The debate about the “greatest film ever made” is a well-worn path, often leading to delightful disagreements and passionate defenses of cinematic masterpieces. Reaching a definitive conclusion feels impossible, considering the sheer volume of films and the deeply personal connection we forge with them. Yet, there are those films that resonate so profoundly, they leave an indelible mark, shifting our perspective and solidifying themselves in our personal pantheons. We often refer to these as our “top 10” or “top 100,” and while lists may vary, a consensus often emerges around certain titles, acknowledging their undeniable “greatness.”
For me, Emir Kusturica’s Black Cat, White Cat boldly claims the title of the greatest film I have ever encountered. To bestow such praise might seem audacious, especially when considering titans of cinema like Citizen Kane, The Godfather Part I and II, I Am Cuba, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Seven Samurai, or even the historically significant Birth of a Nation. These films have all, at various times, been lauded as the “greatest” by individuals and esteemed panels of critics worldwide. However, Black Cat, White Cat possesses an ineffable quality, a captivating beauty, a touch of pure magic and unadulterated romance. It evokes the whimsical fantasy found in children’s literature, yet it thrives within the boisterous, chaotic energy of the film itself. How Emir Kustarica achieves this delicate balance remains a wonder to me.
My introduction to Kusturica’s cinematic world occurred during my time in England. One late Thursday evening, channel surfing led me to ITV and the captivating Time of the Gypsies. I vividly recall my mother’s gentle protest as the film began close to 2 am, especially with an early morning trip to Kent planned. Despite her reservations, I assured her I would sleep soon. The film, sprawling across nearly three hours, quickly became a firm favorite, holding that position until 2001: A Space Odyssey entered my life.
This sparked a personal contemplation: why did films like these resonate more deeply than widely acclaimed masterpieces like The Godfather? Was my taste simply divergent? While individual preferences are undeniable – we all appreciate a pleasant scent, recoil from wickedness, and relish a gentle breeze – agreement often falters when it comes to the films that truly touch our hearts.
The narrative tapestry of Black Cat, White Cat is woven with threads of the absurd and the surreal. Imagine a band serenading from the precarious perch of a tree, a diminutive woman whose heartfelt wish is to find a tall, dark, and handsome suitor, an arranged marriage fraught with comedic complications, and even a deceased grandfather whose presence continues to influence events. What is the underlying meaning? Where does this all lead? The film presents situations that defy belief, seemingly plucked from a dreamscape, yet they are delivered with such honesty and sincerity that they become undeniably believable. Unlike the mesmerizing ambiguity of David Lynch’s work, where the surreal prompts constant questioning of reality, Black Cat, White Cat dazzles with the conviction that “what you just witnessed is real, because you experienced it.” It’s a challenging sensation to articulate, but the film offers a haunting, authentic, ludicrous, and deeply romantic portrayal of situations that transcend logic, yet remain profoundly rooted in human nature.
So, is Black Cat, White Cat my favorite film? The question feels inadequate. This film feels intrinsically linked to my being, like an inseparable part of myself. How can one declare a favorite body part? How can I prioritize a limb over the very heart that sustains me? Black Cat, White Cat rekindled my love affair with cinema. Perhaps that was Kustarica’s intention: to present a romantic interlude, hoping it would encourage us to reflect upon the chaos of our own lives. Or perhaps his aim was simpler – to offer a glimpse into the vibrant lifestyle of Romani people in Yugoslavia. The underlying intention, or lack thereof, fades into insignificance. My confusion is not a hindrance but a part of the film’s enduring charm. Whether I fully grasp its purpose is irrelevant, because I have arrived at a resolute conclusion: Black Cat, White Cat is, for me, the greatest motion picture of our time.
