The participation of Romania during World War II will likely go over the head of many. Depends what you’ve read. Or where you’re from. The Odessa massacre of 1941 might divide opinions as to its exact instigation or ramifications. Not many perhaps even acknowledge or accept awareness of how big a deal a Romanian Holocaust was.
I dance around the subject as am ill-equipped to be a knowledge base on such national matters. I could certainly dig up some dirt on the British angle of horrific war events, but the Romanian territory is outside of my remit. Step up New Wave filmmaker, Radu Jude, who with The Dead Nation, Scarred Hearts and Aferim!, has dedicated much of his cinematic vision on Romanian identity and unrest.
The darker chapters of any country’s history is nothing to be scoffed at, but with his latest venture, I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians, Jude throws political correctness out the window and sees where the wind takes it. A no-holds-barred satire of sorts that allows a to-and-fro of ideologies and confrontations regarding a very real portion of Romania’s antiquity.
There’s a respectful ally in Polish cinema of the same vein in Jude’s approach – more noticeably through Andrzej Wajda’s 1981 film, Man of Iron. A similarly journalistic examination of Romania’s national sensibilities exists in I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians. Brimming with debate and nostalgia as a theater director attempts to construct an open-air portrayal of one of Romania’s grimmer episodes. That is to say, this not a documentary, but is in the same ballpark of educational significance.
The film opens with archive footage of said events in Odessa. From there, the actress at the center of the film, Ioana Iacob, talks directly to us about the character she will be playing, Mariana Marin (not the poet), immediately breaking what we might call the fourth wall. In political story-telling terms, as director Jude would allude to, we can assert that there are no walls.
I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians hardly distracts you with that opening introduction, as Iacob blends into character and heads off to prepare her “reconstruction” of that 1941 capture of Odessa by the Romanian army. That incidentally resulted in the killing of thousands and thousands of Jews. What makes these opening, inviting minutes even more intriguing is the instant whiff of humor wafting into proceedings.
Not that Mariana is laughing. No, even in strands of absurdity that follow, there is an extremely important history lesson to be had here. While looking for uniforms, Mariana tells another woman who mocks the “Heil Hitler!” salute, “That’s not funny.” Mariana has got to expect these kind of decade-old reactions to mentions of that war, especially given Romania was in cahoots with the Nazi party. And that turning the flashlight on themselves is precisely what she hopes to awaken.
Jude’s flavor of evoking documentation and the spontaneous footsteps of the young director on screen, Mariana, are kind of one and the same. Through this central character, Jude wants to present the flip-side of his own nation’s hazy acquisition of the historical facts. Ask any Romanians you might bump into if Odessa 1941 was on their high school syllabus. Or what they believe the successes and downfalls of the war-time leader Ion Antonescu were.
As she assembles her troops (intended) via production set-up, outdoor rehearsals, prop searching, Mariana soon finds herself on the receiving end of various degrees of resistance from the make-shift cast. Some are not so uncomfortable to make the odd joke, but others incite more stirring concerns. Bringing to the surface issues of historical credibility, nationalism and some archaic prejudice apprehensions. Like complaining that they have to act with Roma gypsies.
The potential undermining of Mariana’s project doesn’t knock her back, though. Rather than being forced into a corner, she fights it, with more balls than many of the knucklehead men that offer fleetingly dated views. Mariana has a focused persistence, as well as a ferocious energy. Unafraid to verbally berate those that invade her creativity with the kind of nonsense that proves the point of her endeavor. One old chap even gets a slap around the head when he resorts to insults.
Mariana’s strongest adversary is the local official and sponsor, Movilă (Alexandru Dabija), who casually, but equitably, provokes her for responses on why she feels so staunchly about this particular subject. There’s elements of mockery in his tone and context, but he wants results from his examination. He challenges the involvement of the Germans and the Russians. Cites many other massacres, even proposing a definition of the word itself. Asks her sarcastically if she is Leni Riefenstahl. Even refers to Steven Spielberg swimming in Oscars for making a film about a German who saved thousands of Jews.
The ethical debates and conflicting frames of reference form one of the film’s key strengths. What comes across so artfully unscripted, actually forms serpentine bouts of dialogue. So intellectually constructed and finely executed, it makes for compelling viewing – even if the personal history of Romania does not wholly resonate.
There is a minor subplot involving Mariana’s relationship with a married airline pilot, where her telling him her period is late provides the film with its most arbitrary stint of drama. As strong-willed as Mariana is, she is all too casual in his abortive attitude at first, though mercifully she tells him to fuck off eventually. Or words to that effect.
Thankfully, Radu Jude, and Mariana, for the most part stick to the subject at hand. We can certainly empathize with Mariana’s frustrations during the performance’s construction. And so steadfast she is on the topic and its portrayal, there seems little room for her to embrace a personal life of her own. Even at the end of the street production she will get straight to work on a theater project next.
The final segment of I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians doesn’t exactly shift in tone, but we do see the production for the eager-eyed public in a square in Bucharest of those events in 1941. The shooting format even switches to video to encapsulate those production values. Mariana’s slap around the face of blinded Romanians leaves her shamefully disappointed when the crowd seem overly-enthused by the massacre and burning of the Jews.
The whole film is a surreal, heavy going affair, where recollections of the past somehow align with the opinions we have now. That perhaps people and their impulsive judgments simply haven’t changed. Even when you’re asked to confront whatever atrocities your country might partly responsible for in the past, there is still an abstract landscape of, say, antisemitism today .
Jude’s stark realism offers a reliable blend of richly illuminating content, a powerful punch and an organic sense of humor. Of course, as I was watching this it dawned on me that this may prove more effective with Romanian audiences. The aspects of social commentary, the arguments, and the styles of belief are all pretty universal though.
Ioana Iacob as Mariana is in every inch of the picture. And worth every penny. Her elaborate, gutsy performance aids the film in being a revitalizing, thought-provoking one. The on-set bickering that near-escalates into verbal warfare as a rainstorm breaks out is an extraordinary, brilliant scene. Where both actress Iacob and director Jude give their full artful attention to the fundamental strife at the heart of the film. In fairness, this is a great collaboration across the board.
At times, as it jogs well beyond the two hour mark, I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians is almost as though we’re given exclusivity to view the rushes of a documentary. An ambitious, comprehensive one at that. Might be patchy for some audiences given its subject and run-time, but there’s more than enough personality and craft in the facts and the fiction to make for captivating viewing. So what did you learn today?
