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Matija Klukovic's astonishing feature debut SLOW DAYS ushers in a new cinema alive with humanity and vision. Following the lives of over twenty individuals, the multiple narratives presented here are bound by relationships and common emotions that introduce us to a population of lost souls; everything from a retiree who plans to live until he's 150 (and keeps his nail clippers in the fridge) to a waitress addicted to repositioning furniture. Klukovic's superb examination of the personal purgatories belonging to these people never allows us to grow comfortable or complacent in our relationship with them. They are, after all, human beings. Not merely characters, or predictable one-dimensional facsimiles of people, the picture's masterful cast beautifully embodies living, breathing individuals grappling with a seemingly endless array of strengths, vulnerabilities and confusions that spin them in circles under the backdrop of a modern-day Zagreb. However, what's significant here is the fact that these stories can occur anywhere. In essence, the film seems to suggest that this unrelenting need for change and departure without the means of achieving it is universal. Sometimes, we rob ourselves of these means. Other times, our only opportunity to escape and grow and live is taken from us by those closest to us. Your average audience might have a problem with the fact that some of these people are connected solely by this condition of permanence. Some might suggest that these stories are composed of characters who do nothing—a film that details the desperate lives of those without ambition. And yet, that is the very point; it is, after all, entirely human to complain and dream without actually taking action. Not everyone comes equipped with a singular goal in life. And those who do have aspirations often fail to see them realized. As humorous as it is dramatic, SLOW DAYS presents us with the notion that it is quite common for us to find ourselves stuck in a rut of physical and emotional inaction; whether it be the result of a job, a romantic relationship or a familial obligation. Klukovic's interest in the many types of love that exist amongst these characters is as complicated as the characters themselves, as the film leads us through the unpredictable and sometimes impossible nature of how we connect with one another. As suggested by a middle-aged bar patron who hasn't given up on both complimenting and insulting women, "everybody's got their own logic. That's why nobody understands anybody." Added to this, it seems as though the logic that these characters covet is also always in transition, as demonstrated by virtually every relationship in the film. Alen, a harmonica player, and his restless girlfriend Jadranka cover the full range of emotions in one single exchange, traveling from "I worry…" to "I hate..." and ending with "I feel fine... ", all within a few moments. One even asks of the other; "take those glasses off so I can see what you're saying. I can't hear you." This notion of ceaseless miscommunication-another purgative state-- is further illustrated in the relationship between the insomniac Martin and his mother Martina (exquisitely played by Visnja Pesic); at one point, she fetches him only to explain that she's "not sure if she wants to talk to him." Ultimately, SLOW DAYS offers honest insight into not only our own emotional stasis, but also the inevitable holding patterns that punctuate life itself.