UNHINGED|| Movie Review: Das Weiße Band (The White Ribbon)
So I have this list of crossover guys—guys I’d revisit the whole “guy” thing for. My list is different than most girls, I think. I have about five fellers that make me rethink which way my gate swings. Clive Owen tops the list. This is probably the least strange of all. He’s a handsome devil, and he is exceedingly charming. And then there is Philip Seymour Hoffman—a little less expected. But he’s a talented dude, and that’s usually what draws me in. Edward James Olmos made the list because William Adama is my hero. Then, of course, comes David Cronenberg. I know he is like the creepiest guy ever (well, besides John Waters), but I want to marry him and have 10,000 of his babies.
The last man on my list of crossover guys will be the subject of our discussion today. Michael Haneke is my guy. My love affair with him began in 2001 when I saw The Piano Teacher for the first time at a gorgeous remodeled theater in Saint Louis, Missouri. Seeing his interpretation of Elfriede Jelinek’s novel made me feel transgressive just watching it. I felt like maybe I should be questioning the difference between my fantasy desires and the reality they might create. Yikes!
Since seeing The Piano Teacher, I have stalked Michael Haneke through cinema and Netflix—breaking only to spend time with Lucio Fulci or Herschell Gordon Lewis. So I was jump-up-and-down excited to hear that The White Ribbon (Das Weiße Band) would be playing at Film Forum—just a five minute walk from my office! I bundled myself against a cruel New York January and sat in those horribly uncomfortable Film Forum seats for two and a half hours letting Michael Haneke do his thing. And boy was this marvelous.
Haneke’s latest film is the story of strange occurrences in a small German village just before the start of World War I. The tale begins with a riding accident by the town doctor. Who put the wire in his garden that would trip the horse and cause his horrible accident? When they question his daughter and the town midwife who works for him, they get no answers. Neither of the two women saw anything—even though they were the only ones present.
The doctor’s accident is only the beginning. Strange events and “accidents” begin to pile up, and the townspeople have no idea who is responsible. Even our trusted narrator, the village schoolteacher, has no idea. He tells us at the start of his story that most of what he says is hearsay. It’s a film filled with the feeling of small town gossip, and it is in this that Haneke feels most like himself.
Haneke is a master of passing judgments on the social and economic lives of people. He’s especially harsh to those experiencing what many call “first world problems”—he’s king of upper middle class ennui and the small crises that can break one from free from it. But this film is different. This is about the problems that plague those who control the resources. This film is about punishing those people in the service of the exploited masses. And it is because of this that Haneke has finally transcended his judgmental stance and entered into a realm of sympathy.
The White Ribbon is predominantly about this battle between the exploiter and the exploited. Those with privilege or living in the favor of privilege seem to be the only individuals punished for their sins. But while Haneke is not pulling any punches in this department, the beating heart of the film lies someplace else.
Religion is the driving force behind much of what occurs in The White Ribbon. The punishments are said to be doled out for the “sins” of the victims or the victims’ parents. It is religion that stalls the truth. It is religion that eventually breaks down the voice of reason (our schoolteacher) and causes him to go from being an open door for the youth of the village to another cog in the wheel in the town.
It is in this complicated but somewhat sympathetic discussion of religion that Haneke moves away from his detached Haneke-ness and stands alongside Ingmar Bergman. Was it not Bergman who provided (repeatedly) a complex discussion of humanity’s struggle with faith—how it’s damaged us, how it’s failed us, how it’s saved us? In the end, of course, neither Bergman nor Haneke come out firmly for or against religion. They are both much too smart to think the answer is a simple “yes” or “no.” But the discussion runs clearly through most Bergman films and through this particular Haneke film. And this is Haneke’s most accomplished effort.
Haneke’s films, masterful as they may be, have always been a little self-conscious. This has worked to his detriment in the past (though that did not stop me from stalking him). He’s always kept us at a distance. This is not to say his films have no emotional content. This is an argument I keep having with a close friend. There is emotional content to his films. It is just exceptionally hard to access. But The White Ribbon is something entirely new for Haneke. This is him letting go of his pretensions and making a film that is decidedly about something in particular. Yes, yes, his films are all about something, but he never gives us access to any kind of statement. This time, he does. It’s tough to get too into it without revealing more than you, dear reader, would want. Think about who wins in the end. And what does that say? Who is judged negatively by Haneke’s film?
Other reviews you’ll read will talk about the black-and-white photography (and yes, it is beautiful). They will talk about the acting (where did he find these marvelous children?), but they will forget to contextualize Haneke’s newest film. They will forget to place it firmly into its proper space in his catalog. In 2007, he remade his own film (shot for shot) with the English language version of Funny Games—a film that is all about presentation, who we pretend to be and how that gets corrupted. The White Ribbon accesses this same idea—presentiment.
The villagers are shaken out of their presentiment in a way similar to the family in Funny Games, but unlike the case of Anna and George, the presentiment wins. When they drive out that which taints their belief system (economically and religiously), they can regroup and rebuild that presentiment. So in the end, The White Ribbon is the end of a progression for Haneke. While films like Funny Games and The Seventh Continent were about how the removal of our masks lead to our ultimate destruction, The White Ribbon is about how to regain control and hide ourselves once again—effectively erasing our identities. So you have to ask, which is better? Dying in the service of your freedom? Living in spite of your repression? And for the first time, Haneke leaves only one question unanswered. This is the one. You get to decide. Would rather commit suicide in your apartment with the rest of your family or go back to pretending you are someone you’re not?
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