filipovic operates expertly in both worlds as she weaponizes her youth, but still brings an incredible amount of maturity to the role evident when she talks to Javi, away from her parents, about her future.  

Kusijanovic challenges the actor as she does not grant Julija infallibility just because she is the center of the story. This is evidenced in a telling moment late in the film when Julija could run away with David (Jonas Smulders), a boy closer in age and with family money to play with as he flaunts his youth, uninhibited by duty or reasonability, aboard a private yacht. While Julija flirts considerably with him, she ultimately comes running back to Javi’s arms when presented with the choice. Even when she is being bossed around by her belligerent and often times drunk father, Julija has never seemed more like a child than in this instant with a man who is not, but could have been, her father. There is a version of this script that would try to examine Julija’s father complex, but Kusijanovic smartly does not want to give Ante any power despite the empty bravado of his chest-beating. Javi may not end up being the knight in shining armor that will whisk Julia away from this corrupt kingdom, but Ante certainly is the fool. 

Late in the film, when Ante was at his most vicious, Kusijanovic employs a very interesting use of the titular “murina” – the Croatian word for “moray eel” – which leads Julija to freedom from the boathouse her father had locked her in hours prior. This brief moment of magic realism in the film feels so at home in the narrative which had remained grounded until this point because much like the characters, it says a lot through its subtlety. Louvart’s camera captured the sun-soaked Adriatic islands in such a way that it already feels like a memory fading in the haze around the edges, as if Julija is now somewhere, hopefully, far away and recalling the cataclysmic summer she gained her freedom. Or maybe this is all a dream the girl has for herself resigned to staying at the villa and giving up on Harvard as she wastes another day on a dive with her father. Kusijanovic ends her narrative with ambiguity, not for what the film means, but for what lies next for Julija after a shocking moment of catharsis that was all but promised from the start and a lingering shot of Julija swimming in the open waters as the credits begin. The camera pulls up giving us a bird’s eye view as our time with Julija comes to an end, but for Julija, surrounded by the waves in the sea of possibilities, her time feels as if it is just beginning.   

Through all of this praise on behalf of the cast, script, and visual language, it should be stated that Murina is still a very difficult film to enter into as Kusijanovic’s almost dares audiences to come along on this journey with her instead of a more traditional welcoming into the narrative. That sense of danger from the opening sequence only increases as tensions boil over in this closed-quarters plot. Even once the stakes have been established, Kusijanovic carefully guards the details of the plot and the storied past that led to this moment is summed up in quick lines of dialogue. She does not want to wrestle focus away from Julija and instead keeps the story pointed one way: toward the future.  As for the characters, even though they have free roam of the island, they are still trapped by the very nature of the island and the sea itself. The longer they find themselves stuck, the more volatile they become. Ante is obviously dangerous in his outrage, Javi in his alluring ability to provide more than Ante ever could, Julija in her determination to break free whatever the cost, and Nela in her silence and desire to diffuse and forget. These characters are all deeply flawed, and as their saga plays out, it awakens a moral quandary within audiences that will linger long after the credits roll.