“What I propose, therefore, is very simple: it is nothing more than to think what we are doing”
—Hannah Arendt, “Prologue”, The Human Condition
The final scene of Alfonso Cuarón’s new film, Gravity, shows us Sandra Bullock trapped underwater in a satellite escape pod that she has just crashed into earth. Breaking loose from the straps and the heavy door of the pod, her body shoots up, slender and nymph like, to the surface of the unnamed body of water in which she almost drowned. She crawls out to the sand, in the footsteps of some primordial amphibian and within a few seconds she has struggled her way to uprightness, readjusting to gravity and completing the entire process of evolution. With Bullock, we feel relief and gratitude for the force that pulls us all down and makes us earth-bound creatures. In the 90 minutes leading up to this moment, we have seen her float in space, escaping one disaster or explosion after another and keeping herself precariously tethered to a bunch of satellite debris, until she finally manages to launch herself back to earth and to gravity.
I thought of this last scene – that final bit of action and irony thrown in before we are allowed to leave the movie theater: “You think she has made it back to earth? Oh no! She is about to drown!” – as I watched Margarethe von Trotta’s Hannah Arendt. The earth, and the fact that we are earth-bound creatures, our life with gravity, was a matter of great interest to Arendt. She discusses the launch of the Sputnik, that forefather of the satellites that crowd the sky in Gravity, in the forward of her book, The Human Condition, and worries that we might all find ourselves in the intellectual corollary of Sandra Bullock’s hovering in space, loosing our earthly orientation. The earth, Arendt writes, “is the very quintessence of the human condition.” (You can read an essay and watch a talk on Arendt’s discussion of earth alienation).
Unlike Cuarón, von Trotta has not produced an action movie in the conventional sense of the term, a fact that she seems to mark explicitly in the first scene of her film, which depicts the abduction of Adolf Eichmann by Mossad agents in Argentina. That moment could be the focal point of an action movie, but von Trotta wants to show us not action, but thinking, a contrast that she draws from Arendt’s writings, of course.
The movie is rich with details of Arendt’s life in the world: her love relationships and friendships, her body and the domestic setting that housed it, her public life. But what it attempts to capture are the moments in which Arendt withdraws from all of that to do what she suggests in the forward to The Human Condition: “to think what we are doing.” Barbara Sukowa depicts the thinking Arendt as she lies down on her recliner, eyes closed, slowly sucking on her cigarette. In fact, what she does is not thinking, but – as we are made to notice by Mary McCarthy’s chiding imitation of her friend’s heavy German accent in one of the party scenes that takes place in the Arendt-Blücher home on the Upper West Side – she is “sinking”. This is not a minor detail. Arendt’s political thought and her controversial analysis of the Eichmann trial, which is at the center of the movie, were formed by her own experience of statelessness and exile; the book about Eichmann, which she wrote in English, speaks with that German accent.
From the moment that McCarthy has imitated it, whenever Arendt speaks passionately about “the responsibility to sink” and “Eichmann’s inability to sink”, the viewer can’t help but note with amusement. A second immigrant’s slip of the tongue, caught by McCarthy and highlighted by its significant recurrence in the movie, also belongs to the same underwater sphere where Bullock spends the final dramatic moments of Gravity. In a discussion of the upcoming American elections, Arendt predicts that what will matter “when the ships are down” is Kennedy’s youth and charisma. When McCarthy corrects her, Arendt waves her hands impatiently. But as von Trotta’s film winds its way toward its ending, in the dramatic scene in which Arendt finally decides to lecture in public and provide a passionate defense of her book, she corrects herself and states that radical evil occurs when people fail to act “when the chips are down,” emphasizing the affricate sound of her acquired American idiom.
Though it could not be more different from Cuarón’s last bid to pump his viewers’ adrenaline by throwing Bullock into the sea, this too is an action scene. Arendt is performing precisely the type of action championed in her Human Condition, stepping out to the Agora, engaging in debate and defending her position. What von Trotta has shown is that Arendt’s terms are useful also for thinking about current cinema and the ways in which it shows us what it means to be human, what it means to act and to think about what we are doing.
University of Chicago
A.O. Scott gives "Hannah Arendt", the new film by Margarethe von Trotta a rave in the New York Times today:
We may need [Arendt’s] example more than ever. It’s probably too much to hope that Ms. von Trotta and her star, Barbara Sukowa, will do for Arendt what Nora Ephron and Meryl Streep did for Julia Child, but surely a fellow can dream. And in a manner not altogether dissimilar to the way “Julie & Julia” mastered the art of French cooking, “Hannah Arendt” conveys the glamour, charisma and difficulty of a certain kind of German thought. Ms. Sukowa, compact and energetic and not overly concerned with impersonation, captures Arendt’s fearsome cerebral power, as well as her warmth and, above all, the essential, unappeasable curiosity that drove her.
The movie turns ideas into the best kind of entertainment. There is an undeniable nostalgic thrill in stepping into an era in New York when philosophers lived in apartments with Hudson River views, and smoking was permitted even in college lecture halls, especially if you are someone for whom the summit of early-’60s Manhattan magic is not Madison Avenue or Macdougal Street but Riverside Drive. But it would be a mistake to file this film with all the other rose-colored midcentury costume dramas.
Read the whole review here.
"Hannah Arendt" opens tonight at Film Forum in Manhattan. We will be on hand and there is a Q&A afterwards with Margarethe von Trotta, Pam Katz (writer), Barbara Sukowa (playing Hannah Arendt) and Janet McTeer (playing Mary McCarthy).
The opening is sold out, but on Wednesday June 5th, there will be a Q&A with Roger Berkowitz, Director of the Hannah Arendt Center, following the 6:30 show. Buy tickets here.
The new Hannah Arendt bio picture by Margarethe von Trotta has been released in Europe. It will hit theatres in the US in May, although it is making the rounds of festivals now. The good news: “Hannah Arendt” the film is really wonderful. I’ll have more to say about the film at some point soon, but until then we’ll be passing along the most interesting reviews. To get us started, here is a write up by David Owen, who teaches political theory at the University of Southampton. If you see the film and have some thoughts, pass them our way and we’ll post them on the blog.
The opening scene of the film shows the organised abduction of an ordinary-looking older man on a country road before cutting to a woman, obviously European in her movements, listening to classical music in a room whose decor is clearly American. These people are, of course, Adolf Eichmann and Hannah Arendt – and thus the film signals its central focus, namely, Arendt’s relationship to the event of Eichmann’s Trial in Jerusalem and the questions that Arendt’s report and the reactions to it raise concerning the relations of the private and the public, the personal and the political, and, more specifically, the conditions (and wisdom) of a philosopher speaking philosophically about politics in public.
The film’s portrayal of Arendt is unfolded through her relationships, most notably with her husband Heinrich Blücher, her friend Mary McCarthy, her once class-mate and now friend and colleague Hans Jonas, her old political mentor and friend the Zionist Kurt Blumenfeld, the editor of the New Yorker William Shawn, and her former teacher and lover Martin Heidegger. All except the last of these are played out within a linear dramatic narrative that tracks Arendt’s circle from the capture of Eichmann through the trail in Jerusalem to the composition and publication of, and reaction to, Arendt’s New Yorker articles. The relationship to Heidegger is interspersed into the narrative through flashback’s that are Arendt’s memories of her relationship with Heidegger and his disastrous foray into public political speech in the Rectoral Address of May 27th 1933, a public act which he later spoke of privately as ‘die größte Dummheit seines Lebens’ but which he never publically renounced. This figuring of her relationship to Heidegger within the dramatic structure of the film is unfortunate in a number of ways, not least the portrayal of Heidegger as a clownish naïf, but primarily because through the use and positioning of these flashbacks within the film, von Trotta offers an open-ended analogy between Heidegger’s and Arendt’s acts of public speech. Even if von Trotta means only to raise the suggestion, since these flashbacks are Arendt’s, that Arendt reflects on her Report on the Eichmann Trial through the prism of her personal relationship to Heidegger and his own abrogated stress on the necessity of thinking, it gets in the way of the rest of the film which is a beautifully shot and compelling piece of narrative drama with a strong ensemble cast, not least in the sensitive use of documentary footage in the reconstruction of the Eichmann trial.
In different respects, Blücher and McCarthy are presented as Arendt’s supports. Blücher’s wandering eye and philandering (which Arendt is portrayed as accepting as a fact about which it would be hopeless to rail) are offset by his role as loving companion and sounding board for her thoughts. McCarthy is the female confidant, a blousy American whose insecurity in her personal life and work contrasts with and highlights Arendt’s European roots and location in an older tradition.
By contrast, the relationships with Hans Jonas and Kurt Blumenfeld are offered as both deep but also, finally broken, by Arendt’s writing on Eichmann. This is given early expression in, first, an argument between Jonas and Blücher about Eichmann’s abduction to be placed on trial in Israel which foreshadows the more dramatic rupture between Jonas and Arendt – and, second, Arendt’s visit to Blumenfeld’s family in Jerusalem (on her way to cover the Eichmann trial) in awkwardness and already emerging disagreement are covered over by the depth of their friendship. Later, after the report is published, Arendt will dash to Jerusalem to visit a seriously ill Blumenfeld in his sickbed only for him to turn his back to her. The issue von Trotta raises here concerns not so much whether Arendt’s arguments are right or wrong but rather how much one can reasonably ask one’s friends to bear in respect of one’s own commitment to intellectual integrity. For Blumenfeld, Arendt’s remarks on the role of the Jewish leaders in co-operating with the Nazi organization run by Eichmann and hence facilitating the Shoah are a betrayal of the Jewish people. Arendt’s response — that she does not think of herself as having such an obligation — adds only insult to injury. For Jonas, Arendt’s fault is arrogance — and certainly the portrayal of her relationship to William Shawn, an editor overwhelmed by awe at Arendt which she shows no compunction in exploiting, is given as testimony to this side of her character. This issue is raised for us acutely by the climax of the film to which I’ll come shortly but there are two other features that deserve comment first.
The first is the presentation of the charge made against Arendt by her public critics that she is cold, without feeling, and McCarthy’s defense of her as simply having a courage that her critics lack, in the context of a portrayal of Arendt among students and friends as a caring and humorous person who, at one point, privately breaks down in the face of the reaction to her report. The second is the portrayal of the process of composing her writing of Eichmann which combines two elements: the engagement with a vast mass of empirical material, piles of folders of paper (court transcripts, etc.) are arranged around the study and apartment, and the difficulty of writing: Arendt sits reading and is haunted by voices from the trial, she spends a lot of time lying down on a divan smoking endless cigarettes, she types in a controlled frenzy. Here it seems to me that the film is linking these features in a way that is insightful and important, namely, that Arendt had to steel herself to write her report at all, that she had to set aside her own feelings and relationships to others in order to be able to try to serve truth, that intellectual conscience (redlichkeit) makes demands that are hard to bear. In this sense, the film suggests that the critics (who remind me of Martha Nussbaum on tragedy) are right to see her writing as cold and without feeling but quite wrong in their judgment of the significance of this fact and the courage that the writing required of her. At the same time, her response to William Shawn that her writing about the Jewish leaders was purely factual raises for the viewer the question of whether she has lost the ability to discriminate between her judgment and facts in this process. In making this point, the film does not attempt to adjudicate the question of whether Arendt was right or wrong to write the report that she composed, rather it tries, I think compellingly, to make intelligible how she could come to speak in the way that she did (it may also explain why she was entirely unconcerned that Eichmann was hanged).
Let me now turn to the climax. As the drama following the publication of her report unfolds, Arendt is presented as treating from public space and, against McCarthy’s advice, refusing to engage publically with the criticisms directed at her work by critics for whom she has no intellectual respect (echoes of Heidegger’s postwar silence are raised here). When she returns to The New School, at that time almost entirely a Jewish institution, her colleagues shun her and she is asked to resign from teaching her classes which she refuses to do — but she does acknowledge an obligation to the students, who have supported her (and whom the film portrays her as feeling responsible to, for example, in the scene where McCarthy arrives at her class to tell her that Blücher has had a heart attack and is in hospital, and her first shocked reaction is to return to finish her class). When she has offered her explanation to a lecture hall packed with students and the three staff before whom she was hauled for dressing down and discipline, she rebuts – albeit not wholly convincingly — the charge by a staff member that she is blaming the victims for their own victimhood and is given rapturous applause by the students. As they leave, she sees that Hans Jonas is also in the audience. His face, in a bravura piece of acting by Ulrich Noethen, gives us no clue as to what is to come next but seems to express a process of internal struggle. Arendt goes to him, hopeful that her explanation will have healed the rupture of their friendship, but far from it — Jonas rejects her account, she has gone too far, and, in a bitter expression of the end of their friendship, refers to her as “Heidegger’s little darling”.
The question raised by this film is that of ‘thoughtlessness’. Arendt presents Eichmann as a creature who cannot think, for has abdicated the realm of thinking, and at the same time she sees Heidegger as a philosopher whose movement into the public realm is marked by a shift to thoughtlessness (a view that allows her to continue to engage Heidegger’s philosophical work after 1933 in contrast to Jonas). Is Arendt similarly ‘thoughtless’ is her reflections on the Jewish leaders? The film asks us to consider this question but not, I think, quite in Arendt’s sense of thoughtlessness but in the broader sense that underlies it. Her commitment to understanding, to making intelligible, to truthfulness is given clear expression as too are the demands this makes on her — but what about the demands that this makes on her friends, is there not a kind of thoughtlessness here? Is there not a kind of thoughtlessness in her failure to anticipate the entirely predictable response to her moralized interpretation of the role of the Jewish leaders, whose cooperation with the Nazis, she writes, should strike Jews as the darkest episode of a dark chapter of human action?
I don’t think that the film ultimately takes a stance on this issue – rather it raises for us the question of the relationship of Arendt’s sense of thoughtlessness to our ordinary sense of that word. And it must be noted that while Arendt’s thesis concerning the banality of evil is a fundamental insight for moral philosophy, she is almost certainly wrong about Eichmann. As David Cesarani and, more recently, Bettina Stangneth have compellingly argued, Arendt was — like almost everyone else — taken in by Eichmann’s strategy of self-presentation in the trial as a nobody, a mere functionary, a bureaucratic machine. Yet the evidence of Eichmann’s commitment to Nazism and, contra Arendt, his commitment to anti-Semitism that has emerged in more recent years, especially well-documented by Stangneth’s study Eichmann vor Jerusalem, suggests that Jonas was right — Eichmann was a monster who hated Jews. The film is composed in a context in which we, and von Trotta, know this — and I think the film’s refusal to resolve the issues that it raises is precisely an acknowledgement of this context. In this respect, Thomas Assheuer’s review in Die Zeit which suggests that Arendt’s reading of Eichmann was directed against that of the Israeli Prime Minster David Ben Gurion who represented him as a monster of evil for ideological purposes may have some force but not against the film. Rather the film leaves us with questions concerning the relationship between friendship and the service of truth, of emotional life and the conditions of writing truthfully, and of the conditions and costs of public speech.