Shoah

It's nine and a half hours of travelogue footage and interviews with terribly ordinary middle-aged and senior citizens about events that happened a half-century ago.

Except that the sites visited are the scenes of the systematic mass murder of roughly 11 million men, women and children, including some 6 million Jews, and the ordinary grandparents are the survivors and perpetrators of some of the most horrendous atrocities that mankind has committed upon each other.

It is a terribly draining movie, hypnotic and disorienting, both in it's length and in the blandness, the matter-of-fact descriptions of things that would make a normal person scream in horror. And that is what is so amazingly important and meaningful about this film; that these were ordinary, average people. These were, and are, normal folks like you and me, and anybody, regardless of background, moral upbringing, and standards of decency can be caught up in circumstances beyond their power or experience, and can do the most depraved or heroic things imaginable. It is shocking, insightful, and a very,very important film that forces us to confront our own humanity and decide what that, in fact means.

But it's nine and a half hours long. Be prepared to be drained and leave with your head buzzing.

Claude Lanzmann's nine-hour Holocaust documentary is difficult, painful, and, above all else, exhausting – both emotionally and physically. I watched this goliath over four nights, and I pretty much had to force myself into every viewing, knowingly condemning myself to two hours of misery. But I wouldn't trade the experience. There are movies, and then there are... well, there are no words for what this is.

Lanzmann spent six years tracking down and interviewing Jewish survivors, German commanders, and Polish eye-witnesses, reconstructing through oral testimonies – without even a second of archival footage – the horror of the Nazi death camps. The dialogue, often interminably filtered through an interpreter and then translated from French via subtitles, is overlaid on footage of the death camps as they stand now (that is, in the 1970s/80s), as innocuous ruins or grassy fields. Thus, Lanzmann juxtaposes the atrocities described in his interviews with the quietude of the modern-day locations, acknowledging from the outset the impossibility of ever fully recreating or appreciating the horrors that took place.

Throughout the film, we mostly perceive Lanzmann as an off-camera interviewer, but he nevertheless takes a very active role in the film's presentation. We note his determination to assemble a historical record at all costs: he includes footage of himself assuring Franz Suchomel, a former SS officer, that the interview is not being filmed. (Many alleged perpetrators are seen only through a grainy black-and-white hidden camera, a device that keeps them emotionally distant from the viewer, as in a 1940s newsreel). Lanzmann rather sardonically asks his interpreter to complement a German couple on their beautiful home, knowing full well that it once belonged to a Jewish family.

The interviews with Jewish survivors are most haunting of all. Lanzmann doesn't ask them to communicate their emotions, but instead needles them for details, seemingly inconsequential observations that nevertheless improve our understanding of how the Final Solution operated. But he also knows when to keep quiet. The silent anguish evident on the survivors' old, scarred faces is often more powerful than words could ever be. One survivor of the Warsaw Uprising remarks to Lanzmann, "if you could lick my heart, it would poison you." We can see this even in his face.

This documentary tells the story of the Holocaust from a particularly human and "everyman" viewpoint. Claude Lanzmann realized that the victims of this horror were gradually dying off and took the initiative to search out the innocents who had these hidious tattoos on their arms and just talk to them. Not all wanted to be a part of the picture, but Lanzmann had a very unique ability to coax and sometimes browbeat the experiences out of these ordinary people who were subjected to unspeakable horrors. This is a long and extremely painful film to watch. Make no mistake. At the end is a better understanding of man's capacity for cruelty to his fellow man. I believe that is what Lanzmann wanted to pass down to the coming generations.

One reason why I'm drawn into cinema is that at its best it brings together all of art, transcends the boundaries, and without which I would be somehow clueless, somewhat not completely myself. Almost always I describe these films as important, subjectively speaking, and most of the time the mark they imprint upon me is a thirst for more, all this in the most positive sense one may imagine.

And then there's "Shoah" (1985). It's unbearably long, gruesomely shocking and depressing, and with certainty a film I don't wish to see again and see as a kind of anti-film. Yet that's precisely why it's remarkable, and why it is important. It's transcendental in a way that I've rarely witnessed: it disregards time and its own format, and simply exists. It doesn't care that it stops and meditates. To "linger" is a wrong choice of words, since it means staying in one place "longer than necessary, typically because of a reluctance to leave". The point is not to linger, but to endure. The point of the film is to exist as it is, as a witness. Thus one of its weaknesses, if one uses such comparative and charged term, becomes its essential characteristic: the film is all about not being a film, it's not about finding a quick way around a point to another. It's a record of pain, and it's not meant to be an easy-going experience.

"Shoah", then, is like a film that refuses to be a film. It was Ebert who called it "an act of witness". I agree. It is a witness to people reminiscing about something so horrible of which it's quite impossible to reminisce at all. But they do it, and their pain has been transferred to Lanzmann's poem. This poem doesn't try to make the incomprehensible comprehensible, but rather make that, which is incomprehensible to them, the survivors, equally incomprehensible to us. As such, "Shoah" is a monument, a collection of recollections that wrenches at the heart.

I suppose my reaction was the most natural there is after being exposed to what the Holocaust was: emptiness that is like a fleeing dream trying to catch its tail, unsuccessfully groping at the ever-distant memory. The feeling is that there was no way out, and there still isn't. That we can learn from the horrors of the past, but really don't. And at what cost? The survivors' testimonies, of their own survival and of the lives of those who didn't, is, in the end, the story that deserves to be told, again and again.

I saw "For All Mankind" (1989) shortly after this. I'd say these two films form a very perceptive cross-section of what we humans are like. The awe I felt during "Mankind" only intensified the opposite kind of awe, of dread, I felt during "Shoah": can this be the same humankind that is capable of both kinds of deeds, and almost contemporarily? No matter how far into space we launch ourselves, we carry within us both the darkness and the light, the hopelessness and hope. In the words of W. B. Yeats, "things fall apart; the centre cannot hold."

In discussing this film, the late great Roger Ebert wrote "It is not a documentary, not journalism, not propaganda, not political. It is an act of witness." This may truly be the best description of a project so enormous in scope, and so direly important as a testament to our world's history, especially because upon watching it's so very hard to form words of one's own. One learns about the Holocaust as part of our education in youth; here we hear the words of people who lived it, from one angle or another. And still it's so incredibly difficult, both emotionally and on a basic visual level, to imagine the absolute monstrosity of these terribly real events. The testimony is stark and heavily detailed, whether from victims and survivors, perpetrators, or those who saw from any distance what was happening, and from these many interviews emerges a portrait of unremitting, unparalleled evil. Yet the brutal truth is that all this horribleness is not, strictly speaking, "inhuman"; rather, it's part and parcel of the human experience, what we as people are capable of at our very worst. And between the monumental endeavor of filmmaker Claude Lanzmann, and the supreme intelligence of editor Ziva Postec, it becomes clear that inasmuch as there was any intent behind 'Shoah' beyond bearing witness, it was to shed light on this facet of ourselves that is so disturbing to face up to. And that only makes the project resonate even more deeply than it already would.

Exemplified in the words of SS war criminal Franz Suchomel, among others, the picture illuminates the cold calculation, and the bent toward utmost efficiency, of the industrialized mass murder that the Holocaust represented - both in the deadly methods employed, and the deceptions woven to manipulate victims into a state of relative cooperation. In this regard, the scenes that Suchomel recalls right as the second half of the picture begins are particularly grotesque, but one way or another it's evident that the same mind for innovation that has driven human civilization for millennia was actively engaged in the horrors of Nazi Germany. Then there are the beliefs, attitudes, superstitions, biases, and otherwise cruelties that are endemic to human psychology and sociology, nastiness that every person is susceptible to whether we recognize it or not and which we all must strive against. We see this to some extent in the testimony of some bystanders, whose words might reflect a casual, condescending, or maybe unwitting or misdirected tinge of prejudice, and more so in the thoroughly researched representations of historian Raul Hilberg. Hilberg especially draws connections between the tribalism that hearkens back even to the texts of Bronze Age religions, and further, approving of or inciting violence against entire groups of people - tribalism that was refined, twisted, and disguised over centuries to limit, oppress, exclude, and expel select demographics as those in power decreed, and which Nazi Germany simply took to its logical conclusion. Indeed, the exact same language and tactics are still used, today, by the wealthy, powerful, and ignorant against communities whose only offense is being different; anyone who fails to see the comparison is either lying or complicit.

And through the remarks of victims and survivors - not least those like Abraham Bomba, Richard Glazar, and Filip Müller, who were forced to play their own part in the operation of the camps while awaiting death themselves - we are exposed to the pure beating heart of humanity, the instinctual drive to survive, understand, and overcome. At no point is watching 'Shoah' "easy" but the survivors' recollections arguably reverberate most tremendously of all, for their acts of remembering are closest to our experience as viewers: how does one even begin to truly absorb the impossible gravity, the sheer immensity, of everything that is being related? One can plainly see the pain on the subjects' faces as they try to grapple with their memories, revisiting events that were themselves staggering beyond what words can readily portend; so far removed from World War II one struggles to envision the abject reality of which the interviewees speak, which leads to a continuous cycle of sympathizing with the speakers and then struggling even more. This vortex of emotions, too, is just as much a part of the human condition as the repugnant acts of which we are capable, and the beliefs and attitudes we all must actively fight against in society and in ourselves. And the fact that Lanzmann's magnum opus brings all this to the surface of its own accord, without the smallest measure of dramatization or embellishment? Well, suffice to say that even only a short period into these nine and one-half hours the opinion is firmly cemented that this is without question one of the best films ever made, and one of the most significant.

Why, setting all this aside, the fundamental construction of 'Shoah' is so impressive that a lengthy book or "making-of" documentary would also be interesting as a dissection of everything that Lanzmann and his collaborators were doing here. The production history is well established: many countries, hundreds of hours interview footage, many years of capturing footage and even more of editing. Once more, Lanzmann deserves utmost commendations for the boundless effort - his vision, the time and resources spent, what had to be exhausting both physically and emotionally in traveling to all these locations and hearing so much gut-wrenching testimony. But it bears repeating that editor Postec quite earned her own star with her contributions here, for the scope and breadth of the picture is hard to even comprehend for the layman, yet she shaped the whole into something that strikes hard, covers a dazzling amount of proverbial territory, and looms large in cinema and in global culture generally as a peerless achievement and a landmark historical record. Moreover, Lanzmann very smartly arranged for contemporary footage of the roads, railways, and sites where the awful events of the Holocaust transpired, frankly a stroke of brilliance. In so doing he at once gives us sights that in and of themselves are hauntingly beautiful from an aesthetic standpoint, while also accentuating the extreme magnitude of the Nazis' activities in terms both geographical and structural; of the stunning depravity of the Nazis' crimes; of the complicity of companies, organizations, and governments in enabling these crimes, or at least in failing to oppose them; and more. Just as much to the point, the cinematographers who served on 'Shoah' - Dominique Chapuis, Jimmy Glasberg, Phil Gries, and William Lubtchansky - are to be congratulated for the keen eyes that have so shrewdly delivered such visions to us, be they sweeping landscapes or thoughtful close-ups, for at every turn their work only ever heightens the impact that the movie has.

Taken together with the mindfulness and discretion Lanzmann demonstrates as an interviewer - listening carefully, gently nudging as necessary, letting gaps of silence resound with the distraught emotions they carry with them - the end result is profound, and exceptional. It's worth revisiting Roger Ebert's assessment: that 'Shoah' "is not a documentary, not journalism, not propaganda, not political. It is an act of witness." That's all it should have been, and that's all it needs to be to be hugely affecting, and to be the marvelous feature that it is. That 'Shoah' does, in its own time and in its own way, speak to issues of conscience, intervention, complicity, survival, justice, geopolitics, industry, humanity, culture, history, religion, psychology, sociology, and more - past, present, and future - only affirms the unequivocal, far-reaching substance, consequence, relevance, and otherwise materiality that the movie represents. That one can draw a line between notions brought up here, precipitating the Holocaust, to subsequent events in recent history, and indeed in 2023, only emphasizes with sad urgency the dangerous position our world is in. It's not enough to say that Lanzmann's film is valuable, or educational. It's a must-see, for every single person. It's vital; a priority. It's altogether quintessential, for every reason. Yes, its runtime is prohibitive; no, it's not easy to watch. That doesn't change the fact that everyone needs to see it, both for its excellence purely from a standpoint of film-making, and far more so for the critical concerns it addresses, and the weight it bears. Seek it out, and make the time for it; 'Shoah' demands the viewership of one and all.