Murder is exciting, murder fascinates, murder thrills.
In Martin Scorsese's mafia films we wait spellbound for the next brutal crime, in Quentin Tarantino´s films we laugh heartily at bloody orgies of violence. In a macabre way, we can't get enough of murder. But we are so afraid of death.
Or is our unrestrained voyerism based on a defense mechanism that can be explained psychologically?
Rwanda 1994. Over 800,000 people are murdered within six weeks.
Huge mass graves, memorials made of skulls. The images are cruel.
I can turn them off, the Rwandan people will never be able to.
The terrorist attacks in Hanau, Hesse, on Wednesday killed nine people.
"Nine, that's not 800,000," some might think. But it's not about the numbers, it's about the motive.
The motive was hate, hate for the supposed stranger. Hatred is stirred up and has many causes.
Again and again this terrible potential of humans is used as a means to achieve political goals.
But no matter what the intentions, hate always comes back to the same inexplicable cruelty of killing.
My personal connection:
I am a child of prosperity. I only know war and destruction from the media of edited footage from distant lands. But I am also a German. And as a German, the same images always come to my mind when I see acts of hatred and xenophobia or inflammatory slogans of populist politicians. Images of marches and speeches by the Nazis, images of starved people crammed together in huge concentration camps.
These associations are part of my consciousness, they are part of my identity. But I'm not really white, am I?
Yes, I am white! But I'm also black and German, or am I not actually only a Berliner?
I feel most comfortable when I see myself as a human being and am understood as such.
Why do so many people still not want to understand that?
The genocide of the European Jews was 75 years ago, the genocide of the Tutsi and moderate Hutu was 26 years ago.
I wonder how the people of Rwanda describe and identify themselves.
The cinematic reappraisal:
I am currently interested in the concept of the so-called "war film" and I am wondering what form collective suffering should take.
"Hotel Rwanda" and especially "Schindler's List" are great films, but they also tell the stories of popular heroic figures. I hope that there will be more films in the future that are dedicated to the supposedly insignificant, simple souls, but no less important stories for the public.
In the past, were all Germans really convinced Nazis?
Were all Hutu really insane brutes?
We Germans have often dealt with our past on film. But German historical film often suffers from an instructive narrative style and a visually and dramaturgically smooth staging. What is missing is the claim or the artistic capacity to make the terrible or inexplicably humane actions of people universally experienceable and to tell about overriding themes. For hatred but also resistance is everywhere.
No wonder that no German, but the US American writer and director Terrence Malick has recently succeeded in doing so. In "A Hidden Life" he tells the story of a Nazi war resister without explicitly putting the war as such in the foreground. Rather, it is about love, faith and the increasingly rare ability to say no, especially nowadays in many places and in many minds.
The story of this cinema masterpiece, based on true events, makes all this possible. So why are such stories not told more often?
Jump to Africa:
The seemingly central theme of the fictional Netflix series "Black Earth Rising" is the genocide in Rwanda, but even this is not built up as a visually exhibitionistic element of tension, but is cleverly presented in the form of thought-provoking animated cartoons. The series is dedicated to individual personal fates and interweaves them with political backgrounds. It does not attempt to explain and retell the genocide objectively at any price. In addition, it focuses on the Western perception and representation of Africa. This additional level also makes the series quite vulnerable in terms of content, but for me, "Black Earth Rising" is first and foremost an impressive example of an unconventional cinematic approach to the subject of genocide, especially in terms of content and dramaturgical clichés and traps.
"Notre-Dame Du Nil" from this year's Generation 14plus does not start during or after the genocide in Rwanda, but more than two decades before and tries to give us an understanding of the genocide's genesis. This approach, which unfortunately still occurs far too seldom, appeals to me.
I could have simply recounted the genocide in Rwanda. After all, this was supposed to be a classic background article.
But I believe that this could also be a good way to approach this difficult topic.
image source: © Sophie Davin/Les Films du Tambour, Chapter 2
In Martin Scorsese's mafia films we wait spellbound for the next brutal crime, in Quentin Tarantino´s films we laugh heartily at bloody orgies of violence. In a macabre way, we can't get enough of murder. But we are so afraid of death.
Or is our unrestrained voyerism based on a defense mechanism that can be explained psychologically?
Rwanda 1994. Over 800,000 people are murdered within six weeks.
Huge mass graves, memorials made of skulls. The images are cruel.
I can turn them off, the Rwandan people will never be able to.
The terrorist attacks in Hanau, Hesse, on Wednesday killed nine people.
"Nine, that's not 800,000," some might think. But it's not about the numbers, it's about the motive.
The motive was hate, hate for the supposed stranger. Hatred is stirred up and has many causes.
Again and again this terrible potential of humans is used as a means to achieve political goals.
But no matter what the intentions, hate always comes back to the same inexplicable cruelty of killing.
My personal connection:
I am a child of prosperity. I only know war and destruction from the media of edited footage from distant lands. But I am also a German. And as a German, the same images always come to my mind when I see acts of hatred and xenophobia or inflammatory slogans of populist politicians. Images of marches and speeches by the Nazis, images of starved people crammed together in huge concentration camps.
These associations are part of my consciousness, they are part of my identity. But I'm not really white, am I?
Yes, I am white! But I'm also black and German, or am I not actually only a Berliner?
I feel most comfortable when I see myself as a human being and am understood as such.
Why do so many people still not want to understand that?
The genocide of the European Jews was 75 years ago, the genocide of the Tutsi and moderate Hutu was 26 years ago.
I wonder how the people of Rwanda describe and identify themselves.
The cinematic reappraisal:
I am currently interested in the concept of the so-called "war film" and I am wondering what form collective suffering should take.
"Hotel Rwanda" and especially "Schindler's List" are great films, but they also tell the stories of popular heroic figures. I hope that there will be more films in the future that are dedicated to the supposedly insignificant, simple souls, but no less important stories for the public.
In the past, were all Germans really convinced Nazis?
Were all Hutu really insane brutes?
We Germans have often dealt with our past on film. But German historical film often suffers from an instructive narrative style and a visually and dramaturgically smooth staging. What is missing is the claim or the artistic capacity to make the terrible or inexplicably humane actions of people universally experienceable and to tell about overriding themes. For hatred but also resistance is everywhere.
No wonder that no German, but the US American writer and director Terrence Malick has recently succeeded in doing so. In "A Hidden Life" he tells the story of a Nazi war resister without explicitly putting the war as such in the foreground. Rather, it is about love, faith and the increasingly rare ability to say no, especially nowadays in many places and in many minds.
The story of this cinema masterpiece, based on true events, makes all this possible. So why are such stories not told more often?
Jump to Africa:
The seemingly central theme of the fictional Netflix series "Black Earth Rising" is the genocide in Rwanda, but even this is not built up as a visually exhibitionistic element of tension, but is cleverly presented in the form of thought-provoking animated cartoons. The series is dedicated to individual personal fates and interweaves them with political backgrounds. It does not attempt to explain and retell the genocide objectively at any price. In addition, it focuses on the Western perception and representation of Africa. This additional level also makes the series quite vulnerable in terms of content, but for me, "Black Earth Rising" is first and foremost an impressive example of an unconventional cinematic approach to the subject of genocide, especially in terms of content and dramaturgical clichés and traps.
"Notre-Dame Du Nil" from this year's Generation 14plus does not start during or after the genocide in Rwanda, but more than two decades before and tries to give us an understanding of the genocide's genesis. This approach, which unfortunately still occurs far too seldom, appeals to me.
I could have simply recounted the genocide in Rwanda. After all, this was supposed to be a classic background article.
But I believe that this could also be a good way to approach this difficult topic.
image source: © Sophie Davin/Les Films du Tambour, Chapter 2
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