(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
The trunk. Directed by: Myroslav Slabosjpytsky, photo: Valentyn Vasyanovych The tribe is an uncompromising and at times very unpleasant film – but also unique and very interesting. Even before it begins, under the foreword, we are told that «this is a film in sign language». It is, it says, "no translation, no subtitles, no voiceover." In other words, we will experience a story that we will not fully understand, because nothing is explained or communicated in any other way than through sign language. We are forced to interpret signs that we do not usually have to deal with. We have to study gestures and facial expressions, and adjust to mood values. In many ways, spoken language makes this attention superfluous in other contexts, but here it is absolutely essential. The film begins with the main character arriving at a bus stop. Here he gets help from a strange lady to explain where he is going, before he goes down an underpass and up a flight of stairs, and finally arrives at the film's dramatic center: a dilapidated building that serves as a boarding school or school for the deaf and dumb. The opening is thought-provoking: The passage from the bus stop and the underpass with the following stairs marks the transition to a completely different world than most of us know: a world without speech and language sounds. Well ahead of his future «tribe» we see the residents gathered in the yard in front of the house. We are witnessing a general meeting – but it is completely, completely silent. This silence introduces us to the entire film's 'sound policy', where in the place of the absent spoken language we become aware of completely different sounds than those we otherwise pay attention to. The only thing we hear in the opening scene is – eventually – the whistling of the wind and a lone bell ringing in the hand of a little girl who sits on one of the adults' shoulders. A crow and a sparrow scurry in the background. Then the students march in front of us, one by one into the main hall of the place, and the soundscape is taken over by the clapping and shoving from a couple of hundred shoes down to the floor. A bright light is now flashing over the door, which we also take extra care of due to the changed sensory situation. Later we understand that the light is a visual "school bell" that marks when the class is over or the free time is over. There are several scenes in the film that become much more than what we see due to the absent speech. Some distance into the film, a fight is arranged, where the newcomer will be tested against the school's thugs. The handshake is raw and not fair since there are four or five pieces that attack the lonely, new boy. Still, he goes out with the credit intact – and rises in the ranks. The fight itself is a strange sight, for it does not sound a single cry – no screams of pain, buing, no cheers-cheers. What we hear, on the other hand, is the leaves rustling and clothes rubbing and crackling against each other or against the bodies of the fighting boys. This near-silence gives, surprisingly enough, the violent scene a poetic feel that would otherwise be completely unthinkable.
We are forced to listen to the silent speech of the deaf-mute, as they are doomed to be held out in a world defined by sound and speech.
Forced outside. Slaboshpytsky's film is not a happy experience. The boarding school's inhabitants are divided according to a strict hierarchical system, where the freshmen and the little ones must endure a lot of harassment. They are moved around from room to room at the discretion of the gang leaders, and must pay so as not to be exposed to further discomfort. The school is simply a very gloomy and violent place. Eventually, the class system turns into pure mafia activity, where the girls at the school are driven around and rented out to trailer drivers, and random passers-by are beaten up and robbed. One of the saddest moments is when one of the girls is painfully forced to have an abortion, so to speak, on the kitchen counter. The final scene, the very bottom line in the fate of these people, nevertheless turns most into cruelty. I will not reveal what it is about, but it sums up everything we have witnessed in a terrible way. The sad realism of the film is intensified by everyone actually er deaf-mute on proper, and that no one is a professional actor. The film can be read as allegory on several levels. The closest is Ukraine's relationship with Russia. In this case, the thugs are the Russians who undermine Ukraine's independence. At the beginning of the film, we see a map showing Ukraine next to the EU symbol, signaling a possible closer association with Europe. Perhaps the deaf mute could be considered as a picture of the Ukrainian people losing speech and hearing during the Russian bear's growl? Still, I find it more interesting to interpret the film as an allegory of how minorities are handled more generally. To view a film in a language only the fewest commanders, without translations or subtitles, have never before happened in Norwegian cinemas. In other words, the only ones who will understand what is being said are those who can sign language. The situation is significant, too The tribe we who have hearing and speech gifts are left intact in a similar situation that the deaf-mute is otherwise in. That is, one could say, spring turn to be put outside. We are forced to listen to the silent speech of the deaf-mute, as they are doomed to be held out in a world defined by sound and speech. Viewed as such, the film is an exercise in empathy, or the ability to see reality from an angle that is not yours.
There is nothing that illustrates the action soundly, other than the sounds of moving bodies, food being eaten, whispering from angry mouths.
Effective silence. Also, the film is an exercise in shifting, or reprogramming, attention. We hear no speech, but no music either. There is nothing that illustrates the action soundly, other than the sounds of moving bodies, food being eaten, whispering from angry mouths, or shoes hitting the ground. However, this dimming of sound is a radical upgrading of the meaning of sound. In a sense, Slaboshpytsky is related to the American musician and artist John Cage, whose 4:33 consisted of just silence. But silence was not all one could hear: what had to be heard by sound as the play was performed entered the directed "place of music". In this way became 4:33 a medium of increased awareness for all that Secondly, which usually does not belong to the work. Dog slam from the street or hosting among the audience, for example. Similarly, Slaboshpytsky suggests that, in the realm of the reality of the spoken language rule, we will be able to find another world with equal recognition. He transfers Cage's aesthetic framing of what we do not usually hear, or imply, into a social and political setting. It's also no secret that many people remain dumb even though they actually are can talk. Similarly, many people never receive essential information because they are beyond the reach of important speeches. Paperless, stateless and poor are obvious examples of people who are neither in a position to be heard nor to hear others. At the end of the movie, an interesting link to identity is drawn: When one of the girls gets a pass, she can suddenly leave the gruesome situation she is in as part of the "tribe". But when she shows the passport to the newcomer, who is now an established leader in the small community, he steals the passport and twists it, animally, with his teeth. This is an abuse greater than the physical violence of the film, or prostitution forced into the girl, because without this document she is forced to remain part of the undesirable community. When the passport gets lost, her freedom also disappears. New viewpoints. Giorgio Agamben says in his book Funds without goals that we have to start from the stateless and paperless refugee in order to understand human rights, since these people, based on today's understanding of rights, fall outside all networks. Could we not also say that in order to understand communication between people, we must base ourselves on those who cannot speak or hear? Slaboshpytsky's film can thus be regarded as an unorthodox post in how we relate to speech and language; to who can speak and who remains mute, who hears and who remains deaf. The filmmaker not only suggests that we not only lend an ear to those who cannot speak through regular channels, but also create situations where de can hear US. Røed is a film critic for Ny Tid.
