12/03/2026 - Croatian director Maida Srabović's short explores the travails of a pregnant young woman in a god-fearing village

In the Croatian Kajkavian dialect, the word fačuk means "bastard"; by naming her film with an insult, director Maida Srabović makes a bold and deliberate statement. The term itself, in any language, still carries an old, patriarchal stigma when applied to young, single mothers and their fatherless children. This 13-minute animated horror-folktale, which screened in the main competition at Animateka, explores the violence and oppression faced by one such female carrying an "illegitimate" child in a small village.

The pregnant protagonist (of indeterminate youthful age) walks through the settlement, exposed to the stares of mean-spirited grandmothers who combine the functions of surveillance cameras and moralistic judges. As she passes by, they make the sign of the cross and whisper gossip, asking, “Does she have no shame?!”

What begins as an uncomfortable fairytale soon twists into the territory of grotesque body-horror. The film's atmosphere thickens, becoming increasingly surreal and suffocating. One of the most frightening moments occurs when the old women begin grabbing the young mother-to-be with their furrowed, wrinkled hands, tearing her skin away from her body while repeating prayer-like lines such as “your fault, your fault, your most grievous fault”. In such ways, patriarchal oppression over the female body is illustrated.

Artistic Director Stipan Tadić’s visuals contain elements inspired by Croatian naïve painting, particularly the works of Mijo Kovačić (b.1935). The themes and style of the latter’s artwork create a gloomy and anxious mood that translates effectively into this short film. In some scenes, the team of animators actually take Kovačić’s paintings – such as Sodoma i Gomora and Jama – and bring them to life, animating them with dark, surreal and terrifying moving images.

Fačuk is important and progressive because it gives voice to women traditionally silenced in both folklore and rural communities. When, in the closing moments, the child is finally born, a flood washes over the village and its wicked, hypocritical inhabitants. This apocalyptic cleansing feels both tragic and liberating – a natural force correcting the moral imbalances human society has created.

The only thing left standing is a tree, which begins to bloom – symbolising a fresh start. Srabović's film closes on this hopeful image, reminding us that, even amid and after brutality, new life always insists on emerging.