Yet, Kusturica would recognize them. In one of the film’s most touching scenes, the young lovers Zare and Ida escape not in a luxury car, but in a rickety tractor pulling a trailer. They don’t fly; they crawl toward freedom. That tractor is the Croatoan. It is the slow, ugly, persistent vehicle of survival. The brass band plays for the wedding, but the tractor gets you home. Crna mačka, beli mačor is ultimately about the refusal to be a ghost. Emir Kusturica, as the CEO of his own joyful, chaotic empire, builds monuments of noise to prove that the Balkans—and by extension, all fractured peoples—are still alive. He offers the black cat of bad luck turning into the white cat of fortune.
In the end, both are right. Sometimes you need the brass band, the thieving gypsies, and the dead grandmother rising from the grave to assert that you exist. And sometimes, you need only to carve a single word into a tree and walk into the forest, knowing that the forest will remember you, even if the empire does not. Kusturica’s film is a celebration of the will to be seen. The Croatoan is a lesson in the power of not being found. One is a black cat; the other, a white one. Both are still walking. crna macka beli macor ceo filmcroatoan tribe today
The modern descendants of the Croatoan tribe offer a different lesson. They are the word carved into a post—not a film, not a brand, but a clue. Their existence today is not celebrated in international film festivals. It is found in the tidal creeks of Hatteras Island, in the mitochondrial DNA of families who know they were there before “Virginia” was a name. They survived not by being the CEO, but by being the silent partner in history’s brutal merger. Yet, Kusturica would recognize them
For centuries, the narrative was one of disappearance—a “lost” tribe. The English assumed assimilation meant annihilation. But the truth of the Croatoan tribe today is radically different. The Croatoan people did not vanish; they adapted . Under pressure from English colonization, disease, and conflict, the survivors intermarried with other Algonquian groups and, later, with European and African settlers. Their modern descendants are recognized as the (though the state of North Carolina does not federally recognize them, their identity persists). That tractor is the Croatoan
However, this corporate lens reveals a paradox. The CEO of chaos builds to stave off meaninglessness. Kusturica, a Bosnian-born director who lived through the Yugoslav Wars, constructs these frantic films as a deliberate antidote to ethnic cleansing and nihilism. The film’s title— Black Cat, White Cat —references a Romani saying about bad luck turning to good. Under Kusturica’s management, even bad luck is a marketable asset. To juxtapose Kusturica’s noisy, constructed world, consider the quietest mystery in American history: the Lost Colony of Roanoke (1587). When Governor John White returned after a three-year delay, he found the settlement deserted. The only clue was the word “Croatoan” carved into a post. “Cro” for “Croatian”? A linguistic trick of history. But in fact, Croatoan (also spelled Hatteras) was the name of a Native American tribe inhabiting the Outer Banks of modern-day North Carolina.