Son of Saul

The unimaginable terror of a death camp, where you've become desensitised to the everyday slaughter and murder of herded souls to keep your sanity until a pause, as the machine fails its evil mandate and expels an innocence for manual extermination, and you're connection to a flame that died some time ago is relit, rekindled, reawakened, with perspectives reset and clarity restored, the overwhelming passion and desire to do what's right in the face of everything that's wrong, in the knowledge that it may be the last righteous thing you may ever do, or indeed anyone may ever do as far as you know in this world gone mad.

Outstanding performances, cinematography and direction in a story that will break your soul.

You can watch a lot of films about Holocaust, but this one is truly outstanding. I experienced a genuine compassion to Saul while watching. Author managed to make us feel all the cruelty of war times.

I do not understand how the previous commentators were able to add their opinion, since I saw the very first screening of the movie outside Cannes in the Művész arts cinema of Budapest tonight, on May 29, 2015.

The movie was followed by a discussion and Q&A session with the artists.

Director Nemes aimed to create a movie that is deprived of the post-war artifacts present in most Holocaust movies.

For this goal, he and his staff made substantial historical research to make the smallest details truthful. The shooting took place from less than $2 million, in a very short period (28 days). French, Israeli and German investors did not give money for the movie for fear of a loss.

As the director mentioned, a movie of this length is spliced together form 300 to 700 cuts these days. Theirs required only 80. You are in the camp, you are Saul Auslander. There is utter confusion, you do not know what awaits you in the next second. This is a reality movie with no happy ending that shakes you.

This movie starts completely out of focus - literally. The viewer sees only vague shapes moving around. Is this a technical error or an experiment gone wrong? Nothing of the kind. After a while, the face of lead character Saul Auslander moves close to the camera - and into focus.

And it stays this way. In the first few minutes, the camera stays within a range of 50 centimeters from Saul's face. Or I should say: Saul's head - because sometimes we see only the side or the back of his head.

The effect of this style of filming is no less than spectacular. All kinds of things are happening around Saul. Horrible things, we soon learn. But we never get to see them close by. We only see shapes, out of focus, at the extreme fringes of the screen, and we hear the sounds. And we keep seeing his face, in focus. He moves around, works, does things, and all the while all we see is his face.

Soon we understand where he is: in a Nazi concentration camp. Saul belongs to a Sonderkommando, a group of Jews who are temporarily spared from death to do the labour the Germans don't want to do. In the midst of the terrible atrocities, it becomes his mission to bury a boy he believes is his son.

This film is unique in showing the concentration camp for what is is: hell on earth. Naked dead bodies being dragged around, desperate people being shot indiscriminately, complete absence of anything humanity stands for. It is exactly this total loss of dignity that drives Saul in his hopeless quest for a way to organize a proper burial for the dead boy.

Son of Saul is the complete antithesis of that other monumental Holocaust movie: Schindler's List. While Spielberg's film is made according to all the rules of good film making, Son of Saul is a claustrophobic trip, without any possible concession to commercial appeal. The dialogue is often hardly comprehensible, spoken in three languages, sometimes not louder than a whisper. Not all the acts and events are quite clear, and only after a while you understand what exactly drives Saul.

This is a unique, hard-hitting movie experience. When you go see it, don't expect a well-rounded story with heroes and villains and a nice ending. But expect to be swept away.

The room is filled to the brim with happy, healthy people aged 20 to 80, who just stocked up on American drinks and candy of all sorts and eagerly await the start of the movie. After some commercials and a trailer, the lights dim and the last conversations between these movie-goers come to a halt. Silence ensues.

FESTIVAL DE CANNES / GRAND PRIX, the screen states. The film begins. A seemingly never-ending scene is shown in which we follow the stoic face of a man who walks among hundreds of others, gently prodding them to move along, walk faster, go on. Everyone present in the cinema immediately knows what's going on. Silence continues.

The people undress. They are herded into the 'shower' rooms. The doors are shut. The Jews who are forced to help the Nazis murder these people are asked to throw their full bodyweight against the doors, so nobody can escape. Screams, endless screams, envelop the theater. High-pitched children's screams, men's despairing yells, women's cries and sobs. After what seems to be an eternity, the screen cuts to black and the movie title is displayed. The screams fall silent.

Filmed in a World War 2-like 4X3 aspect ratio, we continue to follow the protagonist literally head-on for an hour and a half. The 21st- century audience knows the stories, the names of the camps, has read books and seen dozens of movies about the Holocaust. But never like this. Screams alternate with silence, gunshots juxtapose stillness, life rubs in death. And through all of it, the audience is silent.

Some gasp and put their hands in front of their mouths, others have the same dead stare the protagonist shows throughout the movie. Most everyone has trouble breathing as the movie grabs them by the throat and does not let go. Silence screams from the throats of every movie- goer present.

As the credits roll, nobody talks, but everyone is in a hurry to leave the theater. Everyone wants to escape the living hell they've just experienced for an hour and a half. And everyone is more keenly aware than ever that for 15 million people a mere three generations ago, escape was not an option. The audience was never this silent during any of the hundreds of movies I saw on the silver screen. No coughs, no crunching on chips, no unscrewing of bottles, no talk. Merely silence.

As the audience shuffles out of the door, they all realize that silence is all that remains: silence screaming from the theater itself, screaming silence from the screen. They know that no matter how many books, history lessons or movies are made about the subject, it's a silence that still should be screamed, yelled and cried into the world for generations to come.