The Death of Mr. Lazarescu
Director: Cristi Puiu
Grade: A

So far, 2006 has proven to be a far more important year than 2005. Among my most cherished films of this year exists a common thread, that of realism; the same sort of realism previously reserved for the chamber dramas of Bergman or the Neorealist works of De Sica. Bubble, United 93, L’Enfant and, to a lesser extent, Mountain Patrol: Kekexili all share the same conceptual design of faux-documentaries. That is to say, despite the fictitious (or, in the case of United 93, marginally fictitious) subject matter of these films, each handle their content in a style reminiscent of Cinéma Vérité: very little (if any) music, natural, extemporaneous dialogue, lack of overt stylistic measures and distracting visual flourishes, and organic stories engendered from and characterized by the ordinary rather than the exceptional.

Add to that list the epic genius of The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, a two and a half hour long film about a dying alcoholic lost in the bureaucracy of the Romanian medical system. Here’s a film strangely embraced by mainstream critics who normally cast aside such densely told films, criticizing them for their erudition rather than embracing their urbane structure. Those who complain of boredom either fail to identify its purpose or feel no empathy for its subject. Frustration supplants boredom, but frustration with purpose since the film seeks to expose a system incapable of serving the needs of its patients. We wait for a solution that appears all too obvious and yet somehow out of reach for our tragic hero for reasons that remain implicitly stated. The film does provide us with many examples to reflect upon: an overworked, indifferent staff, lack of available facilities, refusal to abandon protocol, etc.

As I mentioned earlier, the film has a somewhat intimidating length (though for those of you who recall my undying support of last year’s The Best of Youth, this task will appear significantly less daunting), but I don’t want to give the impression that it drags by any means. Part of what makes the film so successful is that it doesn’t restrict its perspective. It’s the cinematic equivalent of Joyce’s parallax or Pynchon’s connectedness. As Lazarescu grows less coherent and slips in and out of consciousness, the film shifts perspectives as different characters enter and exit the plot. In a conventional drama, the drama would entirely focus on Lazarescu’s struggle, and, to be sure, it does to an extent. But as various characters come in contact with him, the camera hones in on them, casting Lazarescu to the periphery to digress into an examination of that character’s current status in relation to the unifying vision of the film. As a result, we penetrate the internal dynamics of the ER more effectively than I’ve ever seen, short of actually being in a hospital.

In some ways, the film bears an uncanny resemblance to Scorsese’s unjustly overlooked Bringing Out the Dead in depicting an environment on the threshold of life and death that has grown numb to the notion of miracles. While Scorsese, as expected, fell back on moments of over-stylization to get his message across, Cristi Puiu, the director, presents everything matter-of-factly, draining it of any allusion to spirituality. In a strange way, the film itself is being marketed as a comedy. While there are a few laughs, the overall tone remains a bit too dark to work within the strict confines of the genre. However, if we view the movie as a whole in the sense that it depicts a dreadful situation stretched to the most absurd of extremes, then we can begin to sense the way in which a sardonic sort of humor emerges from its bleakness.