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.