

When Italian writer Gian Luigi Bonelli was coming up with a name for his new cowboy in 1948, inspired by the honest, open features of actor Gary Cooper, he first chose “Tex Killer.”

It began in 1935. That autumn, a crew from the German film company UFA arrived in the small Herzegovinian town of Trebinje, then home to barely more than a few thousand people. At the time, UFA was Europe’s most prestigious counterpart to Hollywood. The crew had come to shoot The Gypsy Baron, an adaptation of Johann Strauss II’s operetta.

The rain in this film doesn't fall because someone decided it would look atmospheric. It falls in nearly every outdoor scene, hour after hour, day after day, while a city that never gets a name rots in front of the camera like meat left out in the sun.

We asked the same question to ten different people, in ten different conversations, in ten different moods: what does hedonism mean to you? We expected something about champagne, private jets, maybe an expensive watch on someone's wrist. Instead, once we laid all the interviews side by side, something far less expected emerged. And, we have to admit, something far more beautiful.

Enjoyment is when a person feels alive, so it gives me a sense of being alive. However, hedonism is often linked to certain material pleasures, to something connected with status. Still, I don't think that's what Aristippus of Cyrene, a student of Socrates and the first theorist of this concept, had in mind.

In the first two instalments of this series, we traced the journey from the gangsters of the Great Depression, through Hitchcock’s thrillers and the rebellion of the 1960s, to the moment when Spielberg and Lucas discovered that a film could become an event larger than the story itself - and Hollywood in the 1980s turned that idea into an industrial model.

Being a cinematographer, says Manuel Alberto Claro, is less a question of personal talent than one of balance. "You can be brilliant, but if you don't let your collaborators shine, the project will be bad," the Chilean-Danish artist told a packed room in Herceg Novi on the second day of the Montenegro Film Rendezvous. "This is, above all, about balancing different energies."

In the first part of this series, we traced Hollywood's path from the gangsters of the Great Depression, through the noir of the postwar years, to Hitchcock's psychological games with audiences in the 1950s - watching an entertainment system take shape into something we'd still recognize today. But that system, however stable it looked, already carried the seed of its own upheaval.

Šavnik isn't a town that receives art the way it might receive a guest who leaves again after a few days. This August, art arrived here differently - on walls, meadows, hills and squares, woven into the river, the morning mist, and the lives of people who know this place's daily rhythm far better than any festival crowd ever could. Four days of the second edition of the Two Suns Art Festival showed what contemporary art looks like when, instead of gallery walls, it's given an entire town.

A few generations ago, the question "is this organic?" simply didn't exist. All food was organic, because there was no way for it to be otherwise - pesticides weren't used at anything like today's scale, synthetic fertilizers didn't exist, and food wasn't put through the kind of intensive processing that now touches most of what ends up in a shopping cart. The word "organic" only became necessary once everything else had stopped being that.

Movies change alongside their audience. Look back at the history of popular film from the 1930s to today, and it becomes clear that genres don't rise and fall by accident. In times of crisis, audiences look for escape. In uncertain periods, they turn to darker stories. In eras of technological upheaval, they want spectacle. And whenever the way people watch films changes, what the film industry produces changes along with it.

The third edition of Montenegro Film Rendezvous, an industry programme organised by the Film Centre of Montenegro, will bring acclaimed filmmakers, producers and representatives of leading European film institutions, funds and professional networks to Herceg Novi from 22 to 28 August.

At a time when footballers were known almost entirely for what they did on the pitch, George Best started drawing attention long after the final whistle. He had a film star's face, a haircut that echoed the Beatles, wore sharply tailored suits, Chelsea boots, and clothes that belonged more to a London club than a football dressing room.

Dick Solomon stands in the middle of a room, trying to solve a problem that, despite his knowledge of the laws of the universe, is completely beyond him: why his colleague Mary Albright will not tell him she loves him when, from his perspective, the answer is perfectly obvious. His logic runs up against something no physical theory can explain - human insecurity, emotion, and the need to leave certain things unsaid even when they seem clear.

What began as a three-day industry gathering has grown into a seven-day programme in just three editions - a change that says something about the growing international interest in Montenegro's film industry.

For three nights, Banja Luka’s Kastel Fortress became a meeting point for different generations, musical worlds and thousands of people brought together by the same rhythm. The 14th edition of Freshwave Festival came to a close after once again demonstrating that music can cross boundaries that have little to do with geography.

At a time when the answer to almost any question is only seconds away, one long-running weekly magazine continues to preserve something the digital world struggles to create: the feeling that a small discovery is waiting just beyond every page. Politikin Zabavnik has long been more than a magazine for children and adults.

Some moments seem almost impossible to put into words. Thousands of people stand before a stage. The lights fade. The bass slowly disappears, the rhythm dissolves, and only a handful of notes linger above the crowd. Arms rise almost instinctively, every gaze fixed in the same direction, while an unmistakable sense of anticipation fills the air.

Why the man who outwitted the Cyclops, devised the Trojan Horse, and became the ultimate symbol of perseverance may also be one of literature’s most morally ambiguous protagonists. The answer lies not only in The Odyssey itself, but in the way generations have chosen to read it.