Indonesia Best Films

Film Difficulty Ranking: 3

The Look of Silence continues a horrific examination of post-genocide Indonesia. Following on from The Act of Killing, The Look of Silence is an even more gut wrenching and unbelievable documentary. These death squad killers boast and laugh about the people they killed and are proud to be seen as heroes by the country and parts of the community. Is this really real!? Unfortunately it is, and it is something that we should no about instead of leaving it hidden in history.

Why Watch This Film?

You didn’t know there was a genocide in Indonesia
To learn how a genocide can happen (and still happen) from the people who committed it – all real footage and real people!
Propaganda is bad
It’s available on Netflix

The Breakdown

The film begins with a long take of an old man looking through some optician’s glasses. This shot is followed by another long take of some cocoons jumping and moving around on a table. Then we are shown another long take of a man starring at the camera thoughtfully. He is watching an interview with two men re-enacting what they did for the Indonesian death squads.

The subject matter is bleak and horrific throughout, but the director Joshua Oppenheimer fantastically guides us without intervention throughout. Instead of interviewing subjects directly about the murders they committed, Oppenheimer finds an Indonesian whose brother was murdered to do the questioning. As a result, he poses the victim against the perpetrator without any biased foreign perspective. The interviewer doesn’t show any hatred towards the death squad members. His questions aren’t particularly heavy or deep but are extremely effective when he gives his interviewees time to talk. His silence facilitates their candid and horrific responses.

The look of silence is the interviewers only punishment. The director emphasises the interviewees guiltiness by showing extended shots of their faces during and after their answers. In a similar way to the effect that the lingering shots give in Tokyo Story, the lingering shots give us time to think about what the interviewee has said and then to judge them. The combination of the interviewers long and sombre look at his guilty interviewees and the interviewees extended silence emphasises their guilt. This is how the director shows their guiltiness, without even saying a word.

Oppenheimer has the skill of getting people to talk without saying a thing. This is the power of the look of silence. The guilty are open about their crimes and open about the things they did, which makes it easy for us to judge them. One man said that because he had killed so many people he had to either drink human blood or go crazy. (the horrific irony). If we didn’t think he was guilty at that point, the interviewer then asks the same man another question about a different topic. The distracted interviewee ignores the question and says “it was salty and sweet.”

In Before, Now & Then, Nana finds security in a second marriage to a wealthy old man, having lost her family to the war in West Java. However, she cannot escape the dreams and trauma of her past, or the expectations of her new family and becomes a ghostly figure until she meets one of her husband’s mistresses. Together they can escape and find their own freedom.

Stylistically, Before, Now & Then feels heavily influenced by Wong Kar-Wai’s In the Mood for Love. Whilst the colors are more muted, the dreamy pacing and slowed down scenes between Nana and her second husband feel just like the slow romantic scenes between the two protagonists in In the Mood for Love. These scenes in both films are designed to convey uncertainty. In In the Mood for Love the uncertainty is romantic – we don’t know if the two characters will keep seeing each other. In Before, Now & Then, the uncertainty is melancholic. Similarly, we don’t know if the two characters will be together for much longer, however given that the two characters have been together for a while, it feels as if their relationship is dying instead of burning brightly.

The uncertainty of Nana’s relationship is symbolic of the state of the country. Just like the current Indonesian regime, she knows what she’s getting from her stable marriage to an older husband. Whilst it has confined her mostly to the house – and the back of the house at that, as she rarely shows her face publicly – she knows that she will be taken care of. However, there is no love in their relationship. The new freedom she gains with her husband’s mistress, in contrast, is exciting. It fills her with hope that things could be different and more free.

Whilst we have the hindsight to know that the political change happening in the background of Before, Now & Then wasn’t a positive one, the film captures the uncertainty of the times well with it’s dreaminess.

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