War in Gaza
Shortly before the end, the reality of the Gaza war disrupted the peaceful course of the festival. The Israeli film “Naza” struck the Lido in Venice like a force of nature; the documentary by Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor – who had won an Oscar two years earlier for “No Other Land” – left the audience and critics deeply shaken. The applause following the premiere in the Sala Grande set a new festival record: a 25-minute standing ovation. The film had only been nominated for the competition at the last minute to avoid controversial reactions in the days leading up to the event.
On a rooftop terrace in Tel Aviv at night, Yuval Abraham interviews 24 Israeli officers from elite units who draw up targets for attacks in Gaza or direct drone strikes. They remain anonymous; their faces disappear into the darkness and their voices distorted. Naza, as we learn in the opening minutes of the film, is the military term for collateral damage resulting in the deaths of uninvolved civilians. Up to 15 are expected in every attack; there may well be more.
In the early 1970s, following the Six-Day War, Israel had set up a telephone network in the occupied Gaza Strip in order to control all forms of communication. Each telephone is assigned an identification number, and movement profiles can be created using artificial intelligence. A particularly harrowing section of the interviews is called ‘Daddy is home’. Whenever the keywords ‘Daddy’ and ‘Home’ are mentioned in conversations by children or other family members, the attack is authorised, regardless of how many family members are killed in the process.
Another strategy involves razing entire streets to the ground to prevent residents – insofar as they are still alive – from returning to their houses and flats. When people approach food distribution centres, they are targeted by snipers the moment they cross an invisible line of which they are completely unaware. The officers in charge report all this in a calm tone; some mention a certain sense of thrill, as if playing a video game. Moral questions do not arise; the priority is to follow orders and carry out a mission.
Between the interviews, we see the silhouettes of residents in the surrounding high-rise blocks – people going about their daily lives, in their living rooms, on their balconies – while TV news reports can be seen in the background. Among them is the ‘liberal’ President Isaac Herzog, who declares that there are no innocent civilians in Gaza, or Netanyahu, who announces military successes. We see how, on Holocaust Remembrance Day, all cars come to a halt and everyone pauses – a reminder of the trauma that casts a shadow over Israel. Following the statements by Israeli officers, who see themselves as technical experts in remote-controlled warfare, the debate surrounding the concept of genocide in Gaza is likely to be reignited.
What is striking about *Naza* is the calm, understated approach chosen by Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor. There is no voice-over commentary; the filmmakers let their interviewees speak for themselves. Apart from a final sequence in which a father searches for his children amongst the rubble of a building, we see no footage of the destruction in Gaza. What happens when the targets are selected for a drone strike or a bombing raid is left to the viewer’s imagination.
Torture in Argentina
During the final days of the festival, there was a high-calibre selection of films addressing political subjects. Alongside “Naza”, there was the Italian-Argentine entry “Ritorno a Buenos Aires” (Return to Buenos Aires) by Marco Bechis. Mariano (Andrea Giannini) is living in Turin as a doctor when he receives a call from Buenos Aires; he is to testify as a witness in a trial against officers who tortured prisoners during the military dictatorship (1976–1983). Suddenly, Mariano is confronted with a past he thought he had left behind.
“With ‘Ritorno a Buenos Aires’, I am returning to Argentina fifty years later,” says Marco Bechis. “I am returning with a story that is not my own, but which stems from a wound I know very well. I, too, was abducted during the Argentine dictatorship, but I am not Mariano. I chose fiction because it is sometimes the only way to approach a truth that memory alone cannot convey. What does it mean to survive?" Mariano returns to Buenos Aires to give evidence in court. "Through his story, I wanted to capture the moment when the past bursts into the present once again.“
Marco Bechis was 21 years old and working as a teacher when he was abducted and tortured in April 1977, before finally being released four months later. Most of the ‘Desaparecidos’ (the disappeared) did not survive their detention and torture; many were thrown alive into the sea from aeroplanes so as to leave no trace. After his release, Bechis went to Italy and now lives in Milan. In 2021, he published a memoir entitled ‘La solitudine del sovversivo’ (The Loneliness of the Subversive). He has also explored the fate of the ‘disappeared’ in earlier films such as ‘Garage Olimpo’ (Junta, 1999).
The tragedy of the character of Mariano, the doctor superbly played by Andrea Giannini, lies in the fact that he was not only a victim but also became a perpetrator. He was forced to identify comrades on the street; as a medical student, he was responsible for administering medication and performing operations to treat gunshot wounds or prisoners following electric shock torture. The other witnesses consequently view him with suspicion.
‘Ritorno a Buenos Aires’ is not only deeply moving, but also an example of how traumatic experiences of violence can be convincingly represented on screen. ‘Ultimately, the film is about a single fact: the feelings of guilt experienced by the survivors, which never quite let you go.’ (Marco Bechis)