I was born on February 25th. My mom begged her father - my grandfather - to fire a gun as a sign of celebration. He refused. It’a girl, not a boy. Tradition doesn’t allow it. She begged, but he refused. Today, 27 years later, I’m telling the story of a woman who takes the gun and fires it herself.

When a girl is born into a Montenegrin family, they say she is a stranger’s supper. Why? Because we give her all our love and our lives — “and then she grows up, gets married, and gives herself and her future sons to another family”. On the other hand, when a son is born, a gun is placed under his pillow — “his first toy”. As years go by, a daughter transitions from being a sister to becoming a bride, a daughter-in-law, and a wife. Finally, if she is lucky, she steps into what is considered her most important role: that of a mother. If she gives birth to a son, she reaches the highest status a woman can achieve in Montenegrin society. If she gives birth to a daughter, people say, “Too bad.” And if she cannot have children at all, she falls to the very bottom of the social ladder — some would say she might as well be dead. The 13th Fish is a feature-length creative documentary exploring the phenomenon of daughters-in-law and their uniquely complex role in Montenegrin society. It is both an artistic expression and a sociological study — the first Montenegrin film to tackle this subject directly. The film is structured as a visual mosaic: a composition of images and voices, rooted in the real-life experiences of dozens of Montenegrin women — women who are finally speaking out. The main character is She — a Daughter-in-law who represents all the women brave enough to share their stories but who must remain unseen. The narrative unfolds through black-and-white imagery over the course of approximately 90 minutes, treating time and space as timeless witnesses to both Montenegro’s history and its women. This hybrid form and the overall directorial approach stem from a simple but profound truth: every woman I spoke with wants her story to be told, but only anonymously. Their voices are ready to emerge, but their names and faces must remain hidden. The fear of patriarchy still reigns.

Rođena sam 25. februara. Moja majka je molila svog oca, mog đeda, da ispali pucanj u znak slavlja. Odbio je. „To je djevojčica, a ne dječak. Tradicija ne dozvoljava.“ Molila ga je, ali on je odbio. Danas, 27 godina kasnije, pričam priču o ženi koja uzima pušku i puca sama.

Kada se djevojčica rodi u crnogorskoj porodici, kažu da je ona „tuđa večera“. Zašto? Zato što joj dajemo svu svoju ljubav i živote - „a onda odraste, uda se i pokloni sebe i svoje buduće sinove drugoj porodici“. S druge strane, kada se rodi sin, pod njegov jastuk stavlja se pištolj - „njegova prva igračka“. Kako godine prolaze, kćerka prelazi iz uloge sestre u ulogu nevjeste, snahe i supruge. Na kraju, ako ima sreće, stupa u ono što se smatra njenom najvažnijom ulogom: ulogu majke. Ako rodi sina, dostiže najviši status koji žena može imati u crnogorskom društvu. Ako rodi kćerku, ljudi kažu: „Šteta.“ A ako ne može imati djece, pada na samo dno društvene ljestvice - neki bi rekli da je kao mrtva. „13. riba“ je dugometražni kreativni dokumentarac koji istražuje fenomen snaha i njihovu jedinstveno složenu ulogu u crnogorskom društvu. To je istovremeno umjetnički izraz i sociološka studija - prvi crnogorski film koji se ovom temom bavi direktno. Film je oblikovan kao vizuelni mozaik: kompozicija slika i glasova ukorijenjenih u stvarnim iskustvima desetina crnogorskih žena - žena koje napokon progovaraju. Glavni lik je Ona - Snaha, koja predstavlja sve žene dovoljno hrabre da podijele svoje priče, ali koje ipak moraju ostati nevidljive. Naracija se razvija kroz crno-bijele slike, u trajanju od oko 90 minuta, tretirajući vrijeme i prostor kao bezvremene svjedoke i istorije Crne Gore i njenih žena. Ovaj hibridni oblik i cjelokupan autorski pristup proističu iz jedne jednostavne, ali duboke istine: svaka žena s kojom sam razgovarala želi da njena priča bude ispričana, ali isključivo anonimno. Njihovi glasovi su spremni da se čuju, ali njihova imena i lica moraju ostati skrivena. Strah od patrijarhata i dalje vlada.