A flock of chickens surrounded the house, along with some turkeys and geese. It didn’t exactly look like the set of a famous TV show. It was hot outside, and almost as hot inside on set. Even the actors and crew felt it – but they remained composed and professional, every so often going back to the makeup/dressing room to touch up their faces and change clothes. The atmosphere was relaxed. An actress smiled and lit a cigarette. A crew member offered bottles of water.
The set for the next scene was a kitchen with a table full of food. There was a mixture of people setting up equipment and going back and forth doing who knows what else.
Once the hurry died down, people were shushing each other. Every crew member, one-by-one, in an order known to them, called off “SET!,” and then, there was the iconic “ACTION!” that everyone knows and loves. They were rolling for the next episode of Stupcat’s “Egjeli.”
“Oh, my God!” said actor Vedat Bajrami, a tall man with a friendly face and even friendlier demeanor.
He followed with a few lines of dialogue… and nearly as soon as they started, they stopped. And the process began again.
In this show, they would perfect every scene. And so, the same lines were repeated over and over again, each time said slightly differently by Bajrami.
“Oh my GOD!”
“Oh! My God!”
“Oh my Goooood.”
“OHMYGOD.”
Nine takes later – maybe more – they finally stopped, apparently happy with the work. The actors and some others watched their performance back on a monitor, invested in their performance, looking back on their collaborative efforts with enthusiasm.
This part was over, but the tediousness of the work stayed the same. They would shoot the second, longer part of the scene now; and all the people in and out of the house, on and off the set, flitting between talking and doing their work, knew that the tedious effort they put in would be more than worth it, in the end.
“Egjeli” is one show produced in Kosovo that people love – there are a few more. “Kooperativa” is a show from executive producers Fisnik Vejsa and Flamur Kelmendi that centers on a group of people living together, and building a house for a poor family with a sick child. Think “Big Brother” meets “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” They play games, and get eliminated, but all the while making something great.
“Kafeneja Jonë” is comedy show designed to show the lives of everyday people, so popular that it ran for 10 years, and now it’s back with a new season.
While there are successful television shows made in Kosovo, it wasn’t always this way. Under socialist rule, far fewer entertainment shows were produced.m
Shkumbin Istrefi, actor and director of Kafeneja Jonë, ran his hands through his wavy silver hair, puffing a cigarette.
“Before, everything was financed by the state,” he said. “It was not a business. There was not any need to have an industry.”
He recounted the days when he studied acting, when the state closed Albanian language institution, so people were forced to study outside of the country or to study in secret, in private homes. He leaned in, his eyes serious. “We can feel that gap, but we kept learning. I think the quality of education dropped.”
Valter Lucaj, director of the newest season of Stupcat’s “Egjeli,” sat on a couch in a back room of the house where they would be filming. He shuffled some scripts around that he was reading as he diligently worked through lunch. Creating “Egjeli” could mean long filming days – sometimes up to 17 or 18 hours, aside from editing.
“Even today,” he said, “we don’t have that big of a market.”
Also, Kosovars who were brave enough to film under the Milosevic regime faced discrimination and oppression.
“Before the war, we were occupied by the Serbs, so we couldn’t film openly,” said Bajrami. Motioning to actor Afrim Krasniqi, he said, “They tried to kill him once, but thank God he’s alive… The soldiers were making fun of them, like ‘You’re not even people, how can you be actors?’”
Krasniqi sat on a couch, eager to talk about opportunities to come.
“I will never forgive myself for not learning English,” he said through a translator. He said he felt he owed America for its aid in the war, throwing in the occasional “God bless America.”
With excitement in his eyes, he talked about his favorite American actors and actresses, and what inspires him. He broke out in a smile when he came to Leonardo DiCaprio, who is one of Krasniqi’s favorites because of his performance in “Titanic.”
He said likes being an actor because our time here is temporary, but we can make a lot of good things.”
Entertainment media post-war strives to do something major. Triera Kasumi, CEO of Dynamic Media and partner of executive producer Flamur Kelmendi, stated that Kosovar Albanians are “one the most optimistic people you’ll ever meet.” She explained how the concept of “Kooperativa” is “to make something human.” She also said that she and her show are trying to make people aware about how people live with this project and that “the main moral is humanitarianism.”
“Kooperativa” is not the only show striving to do something meaningful. The Stupcat group has paired up with the United Nations Development Programme, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, and the Swiss embassy to create comedic skits that highlight corruption in the government. To Bajrami, it highlights “the effect a short sketch can have on the people.” For him, and for many, adding an element of political satire or humanitarianism is crucial to their work to show the state of Kosovo as it is – but that comes with its own hardships.
Most of the issues in entertainment television production are related to a lack of funding.
Istrefi explained, “Every TV series running is fully financed through advertising,” and an episode can run 10,000-11,0000 euros to produce” what he would consider “quality” work.
Kelmendi added that “It is very hard without money. If you have an idea, you need to get sponsors.”
One way that content creators get sponsors is through streaming on Girafa.com, where many Kosovar shows are streamed, including “Kafeneja Jonë” and Stupcat group’s work. Stupcat pulled out of YouTube because they felt as though Gjirafa was better for them and for economic development in Kosovo, whereas YouTube was a bad experience for them. Gjirafa, instead, would funnel more revenue for them through ads, as it did for Istrefi previously.
“Income is only from sponsors. Viewers often say there are too many commercials. It is the only way to survive in the industry,” Lucaj said. “It’s a tough practice in Kosovo.” Entertainment television “is not going the best way possible.”
“The industry is growing at a slow pace compared to the region – for example, Albania,” said Vejsa. “We have a lot of creative people, but little financial support.”
However, the hurdles that actors, directors, and producers face are nothing compared to the passion that they have for their work.
“I’m really happy that I live for my profession,” said Lucaj.
Bajrami added, “Since I was little, I had a dream. Since the first year I was in high school, I wanted to change something. I wouldn’t change jobs for anything.”
(Natalie Cooper is a reporting intern at KosovaLive this summer in cooperation with Miami University in the United States.)
