Word of the author:
“A play about unhappy and dead people. They are trying to bring some order to their intimate lives and relationships informed by jealousy, psychoactive substances and traces of love, while at the same time an investigation is going on into war crimes committed by a battalion of Serbian army against Albanian civilians in Kosovo. Relationships between them are complicated, burdened by the past, everyday problems they don’t talk about, and fears about the future. Every one of them suspects the others of lying to them, and feels hurt, simultaneously believing that it’s the right decision never to tell anyone the truth. Their lack of sincerity in their private lives is at odds with their selfless attempts to uncover and prove the involvement of (made-up) people at the very top of the present-day army in a (made-up) war crime in a (made-up) Kosovo village. Remains are about people who are completely aware that their chances of exposing the perpetrators of a war crime and “bringing them to justice” are just as small as the chances for any of them to “live happily ever after”, but who are nonetheless prepared to do anything in order to accomplish both these things (until, of course, they give up on everything in the end).”
Word of the director:
“After everything that happened over the past twenty years, after the violent deaths of those who tried to change the circumstances of our lives, after years of our own struggles to change this world and this society – is there any point in still trying?
Isn’t the accursed fate of whoever tries to change things to find themselves alone in their struggle? Or, even if they have allies and comrades-in-arms, to resign themselves to one loss after another? What is it that we lose by acquiescing in a system based on manipulative and corrupt sides of human nature? We lose the chance to live with dignity, to not let people get what they don’t deserve, we lose the space for love
No wonder that the protagonists of the new drama by Vuk Bošković love in the wrong way. Or love the wrong people. Or do not dare love where love seems unreturned, wasteful and unfulfilled. Or love when it’s safe. What is safety? Is there such a thing as safety? When are we safe? These are some of the questions opened up by this play.
It seems that only questions can stir our imagination. Horrific crimes of Serbian forces against Kosovo Albanians, then the equally horrific attempts to hide them in mass graves, and in the end the silence – that is just one picture of that very corrupt perversion of the system. The little man, the ordinary man, the man who speaks, the man who lives has no right to it, because such is the decision of someone higher up.
The fate of general Mitić in Vuk’s play is the fate of a military leader who decided to be great. Unfortunately, the noise emanating from this society, from this play and from many other places is the noise that smothers his heroism.
In the words of the heroine: “Who cares? And do we care?”
The purpose of this play is not to educate anyone about the past, nor to make anyone do anything. This play asks the most personal of questions: is there any point in still trying?”