Review of "Son of Saul"

If László Nemes' film "Son of Saul", set in Auschwitz in 1944, is ultimately a success, it is because before anything else it understands that a conflict spanning the entirety of the universe can be depicted on a canvas no bigger and no smaller than the human face; in fact, it understands that the human face is the perfect setting for such things. If it falls short of triumph, that's because it follows its own methodologies a little too closely to their ends, and seems slightly too preoccupied with itself as a film as opposed to what it seemed to me to be; a document, a hymn, a paean.

Opening text informs us of the "Sonderkommando", a group of Jews chosen in Auschwitz to work for a few months, before being killed. Saul (Géza Rohrig) is a member of the Sonderkommando; a startling and upsetting opening shot presents him front and centre, ushering in a new truck full of his kin, to be disposed of by the cruel guards. This opening take is remarkable for two reasons, firstly because it's an ambitious long-shot, and secondly because it establishes Saul's character in a way that fundamentally doesn't really change for the remaining 100 minutes. Red cross on his back, hollowed out sunken eyes, mouth slightly twisted, blank expression; he doesn't give anything away.

This creates a paradox which sustains the whole film; just how does Saul remain so emotionless in the face of such unspeakable horror? How can he, for example, not even give a sign of disgust as he drags corpses across a blood-streaked gas chamber floor, or as he is forced to dance for a room full of sneering Nazi guards?

In this sense we do not get to 'know' Saul in the sense that we would typically come to know a protagonist. But there are some clues thrown our way; a passing reference to a conversation from a less hellish time, a couple of moments where we sense his mind has gone blank, and the prevailing sense of his determination. And the driving mechanism for the film is a clue also; Saul becomes steadily more obsessed with a young boy who comes coughing out of the gas chamber and dies shortly after, seeking a proper burial for him. This is the plot in its entirety.

Stanley Kubrick once stated that the problem with "Schindler's List" was that it took a moment of despair in the human race, and turned into a story of hope. Kubrick no doubt would have strongly approved of this film, for it is hopeless (although not nihilistic, thankfully). It stares into the horror and does not ask us for an opinion, or a reaction; instead, to simply observe. It is a fearfully convincing recreation, and I had to look away in all the obvious places.

This is mainly due to the cinematography from Mátyás Erdély, which adopts Saul's perspective and immerses us in it, and the production design from Lászlá Rajk, which is sharp and brutalist, all dingy concrete underground rooms and long off-white corridors leading round into nameless horror (as it should be, as it was).

As the story goes on, we realise that the Saul's journey can be taken either as a Biblical attempt at redemption, or something more mundane, the last grasp of a man facing death attempting to salvage something, and going insane as he does so. In the end, ultimately, it does not matter; he is here, he is doing this, and this is what is. The chaos surrounding him is scary, but he is on a mission. The classical 1:33 aspect ratio is perfect for this, with its intimidating black bars at the side; it mirrors Saul's tunnel vision. The sound design is vast, overbearing, industrial, imposing. The final moments are staggering in both their power and their logic.

However, when I said that the film has a mechanism, I do not mean this in a positive way. For a film staged so excellently and so thematically powerful, being reminded that we are in fact watching a film is one of the last things you want; we should be immersed completely. But there are moments here and there; shots left too long out of focus, as if to say... Well, what? Technique is left to creep in where it shouldn't have done. And when the film breaks its predominant focus on Saul, as it does in a couple of scenes, I felt pulled out of it.

This is a dark and powerful piece, meticulously composed and unlike anything I've ever seen, especially on this topic. That it is so great makes its flaws that bit more jarring. Nevertheless, this is vital, devastating stuff, a film that feels like it needed to be made. And, well, good. Because it did. And, consequently, it needs to be seen too.

Review of In The Company Of Men (1997)

“You know, if we were living in India your girl would be burned on a pyre for even thinking about what she did to you.”

This dialogue, spoken by Chad (Aaron Eckhart) to his colleague Howard (Matt Malloy), occurs about ten minutes into Neil Labute’s film “In The Company of Men”. Howard has just been jilted by his longterm lover, and feels sad and rejected. Chad, too, has had issues with women in his life lately, and is consoling him. This dialogue, on the surface, is sinister yet seems like the kind of thing men would say to one another in a quiet, private, shared moment.

But look closely, because it reveals clues to their characters which are at the core of this movie. It reveals their lack of respect for other cultures. It belies misogyny. And it is also Chad’s gambit, his attempt to bring Howard round to his scheme by which they emotionally cripple a woman for life, as revenge for the (supposed) evils that have been enacted on them.

As a gambit, it succeeds. This line, and many others spoken by Chad early on, wheedle Howard into submission, praying on his insecurities and reassuring him. Chad makes the fundamentally evil seem palatable, which is his greatest trick. Note how he tiptoes around what he is actually planning to do. It’s not “we are going to ruin this woman’s life for no real good reason”. It’s more “out comes the rug, and us pulling it hard”. Salesman tactics. Shop talk. Chad delivers his words like a pep talk, or perhaps even a sermon. Pitched as an attempt to restore dignity to Howard’s life.

It is fitting, of course, that Chad and Howard are corporate suits of the type found in American Psycho, which isn’t too far off being an adaptation of the themes Ellis was getting at, a couple of years before Mary Harron’s film came along. These are men living in a clean, sterile world. Their jobs don’t really matter, only that there are near-constant moments for dick-swinging and male bravado to take over- take the scene where Chad flicks through a company prospectus, pointing at the men and repeatedly saying “I hate that guy”. We get the impression that this world has created a culture of hostility; at one point a minor character, when asked why he hasn’t decided to date Christine, a deaf girl working in the company, his only response is “in a company like this, with these guys around?” We are firmly in a world where male bravado runs supreme.

Christine, played by Stacy Edwards, is the woman that the two men ultimately choose as their prey, so to speak, and the rest of the film details their attempts at unravelling her life, which is undermined only by their insecurity and their own, barely-formed feelings. As a screen presence, she’s perfect for this kind of material. She’s pretty, and endearing, and we sense her joy at the interest apparently being shown to her by these two men. The men, too, even concede that she’s a “nice” person, and in one awkward yet perfectly pitched scene Chad reveals that he could see himself married to her.

Yet feelings and emotions do not come easily to these men, and vast sequences go by where the two men talk about things without talking about the things they actually want to talk about. This is, I think, what the film is actually about; pent up male rage, stifled psychological states, and how our modern corporate culture has created that. One scene sees Chad lecturing Howard on their great plan while Howard awkwardly occupies a toilet cubicle. Chad doesn’t seem to care, and occasionally asks Howard why he’s taking so long. The fact that he might want some privacy simply does not occur to him.

Labute’s screenplay is an excellent one, with layered and textured dialogue which is never boring to listen to, and could have been written by Mamet. It fearlessly plumbs the male mind. It was made on what I gather is a minuscule budget, yet never shows it. The camerawork from Tony Hettinger is largely still, and flat, allowing us to see the faces and hear the words, limiting itself to a couple of pans- this could very easily be a play. The colour range is dull, to reflect the hellish conditions that have led to this brutal anomie.

But mainly, it’s the actors who bring this film alive. Eckhart’s performance is genuinely chilling, and he brings to life a character whom you are never sure quite when he is being honest. His words, his laughs, all appear natural yet in the context in which we know him we are unnerved by how much of a façade this seems to be. Malloy’s character on the other hand is the beta to Chad’s alpha, a nervous man always wringing his hands, sick of his nice-guy status. Both performances get under the skin of the characters, and both end up being equally dangerous in their own ways.

This is a fascinating that just stops short of being a perfect one. A couple of stylistic choices held me back; one shot lingers just a little too long over some “CAUTION” tape, and there’s a bizarre tribal score that is occasionally intrusive. The end scenes work, although they veer slightly too close to being undeservedly “neat”.

Yet these are small niggles. This is a truly disturbing film, which I recommend wholeheartedly with the caveat that you’ve probably never seen evil like this before; armed with suspenders, a nice shirt, and a false smile. It does a dangerous thing in allowing us to empathise with the characters so as to condone them. But crucially, it never lectures, and any open-minded audience member is treated to a film which respects your intelligence; I mean that as a very high compliment indeed.