Waltz with Bashir (Folman, 2008) is an interesting take on political war cinema, adopting an animated approach to tell the stories of the invasion of Lebanon by Israel in an attempt touncover Folman’s real role in the Sabra and Shatila massacre. The film has been an interesting point of discussion as to whether the film is a piece of evasion propaganda, shifting the blame onto someone else. Naira Antoun from the Electronic Intifada claims that the film has been largely received as a “soul-searching and honest account of a journey to face up to guilt and responsibility” (Antoun, 2009) however Folman himself has said in the press kit for the film that the “Christian Phalangist militiamen were fully responsible for the massacre. The Israeli soldiers had nothing to do with it” (Sony Pictures Classics, 2008, pg. 7). It begs the question as to whether we look at the cause behind the film or the reception of it? The animation style chosen is also an interesting note of discussion. As Folman notes they did not make the film through rotoscope (drawing on top of filmed footage) instead they “drew it again from scratch” (Sony Pictures Classics, 2008, pg. 7). Perhaps this distances the creators from their guilt, or does it allow them to tell their stories in exaggerated ways to emphasise their emotional connection to the massacres? And therefore, perhaps accept some collective guilt? It is these such questions that I wish to explore.
In a broad sense, the first thing one may notice about Waltz with Bashir is that it is told from the perpetrator’s perspective rather than the victim’s and so straight away we are denied the experience of the Palestinians. Throughout the film, we hear of the stories from Israeli soldiers being shot at and having to retaliate and struggle to survive. Antoun from the Electronic Intifada points out in his review of the film that “there is a lot of ‘they’re shooting at us from all directions’…. There is no sense that Israel invaded Lebanon” (Antoun, 2009); it would appear to an uneducated viewer that they are the innocent victims being attacked rather than the other way around. And to the Israeli viewer, it would strengthen their view that they were not guilty of such crimes, how could an individual soldier have done changed anything? Raya Morag points out in her writings on Israeli Documentary Cinema about how cinema changed in Israel from focusing “not on the trauma of the victimized Palestinian… but rather on that of the Israeli as perpetrators of atrocities” (Morag, 2012, pg. 94). However, she states that by focusing on the perpetrator it opens up questions about responsibility and collective guilt. Perhaps we could read Waltz with Bashir through this lens: by focusing on Israeli soldiers the viewer is given an opportunity to form their own opinions about them, we are able to understand them better and perhaps see the guilt they feel. Indeed, this line of thinking would align with the political response of the massacre which triggered “the largest demonstration in Israeli history, with 400,000 people organized by Peace Now [who marched] in Tel Aviv to protest the war” (Quart & Moaz, 2010, pg. 32). And so, Folman could be appealing to this change in general consensus by offering a film at the same time that allows them to further challenge their conscience. In fact, Jeremy Rampling goes so far as to say that Folman “has exposed the guilt of his ineffective 19-year-old self and has made a public request for forgiveness” (Rampling, 2008), one that other people of a similar age could hopefully relate to and trigger their own self-reflection.
On the other hand, Yuval Benziman states that Israeli-Lebanon-War films perpetuated the “Israeli narrative and… perception that Israel is again the innocent victim of an aggressive enemy” (Benziman, 2013) and so rather than showing an Israeli perspective for the purpose of self-reflection, Benziman suggests that this sole focus on Israeli narratives just leads to further self-justification and an avoidance of guilt. Indeed we can see this with the scene of the soldiers driving around in the tank. The sequence begins as soldiers pose and take photos on the tank, they sing and pretend to play the drums. Folk upbeat music plays as the shots are cut together in montage. It appears similar to a montage we may see in a romance film with happy moments strung together to folky music; it is unsettling to the viewer. At first, the song appears upbeat, the lyrics too: ‘may your nightmares fade away, not feel pain or sorrow’. However, then they drive through cities, crushing cars and sides of buildings while the voiceover says that the tank makes you feel indestructible. The soldiers are blind to the destruction that they are causing to others, and this is further exaggerated by a point of view shot of a soldier looking through the windscreen of the tank where they literally cannot see what is happening around them - they do not claim any responsibility. Benziman suggests that this is why the film is animated; “the harsh collective self-portrait created is so unflattering and unsettling for Israelis that this story could be told only by using animation instead of flesh-and-blood actors, a technique that created a greater distance from reality” (Benziman, 2013, pg. 122). So, not only does this sequence show how soldiers reject any guilt or responsibility for their role in war, but the animation further enhances this by distancing themselves from their real counter parts.
As the seen progresses, the mechanical sounds of the tank interrupt the upbeat song and then the lyrics shift: ‘you bleed to death in my arms’. The sound and visuals turn darker as we are made aware how blind the Israeli soldiers are to their role as perpetrator. Then with a sweeping camera movement through the grass we land on one of the soldiers and he is shot. Immediately the audience is brought back to real life – this is a war. Perhaps this sudden camera move is an attempt to make us feel sorry for the soldiers, they were having fun and now they are dying. They are not the ones in control of the war, they merely do as they are told. Raya Morag suggests that Folman “presents the trauma of the complicit indirect perpetrator” (Morag, 2012, pg. 99) which we see in this sweeping camera movement. However, the film “defines the degree of complicity ambiguously” (Morag, 2012, pg. 99). And this is the films downfall. The level of guilt that the soldiers possess is too ambiguous that it ultimately comes across as a denial of collective guilt.
Another aspect put forward in Morag’s writings on Waltz with Bashir is the idea of appropriated trauma wherein the guilt felt by the perpetrators is not a result of the guilt felt by their role in the Sabra and Shatila massacre but because they have taken on the role of the Nazi: “For the son of Holocaust survivors… becoming an (indirect) perpetrator in Lebanon caused the horrific figure of the Nazi, the direct perpetrator, to haunt his (post)memory” (Morag, 2012, pg. 100). Therefore, Folman completely denies any guilt for the actual massacre because, as he is told by his therapist friend that he goes to visit, all his guilt comes from his trauma of the concentration camps. He says to Folman that his interest in the Sabra and Shatila camps started well before the massacre took place because his interest was really about the other camps. We see a flashback of a young boy walking out of the camp with hands up in surrender, surrounded by a bright yellow glow lighting him in silhouette, faceless. At the same time a reporter notes how this is the same image as a young boy as he walked out of a concentration camp. Left in darkness, faceless with no identity, this boy could belong to Sabra and Shatila or to the German camps, there is no way of distinguishing them, and this further blurs the lines between the responsibility taken on by Folman.
Shira Stav writes in particular about the relation between Nakba (the Palestinian catastrophe) and the Holocaust. She explains that by claiming the trauma of the massacre to be merely a result of the Holocaust, “The Nakba is thus diminished and turned into an internal event of Jewish history, as if ‘their’ catastrophe is impossible to understand without ‘our’ catastrophe” (Stav, 2012, pg. 89). Ultimately, any acceptance of collective guilt here is replaced by the trauma of the Holocaust and so, as Stav notes, the massacre is completely undermined by previous Israeli trauma, once again placing the focus and importance on the Israeli perpetrator rather than the Palestinian victim. Furthermore, it is worth pointing out an interesting observation that Gideon Levy has made about Folman’s Golden Globe acceptance speech where he did not even mention the current war in Gaza (Levy, 2009) and according to Levy this confirms that Bashir was nothing, but a propaganda piece made to appear like Israel had accepted the guilt for their actions, when in fact they had done nothing of the sort. Indeed, we could certainly argue this stance because of the negation of Palestinian trauma in favour of Holocaust trauma, however perhaps it is a little inconsequential to conclude on such a trivial basis. Rather, it is worth also looking at the use of animation.
Animation plays a big part in Waltz with Bashir. It sets itself apart from most other war documentary films and there has been much debate over whether its intense stylization was appropriate or not. The film throws its viewer straight into the deep end. Aggressive music plays as a dog emerges from an alleyway hurling towards the camera. Then another dog appears beside him, and another, and another. We hear snarling growls as they grow in numbers and their blue tinted fur stands in stark contrast to their yellow eyes and yellow skies above and behind them. The camera is positioned slightly below the dogs; they tower over us, snarling and causing chaos. This opening feels like a surreal nightmare: the colours are unnatural and the movements of the dogs so jolting and vicious, setting “the pattern for subsequent flashbacks sprung from the separate monologues of other former soldiers” (Stewart, 2012, pg. 58). What Stewart says here is noteworthy, he writes of how memories are presented in Waltz with Bashir, their distinct colours and styles continue across all of the memories described by the soldiers. But what is interesting is that the style differs from that of the present. The present day is natural, traditionally coloured whereas the past memories are vibrant, abstract, and unrealistic, “the animators have found just the right sulfuric glow for the delirium” (Stewart, 2010, pg. 58). Even though this memory has been confirmed as a fictional dream, even the true memories are displayed in the same way. This creates some question for the audience as to what is real and what isn’t. Are the characters explaining away their involvement in the war through presenting their memories as dreams?
Dan Arav and David Gurevitz certainly believe they are, suggesting that “the films visuals… create a further distancing from the pain” (Arav & Gurevitz, 2014, pg. 113) and so Folman has used the full effects of animation to distance the Israeli soldiers and audience from their true memory, consciousness, and guilt. Vassilis Kroustallis attempts to suggests that Waltz with Bashir uses such an animated style because “animated documentaries… broaden the epistemological potential of the documentary genre by expanding the range of what and how we can learn” (Kroustallis, 2014, pg. 143). Perhaps then the form of animation makes the film more easily digestible for an Israeli audience. It has expanded the ways in which a viewer can learn about the massacre and indeed what they can learn about who is responsible. One could argue that this was Folman’s way of making an Israeli audience address their role as a perpetrator. A live action documentary utilising real footage may have been too uncomfortable to watch but by disguising itself in animation, this collective Israeli memory could be brought to the front of their minds. But then Kroustallis does not consider how distracting animation is. It seems throughout the film, a great emphasis has been placed on the style over the plot. The bright colours and exaggerated cinematography distracts from the true meaning behind the film and therefore it is questionable as to whether this intention would be successful on an average audience member.
To dive deeper into the impact of animation on the film, let us look at Folman’s recurring dream. The sequence starts with a wide shot of two men floating, one standing in water. The damaged city in front of them, yellow orbs floating from the sky mirrored in the serene water. It is an incredibly beautiful and serene moment, “the beauty creates a sense of peace and reconciliation, almost fondly reminiscing the suffering” (Arav & Gurevitz, 2014, pg. 113). As Arav and Gurevitz point out, there is something uncomfortable about the way this scene is portrayed, it comes across as a beautiful memory, one that is almost looked back on fondly. Once again there is no mention of the Palestinians, only the peaceful moment between the Israeli soldiers, away from any violence and therefore any collective guilt. We then see a close up on Folman’s face floating in the water as he watches the yellow orb float down. There are several point of view shots from Folman’s eyeline of the city. In slow motion, their black silhouettes dress themselves, paired with a dramatic emotional score. Gideon Levy agrees with Arav and Gurevitz about this problematic scene because “art has been recruited here for an operation of deceit. The war has been painted with soft, caressing colours” (Levy, 2009). The floating orbs of light look inviting and calming, one would never think that they were used to aid in a massacre. Once again this allows for the soldiers to remain separate from their perpetrator guilt.
The point of view shots areparticularly interesting as it seems to suggest to us that this moment is real, he has distinct memory of this moment through his own eyes, which we share. This muddies the waters in terms of accepting guilt because he distracts the audience from the truth just as he does himself. Jeanne-Marie Viljoen puts forward two possible readings of the use of animation in Bashir in her writing on representation and experience within the film. On one hand she proposes that the slow-moving characters, unrealistic colours, out of place soundtrack and jumps between frames create a distinct unreal experience (Viljoen, 2014, pg. 43) however it could also be interpreted as authentic and real due to the “recognisable cityscapes of Beirut” (Viljoen, 2014, pg.43). But is this enough? The mere sight of a city known to the viewer does not confirm the truth of what they are seeing, especially when the city and surroundings seem surreal and unrealistic. Perhaps an animation style more similar to that of real life would have been able to keep this element of authenticity, but alas Folman’s chosen style does not reflect reality and therefore does not allow itself to accept any guilt for the actions taken place because they seem fictional.
One must also look at the portrayal of the Palestinians. As we have noted, the story is told from the perspective of the Israeli soldiers and so there is very little Palestinian representation apart from one violent scene in an orchard and the ending. In the former, soldiers walk through a lush green orchard, sun beams through the trees onto the ground with piano music playing in the background creating a very ethereal, calm, and uplifting atmosphere. We see the feet of two young boys run through the sun beams; paired with the music one could almost mistake them for kids playing in the forest. That is, if it wasn’t for the rocket launchers in their hands. Joseph A. Kraemer critiques this scene for falling into the trap of “the pornography of the real” (Kraemer, 2015, pg. 65-66) objectifying a moment for the purpose of being consumed. The ethereal camerawork and music romanticises the violence of the scene almost as if the soldiers are looking back at the moment through rose tinted glasses. It does not come across as a moment of horror, rather a fond memory for the soldiers, but a disturbing and uncomfortable moment for the audience.
The camera cuts between the boys hiding in silhouette and the soldiers walking in slow motion in and out of shadow. The whole scene appears eerily beautiful as one of the boys shoots his grenade towards the soldiers; they dive onto the ground in time with the music as if they are performing a ballet routine. But then the music suddenly stops as the interviewee in voice over says that he saw a kid holding an RPG. The soldiers begin to shoot him, and the camera is positioned in the place of the Palestinian boy. Kamran Rastegar writes of this moment specifically saying that this “reverse position offers an identification with the Palestinian and Lebanese side… even if only momentarily” (Rastegar, 2013, pg. 62-63). We are finally offered the different perspective of one of the victims. However, even though we are put in the victims’ shoes, it is only for a moment as they are shot at and die. This does not offer the audience a different view of the Palestinians that we have not already garnered from the events prior. As Naira Antoun sums up in her review “when we do see [the Palestinians] – [they are] being blown to pieces or lying dead” (Antoun, 2009). The small amount of Palestinian recognition that we do get in the film offers the audience a one-dimensional body purely displayed on screen to die or be killed, not a real human victimized by the Israeli invasion. Therefore, how can the film assume any collective guilt when they seemingly do not have sympathy for the victims.
This leads us on to talk about the ending. The camera begins behind the Palestinian women as they walk before quickly sweeping past them. It does not show us their faces, they appear almost in silhouette with very little detail appearing on camera and we move on from them as if their identities don’t matter. Then the camera settles on Folman. It lingers on his guilt-ridden face, and we hear his heavy breathing, showing how he is finally recognising his guilt and accepting responsibility for it by lingering on his face. Garret Stewart writing on screen memory in Waltz with Bashir claims that this movement through the women onto Folman closes “by its own force the distance between their virtual funeral march and Folman’s sentinel duty in the distance” (Stewart, 2010, pg. 62). So perhaps this sweeping camera is an attempt to connect the Palestinians and the Israeli soldiers, both physically and emotionally linking the two sides together, showing Folman’s realisation by connecting him to the victims finally. However, Stewart only focuses on the camera movement and not what is actually within the frame because this moment actually seems to have the opposite effect. It pushes all the emphasis onto him, a member of the IDF and takes all possession and importance away from the Palestinian women. It is as if the camera is offering a brief look at these wailing women before showing us what is really important: a soldier feeling guilty. It lingers on his face but not on any of the Palestinians. Only in what comes next do we see their faces however this brings problems within itself.
Suddenly through the overlapping screams of the Palestinian women, the animation shifts to real life footage taken in the Sabra and Shatila camps. Joseph A. Kraemer says of this shift that it mirrors the revelation felt by Folman, we are “brought into the moment” (Kraemer, 2015, pg. 64) at the same time. Because the animation “in retrospect seems diminished and almost cartoonish by comparison to… actual dead bodies” (Kraemer, 2015, pg.64) we witness this horror at the same time as Folman is flooded by the horrific memories. Perhaps then this is an admission of guilt from Folman, the shift from animation to live action being a moment of acceptance for him and subsequently perhaps other Israeli viewers. Noa Heiman and Boaz Shalgi agree with Kraemer about the ending of the film. They explain in their writing on confronting traumatic experiences that the film “puts the viewer through a psychological process of transformation” (Heiman & Shalgi, 2020, pg. 205) just like the one that Folman goes through. But on the other hand, is the stylization of such an intense and personal moment inappropriate? Dan Arav and David Gurevitz suggest that the “change from the stylized animation of the film to the harsh realism of the archival footage turns the attention towards the film’s making and style” (Arav & Gurevitz, 2014, pg. 113) rather than keeping the focus on the real-life Palestinian victims. The sudden shift in style and tone is too distracting and disguises this possible acceptance of guilt as merely a wonder of technical and style achievement instead. But not only do the visuals create problems but so does the sound. The Palestinian women cry out to the camera, but they are not subtitled: the only people in the film that are not. And so, in these last revealing moments that are meant to be an admission of guilt for the Israeli soldiers, the women are denied their voice and “the Palestinian story thus becomes yet another chapter in the story of the journey of the Israeli soldier” (Stav, 2012, pg. 95).
To conclude, Waltz with Bashir attempts to be a film about an Israeli soldier accepting guilt over the role he played in the Sabra and Shatila massacre. On the surface level this does indeed appear to be a possible reading of the film, with one scene placing us in the shoes of a Palestinian, lingering on Folman’s face of realisation and showing the violence that the Israeli soldiers inflicted. However, ultimately, as Naira Antoun concludes, “in the final analysis, this is what Waltz with Bashir is about: the evasion of responsibility” (Antoun, 2009). Folman has created the film as a way of absolving himself of any guilt felt from the massacre. The ending in particular is an attempt to convince audiences that he feels sorry for the role he played however through his modes of filmmaking, he places the importance of himself feeling better over the voices and perspectives of the Palestinians. Therefore, it seems clear that Waltz with Bashir is a failed attempt at assuming collective guilt, rather it ends up as an insensitive, pure evasion of responsibility.
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Bibliography
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Waltz with Bashir. 2008. [film] Directed by A. Folman. Israel: Sony Pictures Classics.
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