Hive

Blerta Basholli’s Sundance award-winner explores the struggles faced by those left at home in the wake of the Kosovo War, telling the true story of how the women of one village rallied together amidst the prejudices of their patriarchal community.

Hive opens as Fahrije (Yllka Gashi) searches a temporary, tented morgue for something that might help identify her husband, who has been missing since leaving their home to serve in the Kosovo War. Her desperation to find something – anything – that confirms her husband’s fate takes control and she clambers onto the back of a truck containing white body bags, unzipping one before quickly pulling the bag’s opening back together to hide its contents. Fahrije is on her knees, barely able to lift her head as she digests what she is doing, yet her lack of hesitancy when navigating through the morgue suggests this isn’t the first time she has been here.

Between February 1998 and June 1999, the Kosovo War saw forces from the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (modern day Serbia and Montenegro) clash with the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA). Yugoslavia – having formally controlled Kosovo before the war – was fighting to maintain the status quo, whilst the KLA had taken increasingly violent measures throughout the 1990s in protest against what was seen as a removal of Kosovo’s autonomy by Yugoslavian president Slobodan Milošević, ultimately leading to the breakout of full-blown war in 1998. Around 13,500 soldiers lost their lives in the fighting and 90% of the Kosovan Albanian population were displaced from their homes, with 850,000 people forced out of their country and another 590,000 forced to flee to safer parts of Kosovo. NATO intervention in support of the KLA led to airstrikes that pushed the Yugoslav army out of Kosovo, bringing the war to an end by the middle of 1999. 

The casualties and mass displacement are why Fahrije continues to search for closure concerning the fate of her husband, and she’s not alone. The entire female population of Fahrije’s village are in the same position, stuck in a purgatorial state of desperation, striving to move on and rebuild after the war yet remain unable to because they are trapped while they wait for news. In order to cope with their shared grief, the women host a regular support group to discuss new opportunities in the village and pull resources to help those most in need. When word of an initiative that offers driving lessons is mentioned, a sceptical Fahrije is put forward for the opportunity, though the unthinkable notion of a woman from the village having a licence to drive a car leads to widespread gossip.

The women are largely ostracised by the ageing male population that remain in their village and any appearance in public is met with derision, vacant stares, vandalism, and even physical violence. The attitude towards women is striking and demonstrates the discrimination faced by the real-life Fahrije and the rest of the village’s female population, even during peacetime – dealing with the same level of prejudice while they search for answers on their loved ones compounds the difficulty that the women face.

While grappling with the intolerance in her village, Fahrije strives to provide for her son, daughter, and elderly father-in-law. She is a mother, a father figure, a carer, and the sole breadwinner in the family, selling honey produced from the beehives she keeps. She’s the household’s DIY expert and the one responsible for fighting the family’s battles on the street. With the family’s honey sales failing to generate enough income, Fahrije decides to shift her focus to ajvar, a pepper-based relish that is cheap to produce and popular amongst the Kosovan population. She uses her newly acquired driving skills to take the product – packaged in brandless, clear glass jars – to a supermarket, convincing the manager to stock her product. This taste of business success lights a flame in Fahrije and the other women, who group together to continue to produce batches of the savoury spread – they have a common goal, a shared objective that inspires and keeps them sane amidst the turmoil they live through day in, day out. 

As the women rally around their business venture, the hostility from the village’s male population increases. We see the clash between opposing hive minds (a possible double meaning contributing to the film’s title), with the women pulling together, discovering an empowerment within themselves for perhaps the first time in their lives, while the men resent what they are achieving; not just the women’s success, but the fact that they have the audacity to actually step out of the lane that they have been confined to for generations.

Yllka Gashi portrays Fahrije with a compelling resilience; we never see her break down despite the relentless hardship that she and the other women face. There is a numbness in how Gashi carries herself that consistently comes through on screen, an acceptance of the bleak circumstances and a matter-of-fact determination for life to go on. Rather than stop and reflect on how she is mistreated simply for being female (‘I don’t go in cafes’), she strives for happiness by succeeding with her business venture. 

Premiering at the Sundance Film Festival in 2021, Hive became the first film in the festival’s history to win all three awards in its World Cinema Dramatic competition category, claiming the Grand Jury prize, the Audience Award, and the Director Award for Blerta Basholli in her directorial debut. Hive is a straightforward telling of a difficult story, without the glamorous flourishes that might be found in a film with a lighter central focus, but Basholli deals with the subject matter with care and subtlety, never allowing Fahrije’s story to feel like it drags or overwhelms.

Like the true story that Hive tells, the film is a bleak, subdued study of the circumstances faced by those living during war. There is no uplifting montage showing the women let loose and have fun while making their ajvar; there is no larger-than-life celebration after Fahrije sees their product on a supermarket shelf complete with a custom designed label, just a subtle glimpse at an inner swell of pride; there is no Hollywood homecoming to give Fahrije the positive closure that she desperately seeks. That’s because Hive tells a real story that reflects the harsh reality that so many people suffered during the Kosovo War, and every other war before or since. It’s a timely slow-burn that encourages reflection – reflection on the atrocities guaranteed by war, but also of the people who are caught in the crossfire. Their lives may not be lost, but they are still victims, stuck in a seemingly irreparable situation. Away from the battlefield, Hive gives one such story a voice. Given the unfathomable situation unfolding in front of our eyes in Ukraine, it’s clear that – like armed conflict in Europe – tragedies faced by people like Fahrije are somehow still possible in the 21st century.