SUNDANCE ’26 REVIEW

Sundance ‘26: ‘SHAME AND MONEY’ is a Deeply Eastern European Tale of Scraping By

Name: Sundance ‘26: ‘SHAME AND MONEY’ is a Deeply Eastern European Tale of Scraping By
Item: 26: ‘shame And Money
Rating: 85
Author: Matt Oakes

By Matt Oakes · January 25, 2026

Shame and Money, writer-director Visar Morina’s pastoral-then-metropolitan slice-of-life drama from the landlocked Eastern European Republic of Kosovo, interrogates what’s left when a family’s livelihood collapses and they’re forced to fend for themselves in a new environment. For Shaban’s hardworking family, upheaval begins when their untrustworthy brother steals the family cow. Their routine of livestock tending, machine milking, and applying balm to ailing udders is thrown into chaos: no milk to sell means no income. Their only solution is to uproot and move from the country to the city.

Morina’s film unfolds across trips to the pension office, uncomfortable family dinners, and Shaban and his wife’s attempt to earn enough to afford their own apartment. Small moments carry outsized tension as Shaban’s financial strain and the shame he feels around it test his otherwise placid demeanor. His well-to-do brother-in-law Alban (Alban Ukaj), who offers him sanitary work at his club, means well, but Shaban can’t help suspecting charity when even family tries to help.

Instead, he packs his wife, their three daughters, and his elderly mother into the most modest living quarters available, like bargain-bin sardines. “Shame is a luxury,” his wife Hatixhe (Flonja Kodheli) says, but Shaban cannot abide this mentality. Each interaction brims with unease as he perceives every offer of help as condescension. His quiet resistance turns into bursts of rage, only exacerbating his already delicate situation.

Made with Eastern European frankness, Shame and Money refuses to sugarcoat hardship. Morina’s world is populated by salt-of-the-earth people, stripped of romanticism and desperate for earnings. The Albanian-language international co-production is filled with stern faces and stoic expressions, nary a smile in sight, capturing the indignity of poverty and the impossibility of maintaining pride while chasing odd jobs for just enough to scrape by, feed your family, or buy your mother’s medication.

In a culture deeply invested in appearances, even Shaban’s extended family fears being associated with someone who resorts to “street work”—Kosovo’s equivalent of standing outside Home Depot for day labor. Their concern isn’t just about economics, but about the social stigma that clings to visible struggle. Again, Hatixhe’s line rings true here: “Shame is a luxury.”

Astrit Kabashi delivers an unassuming, workmanlike performance As Shaban that ignites the screen. His calm refusal of help ticks like a time bomb, each offer nudging him closer to breaking. Shaban’s got that dog in him: all hustle and hunger to work. But his drive pales against a system seemingly designed to keep people like him at heel. As his inability to provide worsens, his rage deepens. Kabashi guides the film to its powerful conclusion, turning this low-simmering character drama into a potent screed against the humiliation embedded in survival-driven labor.

CONCLUSION: Albanian-language family drama ‘Shame and Money’ is a thought-provoking slow-burn about the injustice of trying to earn a buck while providing for a family, with a simmering performance from lead Astrit Kabashi.