I Don't Care if We Go Down in History as Barbarians (Îmi este indiferent daca în istorie vom intra ca barbari)

Director Radu Jude

I DON’T CARE IF WE GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS BARBARIANS (Îmi este indiferent daca în istorie vom intra ca barbari)   B                    

Romania  Germany  Bulgaria  Czech Republic  France  (140 mi)  2018 d:  Radu Jude

Winner of the top prize at the Karlovy Vary Film Festival, this film essay is a rather provocative attempt to examine Romania’s complicity with the Nazi’s in WW II, as Romania was never occupied by German forces, spending the majority of the war as an ally fighting side by side with German soldiers, contributing 585,000 Romanian troops to the Nazi cause, committing revolting crimes against humanity that are among the worst atrocities in recorded history, something the country has been in denial about since the end of the war, burying the truth (with the director claiming it was taboo to even speak about it when he was growing up), even though Romanian historians have corroborated the facts determined by the Wiesel Commission, which investigated Romania’s part of the Holocaust, incident by incident, determining the country is responsible for the extermination of 380,000 Jews.  Nonetheless, Romanians have continued to blame that all on the Germans, claiming they had no choice, though philosopher and humanitarian Hannah Arendt has claimed that after Germany, Romania is the second most anti-Semitic country in Europe, while also responsible for killing more Jews during the war than any other country but Germany.  And while this film often chooses to intellectualize the subject, it also creates comic sarcasm and absurd black comedy, resorting to an experimental semi-documentary style, where it also comes across as an intriguing follow up to SHOAH (1985), Claude Lanzmann’s epic exposé on the Holocaust, revealing how neighboring bystanders watched and did nothing to stop the organized train of transporting European Jews to crematoriums for extermination, finding nothing wrong with this practice, with ordinary citizens still holding Jews in contempt nearly half a century later.  The degree of hideous anti-Semitism on display in the film is eye-opening, actually constituting hate speech, yet it passes for public discourse, revealing just how entrenched this subject is in the minds and hearts of Europeans who accept this as the norm.  For a Romanian director to tackle this subject is in itself a provocation, much like Croatian director Nebojsa Slijepčević’s Srbenka (2018), featuring the innovative imagination of theater director Oliver Frljić using the stage to reveal Croatian atrocities, which inflamed Croatian audiences, of course calling for an examination of Serbian atrocities, which this theater director claimed he was perfectly willing to do, and has done, but only before Serbian audiences.  The point is, none of this is easily digested by audiences anywhere, but this resistance to reexamine one’s own history is a particular sticking point.  Romania, once the second-largest Jewish population in Central Europe, has eradicated any remaining presence almost entirely.  What we’re left with is centuries of bigotry, where entire cultures have been conditioned to hate Jews in particular, still viewing them as vile creatures, continuing a thought process that has never been educated.  And while this film may attempt to address that shortcoming, despite the meticulous scrutiny shown, the director is also questioning who’s really listening?  Too few will actually see it or understand its implications, going way over the head of an ordinary viewer who probably wouldn’t have the patience to sit through this, where the power of bigotry on the other hand is simply too overwhelming, organically passed on from one generation to the next. 

Surprisingly, this film is wrapped up in patriotism, starring Mariana Marin (Ioana Iacob), a stand-in for the director who introduces herself directly facing the camera as a character in the film, an idealistic theater director commissioned by the city council to stage a grand outdoor historical pageant that is, in effect, a reenactment of a significant moment in history.  Typically these are jingoistic displays of nationalistic pride and fervor, where everyone brings their children and comes out to wave flags and applaud the celebration of their independence, often accompanied by music and fireworks, and the mandatory political speeches by local officials.  This event is no different, except Mariana has done her homework, displaying a new era of enlightenment, becoming obsessed with Romania’s role in the Holocaust, reviewing archival footage on her computer, finding the truth starkly different than what she was taught in school, which blamed it all on the Germans.  Surprised by the degree of cooperation by Romanian military officials, the title of the film comes from a pronouncement by Romania’s military dictator Marshal Ion Antonescu to the Council of Ministers in the summer of 1941, literally opening the doors for massive extermination of Jews, enabling Hitler to carry out his Final Solution.  While extensive research allows her to develop a more accurate historical view, she is among a cultured elite, a privileged few, as ordinary citizens still believe what was handed down for decades, with the country still reeling from the postwar effects of Russian occupation and the autocratic rule of Communist dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu who ruled with an iron fist from 1965 to 1989 with a muzzled public forced to accept what they were told.  This blind allegiance for generations requires renewed knowledge, something the country has been loath to do, preferring to hide behind a fabricated mythology that lets them off the hook.  Yet when Romania was granted entrance into the European Union, several historical records were corrected and made public, including the acknowledgement of a 1941 Odessa massacre of tens of thousands of Jews who were shot or burned alive by Romanian troops under direct orders from Antonescu, among the largest massacres of Jews in the entire war, occurring during a joint German/Romanian occupation of what is now the Ukraine, then part of the Soviet Union.  This was part of a massive Nazi military campaign to exterminate European Jews, carrying out similar Babi Yar massacres in Kiev with Ukrainian collaborators and later the Aktion Erntefest mass shootings in Poland, wiping out the entire Jewish population of the Majdanek concentration camp, burying them in mass graves.  Still viewed by some elements as a Romanian war hero, Antonescu was captured by the Soviets, tried for treason and war crimes by pro-Soviet Romanian authorities, duly convicted, and executed in 1946 by a firing squad at Jilava Prison near Bucharest.  A thorough account of his relationship to Hitler and his war involvement, one of the first to orchestrate ethnic cleansing on a massive scale, and one of the central figures of the Holocaust, is written by Robert D. Kaplan, The Antonescu Paradox – Foreign Policy, citing multiple historical sources.  After his death, Romania switched sides during the war, aligned with the Allied powers, with an official report compiled in 2012, FINAL REPORT International Commission on the Holocaust in Romania (pdf).    

One of the sources of Mariana’s personal disgust is Sergiu Nicolaescu’s quasi-historical film THE MIRROR (1994), a propaganda film that attempts to resurrect Antonescu’s reputation as a war hero, beaming into all Romanian homes through the medium of television.  We hear her fuming dialogue alongside clips of the film, which inspires her as an artist to set the record straight.  When Mariana decides to publicly reenact the Odessa massacre at the Palace Square in the center of Bucharest, using tanks and rifles from war museums, but also non-professional city volunteers, she discovers their opinions are divided, as many don’t wish to be associated with Jews, none wish to portray Gypsies, while others disagree on the degree of accuracy in the way it’s being portrayed, where the layers involved in the performance reflect the overall population and remain deeply divided on the subject.  This divisiveness, however, is part of the film, as history is subject to interpretation, and here people haggle over their roles, with a boisterous few threatening to walk out altogether.  In this same vein, Mariana is visited by a city official named Movilă (Alexandru Dabija) whose office granted the authorization, expressing concern over the explicitness of the performance, engaging in an intellectual argument on the uncertainty of truth, suggesting all sides have their reasons to distort what actually happened, claiming the mayor is uncomfortable with the public portrayal of war crime atrocities on an occasion that is a day of heroic military celebration.  Their extended argument is the heart and soul of the film, as both are intelligent-minded, yet he sarcastically derides all her sources, suggesting people aren’t interested in spending their holidays witnessing such a gruesome event, that “educating the public is a comical illusion,” with many still objecting to the historical accuracy, including apologists claiming Antonescu is a war hero, a martyr murdered under Soviet authority, also claiming people were forced to say what was necessary in order to gain entrance to the EU, that it was all an agreed upon compromise, with generations of ordinary citizens still believing the official force-fed mythology from the Ceaușescu regime that anointed the military into worshipped heroes.  Mariana, however, is insistent in her artistic intent, refusing to compromise, claiming no government censorship, revealing the actual sources of her meticulous documentation, suggesting she will not be a part of a whitewash of history, contending  “We don’t have the right to be subtle,” as Romanians need to know what actually happened rather than suffer from collective amnesia.  These contentious opinions are spoken forcefully but politely under civil discourse, with Movilă actually showing signs of flirtation and romantic interest, though not afraid to implement power plays threatening to shut down the performance altogether, with Mariana then devising a subversive plan to agree with the compromise, openly rehearse the compromise, then perform what she originally intended on the day of the pageantry.  The length of the film allows plenty of interludes, revealing a pattern of men trying to control her behavior, including Mariana’s personal discussions with her boyfriend (Serban Pavlu), a married airline pilot, that grow contentious, reading aloud various passages from books, or soaking in a bath at the end of the day with a glass of wine and a book in her hand, regurgitating this same material.  The performance itself before a live audience is stunning in the anti-Semitic language used, morally abhorrent and despicable, with no revisionist views offered, literally stirring up and inflaming anti-Semitic sentiment under the guise of a patriotism, so the unfiltered hatred of the 1940’s refuels on the streets of Bucharest again today.  When the reenactment parades Jews through the city streets, hanging some in the city square while others are herded into a wooden building and burned alive, it turns into a grotesque public spectacle, but viewed with nonchalance, as the audience actually applauds (remaining ambiguous whether or not this was scripted), leaving viewers aghast at the extent of public bystander approval, clearly misunderstanding the intent, still blinded by the deeply ingrained effects of historical negationism.  

Closeness (Tesnota)

Director Kantemir Balagov (left) with lead actress Darya Zhovner   

Director Kantemir Balagov   

CLOSENESS (Tesnota)              B                                       

Russia  (118 mi)  2017  d:  Kantemir Balagov           

A film that takes us into a little-known region of Russia that we would likely never know about were it not for cinema, providing unique insight into the tribal culture of the Kabardino-Balkar Republic in the northern Caucasus region north of Georgia.  Premiering at Cannes in the Un Certain Regard section, the film won the FIPRESCI Prize, acknowledging “A striking new voice provides an intimate portrait of a closed community.  Complete cinema.”  Studying under Alexander Sokurov, who co-produced the film, this intense debut feature is nothing at all in that vein, much more of a blunt, social realist drama full of changing tones and texture, striking a raw nerve with many viewers for including grainy video footage of actual war atrocities from the Chechnyan war that amounts to little more than a snuff film, producing many defiant walkouts at Cannes.  This takes filmmaking to a moral edge, perhaps crossing the line into forbidden territory, though the film is riveting throughout, largely due to what amounts to the performance of the year by lead actress Darya Zhovner, who is utterly unforgettable in the role, providing astonishing range for a newcomer, wild and totally unpredictable, where you simply can’t take your eyes off of her.  Told with a sense of urgency, the film explores old world traditions, like arranged marriages, where women are viewed as commodities, worse than second class citizens, but also ethnic prejudice and hatred, festering just under the surface, becoming the source of religious conflicts and meaningless violence.  Among the more bleak environments imaginable, what’s striking is the degree of sinister menace that lurks around every corner, where no one is safe, as rampant poverty is everywhere.  Set in 1998 in the town of Nalchik, the director’s hometown, the film is framed as a family drama, opening in a garage, where a father and son, Avi (Atrem Cipin) and Ila (Darya Zhovner), are working on cars, with Ila pointing out what Avi routinely forgets when it comes to itemizing a bill, suggesting it may be time for Ila to take over the business.  The big surprise, however, is that Ila is actually Ilyana, a tomboyish daughter who defies tradition, preferring overalls and a jean jacket, while looking, for the most part, like a boy, with a slight resemblance to the androgynous phase of Michael Jackson, especially the hair in the face and the pointed nose.     

      

We’re only sure Ila’s a girl when her mother, Adina (Olga Dragunova), insists that she wear a dress for a special family dinner announcing the engagement of her son David (Veniamin Kac), whose closeness to Ila borders on the incestuous, which is clearly implied in an early teasing scene as they’re sharing a cigarette.  They are part of a small Jewish enclave in a region where nearly half the population are Kabardians, most of whom are Sunni Muslims.  Once Ila has a chance to throw off her oppressive dress and return to her usual attire, she runs off into the arms of a bulky hunk of a guy, Zalim (Nazir Zhukov), who pumps gas at a local gas station, surrounded by other like-minded friends who speak the Kabardian language, guys that like to drink heavily and get high on crack, viewed sitting around and watching anti-Semitic local TV shows, which is an experience in itself.  The mood quickly shifts when it’s announced that the bridal couple has been kidnapped, with a ransom demand sent to the parents, where the Jewish community meets in a tiny synagogue, but friction immediately surfaces, with neighbors harboring petty resentments and offering excuses, where they’re unable to raise what they need, only enough to bail out one.  What’s curious is that no one even thinks to contact the police, who are obviously viewed as unsympathetic, instead everything is handled within the Jewish collective.  Even more curious is that there is no backstory explaining how Jews and Muslims began living in such close proximity in the first place.  Instead it is understood this is a backwater region where anti-Semitism is an accepted practice thoroughly rooted into the prevailing culture.  Despite her parent’s warnings, Ila flaunts their authority and runs off to Zalim every chance she gets, despite the inherent danger, revealing primal characteristics, attracted to none other than the strongest among them, the leader of the Muslim tribe, the Goliath, believing he can best protect her.  When one of Zalim’s friends plays a graphic war tape of Chechnyans humiliating captured Russian officers before slitting their throats, methodical killings, moving on after each with their commander yelling out “Next!,” this is a chilling reminder of a savage brutality that borders on a sickness in the region. 

With Ila involved in such a dangerously unhealthy relationship, where Jews are despised by Zalim and his gang, she moves around like a feral animal that can’t be caged or contained, yet the risks she takes grow exceedingly precarious, literally manhandled by Zalim, who views her as little more than a pet.  When she bites his lip, he stuffs her in the trunk of his car until she capitulates.  Desperately needing more cash to bail out their son, Ila’s parents resort to the unthinkable, giving Ila away in an arranged marriage to a wealthy family that can pay the needed ransom cost.  Not only does this defy everything Ila stands for, fiercely independent, unbroken, completely breaking with tradition, but it betrays her to the core of her being.  This is the real crux of the film, offering a dystopian view of freedom or reverting to an overly authoritarian, dictatorial style.  Ila’s response to the meeting of the two families, including the pairing of the couple, is vulgar and preposterously rude, leaving a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, yet she is the one feeling like a cornered rat, desperate to find a way out of the trap she’s in, becoming foolhardy, taking greater chances, resorting to more reckless behavior, culminating in a pulsating strobe light sequence (that could easily induce seizures) at a dance club that becomes almost squeamish once the music stops, as she continues to move in an uncontrollable motion, convulsive, almost spasmodic, awkwardly drawing attention to herself while easily making herself an even bigger target.  What does eventually happen remains entirely ambiguous, becoming a transformative moment in her life, however, like a baptism of fire, where she’s ultimately never the same afterwards.  When David’s release comes, after the family has sold everything they own, including the father’s business, where all they have left is the children, the film enters uneasy terrain, going off the deep end with Ila’s parents claiming they have been thoroughly disgraced and can no longer face their community, which have already sacrificed so much, insisting upon moving, even if that means leaving the children behind, issuing them what amounts to an ultimatum, take it or leave it.  David, of course, wants to be with his new bride, believing this is his chance to start a new family, while Ila has little future with the Jew-hating Kabardians.  Nonetheless, it’s particularly troubling, with all the attention paid to being a family and upholding religious traditions, just how easily the mother is willing to rid herself of her children, showing no flexibility whatsoever, literally disowning David for wanting to stay.  Even with the war atrocity footage, this is the most abhorrent moment of the film, defying what being a mother is all about, instead turning into one of the most vile and despicable creatures in the film.  While the film is remarkable in what it reveals, capturing our full attention throughout, based upon events that actually occurred, seen largely through the eyes of such a ferociously original heroine, it vividly captures a real sense of time and space that most of us could never imagine even exists.