Hive Review

Sweet, with a potent emotional sting, Hive is a measured, detailed and inspiring war story, fought in kitchens and cars, where minor acts foster major resistance. Based on a true story, this debut feature from Kosovo native Blerta Basholli evokes familiar, lighter tales of communal unity like The Full Monty or Calendar Girls, but with a more grounded, naturalistic approach, where rebellion can be found in the smallest acts and gestures.

Despite having to care for her children and father-in-law, the prospect of Fahrije working to support them is extremely frowned upon by her community, who go as far as throwing a brick through the window of the car she’s had the gall to learn how to drive. Without any income, she starts a business making and selling ‘ajvar’, a traditional, pepper-based Kosovar condiment. After some pushback, gradually Fahrije convinces some of the similarly grieving women from her village to join her enterprise, and a supermarket to sell it.

Hive is strongest when caught in the gentle rhythms of process, jar-filling melodrama occasionally breaking the simmering tempo, which is mostly guided by stirring, delicate details. Through Basholli’s lingering camera, these simple minced vegetables and spices become miraculous, the spark of rebellion, perfectly seasoned, placed in a jar and sold like a call-to-arms message in a bottle. After opening the film standing behind red tape, searching through bloody clothes and body bags, the roasting, peeling and jarring of the crimson peppers transforms the colour of the women’s lives. The cooking process is viewed tenderly, each stir of the pot, twist of the grinder and word of cooking advice cherished as the viscous red sauce bloodies their quietly rebellious hands.

Offering hope and navigation through grief-stricken limbo, Hive shows that the act of cooking and eating together can be not just an act of physical — and societal — sustenance, but a powerful political act.