Albania embarks on a controversial film restoration project

In a small movie theatre in Tirana, Albania’s capital, a film called “Shqipëria Turistike” (Touristic Albania) was recently screened showing attractive young Albanians touring the country.

It was commissioned by the Albanian government in 1972 to portray how beautiful the Balkan country was under communist dictator Enver Hoxha — showing people admiring beaches, ruins and vast mountains.

As the young actors on screen perused swords and spears in a museum, the film’s narrator said: “Small Albania has always been a graveyard for invaders.”

The film is one of thousands made under Hoxha’s rule over the small southeast European country. Hoxha’s premiership lasted from 1944 until his death in 1985, and during that time, the dictator made Albania one of the most politically isolated countries in the world. He purged rivals, using espionage and violence to quell dissent.

Albania is now considered a democracy, albeit not exactly a perfect one yet, and Hoxha now typifies the country’s dark communist past. Today, the films produced under his watch are being digitized in Tirana — a painstaking and controversial process.

In 2024, Albania’s Central State Film Archive began a project to digitize its film archives, after getting funding from the EU to preserve movies, shows and news reels in storage. Some of the films — converted from 35mm to digital — have already been uploaded to the archive’s website. Meanwhile, the archive has also put on sold-out movie screenings in Tirana.

Albania’s film industry has been an outlet for talented creatives, like the director (and later member of parliament) Dhimitër Anagnosti and celebrated composer Kujtim Laro. But with Hoxha’s government running the industry for decades, they had to work within the propaganda system, at least subtly promoting government lines in their works.

Albanian films like “Mëngjes Lufte” (War Morning) from 1971 depict communists as inevitably prevailing against invaders and fascists. In other films, themes of positive collectivism are common, as is the overriding message that the state should be trusted above all else.

Some films in the archive are less subtle, however. News reels from the 1960s depict Albania’s friendship with China, featuring footage of deliriously clapping schoolchildren. Under Mao Zedong, China was Albania’s closest ally in the 1960s and ‘70s.

Today, some Albanians want to completely cut ties with the regime that kept their country in darkness for so long. The films being digitized and restored could trigger memories of torture, depravity and total political oppression.

Erma Troqe, a chemical engineer working on the archive project, said, “A lot of people who suffered at that time say, ‘Why do you keep those films?’”

Troqe added that despite this, the archives should still be opened up so they can help Albanians and the wider world understand history better.

“You have to explain to the new generation what communism is,” she explained. “Albanians suffered a lot at that time, so you have to keep [historical facts] alive. Let’s say, something to remind you that we do not go back again [to communism].”

But “retain and explain” isn’t an approach to history that is embraced by all. In 2017, Albania’s Institute for the Study of Communist Crimes and Consequences made a proposal to parliament to ban Hoxha regime-era films from being shown on TV.

Agron Tufa, the Institute’s director, said that broadcasting these films “keeps alive and activates nostalgia for the dictatorship,” and depicts Hoxha’s regime as “not that bad.”

But Troqe said that the films in the archive have value far beyond propaganda.

With Hoxha’s government controlling the media, and few foreigners visiting Albania during his rule, the films contain rare footage of life in the country during its isolated era. The footage is highly curated and politically choreographed, but for many Albanians, it’s still an important link to their past.

Troqe added that footage being digitized shows how, in the 1960s, women’s fashion in Albania was fairly free and open, with people often wearing short skirts. Later, the government frowned on such fashion, encouraging the public to wear conservative “work”-style clothing instead.

“If you mute the film and not hear the propaganda,” Troqe said, “you see how my mother was dressed, and from the ‘70s to the ‘80s, how life changed … it’s the only window [where] I can see the history changed.”

Outside the film archive building there’s a big old rusty truck, and a rickety wooden trailer. These vehicles used to be loaded with film projectors and driven around Albania’s mountains, for screenings in remote villages. There’s hope that they too may one day be renovated.

Elton Caushi, who runs the tour company Albanian Trip, takes tourists to visit the archive building. He said he hates the Hoxha regime for ruining his parents’ and grandparents’ lives, but supports the digitization project.

“We need to make sure this is not used for a nostalgic approach,” he said. “I was a victim of [the propaganda films]; I cried sincerely when the dictator died, and I really meant it.” Caushi said he shows his own children old Albanian films, but is sure to explain that they shouldn’t be taken at face value.

The 1972 Albanian tourism film screened at the archive building showed villagers playing traditional instruments. They were flanked by mountains in Albania’s rural north.

In some ways the film is a sinister postcard from the past. But it shows real people playing real music, and without this film restoration project, it’s a historical snapshot many people never would have seen.