"Spare Parts" is the story of billions of people on our lonely planet.
They may be Slovenian here, but like Rudi and Ludvik, people in most of the world face grim, utilitarian existence and react in much the same ways.
For Ludvik, whose wife has died young, cigarettes and beer are his staples. Furtive runs to the border with Italy transporting refugees in the back of a locked van and an occasional night at the Speedway are all that life has to offer.
At first he disgusts young Rudi who has signed on as a driver. Ludvik farts, he takes advantage of his transports, he charges them 50 Euros for a pizza and more when it comes to young girls who might be coerced into sex. And he coldly remarks that most of the refugees are killed for their organs. The refugees are the spare parts.
But Ludvik has his own humanity beneath the surface. He too is ill. He can't get over his luck that years ago a cigarette company used him as a tester, giving him three boxes of cigarettes free each month. Yet he is dying of cancer and can't quit.
Rudi slowly begins to meet him halfway, hardening a bit of himself to the mistreatment of their cargo and seeing Ludvik for the sad, pathetic soul he really is.
The camera-work is top notch. The film explodes with night shadows and piercing spotlights. Both men are played well by Peter Musewski and Aljosa Kovacic. Not Hollywood names, but believable throughout.
Somewhere just over the border are the bright lights of Trieste, beckoning, colorful.
Rudi and Luvik are real lives, often desperate, often despairing. Set against the backdrop of a nuclear power plant and a nightclub that has all the warmth of a sweat-sock fouled gym, the film breathes slowly, as if life had only so much to offer and couldn't withstand eager gulps.
Rudi and Ludvik reach out to us, without crying out, for compassion. That is their gift to each other and that is the true gift of this gritty film.
They may be Slovenian here, but like Rudi and Ludvik, people in most of the world face grim, utilitarian existence and react in much the same ways.
For Ludvik, whose wife has died young, cigarettes and beer are his staples. Furtive runs to the border with Italy transporting refugees in the back of a locked van and an occasional night at the Speedway are all that life has to offer.
At first he disgusts young Rudi who has signed on as a driver. Ludvik farts, he takes advantage of his transports, he charges them 50 Euros for a pizza and more when it comes to young girls who might be coerced into sex. And he coldly remarks that most of the refugees are killed for their organs. The refugees are the spare parts.
But Ludvik has his own humanity beneath the surface. He too is ill. He can't get over his luck that years ago a cigarette company used him as a tester, giving him three boxes of cigarettes free each month. Yet he is dying of cancer and can't quit.
Rudi slowly begins to meet him halfway, hardening a bit of himself to the mistreatment of their cargo and seeing Ludvik for the sad, pathetic soul he really is.
The camera-work is top notch. The film explodes with night shadows and piercing spotlights. Both men are played well by Peter Musewski and Aljosa Kovacic. Not Hollywood names, but believable throughout.
Somewhere just over the border are the bright lights of Trieste, beckoning, colorful.
Rudi and Luvik are real lives, often desperate, often despairing. Set against the backdrop of a nuclear power plant and a nightclub that has all the warmth of a sweat-sock fouled gym, the film breathes slowly, as if life had only so much to offer and couldn't withstand eager gulps.
Rudi and Ludvik reach out to us, without crying out, for compassion. That is their gift to each other and that is the true gift of this gritty film.