I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians

In the bustling heart of Bucharest, a city where history lingers in every cracked façade, a young filmmaker is poised to stage a daring reenactment that reaches back to one of the nation’s most tumultuous eras. Mariana Marin pours her creative energy into the project, seeing it as both a personal artistic quest and a chance to spark a conversation that has long been whispered in cafés and classrooms alike. The atmosphere around her is charged with the restless energy of a society still negotiating its past, and the rehearsal spaces pulse with a mixture of earnest dedication and uneasy anticipation.

Beyond the stage, Mariana’s life is a knot of contradictions. She carries the secret of an unexpected pregnancy, a revelation that intertwines her professional ambitions with deeply personal stakes. Her relationship with a married lover adds another layer of tension, forcing her to confront questions of responsibility, desire, and the fragile balance between private longing and public expectation. As funding agencies begin to scrutinize her work, she finds herself navigating a delicate dance with officials who respect the historical fidelity of her script but press for a softer, more palatable presentation.

The tone of the film is contemplative yet urgent, blending the grit of documentary realism with the lyrical intimacy of personal drama. The city itself becomes a character—a mosaic of old stone, modern ambition, and lingering shadows—that reflects the internal conflicts faced by those who dare to remember. Amidst rehearsals, meetings, and quiet moments of doubt, Mariana must decide how far she is willing to go to honor truth while preserving the fragile threads that hold her world together. The story invites viewers to linger in that space of uncertainty, where art, memory, and identity intersect, promising a thought‑provoking journey without revealing its ultimate resolutions.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 01:46