An exacting, well-articulated portrait of a Kosovan family in crisis as they attempt to make ends meet, Shame and Money confronts anxieties in a life drowned by the demands of capitalism. Crafted with a documentary-like realism and scripted with the meticulous patience of a Cristian Mungiu or Nuri Bilge Ceylan film, Father and Exile director Visar Morina’s third feature is a pressure-cooker of a drama with an intensity that never feels out of step with the motivations of its exasperated characters.
In the rural countryside, Shaban (Astrit Kabashi) and Hatixhe (Flonja Kodheli) live a life of hard labor, tending to their family dairy farm to provide for three children. When Shaban’s greedy brother Liridon (Tristan Halilaj) carries out an act of betrayal, making off with their livelihood, the lack of work, and potential shame that will stain their family’s name causes them to depart for the capital city of Pristina, along with matriarch Nana (Kumrije Hoxa). Their connection point to the bustling city is Hatixhe’s sister Adelina (Fiona Gllavica) and her husband Alban (Alban Ukaj), who help set them up with an apartment despite perhaps not being fully forthcoming with the associated security deposit and rental fees. They are now on their own to find work any way they can get it.
Going from business to business pleading for work, Shaban and Hatixhe are provided with some part-time labor as cleaners for Alban’s club, but it’s not enough. Despite the shame it brings Alban’s family, Shaban is forced to line up on the street, hoping to be picked by passersby for day-laborer gigs. “Shame is a luxury,” Hatixhe notes to her sister when questioned about their means of survival. Hatixhe, helping to care for Adelina’s ailing father, learns that the upper-class lifestyle her sister maintains is one of precise monetary restrictions, giving the sense that economic demands weigh on everyone in varying ways. Morina expertly explores how, when every second is in pursuit of money for your family, a psychological breaking point is inevitable. Shaban, pushed to the brink, begins lashing out in both real life and premonitions when confessing to Hatixhe. Capturing their relentless struggle, Kabashi and Kodheli are sublime, imbuing a sense of hardened authenticity in every step of their performances.
One of the most curious shots––and one of the only interludes separated from the plight of our leads––features the capital’s statue of Bill Clinton. A beloved figure in the country, the former U.S. President is credited with assisting in ending the Kosovo War, leading to the territory’s independence nearly a decade later. With the statue presented in a foreboding tone, accompanied by an ominous score, Morina seems to be suggesting global political and economic involvement is a double-edged sword, sweeping Kosovo into a hypercapitalist rat race with which many citizens struggle to keep up.
Shot with a sense of constant forward momentum by Janis Mazuch and edited with a sharp intensity by Joëlle Alexis, Shame and Money intricately shows the suffocating, inescapable-seeming trappings of class. With seemingly never-ceasing barriers of financial stability––including unexpected bank fees, demeaning niceties from employers to throw a few extra bones, and Alban’s repeated request of a CV that Shaban doesn’t have the experience or means to complete––Morina has crafted a drama with deep humanity and a piercing insight into the crushing realities of a life where monetary gain rules every interaction.
Shame and Money premiered at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival.