‘Shame And Money’ review: Visar Morina follows ‘Exile’ with striking Kosovan social realist drama

Dir: Visar Morina. Germany/Kosova/Slovenia/Albania/North-Macedonia, Belgium. 2026. 130mins

There is precious little dignity in labour when it doesn’t pay the bills. Visar Morina’s Shame And Money is a timely fanfare for the common man with a lead character constantly diminished by the struggle to prove his worth. A tense, social realist drama following a rural family forced to seek a new life in a city that seems to conspires against them, Morina’s sombre tale retains a humanity that should help it resonate with audiences who have supported the films of Ken Loach and Stephane Brize.

Morina’s sombre tale retains a humanity

Shame and Money debuts in Sundance’s World Cinema Dramatic competition, and Morina’s previous feature Exile also played Sundance before screening in Berlin and being selected as Kosovo’s Oscar candidate. This new work continues the filmmaker’s interest in a crisis of identity that undermines status and sanity.

Here, Morina swiftly establishes farmer Shaban (Astrit Kabashi) as a decent, hardworking family man. His days are spent mending fences, milking cows, making cheese, cleaning out barns and fighting the dry, dusty soil – until the actions of his reprobate brother Liridon (Tristan Halilaj) make it impossible for Shaban to continue this lifestyle. Shaban, his wife Hatixhe (Flonja Kodheli), their three children and his mother ( Kumrije Hoxha) move to the Kosovan capital Pristina, a city that overwhelms them from the moment they arrive. 

Cinematographer Janis Mazuch emphasises the contrast between rural and urban as blue skies and red earth are replaced by a sprawling jungle of congested traffic and anonymous buildings. Aliens in a foreign, highly transactional land, there is no possibility of Shaban and his family feeling at home. 

Shaban and Hatixhe have been given sanctuary by her sister Lina (Fiona Gllavica), and their wealthy brother-in-law Alban (Alban Ukaj) hires them as cleaners in his nightclub. As Shaban looks for other work and their own apartment he is constantly humiliated; venturing into Alban’s house, for example, he is required to sit and watch as the man finishes his dinner. Alban is mortified that Shaban is shaming him by taking to the streets to find work, yet he treats both Shaban and Hatixhe as little more than servants. Shaban is regularly acknowledged as a “good man” but it starts to feel more like an insult than a compliment. His willingness to please and pride in his work makes him an easy target for exploitation. 

Morina fades to a lingering black to mark every stage in the family’s journey away from the certainties they once knew but, while the film can appear bleak, it unfolds as deeply empathetic and engaging. The handheld camerawork is used to create an intimacy and involvement in the plight of the family, while Mario Batkovic enhances their sense of disorientation with an urgent, haunting score that incorporates traditional folk music. Beautifully calibrated performances from Kabashi and Kodheli create a warm complicity between husband and wife as they find the little moments of love and affection that allow them to endure.

Shame And Money may focus on an individual story, but the picture of a wider society is keenly observed along the way. Labour is cheap and people are disposable; capitalism seems to make it impossible for anyone to live with dignity and self-respect. The growing tension of the film rests on how long Shaban can keep going, and the tightness in his shoulders and despair in his eyes reflect the price he is paying just to get through another day.