What a special way to reconnect with the pure intention of this craft, to share story and provide it as a gift. I interviewed my two dear friends as preparation to write a wedding speech for them, and filmed the process. The result yielded it’s intended affect - that is, watching these two beautiful lovers blubbering in front of the telly.
When I was a boy, I used to wear this thick yellow jacket all seasons round. My friends would make fun of me as I joined in playing football during recess like any other kid, but blanketed in sweat. On a particularly hot day that I’d refused to remove my thick yellow jacket, my year 5 teacher became concerned. She held me in during lunch. “Lev, are you hiding something?” All these years later, and I realise she was worried I might be hiding bruises, maybe that I was a victim of abuse. But I wasn’t, my parents were amazing, I just hated the body I lived in and hoped if I hid it away from people well enough they’d never have to hate me for it as well. But eventually it’s what I became known for, the kid who wouldn’t take off the thick yellow jacket.
Those close to me know that memory isn’t one of my strong suits, but I’ll never forget with crystal clarity the times in my life I felt so ashamed of my body that I wouldn’t leave the house, wouldn’t go to the beach and enjoy the ocean, would make up excuses to cancel plans with friends or hide in bathrooms for hours on end during pool parties to avoid the most terrifying question that haunted my Australian childhood. “You getting in the water?”
“Nah” “Why not” “Oh, I just, have an allergy to some sunscreens and I left mine at home.” “Just go in with your shirt on.” Fuck. I’d think to myself, people don’t always offer that, it’s some kind of protection but the moment I step out of the pool they’ll see the shape of my body right under that shirt. Okay, I’ll get in, but I’ll make a plan of how and when to get out. The closest towel is on the chair by the steps, next time someone makes a good joke, or bombs the pool, I’ll get out and hurry to the towel. The bathrooms only a few strides away. Perfect. I executed my plan, made it to the bathroom without drawing many eyes and inside the bathroom I found a friend. He was the other ‘fat’ kid in my friendship group, he was hiding there too. That was the first time in my life I felt like I wasn’t alone in this shame. I remember we didn’t say much to each other, but that we hugged and promised one another it would get better one day.
The very best movies take something deeply specific and explore its lived experience until it transcends into the universal. The Whale, in the eyes of a kid who grew up in shame, is about that shame and what it will exclude you from in life if you let it consume you. It sounds bizarre, almost reductive to Charlie or people who suffer obesity to say I couldn’t help but feel I understood some small part of what Charlie, the main character, was going through. It’s only a sliver of what the film was trying to say, but it was the part that resonated with me.
I wanted to write a review about the film because its craft is considered and intentional, the performances are honest and devastating, the cinematography is invisible in the best kind of way and the score is at times relentless, at times cruel and at times heartbreaking. But in trying to write an analysis of a movie, all I could think of was a kid who wore a thick yellow jumper all those summers because he lived his life in shame. Me and that friend I found in the bathroom at the pool party? We still catch up. We’re not afraid of the ocean anymore.
Go watch The Whale, it’s really very good.
Since the post-war boom, American-style capitalism has become the dominant Western model. Its more right-wing figures have shaped our extreme economic realities, with the devastating psychological and economic effects of Reaganism and Thatcherism. Deregulation, privatisation, lower taxes, and decreased social spending have led to a failed economic experiment that sounds appealing on paper but neglects the human element—selfishness and greed. We’ve reached a turning point towards an oligarchic hyper-capitalism led by the U.S. and increasingly emulated by Australia.
Consider the trends of the last few decades. Australia and the U.S. have seen strong economic growth since the 1980s, yet wages have stagnated for decades. Productivity has soared, but compensation has not kept pace. Why are we so focused on increasing productivity if the rewards don’t benefit us? Because productivity is key to remaining competitive in the workforce. While some of this can be attributed to innate intellect, advances in technology have allowed generalised productivity to boom, growing an economy that increasingly rewards us less for our hard work and siphons profits into private holdings. Healthcare and housing costs are higher, while wages remain stagnant. Unfortunately, indicators of quality of life—critical to our overall well-being—are often ignored. Spoiler alert: these indicators have been trending downward in the U.S. for the past decade.
So, why am I uneasy about this headset? In its current form, it’s not necessarily a productivity device. It looks a bit silly, and it’s easy to laugh at. Unironically, it’s impressive technology, but let’s face it—it’s still very much a tech demo. The real-world ramifications of a device like this won’t be felt until the form factor is perfected and the price point drops to allow widespread adoption. So, what does the perfect form factor look like? It’s currently unwieldy, large, and obtrusive. It can only trend one way—smaller, less obtrusive, more integrated. Just as it took less than a decade for smartphones to become essential productivity tools—without one, you risk being economically disadvantaged—this new AR/VR device may soon follow suit.
I’m not a fan of Musk, but something he said in an interview about Neuralink opened my mind. You might not like the idea of an implant because it raises the question: would I then be a cyborg? Part human, part machine? Musk provocatively asks us to reflect on our relationship with our devices. Could you genuinely live your life as you do now without your smartphone or computer? Most of us are already part human, part machine. While you might find this sentiment distasteful, accepting it as uncomfortable truth can help you understand why Apple’s latest product category is worth considering. It may look like a silly ski mask today, but tomorrow’s version could resemble sunglasses, and eventually, we might see some kind of neural implant or brain-reading device that communicates with external technology. Perhaps these will serve different needs or be integrated into a single package.
Whatever the final product looks like, if you have one, you’ll be economically rewarded. You’ll get more done, more efficiently. If you don’t have it, you may find yourself relegated to a lower economic stratum. I suspect this will occur in my or my children’s lifetime—not immediately, but soon enough. If smartphones are almost irresistible for how they enhance our ability to engage with the modern world, implants or brain-reading tech will be that on steroids. If you think you’ll have a choice to simply say ‘no,’ it’s worth examining your privilege—because, given the chance to gain a significant economic advantage, someone with very little would do a lot to obtain it.
Steve Jobs once described the computer as a bicycle for the mind—human beings on bicycles are the most efficient means of transport. Musk sees implants or brain-reading devices as a way to increase our interface efficiency with the technology we already use. Thus, a person with an implant or brain-reading device could become the most economically productive version of themselves. AR/VR is an historically difficult product category, littered with failures from tech giants. Yet I believe these companies see it as necessary R&D for a future where this category might bridge the gap to brain-computer interfaces, even while serving as entertaining devices in the meantime.
Apple Vision Pro is a testing ground for the future, as is META, as is Neuralink - and these are just the name brands. I don’t say this as a conspiracy theoriser because it’s not a conspiracy. It’s not a secret. It’s simple economics. It is the inevitable end in a system that holds efficiency and productivity above all else. When implants or brain readers become the number one way to remain competitively productive and they find the right price point they will be widely adopted.
But then comes the question of AI. What role will artificial intelligence play in all of this. In the eyes of Neural-link, it ends with a symbiosis of AI and the human brain. A utopic melding that treats neurological disorders and make the idea of ‘genius’ an old fashioned notion. Imagine a scenario where genius IQ is sold on a subscription fee model. But what if singularity happens first. What if some form of AI beats us to the punch. What if we’re made redundant before we even get a chance to be competitive? It’s a weird time to be making predictions of the future. I come with no answers, and only to pose questions. In fact, it’s probable the dunning kruger effect has left me thinking I’ve asked the right questions or postulated in the right direction when more than likely I haven’t even scratched the surface.
We’ve been raised in a world that measures GDP and stock market growth as key indicators for positive growth, figures that tells us very little about the quality of that growth or who it’s going too. A world where productivity is king and competitive edge in the market is survival. Natural, social and human capital is on the decline, and along comes the pre-birth of a product category that might one day become ubiquitous to economic survival. The economic system that will see nations competing for drinking water before reconsidering the modus operandi is not operating in your best interest. It is a product category that will not improve quality of life for most, but rather, in it’s end game will simply turn you into a more efficient economic unit.
On all fronts, technological, moral and societal - whatever makes us human will have to defended in the near future.
To thrive in the space between two live wires that arch and dance. To roar from your belly without abandon and to love so unashamedly that you enter a place beyond time. To rest against a tree and observe so mindlessly the creeks of old growth that you begin to lose your own limbs. To throw oneself into the torrents and trust that you will float, and to challenge the deepest chasms to a show of darkness. To being both the leaf on a meandering stream, and to being the river itself. To showing fear your truest colours and turning away the bellowing calls of cynicism that breed placidity and leech blood from our veins. To enjoying stillness so profound you forget your own agency. To writhing in agony and upending the bowels of hot metal that pierce our flesh and to letting it spill all over the floor. To hold a friend like you would a lover. To hold a stranger like you would a friend. To open ones ears and heart so fully that we might transcend our own bodies and live for just a moment in anothers. To gain agency through the filling of our brains because the mechanisms of this world are created by minds no great than our own. To believing that one voice can change a billion and that to saving one life is to save the world entire. What else than to rage against the call to the mindless wander towards the inert. A precious, delicate and fleeting thing, to draw a single true breath in the face of infinity.
’The Shop on Main Street’ is magnificent. An unforgiving tale of moral dilemma told with intellect and compassion. This is one of the most moving films I have ever seen.
The shop on Main Street is the story of Tono Brtko, a down on his luck carpenter in a small town of Czechoslovakia. Set against the backdrop of post-invasion Europe, the town has embraced their new Nazi rule and left the ideology of old behind, in its place the Fascist Reich. Brother-in-Law to a ranking officer of the local military, Tono is gifted a Jewish store and given the title ‘Aryan Controller.’ Mistaken for a gift, Tono soon learns the party officials have already taken the best Jewish stores for themselves - and left him a crumbling mess. The owner of said crumbling mess? The beautiful Rozalia Lautmannová.
Rozalia is an elderly Jewish woman, showing many signs of dementia, throw in deafness to boot. Tono finds himself stuck with the frail and sweet Rozalia, a mind degenerated beyond the concept of Nazi’s or war itself. She cannot understand that Tono now owns her store, and so Tono plays along. He will be her employee. As the film develops Tono finds himself caught between two worlds, a faithful companion and friend to Rozalia, and his anti-semitic opportunistic wife. His wife is a sweet woman, caring and considerate, but so is Rozalia. Why one must hate blindly the other for her own benefit, Tono could not understand. Why anyone in his community would hate blindly a woman or man simply for their religion, Tono could not understand. So he turns to drink. Through his dealings with the Jewish community that protect and support Rozalia, he comes to understand his neighbours for their humanity, not their religion.
The weight of this new moral awakening comes to height at the end of the film, when, like all over Europe, the towns Jews are rounded up. Told to pack no more than 30kgs of their own goods, and forced out of town to labour camps. Tono must decide between protecting the older woman he’s come to love and respect, or to force her out into the streets to save his own life. But how can you rationalise with a woman who’s no concept of danger? Who’s no concept of war, no concept of Nazi’s? An impossible task, delivered to an ill-equipped man. For all intentions pure and good, Tono can be no ones saviour. Not even his own.
Serving as a thematic backdrop, the town is enthralled with the towering construction of a monument dedicated to their new fascist ideology. Tono first sees this tower as a missed opportunity, a missed chance to make income as a highly skilled carpenter. It is oppressive to Tono - a symbol of his own failures as a man. The next time we see the tower, Tono walks into the square as an ‘Ayran Controller',’ a business owner. He holds his head high and dons a pin stripped suit. He fashions himself Tono the businessman, no longer a symbol of his failure, the tower is just that - a tower. No more, no less. The third time we see this tower is after Tono’s transformation into a being of compassion. Yes, self serving, yes self interested - but with love in his heart for the community that serves him. Tono drinks to dull the pain within, his guilt for taking money from the Jewish community. With a crowd of proud fascist Czechs, he enters the town square as an officer lights the tower up for the first time. A symbol of the new order, to wealth and prosperity for the towns inhabitants, and a death spell for the towns Jews. Tono is mortified, he must save Rozalia. The tower comes to symbolise 3 major turning points in the characters transformation. This is one of the many ways the script and imagery of Tono is beautifully conceived.
You’d be hard pressed to find another film wherein the awakening and subsequent dilemma of a character has been crafted so well. This is punching with the best of them, a work of art.
Film-making note: Light is used to great affect in this film. Shot on a high contrast film, the directors and cinematographer meticulously craft long sequences wherein characters drop in and out of light and shadow at pertinent moments. Dilemma is a sliver of light in a darkened room. Emotional awakening is presented in bounds of light, overflowing and rich. (See the attached image.) Tono spends his time shifting between the shadow and the light throughout this film, and it’s no mistake.
When story and format fail to understand one another, you get Sunshine. This 3 hour long journey attempts to show the lives of 5 generations of Hungarian Jews. The only way to accomplish such a monumental amount of story? A 3 hour run time and a shit load of exposition. Not only does this film have a voice over, but nearly every second word uttered from our characters mouths are explanatory.
How can you possibly tell love stories across 2 generations involving 6+ characters? People must speak like this ‘I love you. I’ve always loved you.’ ‘You never loved me. I seduced you, it was easy, you were weak. Why? Because you were my brother.’ Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that one of these love stories involved an adopted cousin? Charming stuff. They also had Ralph Fiennes play 3 generations of the same family line, this was an interesting concept but due to a lack of investment into developing rich identities for each character - it’s really just time travelling Voldemort.
There are many ways to tell a story. Invariable combinations of style and structure to convey universal experiences, ideas and quandary’s. The best screenplays distill, refine, distill and refine again. They do this because they know the screen is unforgiving, it’s limits are severe. So they chip and chip away until they know for certain every line of dialogue serves a beat, every beat serves the scene and every scene finds our character in one state of mind and has them exit in another. That these growths and regressions craft character arc, and this arc should dance a ballet with the narrative so that we find ourselves caught in a forward charge of dramatic momentum. People deserve to be rewarded for paying attention.
The only through line between the men and woman of these 5 generations are that 2 generations of them fell in love with their own cousin. 3 other generations decided to have relations with either their siblings husbands or siblings wives and at its most tame, simply the wife of a stranger. Later in the film we have a wonderfully cute dinner scene wherein the uncle of our current protagonist makes a comment at his grandmothers breasts. “Are you worried I might seduce your grandmother?” the uncle actually says. At this point of course the screenwriter is busily tying his erection down with a belt, it keeps hitting his keyboard. “Nothing would surprise me in this family” replies Ralph Fiennes, the dark lord. The table erupts into laughter, as did I. Because nothing says funny like incest in a holocaust picture.
There’s as much care to storytelling in this film as Homer Simpsons makeup shotgun. My experience was similar to hers.
A Character study on J.J Gitte’s
After watching Chinatown last night I knew I had to see it again. This is an elegant and classy film. An homage to an era of film making so long gone, only a buff would know this was considered an homage at the time of its release. I think this film holds its own against the Maltese falcon (made 30+ years earlier,) and for my tastes, is far more compelling. But the true reason I knew the had film to be re-watched was thanks to the performances of our two leads, Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway. The two are polar opposites in the way their characters express emotions. Nicholson's character ‘Gitte’s’ keeps a tight lid on his inner monologue, whilst Dunaway as Evelyn allows a range of many conflicting emotions to compete at once. You can unpack their line delivery, facial expressions and tone, and continue to discover new meaning - especially on the second viewing once the true plot is known and the mystery gone. So, as a study for character development for my own work, I re-watched the film under the pretence of un-packing the enigma of Gitte’s character. Whilst Dunaway's take on ‘Evelyn’ is also deserving of dissection, her motivations become crystal clear on the second viewing - whilst Gitte's remain shrouded.
Jake J.J Gitte’s is a fascinating character. What compels Jake to act in the strange and confident manner that he does. What outer self has he constructed to interact with the world, and what events created it?
Jake Gitte’s is a very self constructed creature, we only rarely peer behind the veneer (although I suspect this veneer is thicker than a single coat.) It’s clear from Gitte’s general interactions with the world in the way he holds himself, that if he were at any time in any room, he would be the smartest guy in that room. That even when he doesn’t know the answers, he’d fill the space in any interaction or dynamic, as if he were the person who had those answers. Thus he forces the other person in any dynamic to play the role of catchup, even when they are in-fact ahead, Gitte’s retains control.
Gitte’s interacts with the world as if he was always one step ahead, and the only person who’d know he wasn’t, was himself. If you held a gun to Gitte’s head, I imagine an internal dialogue plays out something like the following; “If they’re gonna shoot me they’re gonna shot me, but I’ll be pretty peeved to die at the hands of a worthless, brainless gun for hire.” Gitte’s seems like someone who’s always in control until that control is taken from him, then he submits himself to the mercy of the outcome and accepts there’s little to be done about the predicament. This isn’t to say he isn’t fearful or plotting, he does feel fear - but only when its absolutely clear the worst outcome is already in motion. Then if forced at the final moment, he acts. Decisively and without a semblance of caution.
Gitte’s has no patience or time for unintelligence. Minor obstructions to his goal make him angry enough to snap or get snarky, a peer behind the veneer. He doesn’t have time for someone wasting his time. He’s a confident man in a cynical world, he knows the playbook well and seen it all before. It takes a bit to surprise Gitte’s, to shake him. He’s always thinking, but he’s capable of being conscious of when he’s over-thinking and shrugs the thought off. For all his qualities there is a bedrock of compassion beneath him. But compassion has served him poorly before.
In personal matters and the carrying out of his business, he doesn’t concern himself with ethical dilemmas. Because they aren’t dilemmas, they’re minor inconveniences to Gitte’s. He knows theres no rule too hard that can’t be bent or broken, especially when he’s always one step ahead. But in dealing with his clients - there is a solid morality. You don’t screw over the people who pay you, you treat them with dignity. This is a guy who’s justified to himself that his line of work is above the board, more than a greaseball who handles dirty laundry. He conducts business with clients ethically, never charges a dollar more than originally quoted. At any rate he’s convinced himself that his line of work is legitimate, or at least perhaps fulfilling. He had to get out of the police force, best use his skills for something else, no point wasting them. Perhaps he believes he can get more done outside of the system? More likely, he knows the system is rigged against the majority, and in his indignant indifference now lives to make a little press here and there, make a nice pay-check for fine suits and best case scenario; find himself intellectually challenged. The system is the system, you can't break a broken horse.
Theres an element of contempt for the police force he once served, he ridicules the Lieutenant for his ‘little gold bar.’ He sees rank and hierarchy as a waste of time, an all-too-often all-too-familiar impedance to justice. In the end of course his hubris has its day. Gitte’s allows himself to fall, as he did once before in Chinatown, for a woman. A woman central to the case he’s working on. He believes this time he can do it differently and protect the woman he's fallen for. (Or perhaps he he never truly fell for her. Maybe he saw the parallel in the situation and sought his own redemption in saving Evelyn.) In the end of course, he can’t. Why? “Because this is China Town.”
“Chinatown” the phrase, more than the place, is Symbolic of American greed and corruption. The power of wealth and the insignificance of people who die in the wake of this power. He left the force because the system failed and he saw how it failed in Chinatown. The real criminals got away. The ending confirms a sad reality, he’s lost the woman again and the bad guys wins, again. They win because there is no Chinatown, there is only America.
I’ll say it again; Gitte’s is the kind of man who believes he’s always one step ahead of anyone else. Even when he isn’t, he interacts with the world as if he already knows the outcome. This was proven true once more by the confirmation of his cynical world view. To be ahead of the game, is to know it’s already lost. I imagine a Gitte’s heartbroken, but some weeks later returning to work as if the whole affair never happened. He takes a mental note before opening the door to his next client, smiles, ‘don’t fall in love again.’ This is Chinatown.
Playing for Time is based upon the autobiography of Fania Fenelon, who’s portrayal by Vanessa Redgrave is nothing short of spectacular. The concept of Playing for Time is simple, a band of woman are held captive in Auschwitz and are spared the horrid fate of the gas chambers in exchange for their talents as musicians.
Similar in my viewing to 2001’s ‘James Dean’ which starred a young James Franco, I kept having to pinch myself, to remind me that this was a made for television film. The caliber of the performance by Vanessa Redgrave was deserving of the big screen. This film was carried on her capable shoulders as the stoic celebrity-turn-prisoner, pianist and singer of the Auschwitz orchestra.
Everything 1960’s Kapo hoped to accomplish as a female driven perspective of life in the camps, Playing for time accomplishes. Throughout the sometimes messy and unfocused two and a half hour long run-time, the film examines camaraderie of the orchestra, inner-politics between the characters, power structures between the Nazi elite, mid-level officers and the players themselves. It examines sexuality and utilising sexuality as a means for survival, the power of hope and the universality of music. Yes, I loved this film. I think the structure of the narrative was, however, unfocused and many themes and ideas do not fully develop. The ideas that do are tied up with moral judgements the creatives involved impose upon the characters. There are some uncomfortable sexual judgements slung from the protagonist at one of the younger captives. Judgements that I’m not sure stand the test of time.
No film of the genre explores humanity in quite the same way Playing for Time does, it uses the concept of the orchestra as a way into the narrative of the holocaust. Through specificity, breads universality. Between you and me, I will try to buy the rights of this book one day. If there was ever a perspective on the holocaust with the most relevance to a modern audience, this might be the one. This deserves to be re-made, if only to be re-seen. This is a special story.
Kapò is a very strange picture. It seems director Gillo Pontecorvo was of two minds about the kind of film he wanted to make, the kind of perspective he wished to portray. The film oscillates between a dark realism and an unpleasant boring melodrama. The opening of the film has some beautiful blocking and powerful sequences; one such moment, when our protagonist Edith returns to her apartment to discover her family being thrown in the street and rounded up into trucks. The civilians watching on are frozen like glass, Edith winds her way through the dreamlike statues. It creates a powerful sensation, a crystal moment in time where everything is about to change. Gillo’s creativity in staging lasts the next 30 odd minutes, creating dark sequences of Edith’s navigating and adapting to life in the camp. We are introduced to a band of captive woman, each with their own unique story, all are wonderfully realised characters. But these personalities are rarely paid off in the film, they fizzle out and become unimportant to the narrative as the film shifts focus. At the heart of this picture is a powerful story, how the young Edith becomes a ‘Kapo’ to survive, a supervisor of other prisoners. They must be cruel, they must be hard, they serve the Nazi’s, they do it to survive. I’ll admit I’m actually getting frustrated thinking about the rest of this film, here’s the short of it - Russian soldiers soon become prisoners at their labour camp and naturally a love story should become central to the film. A woman and a man share screen time under Nazi supervision, what else CAN they do but fall in love…
There are a couple interesting moral dilemmas slung weakly at the audience in the final act of the film, but at this point the film has lost its steam. The characters so wonderfully set up in the first act are now unimportant. The horrors and brutality of Edith’s story of survival are forgotten and ignored, the feminist themes altogether dissolve into thin air.
Kapò has some good moments, a handful of beautiful ones, but is ultimately let down with a borderline offensive third act that dilutes any of its grand conceits and trades it instead for melodrama. Watch the first 45 minutes (to the minute) for important insight into the inner workings of a woman’s labour camp.
Then turn it off.
When Nazerman’s kindly employee Rodriguez points to the Nazi-given tattoo on his arm, he asks “Is that some kind of secret club… how do I join?” The deeply introverted Nazerman responds, “What you do to join? You learn to walk on water.”
The Pawnbroker is a magnificent film. It is the tale of a survivor, a man in his later years who now runs a pawn store amidst the bustling madness of 1960’s New York. This film serves as an examination of a psychological torment shared by many survivors, my grandfather included; survivors guilt and PTSD. In a series of events beautifully written and gorgeously shot, Nazerman is forced, for the first time in many years to feel fear again. To feel life again, to feel alive once more. But the opening of these most well constructed vaults open a floodgate of pain that leave our poor Nazerman petrified by living nightmares. Each encounter a trigger to a past trauma.
Lumets tool kit to showcase the bustling life of New York and the quiet inner-death of Nazerman are simple, but so wonderfully elegant in its execution. Sharp dialogue, exceptional performances and effective use of editing. Slicing frames of the past into images of the present, culminating in a sequence where Lumet cuts from the present to the past as if it were the shot-reverse-shot of the very same scene. It’s startling how effective this cut works, to transport you seamlessly from the claustrophobic metros of NYC to the cattle-car’s the Nazi’s would transport prisoners in. It made me physically shudder in fear. When the film first opens we see a memory; a delicate and otherworldly beauty in its presentation through score and cinematography. This scene is called back later in the film once poor Nazerman’s mental collapse is in full swing - the same sequence now overlaid with music befit a horror film. Because this is what war has done to this man, it has turned every beauty in his life into nothing but pain.
This is a deeply moving picture and truly fine character study of Nazerman and to a lesser degree his employee Rodriguez. The study of a man who’d built walls around his pain so high and vast that he’d sacrificed the essence of his own humanity. To feel, is to feel pain. To love is to remember death. To die… is a blessing. This is the world Lumet and the writers Morton S. Fine and David Friedkin have created for poor Nazerman.
“I was in Auschwitz too. I came out alive, and you came out dead.”
Fun fact: This was Quincy Jones first foray into the world of scoring for cinema.
A very quiet and understated picture. It’s purpose entirely is to reveal the complicity, guilt and regret of a small Hungarian town who’d profited off the expulsion of the towns Jews. It’s a sad picture, as solemn as the subject matter. The film never strives to write a searing exposé, but rather a slow and truthful unravelling of a morally corrupt, nameless town. Why nameless and featureless? Because this town represents many towns across Europe. Untold millions quietly profited off the destruction of the Jews. They moved into their homes, took over their shops, and profited off the remains of many families.
This is an important film because the subject matter is rarely dramatised; for a number of reasons I imagine. Namely, what national cinema would encourage a scathing critique of its own country? “The past is the past. Leave it where it belongs!” I can tell you secondhand that unlike Germany, there are few and varied Eastern European countries willing to confront their complicity and profit from wholesale slaughter. This guilt may have died with a generation, but their stories must live on.
The Jewish population of Poland in 1938 was 3.3 Million. 10% survived. Those who did, would return to Poland or other Eastern European countries and find a region-wide pogrom taking place. Many Jews survived the entirety of the war to return to their home, and be shot dead by their neighbour. Today’s Jewish population in Poland is between 7,000 and 40,000. The Jewish cemetery of my grandfathers home town lies in ruin. Their stories erased by time and quiet complicity. The content of this piece is certainly more engaging than the telling, but it’s an important film nonetheless due to its unique perspective.
1945 - a contained narrative of life immediately following the war.
Film making notes:
The blocking felt quite stilted at times. My guess is that this was due to budgetary limitations and a need for long, quiet scenes to play out in singular takes. (Or maybe I’m wrong, and this was just a choice.) A substitute to over-heightened character intrigue was often ‘sit down’ then ‘stand up’ then ‘take a glass of water’ and ‘consider turning off the radio.’ I think had the film spent more time in Close Up and less in long-running Mid to Wide Shots, it would have created a stronger affect. I should have liked to envision this film with a richer interplay of character, the minimalist approach to the stories telling was well executed - just not my style. They found a tone, stuck to it and told their story effectively with it.
I did find a dissonance between the score and the picture however. I’ll admit my ignorance and say nothing rang a bell as a clear influence for the films score, but it did seem tied to thematics and not the scenes themselves. A subtle reflection of the simmering guilt beneath the towns innocent veneer.
The biggest strength of this piece, for me, was in the directors decision to allow shots of emotional significance to play for an uncommonly long time. A permission of time and space to let emotion breathe. One such moment; When our adolescent Jewish protagonist reveals to the German mother of his girlfriend of his true origins, and the two embrace one another. The mother, trapped between her daughters full hearted consumption of Nazi propagada, and her daughters boyfriend, a young Jewish boy, in love with a girl who could never love his true self.
The visual metaphor sequences were quite startling, if not a touch overdrawn. They created a fascinating dialogue between the competing ideologies of the Fascist Reich and the Communist USSR. It revealed the innate flaws of their respective ideologies in their cult like upholding of Hitler and Stalin respectively. A particular sequence of note had Hitler and Stalin embrace one another, dancing an elegant ballet in a communist orphanage, candy falling from the sky towards children, quick to embrace it.
Tonally I was most engaged when the film took a turn for the surreal, or when it revealed a moment of deeper character truth. A favourite scene had our young Jew hidden in the uniform of a Nazi youth, practising his Hile Hitler! To then suddenly break character flamboyantly, and flaps his arms about like a burlesque dancer, giggling. Where the film didn’t quite work for me was the in-between-scenes. The times it took a real life story of miraculous survival, and made these events out to be as if he were some sort of circumcised Forrest Gump. A sweet innocent, who’d wondered his way into luck beyond reality. If the story was true, which it is, they should have found ways to block these scenes to ground them in reality. Perhaps the director realised there were moments so beyond belief, that they had to be embellished and made to look silly so as not to raise the eye of ‘oh come on.’ But If Catch Me if You Can, can do it, Europa Europa could have too.
The need to include a voice over served fine as exposition, but did subtract from my ability to fully absorb myself with the experience of the character. I think it would have taken some time to write your way around the many story beats and contextual information an audience not in the know, would need to know. Overall a thoroughly insightful picture. It soared in its portrayal of the surreal, its examination of vicious ideology and had a handful of truly special character moments. It suffered when tonally the director failed to establish a reality severe enough to feel a genuine sense of peril. This lead to a disappointing ending, the narrative fizzles due to a lack of consequence.
Having said all that, I adore this film. Europa Europa, a wonderful study on humanity and adolescence during WW2.
Buongiorno Principessa,
I think this picture was most successful when it was a light-hearted study of an eccentric Italian waiter, establishing himself in a new town. The comedic beats were wonderfully written and performed. Where the film missed for me, was once it entered the camps. I wasn’t sure who this film was made for, what perspective it desired to portray. Was it for kids? More likely it was for adults with children - what wouldn’t you do to protect the innocence of your child? How far mightn’t you go to shield them.
Like Europa Europa, I felt a minor disconnect from the darker realities of life as a Jew during the holocaust. It never felt insensitive and the film is full of passionate craft, but I was a touch disappointed with the last third. Similar in my viewing to JoJo Rabbit, I feel the film makers decided the story had to be more universal in its message and imagery, to not turn away the weakly stomached and engage a wider audience with an important dialogue. But I couldn’t help but see the opportunity to have crafted an ending with richer substance, un-afraid to dip its toes into a darker, truer presentation of reality.
I could watch JoJo Rabbit twice in a week and enjoy it throughout, peppered with moments of tragedy, comedy and truth - altogether very palatable. Grave of the Fireflies, however? I watched it once, and I will never need or want to see it again, its message will always be seared into my mind. Both approaches to story are vitally important. There is a magic to this picture, Like JoJo Rabbit, that will comfortably captivate and educate audiences for years to come. I think this is a standout film amongst the genre, a reflection of many important truths, but perhaps not many darker ones. It’s a beautiful story, told well, with a unique perspective on tough material.
I suspect that re-watching this film many years from now, with children of my own, I’ll be able to tap-into the intended affect of this film.
Life is beautiful.
I’ll be rewatching the film and updating my thoughts. I was too absorbed with the telling to intellectualise it much. Will be updated this week with notes on story structure.
The pianist tells the story of Wladyslaw Szpilman, a famous Polish Pianist, and his story of survival during the war. I wont lie, this is a painful watch. The first third of this film is about our protagonists family, and the ways in which they must adapt to life in the Warsaw Ghetto. The ghetto sequences are beautifully crafted and excruciating to watch. It becomes particularly traumatic once the liquidation of the camp occurs. As the film continues it becomes a singular journey of survival as seen through Wladyslaw eyes, and often only in glimpses out of his apartment window. There isn’t much I can say about this film at the moment, other than it is a magnificent examination of the psychological torture war has on the soul. I cannot recommend it enough.
