KISS THE FUTURE - Mark Reviews Movies

Kiss the Future, Fifth Season

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Review by Mark Dujsik | February 22, 2024

Beyond the essentials of survival, what do people living in a war zone need? That's the main question of Kiss the Future, which ultimately revolves around the involvement of the band U2 in bringing awareness to the siege of Sarajevo in the 1990s and some sense of catharsis in the aftermath of the war. If that description makes it seem as if director Nenad Cicin-Sain's documentary is treading toward diminishing the horrors of the Bosnian War for some puff piece of publicity, the film is smart enough to recognize that's the possible case before it happens.

Yes, the members of U2—singer Bono, guitarist the Edge, bass player Adam Clayton, and drummer Larry Mullen Jr., who's the sole one absent from the film for reasons that pique some curiosity—are among the primary figures of this narrative. However, they are not, wisely, the main focal point of this story. That role is filled by a group of local artists and temporary transplants to Sarajevo during the conflict—men and women who witnessed a city ravaged by senseless attacks, people killed in the street by sniper fire and artillery shells, and day-to-day survivors trying to continue some sense of routine amidst the chaos.

What could they do? One man, part of a punk rock band in the city, joined a local fire department and still played gigs at night in underground clubs. A group of volunteers for a non-governmental organization arrived, unaware of just how dire the situation would be, to distribute aid to children, and their strategy also involved putting on little shows to bring some kind of escape to those they helped.

People at the city's major television station would provide vital information to a population that often couldn't watch the broadcasts, since the electricity was regularly interrupted in the capital, but they also produced programs of absurdist and dark sketch comedy. The star of that show would also intercept radio communications of Bosnian Serb forces assaulting the city, playing music over the frequency to interrupt radio traffic and let the attackers know the population wasn't giving up easily.

Here, the film presents art as a means of rebellion, of unification, of anger and pain, of healing, and of some way to provide a clear feeling that normalcy is possible in the now and might return in earnest at some point in the future. It's a momentary escape from the daily terror of living in a city under siege, yes, but there's hope in the creation of art, too, simply because it's not a necessity of survival. If people can create art under such conditions, they're doing more than surviving. In a certain way, they're thriving, as unlikely as that may seem.

U2 almost feels like a distraction here, in other words, and isn't that kind of the point? One of the most famous rock bands in the world at the time recognized what was happening at a moment when many people around the world weren't aware of the war, acknowledged it on a public stage at a time when world leaders were trying to ignore the conflict, and promised to one day play in Sarajevo, despite the logistical nightmare and the very real possibility that they would in great peril. All in all, these are little things, compared to the hard and dangerous work that was being done by the less-famous interview subjects in the film, and while the band members recognize that, it still meant something to a lot of people in the city. That's all that mattered then.

Despite this focus, Cicin-Sain's is fairly detailed in how much information it provides. It gives us a history of the conflict, calling upon the likes of journalist Christiane Amanpour, whose first major assignment for cable news had her on the ground in Sarajevo, and former President Bill Clinton, who knew as well as every other world leader at the time what was happening in this region of the former Yugoslavia but made a concerted effort to, well, actually make an effort to stop the war. The account of the conflict is condensed, to be sure. With that, though, comes a lot of clarity about the political turmoil that came with the end of the Soviet Union, while clearly seeing Slobodan Milošević as the type of nationalist strongman whose kind is rising yet again around the world.

With that established, Cicin-Sain gives voice to those artists who were in Sarajevo at the time, including members of those local bands, such as Emes Zlatar and Gino Jedjevic, and Bill Carter, who worked with that aid organization and, by chance, saw Bono make a brief statement about the war on cable TV (Satellite dishes and generators were the only option at times). Because of that and U2's history of socially conscious songs (They were, as individuals and a group, born into and bred amidst the Troubles in Ireland, after all), Carter decided to take a chance and request an interview with the frontman.

From there, the film does skirt the line of solely promoting the goodwill of Bono, as U2's European tour begins showing satellite feeds of people in Sarajevo in between songs. It's not as simple as that, though, because the harsh realities of people living in war clash with the atmosphere of a concert and start to look more like exploitation than advocacy.

Kiss the Future confronts that head on in a way that questions the motives and impact of pop activism, while also ensuring that the subjects of real import in the film remain in the foreground. This is their story, after all. U2 just happens to be a part of it.

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