Struggle

I can appreciate Ruth Mader's noble attempt at portraying the evils of capitalism as symbolized by the satiated EU members, but then why not do a documentary. rather than spending 3/4 of the film depicting the miseries of migrant workers, and then clumsily attempt to connect it with a modicum of drama. Realistically, this is a student's film with plenty of "good intentions" -- a a feature film, it fails. Not worth the bother...

From the opening wish of Bill Wither's song, "Just the Two of Us," to the film's final curtain call, the subject is love. STRUGGLE is a wrenching look at immigrants bussed into Austria to perform the menial labor jobs for Austria, driving past the meticulously clean homes, then showing a nearly 30 minute, near wordless montage, shot after shot of workers in the field picking strawberries, or gutting turkeys in a slaughterhouse, or polishing glasses and placing them in a case, or scrubbing down someone's pool – where we witness a young man bring her a glass of water and report `my mother wishes me to tell you that you may take a short break now.' The accumulated evidence of boring, repetitious labor, for near minimal wages, all perfectly framed by the camera, shot after shot, day after day, leaves little doubt that the demeaning, dehumanizing system is little more than indentured servitude, working in the fields from 5 am to 6 pm. While there are small moments captured near bedtime where the children want to play and the mothers are too dog-tired, peace comes only when they are asleep, tightly packed into small quarters that resemble an overcrowded cattle car. At one point, as the bus takes workers back across the boarder, one woman and her child run away. The child thinks it's all a game, but one understands the desperation of such a move. What this leads to is standing in a designated area on the side of the highway where cars will pull up and ask for cheap labor, where groups of immigrant workers plead for work – a place where no children are wanted or allowed, and children mysteriously get separated from their mothers. At one point, the area is raided, and they split up, all running in different directions at once, the camera follows one woman who runs past an entire field, then over a hill to apparent safety, where she breaks down in tears.

Cut to a man driving in a BMW improbably singing to the upbeat sounds of the Nilsson song `Everybody's Talkin' – think MIDNIGHT COWBOY, as he's on his way to work, inspecting factory warehouses, one story buildings where he's in charge of inspecting a plethora of nothing but empty, locked rooms, a chore which resembles his empty, solitary life. He makes a pitiful visit to his daughter, neither showing any affection nor understanding one another, which is mirrored in a later scene when he visits his mother in a senior home. What we witness is a man as pathetic as the earlier illegal laborers who have no choice but to work in those subhuman conditions. This gentleman has choices, but he is heartless and soulless, an empty shell of what it is to be human.

It appears many of the viewers missed the point if they see no connection between the first and second halves of the film.

This is a documentary film that concisely, with agonizing detail, compares an exploitive class of workers, in this case Polish illegal immigrants for hire, who perform the dirty, menial jobs that no Austrians would dare do, who are completely dismissed as a subhuman species, yet they are no less exploited than the so-called successful middle class, who are commercially exploited by false expectations that happiness can be bought and paid for, languishing in a spiritual void, leading meaningless lives that are empty of love and affection. This dichotomy is explored with meticulous precision by first time Austrian director Ruth Mader, who uses an economy of stark imagery to combine what seems like two entirely opposite worlds into one brilliantly detached observation of the human race.

This is about the sad affairs of the Common Market. Both of those who are in and those who are out. Out in more than one meaning are the Polish guest workers, picking strawberries, polishing glass cans and cleaning people's swimmingpools, without a reasonable pay. They are used, also a Polish girl with her daughter.

But those who are inside the market and the system are used in emotional ways. The fat divorced middle-aged man, are quickly losing value in the emotional/sexual class society we have in the West today. Yes, he goes to brothels and get sado-masochistic sex, but that doesn't mean he has any power. The fat man is a victim too. A victim of an truly inhuman society.

The Polish girl and the fat man get together in the end. And there seem to be some hope. Not of passion, but of acceptance and maybe even some kind of love after all. There seems to be nothing mean in their relationship.

Struggle is an Austrian film. But the title is not a translation, it's the original title. Why does this film have an English title? Nobody knows. Maybe it is to give the film a more exciting, stylish touch, and maybe this is also the reason for the strange, highly inadequate choice of songs: "Just the Two of Us`, "Everybody Talkin` and one or two other classic oldies form the complete soundtrack. The rest is silence.

The director of this film wants to communicate social criticism, at all costs. Thus, she tells the story of a Polish mother who is exploited as a cheap worker in Austria, and an Austrian realtor, who fits the typical cliché of a stubborn, sexually frustrated and ugly midlife man, well known from several Viennese comedies and dramas. The two characters have nothing in common (only that they finally come together), so the whole concept doesn't seem to make any sense.

The first part is almost documentary style and has no dialogues, which makes it utterly boring (although I have to admit that it is filmed and acted quite well). The second part is disgusting, which it is supposed to be, but neither believable (and therefore not particularly "critical`) nor funny, although there are some ridiculous lines.

At the 2003 Cannes festival, Struggle received "Une certain regard`. As regards the rest of the world, I don't think it deserves any special attention there.

The first time I knew I had seen something special in Struggle was when the illegal immigrant woman (with daughter in tow) was first stowed away in a covered truck. They were heading towards the abattoir, for one of the woman's many "jobs" to come. Sitting in one corner of the truck, I caught a glimpse of the little daughter's expression, at the way she looked at her mother. It was weirdly heartbreaking. Previously an exuberant child, her lost of innocence in that stolen moment was so palpable, I was stunned for words.

What drew me to this film was hence less its factual insights, but more its ability to hide its devastating emotions beneath seemingly stoic behavioral veneers (very Ozu-like, I must add). Being deliberately pregnant with restraint before unleashing its actual "power", Struggle gave birth to emotional transcendence.

And I so far covered only one half of this flick....

At this juncture, let me wax lyrical about the inextricable connection between Struggle and my love for the Dardenne Bros (them of Rosetta and The Son's fame), for Struggle owed similar Dardenne-ish influences in its aesthetics and cinematic rhythm. A lot of focus was given to the seemingly ritualistic and mundane work details in this movie; from the menial picking of strawberries to the conveyor belt slaughtering of poultry, from the polishing of brass ornaments to the cleaning up of rich folks' pools etc. But gnawing beneath that layer of normalcy, in those intently activity-centric scenes, laid a gulf of tumultuous emotional tension. They were screwed so tightly (knowing full well the protagonist' emotional state and struggling background), I could hardly breathe.

Struggle is amongst my most favourite films during this year's Singapore International Film Festival. If not for The Son (and the brothers behind it), I would not have been able to pick up on the nuances or entrancing vibes reverberated off Struggle's 70 odd minutes. I would never have realized a work of such poignancy had been projected on screen.

One more instance of gratitude I should attribute to those brilliant Belgium brothers already.