My purpose is to make a movie to make you warm. To give you some

“My purpose is to make a movie to make you warm. To give you some heat. Now, this rational world has become a place where only what is cool is good. Do you cut the movie on the basis of the beat of modernity or the basis of the beat of your own heart?” So declared Emir Kusturica, the visionary filmmaker from the Balkans, whose stories blaze with music, chaos, and the raw pulse of life itself. His words are not merely about cinema—they are a cry from the soul of an artist who refuses to bow before the cold idols of modernity. In these lines burns an ancient fire: the conviction that art must nourish, not numb; that the true purpose of creation is not to appear clever, but to make men and women feel alive.

Kusturica, born in a land scarred by conflict and division, saw firsthand the sterility of a world obsessed with reason, order, and image. From that soil he drew his defiance, crafting films that overflow with laughter, music, absurdity, and humanity. When he says he seeks to “make you warm,” he speaks not of comfort, but of vitality—of awakening the dormant soul that modern culture, with its endless analysis and mechanical pace, often lulls into silence. His movies do not soothe; they stir. They remind us that life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be felt.

In saying that the modern world believes “only what is cool is good,” Kusturica strikes at a great disease of our age: the worship of detachment. To be “cool” is to be unshaken, untouched, immune to passion. It is to prize irony over sincerity, image over substance, intellect over emotion. The modern mind seeks safety in distance—it looks upon life as a spectator rather than a participant. But what is the worth of such safety, if it costs us our capacity to feel? What use is art that never burns, never wounds, never heals? Against this icy current, Kusturica stands as a man of warmth, calling us back to the beat of the heart, the rhythm of blood and breath and laughter that makes us human.

In the ancient world, artists were not engineers of image—they were keepers of flame. The poets of Greece and the sculptors of Florence sought not to appear fashionable, but to capture the spirit of the divine within mortal form. Consider Michelangelo, who carved the “Pietà” not to impress his age, but to reveal the sorrow and love that pulse within all creation. His art glows with warmth because it was shaped not by the beat of modernity, but by the beat of his own heart. He did not follow the world’s rhythm—he set his own. And centuries later, his work still breathes.

So too must every true creator—and indeed, every true human being—make this choice. Do you live by the beat of modernity, chasing approval, applause, and the illusion of perfection? Or do you live by the beat of your own heart, crafting your life with sincerity and soul? The first path is easy, for it follows the noise of the crowd. The second is hard, for it demands courage—the courage to be misunderstood, to be passionate in a cold world, to burn when others prefer to freeze. Yet only on this second path can one create anything that lasts, anything that truly warms the world.

Kusturica’s films—filled with animals, festivals, and feverish music—embody this defiance. In Underground and Black Cat, White Cat, his characters dance through chaos, laugh through sorrow, and love without apology. They are alive in a way that modern man, with his screens and his irony, has forgotten to be. He does not cut his films to please the rhythm of the market or the critics, but to follow the rhythm of the heart, that ancient drum that beats beneath all civilization.

From his words, we may draw this lesson: Live warmly, not coolly. Let your work, your words, your life radiate the heat of sincerity. Do not fear to feel deeply, to care openly, to create recklessly. When you write, speak, love, or build, do it not with calculation, but with conviction. Let the heart, not the trend, be your guide. For the world already has enough coolness—it thirsts for warmth.

And when your time comes to create something—be it a song, a story, or a simple act of kindness—remember the wisdom of Emir Kusturica: Do not cut your life to the beat of modernity. Cut it to the beat of your own heart. For only that rhythm—wild, imperfect, and burning—has the power to make others feel alive again.