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Just 80 years ago, on January 27 1945, Soviet troops discovered the Auschwitz-Birkenau extermination camp, west of Krakow (Poland), where one million one hundred thousand Jews, plus around 300,000 non-Jews, were exterminated. Welcomed by 7,000 surviving inmates, they discovered the monstrous reality of the Holocaust. Auschwitz was the culmination of a process that had begun long before, in Slovakia in 1942 for example, where the government proceeded to the implementation of one of the most severe anti-Semitic policies in Europe. Returning to cinemas on February 5 is Ján Kadár and Elmar Klos's 1965 historical film, Le Miroir aux alouettes (The Lark's Mirror), which takes us to the heart of a little-known story, and subtly films the question of diversity that prevailed in Central Europe until the collapse of Austria-Hungary.
The story begins in 1942 in a small town in Slovakia, where President Josef Tizo's policies were quickly aligned with Nazi racial laws. It was based on the “Aryanization” of Jewish-owned companies and businesses, transferring ownership by simple decree to Slovaks, the majority of whom were Catholic.
The film's script is based on a story by Ladislas Grossman, a Slovak writer of Jewish origin. The directors, Ján Kadár, a Slovak Jew born in Budapest, and Elmar Klos, a Czech from Brno (1), set the fictional action in the pretty Slovak town of Sabinov. The film is in beautiful black and white. The language spoken is Slovak, with a few snatches of Yiddish. The interior scenes were shot at Prague's famous Barrandov Studios. Actors and extras are predominantly Slovak. The very mixing of the identities of the writers and actors reflects one of the aims of the film. At the heart of Kadár and Klos' opus is the question of the diversity that prevailed in Central Europe until the collapse of Austria-Hungary.
As early as Fritz Lang and Bertolt Brecht's Hangmen Also Die (1943), the seventh art had evoked the brutality of German repression in occupied Czechia. Less well known is the question of the Holocaust in Slovakia, where the government claimed to apply one of the most severe anti-Semitic policies in Europe. Indeed, the Nazi past remained taboo in Communist Czechoslovakia. In 1949, Alfréd Radok's film The Long Road, admired by André Bazin, was banned by Stalinist censors. The debate only became possible in the wake of the liberalization of the 1960s. Zbynēk Brynych’s Transport from Paradise (1962) takes as its theme the Theresienstadt camp, a model town “offered to the Jews by the Führer”. Le Miroir aux alouettes - no doubt the English title, The Shop on Main Street, is more explicit - tackles Slovak guilt towards the Jews. Its originality lies in the tragi-comic tone it employs, the main protagonist being an avatar of Brave Soldier Sveik, a false Candide and true coward.
Storks flying by open the film, both poetically and symbolically. The migratory birds provide a bird's-eye view of the city: the houses, the streets, the prison yard where the inmates walk their rounds. The question of the nest is central to the film. It would never seem 1942. The prosperous inhabitants stroll and greet each other without animosity, even though deportations to Auschwitz have begun. “Hello, Mr Blumenfeld, hello Josef”. A brass band underlines the good mood. The inhabitants seem to know nothing about it, and go on living in harmony with their Jewish neighbors.
The camera follows Tono Brtko (the young Slovak premier Jozef Kroner), who plays a carpenter without many orders. A wooden Tower of Babel is being built in the central square, but Tono has decided not to join in this initiative by the new masters. He stops in front of a level crossing and watches a train go by, not knowing whether it is carrying men or goods. Or both. Then he returns home to the family hell. His wife Evelyna, though a comely woman, is a little shrew who chides him for giving his customers credit and not bringing in enough to keep the pot boiling. The argument is interrupted by the thunderous arrival of Rosetta, Evelyna's elegant sister, and her husband, now a high-ranking officer in the new administration. With Tono's apolitical stance holding back his own career, the brother-in-law has resolved to take him by the scruff of the neck. The couple arrive with their arms full of food and drink. After emptying a dozen bottles of Borovicka, Tono declares: “A poor man is a trained dog”. The banquet ends with Sieg Heil ! In the meantime, the brother-in-law has entrusted Tono with the Aryanization of the Widow Lautman's haberdashery.
The widow, played by the great Polish actress Ida Kaminska, is a bit deaf and can't see a thing. She lives in another time. When she stumbles across Brtko's name, she offers him all her treasures, embroidery, buttons and her secrets as a master chef. When he gets angry, she thinks he's joking. It's a scene of misunderstanding, beautifully mimed, until a neighbor, Imro Kuchar, steps in as mediator. He is not Jewish, but his motto is “ Leben und leben lassen ” (live and let live). In close contact with the Hebrew community, he reveals to Tono that Mrs. Lautman no longer makes a living from her store, but survives thanks to the Jewish mutual aid society. The situation is deceptive. Would Tono agree to impersonate the old lady's clerk for a fee? Tono doesn't refuse. Tono's wife welcomes his salary, but advises him to “explore the walls and floors” to discover “where the old lady hides her gold”.
Seemingly insignificant details show how the situation is worsening as the storks fly overhead and the faithful, Catholics and Jews, pass each other on their way to religious services. A feast of another kind is being prepared around the just-completed Tower of Babel. The town crier who has just announced that “owners of dogs of impure breeds will be heavily taxed” is offended to learn that loudspeakers will henceforth replace his services. Josef knows better. The stationmaster has informed him that “something really nasty is going on” and that he should protect the widow. The carpenter goes, as he does every Wednesday, to Monsieur Katz, his Jewish hairdresser, who is already wearing a yellow star and tidying up his store. “Didn't you see the Hlinka militia, Mr. Brtko? Would you like to join us?"
Indeed, the militia, singing about a pure Slovakia, take center stage. The scene takes place at night. A large crowd scurries about, on the lookout for news. No doubt the word has already spread. Kuchar, defined as “ ein weisser Jude ”, a white Jew, a non-Jew in solidarity with the Jews, has been arrested and tortured on the orders of the commandant. He is presented to the audience half-dead. The fixity of the crowd's gazes and faces betrays the fascination exerted by this spectacular staging.
The last half-hour of the film is a blend of Expressionist and Nazi propaganda aesthetics. It plays on fear and the violent contrasts between light and shadow. The sequence unfolds in three shots: the main street, where the Jews gather, sitting on their luggage, the voice of a militiaman calling the roll, his uniformed cohorts manhandling the families. For the viewer, the scene is seen through the window of the haberdashery, where Tono, who fears the fate of the white Jew, tries to convince the old lady to join her fellow Jews, even though her name has been omitted from the list. She still doesn't understand, thinking her clerk has lost his mind. She worries about his rudeness and violence. Drunk, Tono switches to assault, chasing Madame around the house. You don't want to go so you can testify against me after the war,” he says.
“Have I gone mad, or has the world gone mad? ” The farewell to Madame Lautman takes the form of a long panorama of her apartment, her haberdashery, her refined, old-fashioned furniture, her lace, her memories and the photos of her children, who emigrated to America. Today, with Trump, they would have been turned away...
Nicole Gabriel
Le Miroir aux alouettes (restored version) hits theaters in France on February 5.
(1). Ján Kadár (1918-1979) was a Slovak film director and screenwriter. In the 1930s, he studied at the Bratislava Film School. During the Second World War, Kadár and his family were arrested and sent to a concentration camp. After the war, Ján Kadár began his film career with a documentary about the devastation caused by the conflict. In 1952, he began a long collaboration with Elmar Klos (1910-1993), which lasted until 1968. Together, Kadár and Klos made the war drama Death is called Engelchen, which won a major prize at the 1963 Moscow Film Festival. Their next film, The Accused, won the Crystal Globe at the Karlovy-Vary Film Festival in 1964. Then their film Obchod na korze (in French, Le Miroir aux alouettes), a drama set in Slovakia during the Second World War, was shown at the Cannes Film Festival before becoming the first Czech film to win the Oscar for Best Foreign Film.
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