Maltese film ‘Island of Oblivion’ makes history at Kosovo’s Dokufest

Maltese film ‘Island of Oblivion’ to premiere at Kosovo festival

Valletta – When the lights dim next week in Prizren’s open-air cinema, the 14th-century stone bridge that frames Dokufest will flicker with images of Malta’s own shores for the first time in the festival’s 23-year history. “Island of Oblivion”, a 26-minute Maltese documentary shot entirely on Gozo with a crew that counts more cousins than credits, has been selected for the Balkan-wide Short Dox competition—an honour that local filmmakers are calling “a watershed moment” for the islands’ micro-budget scene.

Director Stephanie Sant, 29, from Żebbuġ, told Hot Malta she still can’t believe the email landed during last month’s village festa. “I was holding a plastic cup of Kinnie, watching the Saint Philip statue wobble down the hill, when my phone buzzed. I thought it was my nanna asking where the ħobż biż-żejt had gone.” Instead, Kosovo’s programmers were inviting her to compete against 14 other regional titles, making “Island of Oblivion” the only Maltese entry ever accepted by Dokufest, routinely dubbed “the Sundance of the Balkans”.

The film, spoken in Gozitan dialect with English subtitles, stitches together childhood Super-8 footage found in a dusty Rabat attic with present-day portraits of three elderly boatbuilders who still hand-craft the traditional dgħajsa. Their workshop in Xlendi bay is scheduled to be cleared for a boutique hotel, a subplot that gives the documentary its bittersweet pulse. “It’s a love letter to a disappearing sound,” Sant explains, “the clack-clack of timber that no AI can replicate.”

Malta’s film industry has long punched above its weight on the international stage—think “Gladiator” or “Game of Thrones”—but those blockbusters arrive with foreign money, foreign stars, and leave little cultural residue beyond catering receipts. “Island of Oblivion” flips the script: €4,700 budget, crowdfunded via bake-sales at the Valletta market and a karaoke marathon at Gianpula bar. Every euro stayed on the islands, from sourcing 1970s Kodak stock on eBay Malta to hiring the only drone operator in Nadur who didn’t charge festa-firework rates.

Arts Council Malta, which chipped in a final-in post-production grant of €1,500, sees the Kosovo berth as proof that “small stories travel far”, according to council chair Albert Marshall. “We’ve spent decades marketing Malta as a backdrop. Now we’re exporting our voice.” Marshall confirmed that the Council will fly Sant and producer Axl Sciberras to Prizren on 17 August, covering the twin-engine hop via Rome that budget filmmakers usually can’t justify. “If we expect locals to tell our stories, we can’t ask them to swim there,” he laughed.

Community impact is already visible. The three boatbuilders—Ġanni, 82, Tony, 79, and Rokku, 76—have become unlikely celebrities in Xlendi, posing for selfies between varnish coats. Schoolkids who once saw traditional crafts as “grandpa stuff” now pester for apprenticeships. “My grandson asked if we could build a dgħajsa for his university dorm room,” Tony chuckled, wiping resin off his palms. “I told him only if he promises not to put LED lights under it.”

Tourism Malta is watching closely. CEO Gavin Gulia said the authority is exploring a pop-up screening on Gozo’s Mgarr ix-Xini quay after the festival circuit ends, pairing the film with night-time kayak tours. “Visitors want authentic narratives, not just Instagram coves. This documentary is basically a 26-minute invitation to slow travel.”

Back in Valletta, the film’s selection has sparked a fresh push for a national archive of home movies. “Every Maltese attic has reels rotting next to the Christmas decorations,” Sant urged. “If we don’t digitise them, the only thing we’ll be remembered for is a CGI Colosseum.”

Dokufest runs 16–22 August. Whatever the jury decides, Sant already feels like she’s won. “When the first frame flickers in Prizren, Gozo’s cliffs will be 900 kilometres away yet larger than life. That’s cinema: shrinking distance, expanding identity.” She plans to carry a tiny sack of Gozitan sea salt in her pocket, just in case nerves dry her mouth. “A taste of home,” she smiled, “because home is what the film is trying to keep afloat.”