Regretful Film Reviews

This posting has a risk of being as long, confusing, and lifeless as its subject, but I will try to keep it to the point. Unlike the patience demanded of you in this movie, your patience in reading this posting will pay off.

I am a patient man. If a film about Orthodox Jews living in downtown Jerusalem hits Cannes, I will eventually see it when the right moment presents itself, even if I have to keep a mental post-it note for five years. Even though I was living in France at the time and could just go to the cinema when the film was released, to see what the beaux arts community was giddy about, I am glad I waited till now. I would not have known as much about what I was watching as I do now.

I'm also a pretty tolerant man. Tolerant of the outside world, that is, which this film will give you the impression is not possible. I may be an Orthodox Jew living in Jerusalem among other Orthodox Jews, but I came in from the outside, so I probably have a higher appreciation for the "the Other" than the kinds of people depicted in this film. But that's mostly because I have known and have even been the Other, and they have not.

The subject of this film hits close to home -- but only in a surreal and amateurish way. It is about the lives of a few characters living in the Meah Sha'arim reighbourhood on the northeast side of modern Jerusalem (close to the Old City). My snapshots in this posting will give you an idea of the landscape. The residents of this community are devoutly religious, close-knit, and somewhat sheltered. The preceding link was on an official Israeli website, but a bit more information can be found here on the Ohr Somayach website. Though they are by and large descendants of some of the original zionists, they distance themselves firmly from the modern zionist philosophy and government.

The truth is that I am more than somewhat wary of the Meah Sha'arim residents, whom non-Jews tend to label "ultra-Orthodox". It is not the kind of society that I would consider ideal, and I would not want to live there. They appear to live by an ethic that does not agree with me. There are probably some things that go on there that are not so pretty. But not many. There are probably some unhappy marriages. But not many.

I am also pretty tolerant of them, since they are bound to live by the same Torah as I am. Is there any wrongdoing? Then it should be punished. If not, then leave them alone. Their strangeness is not in and of itself enough to castigate them.

There really is no such thing as "ultra-Orthodox", by the way. This term is just a lazy sobriquet under which to lump together everyone who is more ma'hmir (stringent) than ones self or whose life is incomprehensible. We who are Orthodox live by different philosophies of life, and in different societies, but the particular philosophies practiced by these kinds of people do not make them any more (or less) devoutly religious than people who live in other communities, like mine, where there is a mix of Orthodox and secular, with all shades in between. They are not as likely to have gone to a movie theatre, or to look at something in the internet, have a blog, to listen to the radio, as I am. Not many of them have sat ouside watching the world go by or studying at Blue Sky Coffee in Athens, Georgia, as I have. In fact, they have perhaps never sat at a coffee house. It does not make them better than me, any more than my worldliness makes me better than them.

And the impression that a person may get by the use of that term, combined with one's impressions of other religions, may lead one to think that the "ultra-Orthodox" are religious zealots who are out to convert other people to their lifestyle, or to overthrow the government. I once had a Turkish friend (a Muslim) who, when she saw me with a beard, implored me to trim it because I looked like a zealot. The fact that I was studying in yeshivah probably only compounded that fear. Well, I have news for you who harbour similar prejudices: these people are overwhelmingly underwhelming.

If you were to ask them why they choose to live in such a neighbourhood, why they don't enjoy such luxuries as television and internet, why they don't read mainstream newspapers, or get engaged in affairs of international import, or why they do not at least go to university and study some feminist theory, they might tell you by way of response that they do not want to be corrupted by the outside world, or bring such corrupting influences into their homes. And if you suggest they do otherwise, they might suggest you have no business to tell them how to run their lives.

Case in point, this from today's news:

HAREIDI PAPERS CANCEL CELL-PHONE ADS
The hareidi newspapers have decided to stop all advertising for the cellular phone companies until the problem of the inappropriate content services is solved. The decision was made in accordance with a ruling handed down by "The Rabbis Committee of the Torah Giants." So reported leading hareidi newspaper Yated Ne'eman today, and HaModia newspaper and Mishpacha magazine are also "included" in the decision.

The rabbis recently ruled that cell phones represent a spiritual danger, in that they afford easy access to content that stands in contrast to a Torah lifestyle. "The goal is to establish a strong fence," Yated Ne'eman reports, "that will protect the generation of the future, and the community of those who follow Torah, from a grave spiritual blow that is already being felt now and that is expected to get stronger in the coming years. The spiritual dangers are multiplying in keeping with the tremendous investments being made by the cellular companies who wish to take advantage of every means to enrich their coffers by upgrading their content services."

A solution to the problem, say the rabbis, will come in the form of cell phones programmed not to receive content, but to be used only for phone calls.

Yated Ne'eman reported that both hareidi and national-religious media praised the decision - although a representative of at least one of the latter said that no decision had been made. "If our rabbis instruct us not to accept such ads, we won't," he said. "As it is, we don't accept ads for cigarettes, vacations abroad, and businesses that are open on the Sabbath that have competitors that are not [as opposed to, for instance, Ben Gurion International Airport]."

Okay, so they are especially cautious. So are monks in many religions, and so are many religious specialists -- be they priests, gourous, or mullahs. What is tricky here is that they appear to be Westerners, so we expect them to blend in. Since they do not, we get irritated. We become determined to find a flaw in their lives, and punish them for it.

It will probably not come as a shocker to you that the way of life depicted in this film is not 100% accurate. It's a play after all, with about six cast members, just filmed mostly on location for a realistic look. Those who see Kadosh and are convinced that it is telling things the way they really are, is suffering from a particularly hallucinogenic form of wishful thinking. The events in this scenario are ugly, and the audience probably wants them to be ugly. Because the audience is often antisemitic (even latently) or, if Jewish, anti-Orthodox.

Eliette Abécassis is French, Sephardic-Moroccan, and lovely in photos, and she is even an industrious author. I imagine she would be fun to talk to and probably carries on witty and thoughtful conversation. But if this script is any indication of her knowledge of the lives of Orthodox Jews, she is intellectually lazy. She researched her book La répudiée, sure, probably asking a lot of tough questions to two or three people. This is the novel that she adapted with Amos Gitai for the screenplay of this movie. And although I only read the first chapter, I could tell that it was already better than this stinker.

The plot of Kadosh: Two sisters, Rivkah and Malcah, confide in each other as they live their lives in their oppressive and male-dominated world. Rivkah has been married to Meïr for ten years, yet they have not yet had a child, a fact which weighs heavy on her husband's mind. Meïr and Rivkah are nevertheless deeply in love. But Meïr listens to the insane advice of his rabbi, who says that after ten years with no child, it is time for him to divorce his wife and start over with a new one. Rivkah's sister, Malcah, is going through her own crisis: she has a boyfriend (in a society that strictly forbids such relationships), and what's worse, he has been in the army. No chance they can marry. So Rivkah is set up with several men, and refuses to marry each of them. But now she is getting tired and decides to wed the next one who comes along, although he is a zealot and, as it turns out, abusive.

Even though the world they inhabit is filled with family and friends, we never see beyond the dingy walls of their one-room apartments or synagogue. It is also not clear to which world they belong: in reality, there are many sects of Orthodox Jews, observing dress codes and traditions. We use these symbols to distinguish between one another. Yet the characters of this film appear to be a blend of different groups who in reality would hardly associate with each other. At one moment you may get the impression they are in the particular sect of 'hassidim (who shall remain unnamed) who have bizzare rules marital relations; but at another moment you notice they are sporting black hats or displaying a portrait of the Ben Ish 'Hai (a Sephardic authority, with no relation to 'hassidic groups) on the wall. There are no large community events here: no Shabbat dinners, no tishes, no engagement parties. The wedding itself is a deplorable farce. A little more under the 'houpah, maybe?

Shall I go on? I don't know if this is Abécassis' fault, or Gitai's, or just the cumulative stupidity of the actors and crew involved. These people are trying to look like authentic Orthodox Jews, warts and all, but they can't get it right. The Meïr character can't put on tefillin. The rabbi looks like he just finished selling radishes in the shuk rather than spending decades in talmudic study, and the women sound like they have been reading an awful lot of Naomi Ragen. The scenes of them dipping in the mikveh (immersion pool) are beyond preposterous: they hold their noses, one hand is out of the water holding onto the side of the pool, and the balanit (immersion supervisor) is pushing them down with her hand. All three details render the immersion invalid. This is proof enough that none the writers, actors, or crew knew squat about a religious life. What's more, the men conduct business in the synagogue, during a service, as if it were a church: they walk over to the side quietly, debate, conclude, and then go back to their places. Absurd! It is forbidden to talk during prayers, and there is no chance one would speak with someone else during his own prayers, which is what is going on here.

And a couple would never have relations in the presence of a bookshelf of holy books. And yet that is the focal point of the climactic scene. Ridiculous.

Oh, I appreciated the cinematography. I enjoyed seeing local sights that I walk through on a nearly daily basis sometimes. We don't get that much on film. I appreciated the LONG takes: the waking-up sequence at the beginning, and the long walk down Meah Sha'arim street, which swivels around when Meïr walks by and still gets some local colour and characters for several more moments. But besides this, it was long where it needed not be, and short on details. There is a scene near the end in which Rivkah, now separated from her husband, recites a traditional prayer for an easy childbirth. She is gazing dreamily at the cieling, and her luscious lips pass slowly over her teeth. What we wonder is, "is she really pregnant?" What the film answers is, "Look at those lips! Aren't they luscious passing over her teeth as she recites some random traditional prayer, having something to do with the subject?"

The last scene shows Malcah walking on a hill outside of the Old City of Jerusalem, opposite the Temple Mount. Only those familiar with the geography here can realise that she is on the Mount of Olives, and why. (If I told you why, it would be a spoiler, so research it yourself.)

Nice camerawork? Yes. But the ignorant depiction of this world, even adeptly filmed, does not deserve any praise. Want an interesting story? So describe the people the way they are, and the exact issues that they are facing in their lives. Truth is stranger than fiction.

This is a snapshot of the video store, to which I just returned this DVD. It is frequented by many 'harédim and 'hassidim, and is located in a neighbourhood called Na'halaot, which is no less fascinating than the one depicted in this movie. But it's also beautiful and filled with a variety of interesting people of different origins. Some are devoutly religious, and some not. It is in the heart of Jerusalem, making it a prime spot for what could be an interesting novel or film, one based on reality. But I don't expect to see that one at Cannes anytime soon. You see, truth in this part of the world is complex and difficult to navigate, but it is heady and exhilirating to appreciate. Fiction, in comparison, looks like a cheap fur hat. But if you appeal to antisemites, they will accept the fur hat as authentic.

One thing was realistic in this movie: when men celebrate, they really do dance around in a circle, and they really know only three songs for such occasions. That's right, only three. What a glimmer of authentic silliness in this otherwise humourless movie.