Poetic Film Review: Don't Loock Back, My Son (Ne okreći se sine/My Son Don't Turn Round, 1956)

In somber shades of night, Zagreb's streets,
A wartime tale unfolds, in Bauer's beats,
Of Neven Novak, engineer turned spy,
Who'd join the resistance, and dare to try.

Arrested, sent to Jasenovac's camp,
He breaks free, and makes a daring stamp,
Back to Zagreb, to seek his son's embrace,
And save him from the Ustasha's cruel race.

In fascist clutches, Zoran's innocence,
Is twisted, turned, and rendered senseless,
His father's love, a beacon in the night,
Guides Novak through the shadows, and the fight.

Cinematography, a masterful art,
Captures action, as the night takes part,
Blazina's lens, a black-and-white delight,
Paints Zagreb's streets with haunting light.

Adamic's score, a jazzy, noirish tone,
Complements the action, as the plot is shown,
Characters complex, their moral shades,
Blend with the darkness, as the story wades.

Bauer's personal touch, a shameful past,
A Jew's cry, ignored, forever to last,
The film's redemption, a symbolic shot,
A circling motorcycle, as the credits are sought.

The Golden Arena, a prize well-deserved,
For a film that still, with power, is heard,
In its themes of suffering, and human might,
An enduring classic, that shines through the night.

(Note: The review in its original form can be read here.)

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