52 Films by Women Vol 10. 2. 17 (Director: Kosara Mitić)

 


Pictured: A panicked Sara (Eva Kostić) in a scene from North Macedonian co-writer-director Kosara Mitić's riveting drama, 17. Still courtesy of Black Cat Productions / Totem Films

There are films that ‘trigger’ and there is 17, the debut feature of North Macedonian co-writer (with Ognjen Sviličić) and director Kosara Mitić. The audience experiences a state of heightened anxiety throughout the entire duration of this teenage drama, more so than in the average horror film. 17 is a compelling and unforgiving look at the impact of male behaviour on young women. Teenage hormones, arrogance and an impulse to dehumanise drives young students to use and abuse their classmates, with little effective adult supervision or censure. Mitić holds an unflattering mirror up to her country and asks, where is education?

The film opens with two boys, Filip (Dame Joveski) and Caki (Petar Manic), taking turns kissing Sara (Eva Kostić). One of them decides to force himself into her. The act doesn’t look consensual, Sara turned over and instructed to ‘stay still’. When we next see her, she is in her kitchen about to go on a school trip to Greece.  We wonder if this scene is taking place the next day and whether Sara will confide in her parents. In fact, several months have passed. Sara is not keen on the trip. Her father offers to take her to the pick-up point. He is proud of his daughter and doesn’t consider her reluctance to travel as concerning. Her mother is occupied with Sara’s young brother and prepares to go to work. We spend the remainder of the film with Sara as she reminds her teachers that she has paid extra for a room by herself, a request, we discover, that is not honoured.

Sara is keen to avoid one of her classmates, Nina (Eva Stojchevska) with whom she had a falling out. Nina is now seeing a boy Sara once dated. We sense that the boy was one of the pair who sexually abused her in the film’s opening. Another girl, Lina (Martina Danilovska) seeks her out. Lina is more sheltered than Sara, more innocent, illustrated by the board game that she packed to entertain herself during the trip. For the majority of the teenagers boarding the bus, this excursion is an excuse to party.

While Sara doesn’t try to be friendly, she does not rebuff Lina, allowing her to sit next to her on the coach. The field trip organiser, a middle-aged woman who insists that the group are ambassadors for their country, intends to take the group to a museum. However, at least one member of the class has other ideas. Upon arrival, he declares the hotel to be unsuitable. He is unsuccessful in getting the accommodation changed but his intransigence does persuade the organiser to let the class chill, concentrating instead on assigning students to the ten available rooms. Sara has to share – her second disappointment. Lina will share Sara’s room as will Nina, who has turned herself into a people pleaser.

Whilst in the room, Sara slips into the bathroom and removes the strapping around her belly. She is pregnant, hiding her condition from both the school and her family.

There is not much privacy to be had, and that’s the point. The students become increasing raucous, buoyed by the lack of restraint and a group mentality. Of the three adults accompanying them, the driver has no responsibility, the field trip organizer struggles to impose her authority while a second teacher, a young woman, prefers to screen out the teenagers with noise-cancelling earphones. The students disregard her presence alone.

In one scene, Sara is pestered by Caki for her stash. She informs him that she doesn’t have it any more; maybe she sold it to pay for her room upgrade. Filip asks for the return of his earphones. Sara doesn’t have it with her. The inference is that they have bought her silence. Sara’s default setting is not to engage with the other students, until she absolutely has to.

One boy appears to be different from the others, not joining the other students when they decide to go into town. He and Sara play Lina’s board game, the boy explaining the rules. He attempts to be over friendly with Sara, betraying himself as just another horny teenager.

The group returns from their aborted night out, having been ejected from a bar. They continue to drink. In one of the rooms, Lina drinks with them. Then some boys overstep boundaries. Sara, who is essentially persona non grata, comes to her rescue.

The unruly nature of the group is illustrated by their treatment of the hotel owner. Some of the boys assault the man. The trip supervisor is absent, taking no responsibility, though the next day she lectures the group, interrupting herself to ask the driver to fetch her some eggs.

As punishment, before crossing the border, the group is taken to the museum, where Sara feels increasingly more uncomfortable. While on the coach, faulty air conditioning raising the irritation level of the students, she has an emergency that requires her to leave the vehicle, just as the group is slowly being processed.

The last fifteen minutes or so of the film is intense. Mitić shows Sara’s emergency in painful extensive detail, the camera on Sara’s face while she endures her private hell. After she re-boards the coach, a desperate decision in itself, we see a woman head towards the bathroom.

Mitić uses Sara to make a wider point about taking responsibility in an uncertain world. If the supervisor was serious about the students being ambassadors for their country, she should have vetted them. They are intended to perform in Greece as a choir. Sara does her best to ensure that Lina does not fall foul of unchecked behaviour. The annoying boy also wants to leave the bus, but he is just testing boundaries.


Pictured: Assembled for the school trip from hell, the class of 17, the feature debut of North Macedonian co-writer-director Kosara Mitić. Still courtesy of Totem Films.

Retaining Sara’s point of view throughout, 17 is riveting. Though it is not for everyone. At the Berlinale screening I attended, there were boys not much older than Sara’s classmates who scoffed derisively. They didn’t leave, but their sniping was constant. Undoubtedly, the behaviour that Mitić’s film portrays isn’t just a North Macedonian problem, but common to countries that venerate machismo. The ‘entitlement’ of the ringleaders is disproportionate to their ability to contribute to a better society. We see this in right-wing so-called ‘populist’ movements everywhere.

Reviewed at Berlinale 2026, Cubix Cinema (Screen 8), Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Friday 21 February 2026, 21:45 screening

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