E-Mail This Article to a Friend Carmen in Africa? (continued)

The Holocaust was represented by the superb Sorstalság/Fateless, whose script was adapted by the Nobel Prize-winning novelist Imre Kertész from his book of the same name. Although its first half-hour is marred by too-familiar Holocaust images (the round-up, the cattle cars), once the unlucky, obviously autobiographical Hungarian boy reaches Buchenwald, the film takes a turn toward the sublime in its stunning chiaroscuro visual representation (courtesy of director Lajos Koltai, who like China’s Gu is here presenting his first directed film after years as a celebrated cinematographer). Some critics wondered aloud whether the gorgeous visuals hadn’t æstheticized away the horrors of the camps, but for me, at least, the gamble paid off, especially in the lovingly repeated motif of the moment of twilight, beautiful even in the camps, and something that helped keep the young man going.

By far the most politically loaded film of the festival was Hany Abu-Assad’s Paradise Now, a depiction of the last 24 hours in the lives of two Palestinian suicide bombers. Like most Palestinian intellectuals, Abu-Assad (best known for Rana’s Wedding) condemns the suicide bombings but also insists on explaining why these young men and women seek to carry them out. It’s a well-made effort with surprisingly high production values given the fact that it was shot in Nablus on the West Bank. In his press conference, Abu-Assad said that he hopes to show the film some way or another in the West Bank, even though the area has no movie theaters, and is counting on some small, courageous American company to step up and distribute it in the States. It richly deserves such distribution, if only for the unaccustomed light it sheds on daily life in the occupied territories.

Another relatively recent event, the genocide inflicted in 1994 by the Hutus in Rwanda on the Tutsis, was intelligently examined in Sometimes in April, a well-made HBO movie by Haitian-born director Raoul Peck (Lumumba). The biggest obstacle to this worthy, emotionally stirring film lies in the success of Hotel Rwanda. Sometimes in April is superior to Hotel Rwanda in the sense that it’s less driven by the Hollywood-style story line that mars the earlier film. Another plus is that the new film was shot on location in Rwanda, unlike its predecessor, and the authenticity of the locations and the still traumatized extras is palpable. At a leisurely 140 minutes, Peck’s film also comes with lots of quiet time that allows viewers to consider ethical questions rather than being swept up in a headlong narrative flow. The extent of world demand for another depiction of Rwandan genocide, however, remains an open question.

Two other political/historical films stood out. The Sun is the third installment in Russian director Aleksandr (Russian Ark, Mother and Son) Sokurov’s survey of 20th-century world leaders; this one, which studies Japanese emperor Hirohito’s 1945 decision to renounce his traditional god-like status, follows films on Hitler (Moloch) and Lenin (Taurus). Shot in darkened, nearly invisible interiors and featuring only a modicum of action, this trilogy isn’t for everyone (one can only imagine what the films look like on DVD), but its subtle introspection almost always repays the attention that it demands. The other highlight, Marseilles filmmaker Robert Guédiguian’s Le promeneur du champ de Mars, was based on extensive interviews with President François Mitterrand conducted just before his death in 1996. Veteran French actor Michel Bouquet, who seems to have been born for this role, captures the gestures and nuances of expression of the Socialist president with stunning authenticity. (One can only fantasize about what it must be like to have a president who quotes poetry and philosophy from memory, or even likes to read.) Alas, the film, like some otherwise excellent French wines, may not travel well, since full appreciation requires a fairly intimate knowledge of 20th-century French history. Untutored audiences will be bewildered by cryptic references to the scandal that arose concerning the extent of Mitterrand’s involvement in 1942, as a very young man, in the collaborationist government of Maréchal Pétain that among its other sins helped the Nazis round up French Jews. Perhaps some enterprising US distributor could figure out a way to put enough information in opening titles to orient American viewers. If by some miracle the film does get released here, it’s a must-see for history buffs and Francophiles.