The Nazis arrive in Oslo . . .
Max Manus is interesting for three reasons. It is one of the most successful films ever at the Norwegian box office. It is part of a current cycle of Second World War films produced locally in countries that suffered Nazi occupation (see our recent post on Flame and Citron). It’s well made and feels genuine in its attempt to tell an important story.
Max Manus himself was an authentic hero of the Norwegian resistance – or more properly a soldier of the ‘Norwegian Independent Company’, the Norwegian force created in the UK after Norway fell. The UK DVD carries a documentary about him and the ‘making of’ the film made by the Norwegian public service broadcaster NRK. He survived the war and died only in 1996. The events portrayed in the film all happened more or less as they are represented with only a few minor changes such as compositing several lesser characters to make the narrative more manageable. Manus published his own accounts of his adventures soon after the war and these provided material for the script.
Early in 1940, Max, a rather wild and rootless young man in his mid-20s without close family ties, decided to volunteer for a small Norwegian contingent fighting on the side of the Finns against an invading Soviet Army in the so-called ‘Winter War’ (see our post on the Finnish war film with that title). Injured in battle, Max returns to Norway to discover that his country has been invaded by the Nazis. He links up with Oslo friends and becomes involved in acts of resistance. Captured by the Gestapo he escapes and sets off on a journey that would take him several months and halfway round the world before he reaches the UK where the Norwegian government in exile is based. In a training camp in Scotland he learns the skills of a saboteur and resistance fighter and is eventually parachuted back into Norway. For the remainder of the war he carries out various raids on German ships in the port of Oslo, retreating for bouts of ‘rest and recreation’ in neutral Sweden where he meets Tikken, the Norwegian wife of a British diplomat.
The film covers a range of actions and a range of sub-genres. There are sequences which relate to the urban intrigues with the Gestapo and others which focus on the commando-style sabotage attempts on German shipping on Oslo’s waterfront. The scenes in Stockholm seem more part of a Casablanca type of spy/romance. Much of the action was shot in Oslo with its distinctive architecture but the overall presentation is fairly conventional. Really this is just a cracking good story with real-life characters who were clearly very brave men and women. At the centre is a small group of young men who have known each other since childhood. This is what distinguishes the film from others, like Flame and Citron, in which resistance proves to be a more confusing process. Max Manus tells us a story that few outside Norway will know and since it is so engaging the film should prove both enjoyable and informative for any audience. Max is played with exuberance by Aksel Hennie, currently wowing audiences in the UK as Roger Brown in Headhunters – a very different role.
Panahi uses tape to mark out a girl’s room/’cell’ in a film he’s banned from making. So where is the camera here? Is Panahi’s colleague standing on a chair?
It was incongruous watching This Is Not a Film on the giant IMAX screen at the National Media Museum in Bradford. The image only filled the centre of the enormous screen but even so this was probably the biggest screen the film has played in the UK. And perhaps it isn’t that incongruous since Jafar Panahi’s film is either the cleverest film I’ve seen in a long time or a film that through circumstance has become the ultimate statement about films and filmmaking. (It was on the IMAX screen as part of the Museum’s response to current distribution developments in the UK – though not ideal, using the screen for current releases allows extra flexibility and extends the run of films like This Is Not a Film.)
For anyone unaware of the background to the film, I should point out that Jafar Panahi, one of the best-known and most celebrated of Iranian directors, was arrested in December 2010 and put under house arrest after committing the ‘crime’ of voicing his support for the Green opposition to President Mahmoud Ahmadinijad during the 2009 election. Panahi has been sentenced to imprisonment and banned from making films and engaging with foreign critics for 20 years. This film is therefore ‘not a film’ but an ‘effort’ put together by Panahi and his friend, the documentary producer and director Mojtaba Mirtahmasb.
Panahi is obliged to stay in his apartment in Tehran. It’s a very nice and certainly a spacious apartment but it is still a prison. The film details a day of his incarceration from breakfast until evening time. For most of the time Mirtahmasb operates a small professional digital camera while Panahi has his iPhone with its camera facility. Little in terms of conventional narrative action takes place but the events of the day are loaded with significance – starting with a call from Panahi’s lawyer about the appeal on his sentence. There are several visitors/calls at the door and more phone calls that are played through a speakerphone. Panahi analyses/comments on three scenes from his back catalogue of productions which he plays through his TV set. He also attempts to tell us the story of the film he would be making if he hadn’t been banned. This sounds like a typical Panahi neo-realist film in which a young woman from Isfahan who wants to go to university in Tehran is locked in her room by her father . . . but perhaps she is actually more interested in a potential relationship with a boy? The final section becomes a little mini-narrative in its own right in which Panahi, now operating the main camera, ventures a few feet outside the apartment, following a caretaker putting out the bins. The day in question is actually ‘Fireworks Wednesday’, the Persian New Year when people celebrate with bonfires on the streets as well as fireworks. The TV reports at some point that Ahmadinijad has outlawed such celebrations because they are not ‘Islamic’ (I think they are Zoroastrian – see Asghar Farhadi’s film Fireworks Wednesday.)
On the one hand, the whole film is about imprisonment. Panahi shares his space with his daughter’s pet iguana, ‘Igi’, an enormous and very endearing creature who at one point crawls behind a bookcase, threatening to topple hundreds of books. A neighbour asks Panahi to look after a yappy dog for a short while but dog and iguana don’t mix. But even imprisoned, Panahi can’t/won’t stop being a filmmaker. He and Mirtasmasb make fun of the definition of ‘not making’ a film. “You can’t say cut!”. “Just keep the camera running”. What is a film? How do we separate the ‘meaningful’ and the ‘meaningless’? Nothing in This Is Not a Film is ‘redundant’. Panahi looks up from his MacBook (plenty of product placement!) to watch the TV screen for a few moments as the 2011 tsunami devastates a coastal village in Japan. How do we ‘read’ this scene? Later on, when Panahi asks a few simple questions of the stand-in caretaker, the answers reveal something about life in Iran outside the comfortable middle-class flat. Here is a young man studying for a Masters, but having to work doing several jobs to pay for his education – some of them unpleasant and jobs that must be done full-time by somebody else. This isn’t a critique of Iranian society as such but simply an example of what a student might face and that’s probably enough to anger the authorities.
Each of the three sequences from his earlier films that are shown on his TV set allows Panahi to demonstrate how his realist approach throws up interesting questions about cinema, in particular about ‘amateur’ actors interacting with a script and how the accidental mise en scène of neo-realism sometimes creates strongly symbolic images. And in a sense of course, this is the tease of This Is Not a Film – 72 mins of what seems to be a ‘day in the life’ of an imprisoned filmmaker, but which is actually an artfully constructed essay on cinema. It will no doubt become a film school classic as a film to study. But as we sit back and enjoy it, there is the real worry in that completing the film and smuggling it out of the country for international exposure, Jafar Panahi might have goaded his tormentors into an even harsher regime of repression for filmmakers. I hope not.
The film’s official website in the US also carries details of screenings in the UK. It deserves a much bigger audience than it seems to have been getting so far, so please don’t miss it.