Directed by
Ronit Elkabetz and Shlomi Elkabetz
Like
Luis Bunuel’s surrealist masterpiece The Exterminating Angel (1962), the entirety of Ronit and Shlomi Elkabetz’s Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem takes
place within the confines of a single physical space. In the case of Bunuel, that space was a
lavish dining room where the aristocratic dinner guests could not bring themselves
to ever depart; in Gett, that space
is an Israeli courtroom where a divorce proceeding is taking place. In both films, the narrative and characters
are restricted to those enclosed spaces for absurd reasons – for Bunuel, it was
the self-imposed alienation of the entitled social classes while in Gett, it is the absurdity of the inefficient
Israeli judicial system, governed by the archaic and misogynistic laws of the
Talmud more than the modern, progressive, “enlightened” conceptions of justice
and equality.
But
the comparisons to The Exterminating
Angel are perhaps most resonant in both films’ cumulative effects on
viewers: Both films are exercises in dullness, repetition, and extreme
frustration. They do not contain
character development, dramatic tension, or narrative climaxes – at least not
in any traditional senses. They are
rooted in the political task of placing viewers in the same social, emotional,
and intellectual positioning as its characters, even if that necessitates that the
events of the film become monotonous and a chore to watch. Just as we ask with Bunuel, Why can’t these people just leave the dining
room already?, the Elkabetz’s film forces us to ask, Why can’t these people just be granted a divorce already? The answer, of course, has less to do
with the people involved (and even their reasons for divorce) and everything to
do with the individuals and institutions given the unimpeded power to grant
divorces.
Gett (the Hebrew
term for “divorce”) begins with Viviane Amsalem (Ronit Elkabetz) and her
lawyer, Carmel Ben Tovim (Menasche Noy), bringing their case before a trio of Rabbi
judges. For over 30 years, Viviane has
been unhappily married to Elisha (Simon Abkarian) but under Jewish law, divorces
can only be granted by husbands. Viviane
pleads her case to the Rabbis that Elisha should be forced into absolving their
marriage, but her initial arguments are unconvincing; by all accounts, Elisha
is a pious, loyal husband who does not physically abuse her, has remained
monogamous, and supports her financially.
Viviane simply does not love him anymore – an attitude which confounds the
Rabbis, who see love and affection as frivolous byproducts of wayward, inferior
femininity (the Talmud crucially does not contain the words “irreconcilable
differences.”) Instead of Elisha’s
character being questioned by the Rabbis, it is Viviane’s; they reprimand her
for speaking out of turn, attack her for inappropriate wardrobe, and take
little sympathy on her, even when Elisha fails to show up on several different
occasions. The subtitle of the film, The Trial of Viviane Amsalem, is
absolutely correct and ironic in conveying that for an Orthodox Jewish woman to
be granted a divorce, her morality and her actions -- rather than her husband's -- must be inordinately chaste and unblemished.
Gradually,
we learn more about the marriage through witnesses and testimony. Viviane runs a beauty parlor, but because Jewish
custom demands that she have a joint bank account with her husband, she has
little financial autonomy. Elisha, who
does not appear to have a job, lacks a driver’s license and does not have
credit cards. He claims that Viviane does
not sufficiently observe the Torah and treats him badly. The two barely look at one another, and have
not cohabitated in the same house for three years. This raises the key question: So why doesn’t
he grant her the divorce? None of the
Rabbis or lawyers ask this question, which may reflect how no one in the
courtroom is eager to rewrite gett policy
or ask straightforward questions; rather, the Rabbis only seem interested in
secondhand gossip or unsubstantiated but juicy hearsay (such as when they ask
Viviane’s unmarried sister whether she or Viviane attend mixes for
singles).
But
Gett is not only about the ways in
which Orthodox law constrains women’s abilities to have independence. It is also about the bureaucratic stagnation,
repetition, and obstruction of the gett
process and its utter lack of resolution.
As the film opens, Viviane has already spent a year and a half in court hoping
to have her marriage officially dissolved; by the end of the film, that number
has swelled to five years. Each sequence
in the film is separated by 2-4 months, with titlecards serving as a sobering
reminder of the total amount of time that has elapsed from the first time
Viviane requested her divorce. In limiting
the narrative to only the days spent in court, the effect is unusual; we never
really get to know Viviane and Elisha outside of the testimony offered by their
family, friends, and neighbors, and this is not surprisingly littered with
half-truths, false accusations, and misinterpretations (one witness for Elisha
accuses Viviane of cheating when he once spotted her having lunch with another
man; this man is deduced to be only Carmel, her lawyer). But viewed in another light, this deliberate
framing device conceals key events, characters, and exchanges from their daily
lives, and as a result, strips the characters of their humanity, which is what
the film argues that the Israeli judicial system is systematically guilty of
doing. Viviane, Elisha and their marriage
become clinical, emotionless, and even immaterial. The only thing that matters is that courtroom
decorum and reverence toward the Rabbis and rabbinic law is upheld and
unchallenged at all costs.
The Trial of
Viviane Amsalem is
a frustrating and challenging film, not just because the inert actions of the
Rabbis and the courtroom testimony become often quite dull and repetitive for
the viewer (which is the intended effect), but because the whole judicial
process is a waste of time for everyone – particularly when it is the husband,
not the Rabbis, who has the final say on whether the divorce will be granted or
not. Elisha’s attitude is quite clear
throughout. So why does Viviane continue
to pursue legal channels to challenge gett
policy when the system of law is so patriarchal, unmoved and
sedentary? (A second, more nitpicky
question would be how she could continue to retain the cost of Carmel, who we
are told comes from a lineage of prestigious litigators, for the entirety of
the five-year legal process.) A divorce is
more than simply symbolic, since it would liberate Viviane from financial dependence
on her husband, although as a result of the dramatic action being removed from their daily
environments outside the courtroom, both Viviane’s and Elisha’s financial
statuses remain underdeveloped and vague – to the detriment of the film. American audiences may wonder why Viviane
doesn’t simply opt to leave Israel forever, and may read Elisha as a stubborn,
one-dimensional zealous tyrant. But I think the filmmakers intended to demonstrate how the
reality of Viviane's plight is more complicated and inconvenient, and the film especially illustrates how
Orthodox Judaism, embodied by the trio of aloof Rabbis, is rigidly unable to
adapt to changing times and cultural attitudes.
Actually,
let me correct that: A couple of things do change during the course of the
film. When Viviane is introduced at the
beginning, she is draped in a long, black robe.
By the end, she has gradually morphed into donning a shorter white gown,
revealing sandals, and has even let her hair down. She now smokes and swears. At first the Rabbis reprimand her, but
eventually they stop caring. Because
after five years, wouldn’t you?
(Note: Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem was Israel’s official submission
to the Best Foreign Language Film category of the 87th Academy
Awards.)
Rating: 3 Stars
