When you look up The Dreamed Adventure, the first three genres that appear are action, adventure, and crime. In certain ways, characters do sojourn into dangerous situations, illegal activities unfold, and adventure, after all, is in the translated title. But if you’re expecting any of those descriptions to manifest into something remotely akin to GoodFellas (1990) or The Departed (2006), well, you might want to just watch GoodFellas or The Departed. 

That is not to say I recommend either of those titles in favor of The Dreamed Adventure; in fact, quite the contrary. Scorsese’s prolific run of crime thrillers had its place in history, and they’ve duly received their flowers since. But what’s most fascinating about German filmmaker Valeska Grisebach’s fourth feature is how it exists in conversation with (and more importantly, subverts) a genre conventionally dominated by male voices and characters. 

Bulgaria’s submission to the 99th Academy Awards geographically exists on the border between Turkey and Greece on the Bulgarian side of the Kapitan Andreevo-Kapikule crossing. It’s a key land crossing where the characters themselves define Svilengrad as a small town that “begins where the law ends.” The border on the town’s outskirts is porous for both legal commerce and illegal trafficking despite the offscreen presence of border patrol agents. The two most sought-after currencies are oil and refugees, and the backdrop is painted with missing posters amid the prolific ubiquity of Bushwick’s graffiti. 

That state of “in-between” for a people and culture coexisting on either side of the law and on the threshold of two countries embroiled in political conflict is quintessential to The Dreamed Adventure, where characters move in and out of frame as if they could disappear permanently at any moment (not just from the film, but perhaps from physical existence entirely). “Safe” is not an adjective that comes to mind in Svilengrad. In fact, that’s almost exactly what happens to our presumed protagonist Saïd (Syuleyman Alilov Letifov), whom we follow in the film’s opening scenes before his car, and also Saïd himself, disappear without notice, only to be replaced by our true character of focus and his long-ago friend and former romance, Veska (Yana Radeva). 

Veska and Saïd are both returning to Svilengrad after a long time away and for far different reasons. Veska is helming an archeological excavation near the border while Saïd has not-entirely-above-board business transactions on his mind. The pair exchange knowing smiles that point to a longstanding shared history, one that intertwines with most of the remaining locals. Everyone knows everyone in the region: the good, the bad, and the ugly of their histories are open secrets for the few of the town’s legacy inhabitants that have managed to survive its past and stay through its present. It’s this wry sense of familiarity that characterizes everyone, as if they’ve lived their entire lives inside the world of the film. It’s not entirely untrue, as a majority of the cast are nonprofessional actors from the area itself.

Much of what we learn about the characters and events that have passed through the town comes through late-night, alcohol-assisted conversations where stories range from the former prostitution ring at the local hotel to mysterious mob men stashing unknown objects into ceilings, percolating the sandy air. There’s a distinct split in Veska’s demeanor when women are present at these gatherings, and her behavior suggests security and trust, versus a constant underpinning of danger in the male-dominated spaces. While these conversations may feel superfluous, many of these stories become relevant later on in the film, quietly informing how Veska chooses to act.

The town seems governed by two warring mob bosses who fight to claim the remaining territory and resources. Before Saïd’s disappearance, Veska becomes aware of an under-the-table deal he was working on with a smaller dealer called “The Raven” to buy a large quantity of diesel fuel. His disappearance puts the deal on hold, and Veska, out of an ambiguous blend of boredom, curiosity, and adrenaline, agrees to facilitate it herself.

The two crime gangster dramas I contrasted the film to in the introduction — GoodFellas and The Departed — were intentional. All three films happen to be about survival in crime economies and life-or-death socioeconomic situations, but Grisebach effectively reframes the scope away from the blunt-force male violence at the forefront and toward the social politics behind the scenes. She is more interested in the underbelly of a world run by that kind of violence, and represents a culture that is struggling to move past its Communist history and patriarchal roots. 

Veska confronts the accepted place of a woman in these spaces, and Grisebach is unafraid to show the tumult she faces in challenging these accepted norms. She’s a keen observer throughout the film with an ear to the ground and a wealth of history and information behind her. In knowing where and when to listen, she learns how to harm those in charge where it hurts — by stunting their wallets, insulting their egos, and protecting their women. 

In the film’s most tense moment at a party run by the town’s leading kingpin, Iliya (Stoicho Kostadinov), Veska unapologetically calls out the harm these parties have caused women over the years before forcing her young neighbor Maria (Denislava Yordanova) to come home early with her. It’s an act of female camaraderie and courage that Maria may not fully understand the implications of, but Veska is determined to save her from the sexual violence she knows would be in her near future. 

Yes, The Dreamed Adventure lacks the high-stakes action of your conventional crime drama. The gangsters primarily operate offscreen, and conversations, atmospheres, and places fill up the extended runtime more than events themselves. Even at 167 minutes, the film lacks a true culminating climax. But that’s exactly the expectation that Grisebach wants to challenge. She wants you to feel the version of this story that foregrounds what would often be relegated to the background: the hearsay, the social history, and, most importantly, the ways women fit and don’t fit into the narrative.

While Veska’s team at the archaeological site is digging for vestiges of the past, she is simultaneously clawing her way toward a better future for the women of Svilengrad. She knows the exploitative sexual violence that has been historically enacted upon herself and countless other women in the region, and so too does the land she carefully exhumes. The land has memory, and while she may not have the agency to revolutionize Svilengrad’s holistic future, she can save people like Maria, one life at a time. 

Grisebach’s version of violence and gangster shootouts may only amount to a few stray warning shots into the sky, but over the course of the film, this is Veska’s resume: redistribution of resources to an oppressed family, embarrassing the ego of a mob boss and unconvicted murderer, and saving the life of a young girl. She confronts misogynistic abuse with dignity and fearlessness. To Veska and Valeska, the world may not equate you to James Conway or Billy Costigan, but I think you’re both pretty gangster.

Review Courtesy of Danny Jarabek

Feature image credit to Cannes Film Festival