A Votra Magazine Exclusive: Exploring the poetic depth, historical resonance, and cinematic brilliance of Luan Rama’s short film.
In the heart of Tirana, at the iconic “Milenium” cinema, audiences were captivated by the premiere of the short film Ode për tempujt që nuk u harruan. Penned by the celebrated writer and filmmaker Luan Rama, brought to life by the masterful performance of actor Alfred Trebicka, and directed with finesse by Pandeli Ceço, the film left viewers breathless. Produced by the esteemed “Hoxha Tahsin Foundation,” this cinematic gem is a poignant tribute to the memory of Chameria’s fallen—a powerful narrative that blends history, poetry, and art.
With its stirring imagery, soul-stirring script, and a deeply human message, the film struck a chord with an audience hungry to reconnect with their ancestral lands. In a time when borders divide and memories fade, Ode për tempujt që nuk u harruan stands as a timeless testament to resilience, longing, and the unyielding power of remembrance.
Votra Magazine: How did you connect history with literature and immortalize it in the verses of the ode?
Luan Rama: My verses reflect a historical and real reality. Each line carries pain, longing, and memory. The film is both a historical testimony and a poetic-tragic account of what happened. I imagined the night, the dead, and the innocent victims—children, women, and elders—rising from their graves, gathering in the quiet of the night. They would recall their past lives, the joys that were cut short, the songs silenced, and the weddings that were never celebrated. They would remember the hangings in the trees, the bodies thrown into rivers, the wails and cries of children seeking their mothers, and the young girls violated.
Everything depicted is true, based on the testimonies of Chams who managed to escape and recount their horrors to British military officials. The barbarities committed by Colonel Zerva’s Greek army and the Greek Church were unprecedented, as shown in photos of the attacks. Every word in the poem strikes a chord, hurts, and carries its own symbolism. Following this harrowing and Shakespearean narrative, the actor says, “Zane, we know how to forgive!” These words carry profound meaning, especially when the Greek government has yet to apologize for what happened or recognize this tragedy in its history books, as civilized nations do. History is history, and we must build friendships without hiding the truth.
Nevertheless, the actor Trebicka, through his words, declares:
“Let us begin life where it was cut short,
on scorched earth and fields of tears,
in the forgotten forest of the hanged.
Let us live again under the same sun with our children.
Let us live in the same world,
the world of earth and blood.
We know how to forgive, Zane,
here are our arms, wide open!”
Votra Magazine: What was your collaboration with actor Alfred Trebicka like, and how did you experience it?
Luan Rama: As I mentioned, this poem had been published earlier. During a conference in Tirana organized by the Hoxha Tahsin Foundation on the Cham antifascist movement during World War II (the joint efforts of Albanian and Greek battalions against the German army), I thought the poem should be read by an actor. I discussed this with the foundation’s president, Alket Veliu, and proposed Alfred Trebicka, whose theatrical performances had deeply impressed me.
With Trebicka and director Pandeli Ceço, the production of the 27-minute film began, shot among the centuries-old ruins of Chameria. Trebicka’s performance and artistic delivery were extraordinary, carrying immense emotional and tragic weight. He is an actor capable of interpreting great tragedies. His facial expressions, movements, and voice convey emotions that captivate the audience. In this film, his performance sets a benchmark for portraying complex, multi-voiced roles, as he speaks on behalf of countless victims. His voice varies with emotions, representing the shadows and spirits of the deceased who dream of their descendants returning, of hearing their voices and feeling their presence once more, even though they are gone. This is the essence of true tragedies.
Votra Magazine: What are your thoughts on the director Pandeli Ceço and the expressive techniques he chose?
Luan Rama: For me, he was a pleasant surprise, as I didn’t know much about his previous work in documentary filmmaking. I watched his short film Çarçafë të bardhë (White Sheets) and was amazed. For Ceço as a director, artistic symbolism plays a significant role, as seen in his earlier film, where white sheets represent Maks Velo’s dreams in Spaç, embodying his desire to paint and face the blank canvas—a tragic desire.
In this film, Ceço employs a dynamic and moving camera, capturing details that speak volumes and highlighting Trebicka’s performance. The imagery is striking: broken gates, crumbling arches, collapsed roofs, and springs—all remnants of those homes that speak through the language of art and evoke profound emotions.
The director also surprises with his use of music, sounds, and tones from the earth. At times, the music is tragic, while at the end of the film, it becomes joyful as the shadows—the victims—hope for a new dawn, for the return of their descendants. Everything exudes a sense of exhilaration, the colors of hope. The actor’s eyes shine, his words are soft and warm, the flowers and olive trees sway in the breeze, the water murmurs as it flows, and in close-ups, you can feel the actor’s world, his emotions, his breath—all captured in a perfect montage.
The film’s message is contemporary and human: it’s about friendship, building bridges that unite us, and the future we must construct as ancient neighbors. This is why the actor declares in the film:
“The stones and arches still stand;
death could not bring them down.
There, Nusreti’s wedding took place.
Do you remember when our neighbors came?
Among them were Kosta and Anastasi…
Oh, what a wedding it was; they sang with us,
and the night was intoxicated by our voices.
Then they joined our dance, the ‘çamiko.’
May I have you, Taso, for life eternal!
Next November, we’ll dance the ‘rebetiko.’
But the slaughter soon divided us,
poor us who trusted their honor.
November would never come again.
Eighty years have passed in endless waiting…”
Votra Magazine: What was your feeling when you watched the completed film?
Luan Rama: The feeling was immense. Sitting in the semi-dark theater, my eyes welled up. The painful history confronted me, hitting me hard. The first wave of emotion came from Trebicka’s words, from his performance, from the alignment of the character with history, set in a defined time and space, within those abandoned homes and wearing the traditional Cham attire.
In Trebicka, I saw the slain, the massacred, the tormented, and those who fled the barbarity—those who couldn’t escape. I saw the stones he touched, and I wanted to touch them too, those silent stones that nevertheless spoke through their silence.
Cinematographic imagery often guides my writing, even in my novels. Many of my short stories are film scripts. The novels I’ve published in Albania, France, or Italy are film subjects filled with drama, and I hope one day they will be brought to life on screen. One of my novels was written as a screenplay, and a director is preparing to realize it in the coming months.
Returning to this film, I can say that the actor and director have embodied something unique, something that has been missing in our cinema.
