In the Albanian film "Stars of the long nights" the story of a brave mother and her brave sons, who gave their lives for the homeland, is told. It is a case in the history of our cinematography, where the hero of the film, alive, is given his real name. This was a tribute to mother Pashako, known in her province as Pashako Selman Orhanaj, who gave her sons to the country. Director Viktor Gjika became more and more convinced every day that Tinka was the most suitable actress to play Mother Pashako, because she was a powerful, powerful actress with a great emotional load and capable of performing even this difficult role. But he had to fill in some other necessary elements: to get to know this heroine mother closely. 
– Tinka, the rest of us will go to Voskopoja, and you, as you told me, to go and live for a few days at mother Pashakos' house, right? Viktor had understood Tinka's intention, because one day she had expressed this desire to him. – Yes, I need to get to know him, – answered Tinka. – Except I have one request and I want it from you as Viktor, as a friend, to do me a favor: from the first take, if you are not satisfied, to remove me from the film and tell me that I do not do it for this role. – I promise, but I'm confident that it won't happen…- and Victor put his lips on the gas. Tinka's first meeting with mother Pashako there in the distant and deep Pirgun created emotions that she had never experienced before. There was a natural concern about how he would live among unknown people, but immediately this concern disappeared. – Come, my daughter, live here with us…- said the old mother to Tinka with a kindness and warmth that made Tinka feel relieved from the great burden of that day. From the first day, in addition to the special hospitality she felt in this house, she was burdened in her mind and heart with the weight of responsibility for the role more than before. Now he saw the truth in the eyes. While before she saw the role as a vision, as something still elusive and somewhat distant, now she had to enter it with her whole being, she had to embody every tiny particle of this old woman's body and soul, now had to become the real Easter Mother. 
Yes, Tinka Kurti should be "called" Mother Pashako. That's why Tinka lived for a long time with Mother Pashako, there, in her house, in the remote mountain village. He ate with her and followed her every move, accompanied her every step, wherever she went, with whomever she met. He observed how he walked, how he spoke, how he was happy and how he was sad. And not only that. Tinka woke up early in the morning, just like the daughters and daughters-in-law of the house. He worked like them, in all the actions that a country house has. They tried not to let him, but Tinka insisted. Tinka was standing right next to her, took her hands withered from age, squeezed them in hers and looked straight into her eyes. Even though he was 100 years old, his eyes were wet, full of liquid, and it seemed that they were tears. No, her eyes had been dry for years and years, she had no more tears, but those bright eyes had a light that never went out, so when she talked about the past, they looked juicy, with the juice of a past life as if all the waters of the springs of Pirgu had gathered in them. When it was time to sleep, Tinka made a decision. Let her lie in the same bed, sleep with her, cover herself with the same duvet, rest her head on the same pillow, talk until late, hear her voice better, breathe her breath and he saw the many wrinkles on her face closer, until he fell asleep. Tinka was trying not to let her see her tears. Tears in the eyes, knives in the heart. Terrible shocks in the soul, no matter how hard he tried to stay. Gritting her teeth in pain, she tried to sum up all her powers and abilities. He barely contained himself from exploding into the oil. 
– Enough, please mother, you have shown enough today. We have time again, – he tried to calm the poor mother. The next day the same things, daughters-in-law and daughters in the housework, Tinka helping them, then next to the mother. The paralyzed Naim always watched Tinka and her movements. He saw him as a special guest of their poor house. Dalani, a half-man…almost crazy…(that's what was left from the tortures) sometimes came in and sometimes went out and pretended that he too worked in this house. – They killed my three sons, my daughter, my enemy killed them, so be it. But I have these left, you see, and thank God I have a house full of nephews and nieces. But I always have the mortar in front of my eyes. He sees Naim paralyzed. Who needs his life? See crazy Dalan running around? The underdog still lives. Oh how you don't take me, oh tall, white death… – he fell into despair sometimes in rare. But her conversations were strange. Strong, durable. The day the film crew would come to pick up Tinka was her fifteenth day in this house. The yellow Kinostudio bus could not go up to the house. In the center of the village, where the actors stopped, the whole village gathered. The actors went upstairs for a visit to Pashako's mother's house. 
Tinka waited for them there. He wanted to see her reaction when he had them one by one. Sandër Prosi, "her brother", entered first. He leaned slightly against the doorknob, since he was taller. 
– Who is this who entered? – said Pashako's mother. – Your brother, my mother, – said Tinka immediately. He had been dead for a few years and the mother was very shocked, especially when he bent over, just like him. "I also had a face like him", thought mother Pashakoja instantly. She had been told that a movie would be made about her, but she didn't know what a movie was. But with her intelligence and intuition, she looked at him carefully and with a concentration that spoke volumes, then she said: – You got it, brother, why did you run away from me too? I have felt your need so much. Those present were very shocked. However, she remained strong and did not give up. Actor Petrika Riza enters the room. – Who is this? – It's me, mother, Naimi, said the paralyzed Naimi. The desert mother who saw before. The half "dead" Naim that I've been putting to bed for years and years, or the living "Naim"? – You are both the same, but one lying down and the other standing, – she spoke with difficulty and in severe pain. When Llazi Serbo entered, who would play Dalan, the madman, the mother moved her eyes from one to the other. Whom to believe and whom to accept as a son? "Oh, poor me!" – he said to himself. He did not notice the entrance of Meto, the boy who had gone to war with his leg killed. As soon as they told her, she did not look him in the eye, but directed her pained gaze to his heel: 
– Did your leg heal, son? How did you walk, my desolate son, in those mountains, with that stinking heel. Do you remember that when they brought you to be killed, I did not look at your face, but I took off your shoe and saw your sick foot? Do you remember? Tafili, Jani Skorovati, as soon as he entered, shook her hand and looked her straight in the eye: – How are you, mother? – only this one spoke until then. She saw him and stood up. She realized that it was Tafili, her beloved Tafili who felt the impact of that collision in her soul. Jani Skorovati looked exactly like Tafili, that's why the director had taken him from the court and made him an actor. Mother Pashako, completely haunted, put her hand behind his head and looking for the "wound", said: – Thank you, son, mother lived a long time and saw a lot of bad things. And I never wanted to die without you forgiving me for what I have done, can a mother do what I have done? Yes, I had reason, son, to deny you to save the village and your brothers along with it. They live, but you know how they are. The group of actors, together with Tinka, left after a while. Even the parting was very boring…. This article is a repost of the page from the original published before in v. 2013. November 2019 / Link as below: https://www.facebook.com/notes/366242817831781/ ______________________________ Albanian cinematography in activity since 2013Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!
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