When tragedy strikes, it’s not just the event itself that leaves a mark—it’s the stories that emerge in its wake. This is what makes Milcho Manchevski’s documentary Good People so compelling. On the surface, it’s a film about a devastating nightclub fire in North Macedonia that claimed 63 lives in 2025. But personally, I think what’s truly fascinating is how Manchevski uses this tragedy as a lens to explore the human condition, the failures of institutions, and the resilience of those left behind. It’s not just a documentary; it’s a mirror held up to society, and what it reflects is both haunting and profound.
One thing that immediately stands out is Manchevski’s decision to keep the film starkly minimalist. No archival footage, no dramatic music, no flashy editing—just survivors speaking against a black backdrop, dressed in dark clothes. From my perspective, this choice is genius. It forces the viewer to confront the raw, unfiltered pain of the survivors without distraction. What many people don’t realize is how rare this kind of restraint is in documentary filmmaking. In an era where emotional manipulation is often the norm, Manchevski’s approach feels like a breath of fresh air—or perhaps, a punch to the gut. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most powerful stories are the ones that let the truth speak for itself.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the context in which Manchevski made the film. He claims he was blacklisted by the Macedonian Film Agency, forced to finance the project himself, and even had to work in secret. If you take a step back and think about it, this adds an entirely new layer to the narrative. Here’s a filmmaker who’s been politically persecuted in his own country, using his art to give voice to the voiceless. It’s not just about the fire anymore—it’s about corruption, censorship, and the fight for justice. This raises a deeper question: Can art truly be free when the artist is not?
The fire itself, of course, is a tragedy of monumental proportions. But what this really suggests is a systemic failure that goes far beyond one nightclub. The club was unlicensed, had inadequate safety measures, and was operating in violation of multiple regulations. In my opinion, this isn’t just a story about negligence—it’s a story about a society that prioritizes profit over people. The fact that the tragedy led to nationwide inspections and closures of similar venues is both a testament to the impact of the disaster and an indictment of the system that allowed it to happen in the first place.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how the tragedy was quickly politicized. North Macedonia’s Interior Minister blamed corruption for the club’s operation, sparking anti-corruption protests across the country. While this might seem like a positive outcome, it also highlights how easily human suffering can be co-opted for political gain. Personally, I think this is a cautionary tale about the way we consume and respond to tragedy. Are we truly moved by the loss of life, or are we just looking for another cause to rally behind?
Manchevski’s journey with Good People is also a story of perseverance. After being blocked from working for years, he not only completed this documentary but also finished another film, Sister Brother Manhole Cover, simultaneously. What many people don’t realize is how rare this kind of determination is in the face of adversity. It’s easy to give up when the odds are stacked against you, but Manchevski’s refusal to be silenced is inspiring. It’s a reminder that art, at its core, is an act of resistance.
As I reflect on Good People, I’m struck by its universality. While the film is rooted in a specific tragedy in North Macedonia, its themes—grief, corruption, resilience—are global. This is what makes it more than just a documentary; it’s a call to action. It challenges us to look beyond the headlines, to listen to the stories of those who’ve been marginalized, and to question the systems that allow such tragedies to occur.
In the end, Good People isn’t just a film about a fire—it’s a film about humanity. And in a world that often feels numb to suffering, that’s a message we desperately need to hear.
