[Doing Nothing ≠ Neutrality]

FST 205-002
30 April 2010

[Doing Nothing ≠ Neutrality]
The Camera as a Gun in Danis Tanović's No Man's Land

    The Italian neorealist film movement grew out of need and necessity amidst the cultural and economic devastation following WWII and reflected the ambiguous moral conditions which existed in Italy in the years following the war. The narrative of these films often centered on the trauma to the psyche of people in their everyday life, the desperate poverty and uncertain future facing most people in the country at that time. Twenty years later, the film movement of Third Cinema developed in Latin America to confront colonialism, American capitalism, and the Hollywood model of cinema which dominated most film markets throughout the world—which was seen by many Latin American film makers as being escapist entertainment bereft of social awareness or value and created only to make money. These Third Cinema filmmakers embraced the idea of film as a weapon of propaganda. Indeed, regardless of authorial intention, they viewed cinema as already being in the political realm of propaganda; that is, a message meant to convey ideals about a specific social-ideological structure. Upon the tapestry of these two film movements—and in the lingering aftermath of atrocity in the Yugoslav Wars—Danis Tanović created what could rightfully be cited as the first anti-war film of the post-Cold War era, the Bosnian release, No Man's Land (Ničija zemlja) (2001).

    Tanović's film is infused with seemingly insignificant details that add up to make a mosaic of something larger than itself, albeit, a mosaic that might resemble a stained glass window shattered by rifle fire and is missing a few pieces; those missing pieces are provided by the viewers' various degrees of perception and connotative understanding. It is saturated with political commentary mixed with metaphors which reflect the competitive clash of multiple ideological propaganda and tinged with bitter sarcasm—the sort of humor one might laugh at and then wonder if it was really meant to be funny, consider it was, laugh again, and then wonder what has brought humor to the point that something like that was indeed meant to be so humorous. It makes some level of sense then, that this single film could so casually incorporate and display its many different genres and film movements. It becomes, as previously stated, an anti-war film, a Post-Cold War film, an example of new European cinema (being produced by companies from at least six nations), an anti-globalization film, a biting political satire, a reflection of mass consumer-driven media, and even an examination of the micro-politics of the murderous impulses that lay buried in the deep of the human psyche. That's a lot of mosaic pieces scattered about that readers of this dense text must consider if wishing to offer commentary equal to the complicated narrative offered in the film.

    Although Italian neorealism may have died at the end of the credits in Vittorio De Sica's Umberto D, it would be a short and futile argument to say that Gillo Pontecorvo's La battaglia di Algeri (The Battle of Algiers) isn't depicted in an unselfconsciously similar style. Realistic to the point that not only was there a caption at the beginning of the film assuring the audience that "not one foot" of newsreel was used, but forty years later the Pentagon would host a screening of the film as an instructional guide to their current urban warfare in Iraq. Writing about the Pentagon screening, New York Times critic, Stuart Klawans offers that "apart from Orson Welles, no one before had so imaginatively imitated the look of a newsreel, although Welles had pulled the trick only for the 'March of Time' segment of Citizen Kane, whereas Mr. Pontecorvo kept up his illusion for 123 minutes." Given the circumstances in Tanović's own country for the decade prior to making No Man's Land, it might have been expected to see him produce a film with a similar dramatic-documentary ethos.

    Danis Tanović was studying film and theatre at the Sarajevo Academy of Art when the Yugoslav Wars began in the early '90s. The Academy taught multi-disciplinary theatre—film-making, TV, radio—in the same program. When the Siege of Sarajevo began, he volunteered with the militia but because of his background in film, he ended up carrying a camera instead of a gun. His work documenting the war began often used footage for the world media covering the war from abroad. He continued this for a few years before smuggling himself out of Bosnia and finishing his education in Belgium. Years later, when production began on his first feature film—No Man's Land—the location shoot was in Slovenia, which had been spared virtually all warfare, but the filming location was within range of the country's military maneuvers. Actual tank and artillery fire could often be heard during filming. All of this, along with Tanović's love of De Sica's techniques, produced a film that blatantly shows the influence of Italian neorealism, but could never be mistaken for a documentary at all.

    The staging of this—as well as a number of overt points within the narrative—becomes a matter then for comparison to Latin American Third Cinema and its use—which Tanović experienced first-hand—of the camera as a gun; the manipulation of scene and tailored narrative to formulate image and story into propaganda. Tanović loads his film with information that is perhaps not meant to be consciously understood upon first viewing but instead lingers in the psyche to impart information at a later time. The very principle which guides much of political and ideological "advertising," or, as could be drawn from Bolshevist Russian terminology, the idea of agitprop (a portmanteau of agitation and propaganda). Tanović not only uses this theory as technique in his film-making, but incorporates it into the story's narrative.

    First, an example of the density of visual information. From the opening scene, the world is shrouded with a blinding fog. From out of this step five or six non-uniformed soldiers (the audience is not given specific number of men, as the fog is too dense). The only indicators of which side these soldiers fight for—their national identity—are simple buttons and patches pinned to their jackets, or, in a few cases, only a colored bandana tied around the arm. This detail reveals the deep significance of identity which permeates the film. Not the sort of identity of belonging so much as the identity of placing blame. The extreme visual density is so ingrained that subtitles are provided in several scenes in which there are dialogue nor written words. These subtitles inform those unfamiliar with the symbol set at work: most participants look the same, are of a shared ethnic and cultural heritage (despite the wailings of national extremists to the contrary). The colors depicted on the flags from both sides are similar and it is only in the small coat of arms displayed in the center of one banner that reveals who's side is whose. Without understanding the background of the conflict, the symbols shown are of little use (even in the American Civil War/War Between the States—the only instance in United States history that holds any similarity to the Yugoslav Wars—the two sides in conflict chose alternative colors for their troops). In a wide angle shot of the front lines, a red, white, and blue flag unfurls in the breeze. A cross in the center with four Cs is displayed. The film subtitle detonates to the outside viewer what signifier is on display: Serbian Lines. This subtitling is repeated at various times in the first third of the film to indicate the Bosnian Lines, a UN Outpost, and road barricades for both the Serbs and the Bosnians, showing the film's "point of view is not anchored in any one national perspective, but sees a local ethnic conflict from a roaming vantage point, moving between two soldiers from opposing sides stuck in a stalemate, hamstrung U.N. officials, and an intrusive TV journalist" (Corbin 46). Without familiarity of the signs and signifiers involved—whose ideology holds sway in a given area—the viewer could be at a loss as to identity in the film. This is a deliberate point made by Tanović which certainly has its roots in the Latin American revolutionary cinema of the 1960s.

    Showing aspects of multiple viewpoints simultaneously is not limited merely to the visuals in the film, but also is inherent in the structure of the story being told. This is not a film where a scene of narrative is followed by a scene of characterization followed by the micro-details of a model telling, that is, a single example meant to convey the repetition steeped in routine. Instead, Tanović uses the attention to the smallest of details to show us character mindset, personal faith, and context within the narrative all at once. Early in the story, Čiki is alive but wounded in the trench in no man's land between the two front lines. He explores the trench as best he can, and is under the assumption that the shelling that stranded him there also killed his friend Cera. For a full two minutes of screen time within an even longer scene without dialogue, Čiki discovers a half-smoked cigarette on the ground in the trench, realizes he has no lighter, deduces where a lighter might be (in a kit bag outside the trench within range and view of snipers from both sides), devises and enacts a plan to recover the kit bag from in the field of fire, does so, and finally, reverently, lights his cigarette. In a situation where death occurs at the speed of 800 meters a second, this attention to the seemingly inconsequential detail and gesture of smoking a cigarette shows the joy each living moment has in a war zone. Later, when Čiki discovers, only too late to prevent the tragedy which befalls Cera, that his friend is alive, he shares a cigarette with him. Cera jokes with him, "I hope those aren't my cigarettes." "When I took them, I didn't know you'd need them. But now I hope," Čiki tells his friend as he holds one for Cera to smoke, "that you'll die of cancer."

    This humor is also a integral part of the film, of the culture from which it comes. These are a people who, in the midst of the longest siege of modern military history upon a capital city under heavy embargo from both the United Nations and the assaulting Bosnian Serb Army, wrote and published a manual called the Sarajevo Survival Guide. This book details with bleak and vicious sarcasm, a guided tour through a city that had hosted the Olympic Games eight years previous. One example from the Guide concerns gift-giving during time of siege, "for you will have friends to visit ... a complete edition of books which lack humor and poetry. Could you spare some Vladimir Illich Lenin? Last winter has proven that his books burn well" (Prstojević 39). The straight-faced humor displays itself in the film as commentary on media propaganda, as newshound Jane Livingstone, Global News Channel, points out when she signs off from a live update, "The absurdity of war continues. How will this all end? Stay tuned."

    This sort of war humor isn't by any means unique to Tanović's film. Although with his Sarajevan wit, Tanović plays it openly understated. In The Battle of Algiers there is a almost imperceptible moment of outrageous ironic humor in the middle of what is perhaps the most infamous scene in the film. As the three women plant their bombs in cafés around the European Quarter, the girl in the milk bar dances to a pop tune. The song is "Hasta Mañana;" a revolutionary's sense of humor is not well-understood outside of besieged or occupied cities. Tanović, in his film, makes clear that "laughter was an antidote to horror in the Bosnian war: 'We didn't have any weapons, so humor was the way we defended ourselves against what was happening'" (Gilgoff). The comedic aspects of the film reflect the absurdity of the situation, of warfare in general and of humans astonishing penchant for atrocity. "The comedy is not in juxtaposition with more serious moments, but felt as a grim irony underneath every action ... it is not laughter the film evokes so much as a grim smile" (Corbin 47-48). This theme is present throughout, but it is crucial to understand the context of this film.

    Globalization is another target where Tanović's biting sarcasm replaces the animosity and anger conjured by Third Cinema. In repeated exchanges between characters of multiple nationalities, it seems English is the only common language most of them share. As French UN soldiers await a German bomb expert who arrives "bang on the dot" to the minute he was scheduled to, the two Frenchmen and the German verbally demonstrate active stereotypes in a subtle manner:

        German De-miner: Guten tag.
        Captain Dubois: Parlez-vous français?
        German De-miner: Nein.
        Sergeant Marchand: English, of course?
        German De-miner: Yeah, of course.

This commentary on globalization reflects on the micro-politics within the film of understanding between characters of even the same language.  Even sharing the same symbol sets, language, or a pre-war infatuation for the same woman (as two characters from opposing sides do) does not automatically lead to understanding.  And this understanding a fellow human is a major underlying theme in No Man's Land.

    This film does not take sides and it does not point fingers nor firearms of blame at any one side in this conflict (as the characters do, insisting the other admit fault in being the aggressor).  It does not seek to exonerate anyone, but to rationally complicate the matter in order to examine it more closely.  As is repeated several times in the film, one cannot remain neutral in the face of murder and doing nothing does not equal neutrality. Without laying upon us-as-compassionate-viewers a guilt trip for which we could almost all be culpable, Tanović brings us conspiratorially close to the cause of the conflict, to the point, almost, of complicity.  In some sense, acquiescence. But guilt? Tanović detours us all from the easy path of guilt.

    At the end of this film, two soldiers are dead, and one is left alive, albeit a movement away from death by the "bouncing mine" activated under where he lies in the dirt on the floor of the trench in no man's land.  The UN soldiers with their impotent rifles of neutrality make ready to depart.  The media with their loaded cameras drive away ("a trench is just a trench" she tells her cameraman). Their camera is a gun as well, but in this case, their shots missed the real target. Danis Tanović's aim, however, does not.

Bibliography

Corbin, Amy. "No Man's Land (Nikogarŝnja Zemlja)." Film Quarterly 60.1 (2006): 46-50. JSTOR. Web. 3 Apr. 2010.

Cowie, Peter. "The Idealist." Projections 15 A Greater Europe (2007): 68-72. ILL. Web. 7 Apr. 2010.

Dovi, Suzanne. "Movie Review." Contemporary Justice Review 6.4 (2003): 401-02. Print.

Gilgoff, Dan. "The Man From No Man's Land." U.S. News & World Report 132.12. 15 Apr. 2002: 10. Print.

Horton, Andrew. "Beyond No Man's Land: Comic Tragedy & Tearful Laughter in Cinemas of the Balkans." World Literature Today 77.3/4 (2003). JSTOR. Web. 3 Apr. 2010.

Ničija zemlja (No Man’s Land). Dir. Danis Tanović. By Danis Tanović. Noé Productions and Fabrica, 2001.

Portuges, Catherine. "No Man's Land (Nikogarŝnja Zemlja)." American Historical Review 107.2 (2002): 675-76. JSTOR. Web. 4 Apr. 2010.

Prstojević, Miroslav. Sarajevo Survival Guide. Sarajevo: FAMA, 1993: 39. Print.

Shapiro, Michael J. "'The Fog of War'" Security Dialogue 36.2 (2005): 233-46. Sage. Web. 4 Apr. 2010.

Stewart, Matthew. "Danis Tanovic's No Man's Land and the Contemporary War Movie." Midwest Quarterly 47.1 (2005): 9-25. Print.