Frosty, formal, yet so forceful. This story of terrible deeds in a small German village in the months prior to the first World War is the latest masterpiece to come from the formidable Austrian director Michael Haneke. Shot entirely in black and white and with rigid camera mountings, the film seems like a throwback to early cinematic melodramas. However, this starched work has no accompanying score and its buttoned-up solemnity hangs heavily on the screen.
Narrated in retrospect by the then youthful village schoolmaster (Christian Friedel), the film concentrates on the lives of six families – those of the Baron (Ulrich Tukur) and his steward (Josef Bierbichler), those of the village’s pastor (Burghart Klaußner), doctor (Rainer Bock) and midwife (Susanne Lothar), and that of a field labourer (Branko Samarovski). Despite it being the early twentieth century, an insular, agrarian-based, near-feudalistic society still exists. The schoolmaster does warn that he is recalling events of a long time beforehand and some of his memories are based on hearsay. However, what he goes on to recount is a tale where serious incidents befall different people in the village, including the doctor nearly breaking his neck when he trips on a maliciously placed length of wire and the baron’s young son being beaten by unknown assailants.
From the outset, the audience is given a fairly good idea as to who is behind these crimes. At the same time, Mr. Haneke peppers the plot with enough loose ends to ensure that no one can come up with an explanation afterward that will properly square away everything that they have just seen. Indeed, the director’s focus is more on representing the silent aura of evil that pervades the village rather than engage in a whodunit, examine motivations, or even ponder consequences. Although, with respect to the latter, the occasional reminders of the growing spectre of war are enough to remind the audience of what will take place in Germany in the years and decades ahead.
In fact, what is presented in The White Ribbon is a cruel, authoritarian, and unequal society built on the rotten foundations of puritanical morality, callous patronage, and the institutionalisation of superiority based on class and privilege. It is a place where anyone who publicly steps out of line ends up ostracised, even by their own families. It is a place where dark deeds take place behind closed doors. In short, it is a universally resonant depiction of what can happen when people are deprived of education and controlled through fear. In fact, the echoes with Ireland’s own appalling recent past, for example, are only too painfully apparent.
Of course, the most difficult aspect of this film is seeing the harm that this society does to its children. In one scene, despite the conflict etched on his face, the pastor is unable to break free from years of reserve and haughtiness when confronted by the simple and touching humanity of his youngest son. In another, the baroness (Ursina Lardi) remarks on how her son flowered during his time away in Italy. The lack of love in the film is telling. Morality, without it, is intolerance and inhumanity by another name. Fortunately, in the guise of the schoolmaster and his fiancee (Leonie Benesch), hope still flickers. They are the real white ribbon here.
An exceptional film, on the whole, that is as delicately nuanced as it is austerely structured.
Filed under: Cinema, Films, Movies | Tagged: Branko Samarovski, Burghart Klaußner, Christian Friedel, Das Weisse Band, Josef Bierbichler, Leonie Benesch, Michael Haneke, Rainer Bock, Susanne Lothar, The White Ribbon, Ulrich Tukur
