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In the film-within-a-film, Vukmir, the psychiatrist-turned-porn director, may be striving for the ultimate realism but Spasojevic heightens the absurdity.

Forty years after A Clockwork Orange, audiences are surely too used to these kind of shock tactics to be affected by them – or so we might think. As in Michael Haneke's films, the director seems to be challenging the audience to question their own voyeuristic instincts.

As in Peter Greenaway's The Baby of Macôn, he is using extreme imagery for polemical purposes.

The problem is that the storytelling grows ever more intense.

The alleged war criminal General Mladic has never been arrested.

The memory of Slobodan Milosevic hasn't been exorcised.

The screenplay is full of references to the corruption and squalor of family life in the country.

However, audiences have been responding to it in stubbornly literal fashion and haven't been slow to express their utter disgust.

He has been offered enough money to set him up for life but, in return, has signed a Faustian pact with the director Vukmir (Sergej Trifunovic).

We see the doe-eyed kid looking innocently as Milos struts his stuff in some ludicrous Robin Askwith-style blue movies.

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