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Memories of Resistance and The Holocaust On Film 1St Ed Edition Mercedes Camino Download PDF Chapter
Memories of Resistance and The Holocaust On Film 1St Ed Edition Mercedes Camino Download PDF Chapter
Memories of
Resistance and the
Holocaust on Film
Mercedes Camino
Department of History
Lancaster University
Lancaster, UK
v
vi ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1 Introduction 1
vii
viii CONTENTS
Filmography 243
Index 249
List of Figures
ix
x LIST OF FIGURES
Fig. 5.1 Roman Polanski, The Pianist (2002). Wilm Hosenfeld (Thomas
Kretschmann) is framed by a window which lights him up and
offers him a hallowed space to walk away 162
Fig. 5.2 Roman Polanski, The Pianist (2002). The Eucharistic bread and
jam that Hosenfeld offers to Szpilman is lit with a shaft of light 163
Fig. 6.1 Stephen Spielberg, Schindler’s List (1997). Schindler (Liam
Neeson) watches the destruction of Płaszów’s ghetto from his
horse181
Fig. 7.1 Alexander ‘Sasha’ Pechersky (Rutger Hauer). Jack Gold, Escape
from Sobibor (1987) 205
Fig. 7.2 Alexander Pechersky. Yad Vashem Photo Archive, Jerusalem.
4216/2206
Fig. 7.3 Mordechai Anielewitz. Yad Vashem Photo Archive, Jerusalem.
5322213
Fig. 7.4 Edward Zwick, Defiance (2008). The flight of the Bielski
partisans reminiscent of Moses’ exodus from Egypt across the
Black Sea to reach Sinai 221
Fig. 7.5 Edward Zwick, Defiance (2008). Biblical imagery of Jews in
flight is associated with renewal and a new baptism 221
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
The Hollywood Academy and the Cannes Film Festival do not normally
converge in their understanding of cinema and very seldom coincide in
their awards. Films that gain Oscars from the Academy tend to be enter-
taining, reward the protagonist’s individual endeavour and adhere to the
traditional three-act narrative, often with a happy ending. By contrast, one
unstated prerequisite of films put forward for competition in Cannes is
originality, in either theme or style, or both.1 It thus came as a surprise to
see Cannes and the Academy concur in their praise of László Nemes’ opera
prima, Son of Saul (Saul fia, 2015), which was awarded the Cannes’ Grand
Prix in 2015 and an Oscar for one of the Academy’s most competitive
categories, Film in a Foreign Language, in 2016. Even more remarkable
was to hear Claude Lanzmann’s unambiguous praise of the film, which
was as notable as it was rare. Lanzmann believes that Nemes’ articulation
of fiction and reality conveys effectively that the Holocaust will always
remain beyond the realm of representation.2 This premise infused the pro-
duction of his nine-and-a-half-hour documentary, Shoah, first released in
1985 and celebrated thereafter as a landmark in filmmaking and in
Holocaust studies. Although belonging to different genres, Son of Saul
and Shoah focus on the Sonderkommando, a category referred to by
the dead, starved, enslaved and routinely beaten up until they became
despondent and lifeless Muselmänner, having given up on life, at which
point they were murdered and replaced. A few Sonderkommandos, however,
did survive, and their memoirs were determinant in the re-definition of
Holocaust survivor from the 1970s onwards, as will be seen in Chap. 5
of this book, ‘Holocaust Testimony: Survivors, Ghosts and Revenants
(1947–2002)’.
Primo Levi presents the Sonderkommandos as the paradigmatic example
of the moral conundrum, which he describes as the Holocaust’s ‘grey
zone’, and as embodiments of ‘National Socialism’s most demonic crime’.
Soon after his release from Auschwitz, Levi dedicated a chapter of his first
book, Se questo è un uomo (If this is a Man), to the shock and degradation
that awaited all internees when they received their first blows from other
prisoners.5 The role assigned to Sonderkommandos, Levi argues, provides
the best illustration of the Nazi ‘paroxysm of perfidiousness and hatred’
that designed a camp system in which ‘it must be the Jews who put Jews
into the ovens, it must be shown that the Jews, the sub-race, the sub-men,
bow to any and all humiliation, even to destroying themselves’. In this
way, the German lowered the status of their victims, making them forcibly
into perpetrators and robbing them of any trace of human dignity. This
vision, in turn, created a circular logic in which the subhuman Jews became
suitable for extermination. Levi’s last book, The Drowned and the Saved,
expands on this analysis of the successful attempt ‘to shift onto others—
specifically the victims—the burden of guilt, so that they were deprived of
even the solace of innocence’.6
The likes of Elie Wiesel, Levi, or Sonderkommandos Philip Müller,
Abraham Bomba or Rudolf Vrba, wrote or gave interviews about their
experiences, foregrounding paradoxes inherent in Holocaust survival.
Contemporaries, however, often classed Sonderkommandos as Jewish collab-
orators, as they did with the Jewish Councils or Jewish Police in ghettos, all
of whom had a visible role in repression and in putting into effect the Final
Solution to the Jewish Problem. The contradictions inherent in their survival
started to become known with a renewed interest in books such as Wiesel’s
Night or Levi’s If This is a Man, which did not meet immediate success on
their release in the 1940s and 1950s. Finished before the end of 1946, Levi’s
manuscript was initially rejected and then had 2000 copies printed by Franco
Antonicelli the same year. This first edition only sold 1500 copies, in spite
of receiving a positive review by Italo Calvino in the publication of
the Italian Communist Party, L’Unità.7 It was reprinted in 1958 by the
4 M. CAMINO
Turin editor Giulio Einaudi, and has remained a bestseller ever since. An
even more protracted process was followed by Wiesel’s Night, which saw the
light in 1958 as a reduced summary of an earlier 800-page manuscript, Un
di velt hot geshvign (And the World Remained Silent), written in Yiddish and
published in Argentina in 1956. It was reprinted in Paris in 1960 and later
on in the same year in New York, where it only sold around 1000 copies in
three years. Wiesel, who remained a human rights campaigner throughout
this life, would go on to publish more than fifty books, receiving the Nobel
Peace Prize in 1986. Night remains his most widely read work and has been
widely translated.
Unrecognized and unrecognizable, Holocaust survivors were beset by
contradictions and found it difficult to adjust to life in the liberation’s after-
math. Some, as Levi’s friend, Lorenzo Perrone, on whose generosity Levi
depended for his survival in Auschwitz, descended into alcoholism, which
led to his early death in 1952. Levi himself is thought to have committed
suicide in 1987, while other survivors resumed their lives in countries
other than their own.8 European Jews tried to put the past behind them
but many returned to it to give testimony about their life experiences
decades later. Lanzmann’s documentary, Shoah, famously broke some
silences by interviewing Szymon Srebrnik, Bomba, Vrba and Müller,
cementing Raul Hilberg’s classification of Shoah protagonists into three
segregated categories: victims, perpetrators and bystanders.9 Lanzmann
classed Sonderkommandos unambiguously as victims whose moral choices
were close to zero and Nazi commanders as perpetrators. Controversially,
Lanzmann castigated Polish bystanders, who bore the brunt of his accusa-
tions of antisemitism both during the war and at the time of making his docu-
mentary. These debates about Polish antisemitism will be referred to elsewhere
in this book, including the reception of Edward Zwick’s film, Defiance (2008),
in Poland, charted in Chap. 7, The Jewish Resister (1987–2015).
Nemes’ focus on a Sonderkommando in the context of a frustrated
attempt to escape Auschwitz is not completely innovative. An earlier
twenty-first-century film, Nelson’s The Grey Zone, which borrows its title
from Levi, also deals with Hungarian Jewish members of the
Sonderkommando. Nelson’s film is based on the memoirs written by one of
those assessed by Levi as belonging in ‘the grey zone’, the Hungarian doc-
tor, Miklós Nyiszli (Allan Corduner), who assisted Joseph Mengele with his
experiments.10 As in the book, in Nelson’s film, a girl (Kamelia Grigorova)
miraculously survives the gas chamber, perhaps thanks to a pocket of air
held between the remaining victims. Nyiszli manages to resuscitate her and
INTRODUCTION 5
World War. Among the myriad films that treat the plight of civilians in
occupied Europe, this book establishes a thematic division that corre-
sponds to chronologies of the conflict’s memorialization, highlighting the
intersecting vectors of time and space described by Mijhail Bakhtin as chro-
notopes. Although these trends neither arise ex nihilo nor disappear with-
out a trace, this investigation reveals cinematic representations of resistance
and the Holocaust that are demarcated by the ‘intrinsic connectedness of
temporal and spatial relationships’, or chronotopes.14 The result is a geo-
political alignment that embeds historical and social co-ordinates, while
displaying artistic movements and taking into consideration technological
developments. These parameters radiate from the geographical and politi-
cal centres of the conflict, France, the USSR and Poland, extending pri-
marily to the main allies in the conflict, the USA and the UK, as well as
other occupied countries, especially, but not only, those that were eventu-
ally situated beyond the Iron Curtain. Germany, as the aggressor, did not
experience occupation and is therefore largely be excluded from my inves-
tigation, although consideration is given to the alternative stages of
memorialization that took place in East Germany. By contrast with West
Germany (FRD), the Democratic Republic of Germany (GDR) con-
structed a peculiar memory of the war visible in films that address the
Holocaust in unusual ways, as will be seen in Chap. 5, which focuses on
Jewish testimony. West Germany, as the direct heir to the Nazi regime,
underwent an initially denazification process that entailed minimizing the
breadth and depth of Nazism and its appeal, as well as highlighting its own
victims and the putative honour of its army, the Wehrmacht.
This book treats films as historical sources in order not to elucidate
details about events but to showcase ideas and attitudes about them. These
films complement and are complemented by other sources, especially let-
ters, photographs, memoirs and court testimonies, in unique and impor-
tant ways. Films dealing with WWII and the Holocaust are highly
dependent on the role played by photography during the conflict.
Photojournalists became increasingly important from the 1930s, and pho-
tographs of the era have become iconic in a phenomenon described by
Marianne Hirsch as ‘post-memory’ and by Alyson Landsberg as ‘pros-
thetic memory’.15 As with photographs, films establish an intimate
relationship with viewers, which is only in part individual, as it is bound
by parameters demarcated by the filmmakers. Films and photographs
use light, lines, focus, vanishing points and other techniques, many
of which were initially borrowed from painting, to direct viewers to
INTRODUCTION 7
and espousing ideas that would inspire them to work, fight and die for a
cause. With the war nearing its end, films began to construct narratives
that could facilitate social reconstruction.
The films looked at in this book focus on civilian resistance and the
destruction of European Jewry, two events that are distinctive but inextri-
cably intertwined. Although all chapters include more than one nation,
the book’s thematic division creates clusters around particular chrono-
topes, including the camp, the forest, the sewer, the ghetto, the train, the
mountain and the bar or cafe. My analyses deal with productions from
complex cinematic traditions, the most prominent of which are those of
France and the USSR, though the study includes films from Yugoslavia,
Great Britain, the USA and Poland, as well as some contributions from the
GDR, Italy, Hungary and Czechoslovakia. The thematic division within
time-space co-ordinates means that the treatment of some national or
transnational cinematic traditions may be perfunctory, as well as the omis-
sion of some productions. Films dealing with strictly military aspects of
the war are largely excluded from my investigation, though the line demar-
cating the genre is imprecise, and some are mentioned in relation with
secret agents, POWs and escapees.
The selection of films in this book is informed by a preference for rep-
resentative or salient productions that have influenced the genre or are
better known. A criterion used is the consideration of a film as ‘founda-
tional’, in the sense that they introduce or summarize aspects that become
recurrent in one way or another in other films. Lastly, this book takes into
consideration accessibility either online, in DVDs or archives, selecting
accessible productions when more than one might serve similar purposes.
While some films studied here will be familiar to readers, the analyses do
not take for granted prior knowledge. Consequently, historical and cine-
matic contexts are spelled out, and events in the films will be outlined
when necessary for their analysis.
The main concepts underlying this study, resistance, collaboration and
Holocaust, are subject to substantial debate, and boundaries about their
significance need to be established. For the purposes of this book, resis-
tance is treated from the perspective of the occupiers, who cast a wide net
and used collective responsibility to prevent all forms of opposition. In
other words, the lines that separate passive from active resistance or defi-
ance from non-compliance or disobedience are drawn in relation to par-
ticular contexts. For example, praying in a ghetto or giving a piece of
bread to passing POWs can be classed as acts of disobedience in countries
INTRODUCTION 9
on the Western Front, while they risked an individual’s life, as well as that
of their family or even an entire village in the East. Acts of sabotage, print-
ing illegal press or murder of collaborators can be rightly considered resis-
tance in places like Denmark or the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia
while minor acts of solidarity would be just as dangerous in Poland or the
USSR. While this in no way lowers the value of acts such as the rescue of
Danish Jews, which will be outlined in Chap. 7, it raises the bar of deeds
that could be classed as symbolic when they took place in Eastern Europe
or the Balkans.
The stereotypical resister in a World War II film conjures up the image
of a French young man wearing a beret and wiring rail tracks while a train
approaches. Sabotage, that is, was established in the war’s early aftermath
as the more cinematic form of resistance, although it was by no means the
most effective. This book takes an eclectic view of resistance that includes
the rescue of Jews as one of the most important actions since it under-
mined the core ideological tenet of Nazi racial hegemony. Indeed, a focus
on Nazi thought makes some actions more subversive and long lasting,
even if not as explosive, in every sense of the term, as blowing up a train.
Minor protests or acts of disobedience in the Reich itself, such as the
White Rose, Rosenstrasse, or the belated July plot of 1944, are beyond the
scope of an investigation of events taking place in the occupied areas of
Europe. This exclusion also applies to any real or imagined protests in
Austria, regardless of whether these were religious or nationalist. However,
Italy, which abandoned the Axis in 1943, is treated in Chap. 2, The
Civilian Resister (1942–69), as it provides the most significant example of
the transformation of anti-fascists into active resisters and of civilians sup-
porting their struggle. Those exceptions notwithstanding, the chapters in
this book engage with multifarious forms of resistance, as well as the
parameters that define them.
Jewish survivors, witnesses and resisters are also classed in this book
in accordance to the criteria followed by the Nazis and their collabora-
tors. In other words, I treat this conflict’s unwilling protagonists in
keeping with the designation of those who created it, the Nazi ideo-
logues such as Alfred Rosenberg, through the reification of racial
supremacy that had Aryans at the pinnacle of a civilization whose nadir
were Jews, Slavs and Africans, probably in that order. This Nazi dogma
formed the basis from which military and paramilitary forces developed
before and during the war, providing a justification for the occupation
of Europe and a self-serving rationale for the staggering destruction
10 M. CAMINO
that followed. From this perspective, any form of resistance that would
present a challenge to that hierarchical order would be treated as criminal,
with the division between passive or active resistance becoming
academic.
Anti-Nazi resistance took place in the context of a pan-European con-
flict, which was triggered by Nazi Germany and eventually split countries
along socio-political lines, evolving into fully fledged civil wars in places
such as Yugoslavia or Greece and, to a lesser extent, Italy or France.
European governments fell into line with Nazi demands in quick succes-
sion, introducing antisemitic measures of their own, even when excusing
or disguising them as anti-communist or, in the idiom of the era, anti-
Bolshevik. In sum, resistance in occupied Europe was defined by the Nazis
as a seamless transition between barbarism, partisanship and Jewishness,
terms that often became interchangeable and that will be treated as coter-
minous in this book. This study thus situates the Holocaust within a Nazi
worldview that made communism, socialism and Jewishness often synony-
mous and where Slavic peoples, ranked just above Jews in the subhuman
scale, were earmarked for decimation and slavery. While the genocide of
European Jewry became the central Nazi pillar, and the only war that
Germany won, their credo subjugated and murdered millions elsewhere
especially, but not only, in Eastern Europe and the Balkans. In addition,
millions of civilians were dispossessed of their homes and displaced from
them if they happened to inhabit land earmarked as German Lebensraum,
as in the Czechoslovakian Sudetenland, Poland or Ukraine.
In this environment, many Jews, both religious and secular, took part
in myriad resistance activities that even reached concentration and death
camps, as mentioned above in relation to Son of Saul. In Eastern and
Western Europe, Zionist, non-Zionist or anti-Zionist Jews not only took
part in the struggle to save their families or their communities, but were
also present in all resistance movements, especially those to the left of the
political spectrum. The Jewish contribution to anti-fascist movements
was not simply a response to the Nazi ultra-nationalist focus on Jews as
enemies of the German motherland. It also resulted from their active
involvement in the social and political fabric of various countries,
especially in the USSR, Poland and France. Various forms of Jewish
resistance are shown in films in which Jews appear initially as innocent
victims and, subsequently, as survivors, active partisans or even corrupt
leaders of Jewish Councils (the Judenrat), as in Roman Polanski’s The
Pianist (2002). Regardless of these differences, a large proportion of films
INTRODUCTION 11
tragic or hubristic and does not necessarily lead to their downfall. Their
destinies, however, are linked to their willingness to take the moral high
ground against the establishment during the years of Appeasement.
Presciently, these men had foreseen the evils of fascism well before
Appeasement had proved to be an inadequate tool against Hitler’s expan-
sionism. In doing so, these films offer a redemptive narrative that counters
the political unwillingness to oppose Hitler’s Germany in the 1930s. The
pedigree of these cinematic heroes, in other words, is attested to by the
manner in which they had forged their credentials.
Anti-fascists or ‘discreet heroes’ started to appear in films in 1942, ini-
tially devised by European filmmakers in an effort to counter the isolationist
stance embraced by the USA. In their crudest form, these productions,
which were made during the war, projected the multi-sided conflict of
occupied Europe in Manichaean terms. This happens in, for example, Sam
Wood’s block-buster For Whom the Bell Tolls (1942), Michael Curtiz’
Mission to Moscow (1943), Gregory Ratoff and László Benedek’s Song of
Russia (1944) and the little-known Man from Morocco (1945), directed by
exile Mutz Greenbaum (known as Max Greene). More sophisticated and
long lasting are the two films at the centre of the first section of Chap. 2,
Curtiz’ Casablanca (1942) and Rossellini’s landmark, Rome, Open City
(henceforth, Rome).
The 1940s anti-fascist heroes had a natural heir in resisters that appeared
in films in the 1950s and 1960s, which are looked at in the second section
of Chap. 2, Monuments and Martyrs. This segment studies the consecra-
tion of ‘resister films’ soon after the war, which project the transformation
of innocent civilians into active saboteurs during the conflict. These men,
and the women who accompany them, are presented with a situation in
which not to resist might be tantamount to collaborating, and it is the situ-
ation, and not their prior beliefs, that makes them active resisters. Thus, if
cinematic anti-fascists of the 1940s had been formed and tested in the
1930s, in the next two decades, they are shown to be dynamic and deter-
mined in response to situations beyond their control, joining underground
movements as a response to the occupation or because of the policies of
the occupiers. Interestingly, the change in direction of the war in 1942–43,
which affected the recruitment of resisters everywhere in Europe, does not
figure as a cinematic cause, partly to avoid suggesting that resistance was
opportunistic. These films, moreover, were conceived as a means to memo-
rialize the conflict, showcasing people’s ingenuity and solidarity in the face
of German occupation. For reasons to be investigated in this chapter, this
INTRODUCTION 15
beliefs. For others, on the contrary, this was the crucial event of moder-
nity, which culminated the assumptions of the so-called age of reason.
This point of view was first championed in Theodor W. Adorno and Max
Horkheimer’s Dialectic of the Enlightenment (1944) and expounded
thereafter by Zygmunt Bauman in Modernity and the Holocaust (1989), as
well as Giorgio Agamben’s Remants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the
Archive (2002) and State of Exception (2005).33
Eichmann’s trial also became a catalyst for literary and visual testimo-
nies of Holocaust survivors, contributing to increasing engagements in
witnessing and memorializing their plight. Chapter 5, Holocaust
Testimony: Survivors, Ghosts and Revenants (1947–2002), focuses on the
way in which cinema became ‘testimonial’, with films using actual mem-
oirs of survivors and stimulating them.34 Although referents to the murder
of European Jews had appeared in films produced after the war in Eastern
Europe, representations of Jewish witnessing came of age in the late
1970s. This shift followed the renewed interest in the topic spurred by the
screening in the USA of Marvin J. Chomsky’s television series Holocaust
(1978), which traced the stories of a German and a Jewish family from the
rise of Nazism through World War II. Chapter 5 situates the stories of
Holocaust witnesses as fragments of a ‘sentient history’ that is only acces-
sible through creative and visual sources. In other words, films about
Holocaust witnessing not only occupy an important position in Holocaust
memorialization, but are also a means to introduce the topic and to reach
wider audiences. They also project an alternative way of approaching this
past, enabling the transference of witnessing from the source to the desti-
nation. The creation of this vicarious observer is, however, not without
contradictions and is opposed by those who, like Lanzmann, believe that
the Holocaust can only be represented in its absence, as will be seen in
Chap. 5.
Productions dealing with survivors provide glimpses of hope in what
were dire and hopeless historical situations. Even if this hope is fabricated,
its re-enactment establishes a link between the past and the present.
Throughout these films, and the narratives that inspired them, the past is
brought effectively into the present, preventing distance and oblivion,
and precluding the sense of historical closure that 1945 demarcated. This
hope can either facilitate or obstruct mourning, providing a salutary form
of working through trauma but also deleting the fact that the ‘real wit-
nesses of the Holocaust’, those who, in Levi’s terms, ‘saw the Gorgon’,
did not survive or were muted.
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