Nađa Urošević IV8

Upon first seeing it, Georgije was displeased by Jovanović's depiction of the exodus. He required the painters to show the Serbian army and horsemen instead of the people, sheep and wooden wagons because in that way it looks more like the Serbian army was going orderly rather than a mob of people running all over.

This image was supposed to represent the struggle of the Serbian people for autonomy, religious and administrative, and that is, despite its artistic also its political significance.

Уна Владетић IV-8

The poet tells his people that the native land is the most beautiful and that we can feel free only there. Also, there is no happiness for us in the foreign country and nothing will fulfill us. He claims that in the foreign land they cannot wait to stab us in the back.

The poet also talks about the great-grandfathers who shed their blood for what we have today, and advises us not to give away their graves by leaving, but to stay on our native soil, to guard our homes, our homelands, and not to allow the tide of newly composed values ​​affect us. 

Talking about homeland, Šantić views it as a mother and its residents as her children. He says that the homeland will be desolate and sad without its children and that they should not leave because outside the homeland “bread is bitter; neither does the flower smell beautifully nor is the sky blue”. 

Душан Пешић IV-8

Carlos, a Mexican and single parent, is keen on keeping his son, Luis, away from the world of crime. However, thanks to his dishonest employer, Carlos and his son face an uncertain future in America.
Дуња Михајловић IV-8

The movie is based on a true story of pianist Władysław Szpilman‘s experiences in Warsaw during  the Nazi occupation. When the Jews of the city find themselves forced into a ghetto, Szpilman finds work playing in a café; and when his family is deported in 1942, he stays behind, works for a while as a laborer, and eventually goes into hiding in the ruins of the war-torn city.
The movie represents the life people had to live during the second world war, the ways they used to be deported and separated from each other and how it affected all of them.

Maja Dinić 4/8

In the slum neighborhood of Five Points, Manhattan in 1846, two gangs have engaged in a final battle in Paradise Square over who will hold sway over the Five Points. These two clans participating in this event are the local Protestant Natives led by William "Bill the Butcher" Cutting, and a group of Irish Catholic immigrants, the "Dead Rabbits", led by "Priest" Vallon.  At the end of the battle, Bill kills Vallon and declares the Dead Rabbits outlawed. Having witnessed to murder of his father, Vallon's young son hides the knife that killed his father and then he was taken to an orphanage on Blackwell's Island. Sixteen years later Valon’s son called Amsterdam, is determined to revenge his father’s death.

Никола Јанаћковић 4/8

Darko Bajic

I approached the play Osama – a Kasaba in New York from an angle different than the one the same story was approached from in the novel. For me it was first and foremost a story about a generation that is close to me, which, after a carefree childhood and youth in Yugoslavia went straight into a bloody war. Some were sent directly to death, some into expatriation, while some were left to live here, facing the consequences of the tragedy they had been through. Thorough this play I tried to find an answer whether it is possible for my generation to cleanse itself from the wounds or whether such cleansing is only possible for the next generations – our children.
A word from the author

Vladimir Kecmanovic

Just as Andrić’s wretched hero imagined he was a Turkish sultan and paid for that delusion with his life, the novel’s Bajazid-Bajo imagines that he is the terrorist Osama Bin Laden and ends up in an equally tragic way. They both end up in a damned yard – one in an Ottoman Turk gaol, from which no one has ever got out, and the other in the global prison, from which there is no escape, neither metaphorically nor physically. In the dramatic text Osama – a Kasaba in New York, which is a free adaptation of my novel, this truth is transposed in a somewhat less fierce way. Perhaps that’s because the audiences don’t like to be faced with painful truths. Maybe it is also because it is not wise to provoke the rulers of today’s world by comparing them directly to the Ottoman evildoers. But, the most likely explanation is that these two reasons are deeply and firmly connected.

Show must go on.