‘Fiume o Morte!’ Documentary Is A Brilliantly Idiosyncratic Triumph

‘Fiume o Morte!’ Documentary Is A Brilliantly Idiosyncratic Triumph

By Alex McPherson

Playful and excoriating in equal measure, director Igor Bezinović’s documentary “Fiume o Morte!” (Fiume or Death!) examines the absurdity, horror, and sobering legacy of fascism, presenting an irreverent reframing of place and history that gives power back to the people.

Bezinović’s film takes place in his hometown of Rijeka, Croatia, a port on the Adriatic about 50 miles from Italy, with a tumultuous history. The city, once known as Fiume, was ruled by the Hapsburgs during World War I. After the War ended, it was left under the control of Yugoslavia, not Italy. This surprised many, including the vainglorious Italian aristocrat, poet, drug addict, womanizer, and army officer Gabriele D’Annunzio (a friend and inspiration for the young Benito Mussolini). 

In 1919, fueled by vanity and nationalism, D’Annunzio led an insurgency with 186 unemployed and hate-filled “legionaries” to occupy the city and claim it as an independent, pro-Italy city-state with himself as its supreme ruler. D’Annunzio’s leadership didn’t last long; he was forced out of power by none other than Italy itself in 1920. 

Bezinović aims to reckon with D’Annunzio’s complicated legacy on both sides of the Italo-Croatian border with “Fiume o Morte!” He also, just as importantly, cuts the failed despot down to size. 

Walking through a vibrant farmer’s market in present-day Rijeka, Bezinović asks passers-by whether they know who the man was — some have no idea, others are quick to label D’Annunzio a fascist, and others aren’t willing to make such sweeping statements, noting that he was also a “great poet and lover.” 

Bezinović reveals that he’s making a film about D’Annunzio’s coup, and he hires non-actor residents of Rijeka (including plumbers, musicians, and professors, some recruited directly from that farmers market, and at least one pet dog) to play every role and provide the film’s dry-humored narration, with several bald men recruited to play the (in)famously hairless D’Annunzio.

The historical reenactments themselves (which take up the bulk of “Fiume o Morte!”) treat D’Annunzio with the respect he deserves – that is, none at all. Performed with period-accurate costumes, keen attention to framing (Gregor Božič’s cinematography is beautiful), and a limited budget encouraging bucketloads of mocking comedy, Bezinović replicates scenes and tableaus from thousands of photographs and video footage documenting D’Annunzio’s “heroic” coup with a winking, anachronistic twist.

“Fiume o Morte!” jumps back-and-forth between these “grandiose” historical documents and a considerably less impressive present. The goofy yet faithful reenactments (in the same locations) seem out of place within the colorful hustle and bustle of modern-day Rijeka.

A photo of D’Annunzio speechifying before hundreds of onlookers turns into an aged non-actor revealed (via a slow zoom-out) to be speaking to an audience of two family members. A high-stakes meeting between generals concludes with D’Annunzio walking uphill to play rock music with his band as trucks leisurely drive by on their way to storm the city.

Some photos and videos — like a sword-wielding D’Annunzio posing naked draped with the Fiume flag, or homoerotic revelry on the beach with his unemployed legionaries — barely need exaggeration at all in the present-day. Sometimes onlookers stop to take pictures, others essentially ask “What the Hell are you doing?”

The reenactments are absurd and satisfyingly savage, emphasizing the ridiculousness of D’Annunzio’s occupation and putting his story in the hands of the community he attempted to suppress; a violent past juxtaposed by a resilient present that has endured and, as Bezinović keenly points out, is still grappling with D’Annunzio’s legacy and broader society’s continued cozying up to his fascist ideals.

Indeed, although “Fiume o Morte!” is often a breezy, immensely enjoyable viewing experience (particularly charming when narration highlights the backgrounds of each featured member of the ensemble), Bezinović never loses sight of the barbarity of D’Annunzio’s self-imposed mission, and the consequences of his violently prejudiced enterprise that helped pave the way for Kristallnacht. 

Bezinović is selective about what he chooses to recreate, in certain moments relying entirely on historical artifacts instead of reenactments to drive home the oppressiveness of D’Annunzio’s rule and the tragic consequences for the (especially non-Italian) citizenry, as well as painting clear parallels between then and now.

Not only do we get a clear picture of D’Annunzio’s hubris and failures, but also a spirited portrait of Rijeka and its diversity, and caustic reminders of how his memory lives (and, in terms of younger generations, dies) among the populace. Just nearby in the Italian city of Trieste, for example, statues are continuing to be erected of the bald buffoon to this day, more celebratory than critical.

“Fiume o Morte!,” then, works as an irreverent history lesson, a reclamation of storytelling by the community he claimed he conquered, and an example of how nationalism and pride distort the truth. And that art, liberating in its creative freedom, has the ability to both entertain and educate, empowering those whose stories were brushed over by forces of evil. 

This is a masterful documentary that’s enlightening and downright ingenious – an absolute must-watch that stands tall among the year’s best films thus far.

“Fiume o Morte!” Is a 2025 documentary directed by Igor Bezinovic. It was the official submission of Croatia for the ‘Best International Feature Film’ category of the 98th Academy Awards in 2026. It is 1 hour and 52 minutes run time. It can be seen at the Webster Film Series on March 8. Alex’s Grade: A+

‘Handling the Undead’ Is A Haunting, Emotionally Resonant Zombie Film

‘Handling the Undead’ Is A Haunting, Emotionally Resonant Zombie Film

Playing as part of the Webster Film Series

By Alex McPherson

A meditative reflection on death and grief, director Thea Hvistendahl’s “Handling the Undead” is a somber and richly atmospheric experience that eschews traditional thrills to make pertinent statements about the need for love, connection, and perseverance in a broken world.

Based on John Ajvide Lindqvist’s 2005 novel of the same name, the film centers follows three families in modern-day Oslo, as their recently-deceased loved ones rise from the dead suddenly and without explanation. 

There’s Anna (Renate Reinsve), a single mother grieving the loss of her young son, Elias (Dennis Østry Ruud). Anna goes about her days in a robotic, depressed haze and is prone to suicidal ideation. She has a strained relationship with her father, Mahler (Bjørn Sundquist), who wants to help Anna but doesn’t know how. When visiting the graveyard where Elias is buried, Mahler hears knocking coming from Elias’ casket underground, and he brings Elias’ reanimated body back home.

There’s David (Anders Danielsen Lie), an aspiring stand-up comedian living happily with his wife, Eva (Bahar Pars), and their children Kian (Kian Hansen) and Flora (Inesa Dauksta). Eva dies suddenly in a car accident on the eve of Kian’s birthday, and she returns to life in the hospital shortly thereafter; back, but not quite the same.

Finally, there’s the elderly Tora (Bente Børsum), who is rejoined by her late wife (Olga Damani) after returning home from her funeral. Her confusion shifts to happiness then to a different sort of grief, as she reckons with the reality that her wife, as she knew her, is gone.

Indeed, in its patient, quietly heartbreaking rhythms, “Handling the Undead” is a decidedly different kind of zombie film, inviting viewers into the throes of characters’ anguish and desperation with an unflinching eye that offers no easy answers. Without resorting to melodrama, Hvistendahl’s film pulses with a existential dread, a heaviness that blankets nearly every frame, as we watch these vulnerable people navigate the unthinkable in an empty metropolis, reduced to primal instincts for love that supersede logic. 

With its mostly non-sensationalized approach, “Handling the Undead” is less about the zombies themselves than what they mean to those  they impact. Driven by love, loyalty, and protectiveness, we see each group of characters struggling to hold onto what’s been lost, unwilling/unable to let go of what’s no longer their reality in an isolating, compartmentalized world.

Editors Thomas Grotmol and Trude Lirhus let scenes breathe, lingering on sensitive yet shattering performances that reflect the weight of grief that each character bears. Hvistendahl doesn’t spend much time giving backstory, trusting viewers to pay attention and connect with them as ordinary people grappling with tragedy and, eventually, working towards some semblance of inner peace. 

Hvistendahl’s understated approach works well here, emphasizing silence and unspoken pain in a manner that’s far more authentic and believable than other films of its ilk. Thanks to exceptional turns from the whole ensemble (Reinsve, especially, as a mother sacrificing much to protect the child she couldn’t protect before), “Handling the Undead” conveys its somber story efficiently, stripped down to its raw, emotional essence. 

The zombies themselves, too, are treated empathetically. Sure, they’re definitely capable of violence (they are zombies, after all), but the truly chilling aspect of them here is their warped emptiness: the people they once were are unable to communicate in their new vessels. 

The characters’ sense of isolation and emotional turmoil is reflected in Pål Ulvik Rokseth’s cinematography, which positions each family within a concrete desert. Everything is connected but, simultaneously, nothing is at all, which calls to mind still-fresh memories of 2020 lockdown. The Oslo that surrounds these characters further emphasizes just how important these characters’ bonds are to each other, making it almost impossible for them to accept the cruel hand of fate.

Suffice to say, “Handling the Undead” is quite a heavy watch, lacking much in the way of levity or “fun” moments of suspense that comprise most other zombie films. In place of that, however, Hvistendahl targets truths that hit home on a deep level. 

While “Handling the Undead” is a raw look into the depths of grief, it’s just as much a testament to the beautiful-yet-conflicted human spirit, and about the importance of accepting the past, no matter how painful it is, and finding our own way in a world that feels overwhelmingly bleak but still has the capacity for hope. For adventurous viewers, it’s not to be missed.

Rating: A-