When I was twelve, I woke to discover I was the princess of Montenegro: no dress, no castle, just Yugoslav officials asking to repatriate King Nikola and Queen Milena, my ancestors, before the region plunged into war. For years I didn't know what to do with this inheritance. Years later, as a filmmaker, I attended a concert in Cetinje with François Fleury, my co-director and companion, and saw Marc Korovitch conduct for the first time. Built like a boxer, he had just left the Philharmonie de Paris to lead the Montenegrin Symphony Orchestra. In his choice I saw an echo of my own path, someone seeking identity through art. I would film his journey to discover mine. Like Marc, I grew up in Paris in a multicultural family and discovered Montenegro as a teenager, close enough to him for distance, different enough for my vision. I am not the subject here: I disappear behind the camera to share this country's art of living and humour. This is a pivotal moment for a country of 700,000, on a fast track to the EU since Russia invaded Ukraine, marking the orchestra's and country's anniversary. As an orchestra tunes before the concert, so does the country before joining the Union. Balkan Maestro is about transformation: personal, artistic, national. A filmmaker confronting her past, a conductor his future, a country its place in Europe, a love letter to Montenegro. As my motto says: Neka bude sto biti ne moze!
(“Let it be done, what cannot be done.”)