Blind Spot

It's refreshing to see a film about drugs that isn't Scottish. That's about the only thing refreshing about Blind Spot, a morose drama by Slovenian director Hanna A.W. Slak.

The subject is grim from start to finish. Drug abuse is never pretty, despite movies such as Trainspotting and Drugstore Cowboy going to great lengths to highlight the pleasure, as well as the pain. No such respite here, as we are thrust into the desperate lives of Lupa (Manca Dorrer) and her junkie brother Gladki (Kolja Saksida).

One night Gladki checks himself out of the rehab clinic. High as a kite, he jumps off a building. Soon after, his sister Lupa finds him slightly the worse for wear. She rents a bedsit and takes him in. This is the beginning of the slippery slope for Gladki. Having developed Aids and a nasty habit of using the prostitute upstairs for sexual favours, things are far from dandy.

Meanwhile, Lupa has to cope with the pugnacious dealer, to whom Gladki owes cash. Underlying themes of family problems between brother, sister and parents become evident, providing the interminably grim proceedings with necessary emotional depth. While lying together in bed, Lupa and Gladki share poignant visions of themselves as kids. If it wasn't for this, there would be little emotional identification between the siblings.

With hints of Requiem For A Dream, the coming down scenes are drastic and, perhaps, a bit overwrought. Obviously, Slak is determined to make a show of the debilitating impact of drugs and the slow atrophy of body and mind, once Aids sets in. Deliberately, there are no images of injecting - the definitive rush for junkies - only the aftermath of slow decay.

On the whole, there are very few uplifting elements at stake. Laughs are limited, as you'd imagine, but the character of the prostitute shines through. She is portrayed as someone who drifted into the game without any choice, and yet has managed somehow to maintain a sense of humour, as well as an element of personal dignity.

Other characters, such as the mother, are grossly underdeveloped. She pops up now and again, but doesn't have enough meat on the bone to make the necessary link with Lupa and the tragic fate of Gladkia.

Dorrer's performance, as a girl devoting unconditional love to a brother, who has torn them apart, is touching. Her intrepid approach to both Gladki's condition and the belligerent dealer is testament to an unyielding director, who wants a strong, yet vulnerable female character, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.