The Paradoxical Philosophy Behind Shoah

Giselle Omar

The Paradoxical Philosophy Behind Shoah

Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah (1985) addresses the limits of representation by attempting to limit as much influence from the filmmaking process and construction in the film, whilst still being subjective in its construction. It also represents the stories with subliminal ulterior motives. The best example of this is the film’s excruciating length. It is not only a result of Lanzmann’s hesitance to neglect portions of this footage (limit representation to fit the structuralist’s ideal film length), but also to attack another aspect of the audience’s psyche. Each frame is a weapon wielded by Lanzmann.  The main distinction between Shoah and other examples of Holocaust representation is that Lanzmann acknowledges the limits of representation and aims to respect these and incorporate subjective artistry. Taking on a challenge as complex as this can easily be a recipe for disaster. In fact, Lanzmann has been criticized for some of his more ethically ambiguous methods. Although Lanzmann’s finished product may be a controversial, emotionally dense work of art, it is the closest any moving image media has gotten to representing the Holocaust.
        Shoah is the product of a film movement known as cinema verite, French for “truthful cinema.” (Aquino 2). The limits of representation go beyond the Holocaust, as they are also a hot-button topic in the documentarian community. The main debate is over whether or not a documentary can ever truly be objective. Those that belong to the cinema verite school of thought, acknowledge the limits of representation and say “no, so we must be transparent with our subjectivity.” As a result, directors like Lanzmann openly interact with the film, by interviewing on screen and making aesthetic decisions. It is the documentary’s way of breaking the fourth wall. It is also during this time that documentary film emerges as a political weapon and to “raise awareness of neocolonialism and capitalism human character.” (Aquino 11). Once we define Shoah as a cinema verite film, the questionable behavior of Lanzmann starts to make a little bit more sense. Although, embracing subjectivity whilst still trying to represent accurately seem to be two conflicting ideas. Fortunately, his subjectivity does not eclipse the comprehensive compilation of individual perspectives; but is it the finished product that matters or the methods that made it possible?
        First and foremost, to properly understand the film’s relationship with the limits of representation, it is vital to examine the film’s content. Shoah, a title referencing the Hebrew word for chaos and annihilation that is commonly used in the Jewish community to properly refer to the Holocaust, is a nine-hour documentary film about the Holocaust, consisting solely of the testimonies of survivors, bystanders, and perpetrators filmed during the seventies and eighties. Roger Ebert described the film as “an enormous fact, a 550-minute howl of pain and anger in the face of genocide” (Ebert 1). There's a real power to the accumulation of stories from different people, from all walks of life and each with their own connection to the Holocaust. Lanzmann does not present easy answers. It is not the documentary's job to do so, but rather to make us more cognizant of the reality and the problems. Instead, Lanzmann builds a strong, steady case that it was a failure at all levels--an inability to act from bystanders and Jews, and an inability for Nazis, like Adolf Eichmann, to properly think for themselves.
        Despite the extensive collection of documents recovered after liberation, there are still numerous aspects of the Holocaust that we will never be able to properly visualize. For example, there is no photographic evidence of an actual gas chamber. We accept their existence as fact because of the documents and witness testimony, however, we will never truly know what one looked like. This is just one of many visual limits placed upon Lanzmann when creating Shoah. Instead of attempting to surpass this limit with archival footage, he lets the testimony pair with images of the land that lies where the concentration camps used to be. He shot just about every angle of the entrance to the crematorium and the Treblinka sign. Robert Faurisson, of the Institute for Historical Review, stated, "The strength of this film is not in showing what took place -- in fact it refrains from doing that -- but in showing the possibility of what took place" (Faurisson 1). He represents the Holocaust without representing it at all, refusing to supply any visual information to match his endless stream of spoken testimonials. He also makes no attempt to place the testimony in any type of chronological order and mislead the audience into thinking Shoah is a factual, objective account of history.
        Usually in a documentary when the subject speaks a foreign language, the asking of the question is overdubbed in the director's own language, with the answer either being in the foreign language with subtitles or overdubbed by another voice in the director's language. Not so with Shoah. Lanzmann directly addresses the language limit of representation by including the entire “behind-the-scenes” process of utilizing a physical translator to communicate. A difference in language impedes upon communication of the desired idea, and forgoing subtitles is his way of calling attention to the limit’s presence. Furthermore, having a human translator also increases the likelihood of human error impacting the flow of information. In class, we saw Lanzmann address a word he recognized from the interviewee that the translator failed to relay. It begs the question of accuracy in translation. The entire translation ordeal also allows for time to elapse with the camera focused on the interviewee. The viewer is able to see the immediate reaction of the interviewee to what they just said.
        A physical limit on representation of the Holocaust is the witness’ lack of desire to testify. This limit of representation is the only one Lanzmann seems to tread the line with. It also is the main source of criticism for the film. Some interviews are staged in terms of their setting and to some, it depreciates the authenticity of the film. For instance, Abraham Bomba, an Auschwitz survivor, is pretending to cut a customer's hair in one of the film's most powerful moment. Lanzmann was open with his aesthetic decisions in the film. It helped Bomba, a barber, feel more comfortable having a familiar activity whilst He has openly stated that he considers Shoah to be a work of art. And most importantly, every word that came out of Bomba’s mouth was his truth. The content of his testimony is what matters in the hierarchy of representation.
        Moreover, whether it be a self-preservation method to avoid reliving the pain of their past or shame from a morally ambiguous past, it is extremely difficult to find a survivor who will willingly divulge their experience during the Holocaust. As a result, Lanzmann employs the use of some controversial tactics. He is abrasive in his questioning and it is slightly uncomfortable to watch. When Bomba is hesitant to continue sharing, Lanzmann states, “We have to do it. You know it… You have to do it. I know it's very hard. I know and I apologize.” Then, when Bomba begs,”Don’t make me go on. Please.” Lanzmann responds with, “Please, we must go on.” (Lanzmann 185-189). This comes across as emotionally manipulative and coercive. As for the other groups involved in the Holocaust, perpetrators, and bystanders, Lanzmann also had to utilize deceptive maneuvers to get them to speak. Although they are not the afflicted, they may feel shameful about what side of history they were on. Lanzmann creates elaborate schemes, in conjunction with extensive lying, to make others believe that he shares their beliefs. He has been criticized for his unconventional, ethically ambiguous actions, but it cannot be argued that he did not successfully surpass this limit with deception.
        Although Shoah acknowledges the limits of representation, Lanzmann’s views are often seen as contradictory to the intended message. For example, The movie itself is a bit didactic or controlling, and at times, Lanzmann’s influence can become overbearing. It is as if  Lanzmann finds it very important that we perceive things in a particular way. The camera zooms are incredibly harsh and lack grace. Conversely, the camera powerfully captures silence, hesitations, and repetitions. Lanzmann lingers on the faces of his subjects and truly uses visuals to his advantage. As stated previously, the length of the film is over nine hours. All these components highlight Lanzmann’s controlling nature, but it’s his valiant effort to capture all that can in these interviews.
        In closing, Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah acknowledged the limits of representation and made a conscientious effort to represent the Shoah without actually representing the physical genocide. By taking a more abstract view of representation, Claude Lanzmann is able to achieve what other directors couldn’t. Ironically, the main controversy over Lanzmann’s creation is his role in its creation. His attempts to merge his own subjectivity, along with the subjectivity of every witness, to gain a comprehensive view of the Holocaust beyond the objective facts.  Lanzmann openly embraced subjectivity and was not afraid to be controversial, as a result, he gets the hard, impactful testimonials. If the testimony is authentic, personal truth, and Lanzmann’s intentions are pure (for the sake of speaking truth), then the methods are admissible. Although Lanzmann’s finished product may be a controversial, emotionally dense work of art, it reveals new, honest perspectives in the testimony of bystanders, perpetrator, and most importantly, survivors.