‘Our Father’ review: Transilvania’s Special Jury Award winner is brooding, unsettling Serbian addiction drama

Dir: Goran Stankovic. Serbia. 2025. 89mins

Inspired by the story of jailed Serbian Orthodox priest Branislav Peranovic, Our Father offers a tightly focused account of a drug rehabilitation centre where the methods were more brutal than the addiction. Director Goran Stankovic’s assured fiction feature debut matches rigorous storytelling with fine performances to create a brooding, unsettling human drama. The Special Jury Award at the recent Transilvania International Film Festival is the latest accolade in an extensive festival journey that began at Toronto in 2025. 

Resists sensationalism in favour of a more complex, nuanced reflection on these true events

Stankovic has previously directed a number of shorts, a documentary and highly regarded television series Morning Changes Everything (2018) and Operation Sabre (2024), and his previous work has shaped a style that is precise, economical, and finely measured. Our Father begins with the arrival of Dejan (Vucic Perovic) at a drug rehabilitation centre that is part religious order, part prison camp. Families choose it as a last resort for their loved ones. The rural setting, distant snow-capped mountains and isolation all suggest a move into the horror genre; phones are confiscated, contact with the outside world is minimal and there is little hope that rescue could be close at hand. 

Perovic’s physical commitment to his character is evident from the outset, as he is left naked, scratching at his prickly skin, shivering and retching through the agonies of a cold turkey withdrawal. It is the only option in a community where methadone is never offered, and faith in God is the only means of redemption. Our Father is partially based on testimonies from former inmates of the Crna Reka centre in southwestern Serbia, and quickly establishes the stern rule of Father Branko (Boris Isakovic). Stankovic maintains his focus on Dejan’s journey, but uses it to illuminate the power dynamics and toxicity of a place where everyone bends to the will of one man.

The fluid camerawork and dark, treacly settings underpin the film’s sense of claustrophobia. Zoran Petrov’s production design favours the spartan, with crosses and icons the only adornment of bare walls and communal bedrooms. Marko (Goran Markovic) has spent three years in this setting, and is assigned as a mentor to Dejan as he becomes a believer in Branko and his unorthodox methods. Branko can claim success stories among those willing to surrender themselves to him; many of the residents are healthier than they have been in years as they undertake everyday chores, eat together and follow a simple life with structure and boundaries.

There is, however, still an overpowering sense that this is a cult-like operation, especially when we witness the physical punishment meted out to the disobedient. Pernaovic was notorious for his shovel ’therapy’ and we are spared little of the savage beatings that are inflicted.  Everyone present is complicit, unable to intervene as if they had been brainwashed. Stankovic lets such events speak for themselves, balancing Branko’s righteous conviction with an understanding of what drives the residents to accept their fate. An emotional visit from Dejan’s mother and a drawing from his five year-old son shows the life that could await him outside, if only he can stay the course.

Markovic brings an easy warmth to the sympathetic Marko whilst Isakovic’s motorbike riding Branko stretches beyond the villainous to present a more complex portrait of a man addicted to power and control over the lives of others. Perovic remains the film’s human connection, carrying audiences through a harrowing story that resists sensationalism in favour of a more complex, nuanced reflection on these true events.