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*** May contain spoilers ***
Disquieting and brilliant
earsopen from ,
27th January, 2010
I’ve always been a little suspicious of drama that ends inconclusively. Constantly discussing or re-viewing a film in search of clues or missed moments can be intensely pleasurable when you can be certain that the writers were in possession of the both artistic ability and the integrity to have crafted something deliberately vague in order to be thought provoking, or to prevent the plot from distracting the audience from a intentional exploration of character, or set up an elaborate ‘whodunnit’ or even ‘whatappend’ with a solution arduously obtained but nevertheless possible. But they can be outright frustrating when a film’s inconclusiveness results from simply poor writing, or a pretence of artistry manifested in a crude publicity trick, or just because the writers didn’t know where their tale was heading – or even what on earth they were trying to achieve – right from the outset (see Lost). But the discussions in which I was engaged immediately after The White Ribbon on Sunday were productive, if not entirely decisive, and centred largely around not only what we thought had happened, but also the dexterity in which the story was told. After a few days of reflection I am even more convinced that this is a true gem of a film, incorporating great writing, near perfect direction, striking cinematography, wonderful acting and an overall product delivered at a masterful pace, befitting a startlingly artistic and simultaneously engaging creation. It at times conjures up The Crucible in its portrayal of a highly religious rural community terrorised by what is depicted by its perpetrators as the manifestation of the metaphysical, along with the involvement of a truly creepy bunch of children rejecting the moral hypocrisy of their fathers. It’s most dramatic moment is the sudden deliverance of historical context as the shot that was heard around the world in 1914 provides a historical backdrop to the near timeless pre-industralised pastoral community and also awakes both the cast and audience from the sinister, dreamlike world that they have inhabited for the previous three hundred years (or, in our case, epochal but elusive two hours). Together the characters pain a resolutely dark picture of humanity in the somehow ultra-conformist and savagely lawless village: the doctor is amongst the most repugnant of characters since Ralphy Cifaretto so successfully set off my sense of outrage in The Sopranos; the priest malevolent, proud, a sanctimonious pater familias to his own and spiritually, morally and lamentably to the town more generally; the baron and wife deplorably cold and feudal; and others, deeply and painfully constructed, however briefly on screen. Although their relationship would be unsettling in a modern setting, the schoolmaster and his fiancée, almost half his age, provide rare moments of sympathy and hope, but rarely prevent the film from being both consistently philosophically disquieting. It is at times visually handsome, but the only other time I have experienced such an uncomfortable, nervous reaction in an audience as the credits started to roll at the Berkhamsted Rex was after Hunger last year. This brilliant film is entirely worth tracking down at the cinema, but it is a tough, if rewarding, ride.
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