Steve McQueen’s
imposing Occupied City, running over four hours, consists of scenes of
modern-day Amsterdam, observing people working or playing or hanging out, with
a voice over that identifies each location and relates it to a piece of WW2
history. My memories of the city are hazy, but the film conveys the impression
that there’s hardly a street or public space untouched by this part of its
history, that doesn’t carry the traces of individuals who hid or were betrayed
or were snatched away or shot on the spot (or who collaborated, or sold their
souls): if nothing else, McQueen’s work (based on a book by Bianca Stitger)
would be dauntingly impressive as a research project alone. The information
provided is often wrenching, and the even-toned, unhurried narrator gives each
an appropriate weight, but the film’s nature and length are such that we can’t
possibly absorb and hang on to the details of each (they’re also not in any
kind of chronological or other easily discernible order); even as the film
embodies the necessity of memory and engagement, it acknowledges the
impossibility of fully attaining it. It suggests in turn that almost any
present-day action carries elements of both submission and resistance (one of
the final sequences follows a climate action protest), molded by our alertness
to history and context, to connections and consequences; deepening the
resonances even further, the film was partly shot during the pandemic, allowing
scenes of lockdown announcements, social distancing, vaccination clinics and so
forth, another form of “occupation” leaving its own toll and traces. McQueen’s
brilliant ending emphasizes the specifically Jewish nature of the Holocaust, noting
the perseverance of belief and tradition while acknowledging intertwined
cultural evolution (resonating against what the film tells us about the
anti-Black racism of the Dutch wartime leadership), and providing a final note
of blended ominousness and celebration.
No comments:
Post a Comment