Let's dive into a fascinating topic that might seem counterintuitive at first: the beauty of a Holocaust film. Yes, you read that right. I want to explore why Claude Lanzmann's epic documentary, 'Shoah', is considered by many to be the most beautiful film ever made about this dark chapter in human history.
'Shoah' is a monster of a film, as one critic put it. It's one of those rare works that has become synonymous with monumental achievement, even for those who haven't watched it. It's a 10-hour journey that challenges our attention spans and our emotional resilience, but it's an experience that leaves an indelible mark.
Lanzmann spent 11 years of his life crafting this masterpiece, shooting over 350 hours of footage, and editing it down to a daunting but necessary length. But why is it so long? And can it still captivate audiences in an age of short attention spans and endless distractions?
When 'Shoah' was first released, it was shown in two parts around the world, including in Israel, where it became a significant cultural event. Lanzmann made the film on his own terms, and he didn't care if people watched it or not. Yet, millions did, and it became a landmark in Holocaust documentation.
However, times have changed. Our ability to concentrate has diminished, and our lives are filled with distractions. So, when HOT8 decided to air 'Shoah' as a 10-part series this week, it sparked controversy. Some saw it as a necessary adaptation for modern audiences, while others, including myself, believe it dilutes the impact and intent of the original work.
The length of 'Shoah' serves a purpose. Lanzmann wanted to comprehensively describe the Nazi killing machine, and that required a broad canvas. The result is an enlightening, eye-opening, and educational experience that cannot be quantified. Much of the information Lanzmann revealed is now common knowledge, but in 1985, it was groundbreaking. Many subsequent Holocaust productions built upon the foundation 'Shoah' laid.
What makes 'Shoah' unique is its approach. Unlike other historical documentaries, it doesn't rely on archival footage. Instead, it's entirely based on interviews conducted by Lanzmann with Jewish survivors, Christian Poles who witnessed the atrocities, Nazi criminals caught with hidden cameras and tricks, and the historian Raul Hilberg, who, with chilling correctness, sheds light on the Nazi machinery.
Lanzmann's decision to avoid archival footage was deliberate. He felt that the black-and-white images from the camps had become too familiar, often used in films like 'Night and Fog', which was shown in almost every Western high school. He also believed that showing the actual killing would be a form of desecration, and he vehemently opposed the dramatization and fictional reconstruction of the killings, as seen in Spielberg's 'Schindler's List'.
'Shoah' doesn't allow for emotional distance. When you watch it, you feel like it's happening in the present, regardless of the day you choose to view it. It becomes your personal day of remembrance.
The testimonies in 'Shoah' are both illuminating and heart-wrenching. There's the story of Jewish mothers who cut their babies' veins and then took their own lives to prevent them from falling into Nazi hands. One survivor tells Lanzmann, "If you lick my heart, it will poison you." And indeed, watching this documentary is like swallowing poison, not honey.
Lanzmann's patience and persistence in drawing out these testimonies are remarkable. He gives his interviewees the space to create an intense and intimate atmosphere. When he interviews people who don't speak his language, he doesn't dub their voices or add subtitles. Instead, he waits for the interpreter to translate their stories. These close-ups are full of expression, restoring humanity to those the Nazis tried to dehumanize. 'Shoah' contains some of the most powerful and moving close-ups in cinematic history.
Many of the interviews are staged to some degree. Lanzmann found it relatively easy to locate survivors, but getting them to share their traumatic memories was more challenging. These were memories they had buried deep within themselves, often as scars upon scars.
To release the demon from the bottle, Lanzmann had to return the survivors to the scene of the crime, sometimes to places that no longer existed. The most iconic interview in the film is with Abraham Bomba, a barber forced by the Nazis to sit at the entrance to the gas chamber and cut the hair of women about to be killed. In some cases, he knew these victims, but he was forbidden from speaking to them.
If Lanzmann had simply sat with Bomba and a camera, he wouldn't have been able to recall or speak about these events. So, the director hired a barber shop, clients, and then filmed Bomba recounting his experiences while cutting hair. Only with the scissors in his hand did all the memories come flooding back. Even then, it wasn't easy. At one point, Bomba tells Lanzmann, "I can't," but the director insists, pushing him to complete his testimony.
The price of this testimony is high. In 1993, when 'Schindler's List' was released, a film Lanzmann had criticized, French television invited him to a debate with French high school girls. One of them said that Spielberg's film was less manipulative because he worked with actors who didn't have to relive their traumas. In the case of Bomba, she thought it looked like the director was torturing him.
"Torturing him?" Lanzmann protested, though politely, as one must on French television. "That's not true. He wanted to speak. I met him several years before the filming, and we spent several days together. We both knew this scene would be difficult. It was like a birth. I asked him for forgiveness. I knew that in order to speak, he would have to pay the highest price - to relive everything, but I told him he had to do it, that we had to do it."
Lanzmann didn't hesitate to stage the interviews. He rented a train to bring back memories for Gabkowski, allowing him to relive the 1940s. The Pole describes in great detail his role in the killing process. He also reenacts the throat-slitting gesture the Poles used to show the Jews their fate. Were they warning the victims or taking pleasure in their suffering? Lanzmann believed it was pure sadism, but we'll never know the answer. It's one of the many unsolved mysteries left by the Holocaust.
The Holocaust is a story with a beginning but no end. It's an unfinished tale. But a film must have an ending, even if it's almost 10 hours long. Without spoiling the film's conclusion, I'll say that Lanzmann chooses to end with the image of the train to Treblinka, moving forward endlessly. "Where are you going?" Yehuda Poliker and Yehuda Gliliad ask in a song. "Where is this train going? Why did you end your epic with this image, Lanzmann?"
Perhaps it's a reference to the early and iconic film by the Lumière brothers, which also featured a train. By connecting these two images, Lanzmann suggests that 'Shoah' and the memory of the Holocaust are an integral part of cinematic history, as important as its beginnings.
'Shoah' is a film that challenges, educates, and leaves a lasting impression. It's a testament to the power of documentary filmmaking and a reminder of the importance of remembering and understanding our past, no matter how difficult it may be.
