The story of a schoolteacher (Southerland) who's black gardener's son "disappears" in 1970s South Africa, accused of activism. Then the gardner disappears too. Then an innocent black woman who is a friend disappears.
With each incident, the comfortable family-oriented bourgois teacher becomes more involved in the awful injustices inflicted on black civilians, activists or just suspected activists. He first asks some friends in the government to help out and is treated with empty reassurances and pats on the back. Then he brings suit against the government's Special Action Squad (or whatever the death squad is called) for the gardener's death. The gardener was clearly tortured and then murdered under the supervision of the Chief Minister of Villainy (Jurgen Prochnow) and Southerland hires a lawyer who was disillusioned long ago (Marlon Brando).
But Southerland pushes too far. His friends ignore him. He loses his job and his son is expelled from the school. His wife wants things the way they always have been -- nice compliant kaffirs who serve dinner when you tinkle the little bell, and sense of security. His wife leaves him, taking their adolescent daughter who feels the same way she does. Southerland's son, who seems to have inherited his Dad's ears, insists on staying with him and observes all the goings on. Susan Sarandon is a reporter who is sympathetic but has seen it all before. In the end, Southerland loses everything, but, as Sarandon tells him, despite his own helplessness, his son has learned a good deal and represents the next generation.
The performances are all fine. Southerland is subdued and thoughtful in a role which calls for exactly those characteristics. Marlon Brando is also a standout, bringing to the part a kind of amused disdain for Southerland's naivete. Prochnow is properly villainous without being entirely unreasonable. He does his best with an Afrikaans accent -- nobody has ever trilled his r's so thoroughly -- but he may have been miscast because he looks like such a nice guy. I don't mean that the villain has to look like a scuzzbag, but that he should have an appearance and demeanor that projects villainy and what Prochnow projects is more like Carl Roger's "unconditional regard." But, beyond the incidents presented in this particular movie, I wonder what the function of such a story is. The first response of any sensitive viewer is undoubtedly going to be white guilt or black self pity. It's ironic because almost the entire population of viewers, regardless of race, color, or creed, will have had absolutely nothing to do with the events we see.
Personally, we will be gripped by the exposition of such injustice -- such outright murder by the authorities -- and that's fine as far as it goes. Beyond that, the movie-makers have given us an educational documentary-style film, beginning with a naive complacent white guy, a lot like many of the rest of us, and guiding him through a tour of corrupt racism, along with the viewer. (How he could have remained so innocent without having lived in a cave isn't explained.) I wonder in the long run if movies like this (and "Z" and dozens of others) don't have counter-productive properties. We feel not only sympathy but anger. In the final shot -- and I do mean "shot" -- the movie seems to endorse the idea that violence is the only appropriate response to injustice. Why should such a notion be expected to do anything other than drive a deeper wedge between minorities and the dominant majority? Is murder really the only way out of inequity? If they kill us, is our only response to kill them too? A more object lesson might be that colonialism doesn't work for long, but a lot of viewers may not be able to get past the violence on screen. And anyway, colonialism never calls itself "colonialism." It's always "The Crusades," or "spreading civilization," or "protecting our own interests," or "preventing the spread of" (fill in the blank with your own noxious ideology).
There's a semi-happy ending. Southerland's son will live to straighten things out. But it's a pale message and seems tacked on. Our amygdalas stand up and applaud at the end when Prochnow gets a bullet through his heart.
Peace, brothers and sisters.
With each incident, the comfortable family-oriented bourgois teacher becomes more involved in the awful injustices inflicted on black civilians, activists or just suspected activists. He first asks some friends in the government to help out and is treated with empty reassurances and pats on the back. Then he brings suit against the government's Special Action Squad (or whatever the death squad is called) for the gardener's death. The gardener was clearly tortured and then murdered under the supervision of the Chief Minister of Villainy (Jurgen Prochnow) and Southerland hires a lawyer who was disillusioned long ago (Marlon Brando).
But Southerland pushes too far. His friends ignore him. He loses his job and his son is expelled from the school. His wife wants things the way they always have been -- nice compliant kaffirs who serve dinner when you tinkle the little bell, and sense of security. His wife leaves him, taking their adolescent daughter who feels the same way she does. Southerland's son, who seems to have inherited his Dad's ears, insists on staying with him and observes all the goings on. Susan Sarandon is a reporter who is sympathetic but has seen it all before. In the end, Southerland loses everything, but, as Sarandon tells him, despite his own helplessness, his son has learned a good deal and represents the next generation.
The performances are all fine. Southerland is subdued and thoughtful in a role which calls for exactly those characteristics. Marlon Brando is also a standout, bringing to the part a kind of amused disdain for Southerland's naivete. Prochnow is properly villainous without being entirely unreasonable. He does his best with an Afrikaans accent -- nobody has ever trilled his r's so thoroughly -- but he may have been miscast because he looks like such a nice guy. I don't mean that the villain has to look like a scuzzbag, but that he should have an appearance and demeanor that projects villainy and what Prochnow projects is more like Carl Roger's "unconditional regard." But, beyond the incidents presented in this particular movie, I wonder what the function of such a story is. The first response of any sensitive viewer is undoubtedly going to be white guilt or black self pity. It's ironic because almost the entire population of viewers, regardless of race, color, or creed, will have had absolutely nothing to do with the events we see.
Personally, we will be gripped by the exposition of such injustice -- such outright murder by the authorities -- and that's fine as far as it goes. Beyond that, the movie-makers have given us an educational documentary-style film, beginning with a naive complacent white guy, a lot like many of the rest of us, and guiding him through a tour of corrupt racism, along with the viewer. (How he could have remained so innocent without having lived in a cave isn't explained.) I wonder in the long run if movies like this (and "Z" and dozens of others) don't have counter-productive properties. We feel not only sympathy but anger. In the final shot -- and I do mean "shot" -- the movie seems to endorse the idea that violence is the only appropriate response to injustice. Why should such a notion be expected to do anything other than drive a deeper wedge between minorities and the dominant majority? Is murder really the only way out of inequity? If they kill us, is our only response to kill them too? A more object lesson might be that colonialism doesn't work for long, but a lot of viewers may not be able to get past the violence on screen. And anyway, colonialism never calls itself "colonialism." It's always "The Crusades," or "spreading civilization," or "protecting our own interests," or "preventing the spread of" (fill in the blank with your own noxious ideology).
There's a semi-happy ending. Southerland's son will live to straighten things out. But it's a pale message and seems tacked on. Our amygdalas stand up and applaud at the end when Prochnow gets a bullet through his heart.
Peace, brothers and sisters.