The Cleaner, the vast retrospective of Marina Abramović’s work, is finishing its European tour two years after it kicked off – in Belgrade, her hometown, and the place she has by and large shunned since leaving it as a young artist over 40 years ago. The exhibition is housed in the Museum of Contemporary Art, a recently renovated gem of mid-1960s brutalism, sitting comfortably at the edge of a sprawling park at the majestic confluence of Belgrade’s two rivers. Its seemingly stark shapes belie the lightness of form that reveals itself on the approach.

We are greeted by the recording of blackbirds coming from the nearby trees, only to be overwhelmed by the looped sound of machine gun fire on entry – an early 1971 sound piece, and a bold opening choice in a country whose uncomfortable legacy of civil war still lurks just below the surface. Once inside, the machine gun gives way to moans and cries, coming from the first floor, where black-and-white films of her early performances are being played at full volume.

It’s a relentless assault on the senses, softened by the unexpected warmth of the museum’s well-proportioned interior. Clever lighting and sound engineering make the exhibition feel oddly intimate, despite the intensity of sounds and the monumental size of the stage sets and canvases on which the images of her performances are being projected. The visitors remain cocooned in the dark, protected from their own self-consciousness, undisturbed by each other’s presence, yet close enough to exchange quick glances