eh?

(The white ribbon (2009, Austria), written&directed by Michael Haneke, with Christian Friedel, Leonie Benesch, Burghart Klaußner, Susanne Lothar and many others)

If you’ve ever fancied yourself as a police detective, investigative journalist, a parent who has to discern the degree of guilt in his children and decide how to react to it, or indeed as God, Michael Haneke graciously offers to make your dream come true. The white ribbon is a two hours and a half-long presentation of evidence, some witnessed by the narrator but most that could only originate from hearsay (the thing that I found the least convincing was probably the choice of viewpoint, which manifestly belongs to the teacher, but in effect switches from him to an omniscient author and back). Each member of the audience is recruited as part of an imaginary jury that will never deliberate and is called to pass no verdict, because the mysteries in the story are not there to be solved but to serve as an answer to the overarching question: How was it possible? How could ordinary people maim and kill other ordinary people when ideology or politics delivered the right cue?

It is not hard to put together a story that would fit the signposts provided (the steward’s son tries to kill his baby brother because he hates his violent father, then attacks Karli in retribution for the slap the midwife had given him when he had complained his new brother was a boy, or else because of the rumours about the doctor’s wife having been murdered; the doctor’s accident may come in retribution for his practising incest, or from the same rumours; Sigi receives the same punishment Clara and Martin had been forced to endure, probably in response to the death of the baron’s employee). Klara, Martin and their young brother stand for three different reactions to repression: fight back with the same bloody methods; try to hide from authority as much as possible; or accept the rules and respond with obedience and wilful self-sacrifice. In the end, regardless of distribution of culpability and of reasons, it is always the innocent who are hurt. The inescapable feeling of evil, however, comes less from the facts themselves and more from the diffuse responsibility and, perhaps even more chillingly, from the solidarity among perpetrators, even when they belong to different camps (the children do not punish Erna for trying to warn the teacher’s about their plans to attack Karli, but then, the pastor himself stands up for his children when they are accused by an outsider, despite being sadistic to them behind literally closed doors).

The black-and-white photography is predictably beautiful, picture after picture composing under our eyes and telling many stories in themselves. Despite the length and straightforward telling, the plot never loses the audience’s attention. But what endeared the film to me (a little) was its uncompromisingly slow, but still well defined, pace. Not as charming and possibly less poignant than The butterfly’s tongue, but better than X-Men, at any rate. Enjoy responsibly.