This is a very serious film about humanity sacrificed for ancient 'ideals'. The opening sequence reminded me of another austere classic, Melville's 'Le Samourai'. A husband and wife lie is separate beds. Over the credits, the husband rises and gets dressed. Simple you might think? Oh no. Every gesture, every item of clothing is accompanied by an elaborate prayer, to the point where the process becomes absurd, almost comic, especially when he prays, with due solemnity, 'Thank God for not making me a woman' (although by the end of the film you tend to agree).
Like Jef Costello, Meir lives in a bare, anonymous room, putting on his 'armour' as he gets ready to go out into the 'outside' world. The patient detail, the steady distanced camera, the emphasis on clothes and identity, all strike me strongly as Melvillean, to the extent that I wonder whether he's going out to kill someone. The nearest to this is when his brother-in-law drives through the streets of Jerusalem, urging by megaphone a retrenchment of Jews, lapsed and Orthodox, in the vengeful war against their enemies. We are seeing the charming outcome of that mentality at the moment. Maybe the comparison with a professional assassin isn't so far-fetched after all.
Another comparison, on the same lines, might be Bresson, given the focus on things, details, actions, and the religious milieu. Whether the bizarrre close can be seen as a moment of Bressonian revelation is debatable, but the relentless misery and humiliation inflicted on the female characters certainly bear his mark; rarely has such a religious environment seemed so unspiritual, like the pious provincial hypocrites in 'Mouchette'. The curious rock singer involved in an illicit relationship also reminded me of d'Oliveira's 'La Lettre'.
I reach for these disparate comparisons because I'd been told that Amos Gitai was one of the world's greatest filmmakers, and that this was a classic. I'm sure both statements are true, I'd have to watch more of his work more closely. Certainly, this film is more immediately sensual than Bresson's - the slow style, the emphasis on ritual detail (right down to the love scenes), the unforgiving milieu do not preclude moments of sensuality or shock, such as Rivka's self-pleasuring in front of her mirror as her husband sleeps, or the shocking virtual rape of her sister on her arranged marriage day, the sexual act as institutional attack, one of the most horrifying, and eventually unwatchable scenes I have ever seen.
What most impressed me about the film was its vision of two world s of time co-existing in the same space, the Orthodox Jewish sect living a rigid life, seemingly unchanged since the Old Testament, and the modern, capitalist world that mocks them. As the sister quite rightly points out, there's a big world, out there; their system is just a time-honoured excuse for men to wield power. There is a Berlin Wall between these two worlds, and when Malka meets her lover, it's like a prisoner escaping an enemy bunker, or someone travelling between two worlds in a time machine.
The film's seemingly transparent style is densely complex in its patterning. Take the first three scenes, which seem to increasingly open out - a woman in bedroom with husband; woman in social situation watching religious ceremony; woman in streets going into shop - but is actually shutting tight possibilities, as the plot, and this society, sets its deadly trap.
It's true that this plot is overly schematic - some have complained that the Orthodox Jews aren't sufficiently understood or explained. Maybe, although Meir is a generally sympathetic character, impotent in so many ways. The fate of Rivka can be read as either pessimistic or liberating - are the final sequences a (wet) dream, a final drenching in female subjectivity of a male hierarchy (including narrative)? Or is it what it seems, a horrible waste of life? The use of the unswervingly monotonous score seems to undermine scenes of apparent change.
Like Jef Costello, Meir lives in a bare, anonymous room, putting on his 'armour' as he gets ready to go out into the 'outside' world. The patient detail, the steady distanced camera, the emphasis on clothes and identity, all strike me strongly as Melvillean, to the extent that I wonder whether he's going out to kill someone. The nearest to this is when his brother-in-law drives through the streets of Jerusalem, urging by megaphone a retrenchment of Jews, lapsed and Orthodox, in the vengeful war against their enemies. We are seeing the charming outcome of that mentality at the moment. Maybe the comparison with a professional assassin isn't so far-fetched after all.
Another comparison, on the same lines, might be Bresson, given the focus on things, details, actions, and the religious milieu. Whether the bizarrre close can be seen as a moment of Bressonian revelation is debatable, but the relentless misery and humiliation inflicted on the female characters certainly bear his mark; rarely has such a religious environment seemed so unspiritual, like the pious provincial hypocrites in 'Mouchette'. The curious rock singer involved in an illicit relationship also reminded me of d'Oliveira's 'La Lettre'.
I reach for these disparate comparisons because I'd been told that Amos Gitai was one of the world's greatest filmmakers, and that this was a classic. I'm sure both statements are true, I'd have to watch more of his work more closely. Certainly, this film is more immediately sensual than Bresson's - the slow style, the emphasis on ritual detail (right down to the love scenes), the unforgiving milieu do not preclude moments of sensuality or shock, such as Rivka's self-pleasuring in front of her mirror as her husband sleeps, or the shocking virtual rape of her sister on her arranged marriage day, the sexual act as institutional attack, one of the most horrifying, and eventually unwatchable scenes I have ever seen.
What most impressed me about the film was its vision of two world s of time co-existing in the same space, the Orthodox Jewish sect living a rigid life, seemingly unchanged since the Old Testament, and the modern, capitalist world that mocks them. As the sister quite rightly points out, there's a big world, out there; their system is just a time-honoured excuse for men to wield power. There is a Berlin Wall between these two worlds, and when Malka meets her lover, it's like a prisoner escaping an enemy bunker, or someone travelling between two worlds in a time machine.
The film's seemingly transparent style is densely complex in its patterning. Take the first three scenes, which seem to increasingly open out - a woman in bedroom with husband; woman in social situation watching religious ceremony; woman in streets going into shop - but is actually shutting tight possibilities, as the plot, and this society, sets its deadly trap.
It's true that this plot is overly schematic - some have complained that the Orthodox Jews aren't sufficiently understood or explained. Maybe, although Meir is a generally sympathetic character, impotent in so many ways. The fate of Rivka can be read as either pessimistic or liberating - are the final sequences a (wet) dream, a final drenching in female subjectivity of a male hierarchy (including narrative)? Or is it what it seems, a horrible waste of life? The use of the unswervingly monotonous score seems to undermine scenes of apparent change.