BigJeffLebowski Blog

Under discussion:

13 Tzameti  (2006)

The less you know about 13 Tzameti, the better.  Gela Babluani's surprsingly tense and economical film unfolds not unlike the works of David Lynch, in which the curiosity and voyeurism of an otherwise inauspicious and bland third party leads to an increasingly seedy underworld which exists just below the surface of society.

In 13 Tzameti, that third party character is Sebastien, a twenty-two year old who has been hired to fix the roof of Jean-Francois, an old man with illicit connections to an underground gambling ring which is purported to reap unheard of spoils for one day's attendance.  When Jean-Francois dies, Sebastien is left without a source of income, and decides to take the old man's place, following the instructions which were sent to him earlier that week.  What Sebastien finds upon his arrival is a nihilistic sport that can best be described as Extreme Russian Roulette, wherein a circle of players are given a gun each with a single bullet and instructed to fire at the next player simultaneously.  Those left standing progress to the next round; those less lucky are carried out in body bags and forgotten.

I've heard the film called a metaphor for the global economy, for professional sports, for the apathetic malaise of the overly induldged, and for myriad other things.  I don't see the film as having quite that much depth.  It is possible that I am missing something, but I do not think that this is a detriment to the film.  Whatever metaphorical implications viewers of 13 Tzameti draw, they undoubtedly speak more about the viewer than about the film, namely their need to justify enjoying the film.  Watching 13 Tzameti, feeling the build and release of tension, we are only one step removed from the gamblers from the film, with our personal investments and biases, as arbitrary and as reductive as they may be.  True, we know that no one is actually dying for our entertainment in the film, but the vicarious nature of moviewatching must draw into question our own human nature: how much like these people are we?  Could we become so desensitized, our priorities become so skewed, that we could abide this sort of behavior?  Even relish it?  The gamblers are technically not committing murder, they are only allowing it.  Whether this makes their hands dirtier than those of the players is a philosophical question that requires its own conversation.

Regardless, as a metacommentary on the very nature of vicarious existence -- and all of its forms -- 13 Tzameti succeeds wonderously.  That so many reviewers feel the need to justify the film beyond its intentions and accomplishments speaks volumes to silence critics on the other side of the fence, who insist that this kind of nihilistic entertainment is morally bankrupt and should hold no place in the world of artistic expression.

Under discussion:

Rashomon  (1951)

Witnesses  (2003)

Witnesses, the latest film by Vinko Bresan, has been compared to Rashomon.  It is not the first film to draw comparisons to Akira Kurosawa’s masterpiece, but it is one of the few films for which the comparison is more than superficially apt.  Set amidst the Serbo-Croatian conflict, Witnesses is a deeply affecting work that shines a harsh light upon the moral relativity which, though ever present in society, becomes even more ambiguous in times of war.

Utilizing the fractured, non-chronological, overlapping storytelling which has unfortunately come dangerously close to becoming a cliché, Bresan utilizes Kurosawa’s revolutionary device of portraying an event from several different viewpoints.  This has been done countless times since, and has become a calling card for directors as diverse as Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu and Quentin Tarantino, but for Bresan, it is a means to a different end.  For the two aforementioned directors, the device is used primarily as a gimmick, or to withhold plot and character revelations.  What makes Bresan’s film different -- and more akin to Kurosawa’s -- is that he uses his chosen chronology to juxtapose the individual moral codes of his characters with one another.  By attempting to approach some kind of moral objectivity, he skillfully shows us that morality, like all quantifiable things in the world, is relative to the circumstances and the people which surround and infuse it.

The film follows three Croatian soldiers -- Josko, Baric, and Gojo -- whose war crimes cost Josko’s brother his leg, and his father his life.  Further transgressions which can at best be called vigilantism draw attention from local authorities as well as one intrepid reporter with an unexpected, and unknown, link to the events.  In broad strokes, Josko the screw-up, Baric the guilt-ridden hesitator, and Gojo the no-frills man of action can be considered archetypes, but it is to Bresan’s testament that they are never written or presented that reductively.  All three have moments of doubt, moments of foolhardiness, moments of impulsive action.  That we ultimately view them as no worse than misguided tells us something very significant about the subjectivity and contextually imperative nature of every individual’s moral code.

When it becomes apparent that the most likely suspects in the murder of a local Serbian are the three Croatian soldiers, the mayor’s response to Detective Barbir’s inquiry is indicative of the film’s central conceit:

“When the war is over, there will be time for investigations.  For suspects, trials, and prisons.  The 109th leaves for the frontline tomorrow.  At times like these, it’s better not to find out certain things.  They can do a lot of harm.”

Without attempting to draw too many parallels to our country’s current situation abroad, it will suffice to summarize that the guilt for crimes, especially those committed in the morally questionable time of war, lies as much with those who turn a blind eye as with those who perpetrate the crimes themselves.  As Bresan himself conveniently simplifies, “The aim was...to show the silent majority that looks the other way from crime.”  “We are all witnesses,” Baric declares in a crucial scene, “We should all be killed.”  Bresan’s greatest accomplishment in Witnesses may be his ability to portray this sobering reality and still maintain a sense of compassion and human decency for all of the film’s characters, regardless of how fleeting or tenuous it may be.