Look Back in Anger

Oh, to be young, bold, and fighting the fascists: The angel of history sits on the hunched shoulders of the myopic, silver-haired heroes of the long-unseen documentary Terrorists in Retirement no less than on the beautiful, perfectly coiffed proto-rock stars of Lindsay Anderson's newly revived If . . .

Terrorists in Retirement—a World War II story that is itself an artifact (made in the early '80s) and the most controversial documentary on the French Resistance since The Sorrow and the Pity—opens with a clip from a newsreel produced in France under German occupation. Early in 1944, only five months before D-Day, the Germans proudly informed the subject population that a group of mostly foreign-born, mainly Jewish partisans led by an Armenian poet named Missek Manouchian had been captured, tried, and executed for terrorism.

The filmmaker Mosco Boucault, himself a Bulgarian Jew living in Paris, tells the story of seven now middle-aged co-religionists who, for one haphazard reason or another, managed to survive the liquidation of their cell. Some remain Communists, all appear to live marginal lives as tailors in Paris's 11th arrondissement. The story is as exciting as their straits are constrained—it could be the real Casablanca—and as prompted by Boucault, the men relive their reactions to the Hitler-Stalin Pact as well as the other historical landmarks of their youth.

A sort of existential documentary: Raymond Kojitski in Terrorists in Retirement
photo: Mosco Boucault
A sort of existential documentary: Raymond Kojitski in Terrorists in Retirement


Terrorists in Retirement
Directed by Mosco Boucault
Film Forum
Through January 23

If . . .
Directed by Lindsay Anderson
Written by David Sherwin and John Howlett
A Paramount Repertory release
Film Forum
January 12 through 18

But Terrorists in Retirement is not simply oral history. As with Claude Lanzmann's Shoah, which was in production at the same time, Boucault's movie is a sort of existential documentary. The filmmaker not only interviews these elderly tailors at their workbenches and sewing machines but places them in situ on and under the streets of Paris. Cannily, he triggers their recollections by persuading them to engage in stiff-jointed thriller reconstructions—supplying them with old pistols so that they can show him how they assassinated a German officer in the métro or a Nazi diplomat getting into his car. One shows just how to prepare a shrapnel-packed pipe bomb, the ingredients of which are discreetly bleeped out.

The most fanatical terrorists are often scarcely more than children. (Some of Boucault's retired partisans are only in their mid fifties—the Communists recruited stateless Jewish teenagers, most of whom had lost or would lose their entire families in the Holocaust.) But because these onetime urban guerrilla fighters have long since spent the capital of their youthful bravado, their sense of the armed actions they once engaged in tends to stress imponderable aspects of luck and the difficulty in killing someone you don't know. They also invoke fear, indecision, failure, and arrest: "The French tortured me a lot, then handed me over to the Germans."

Terrorists in Retirement starts as a form of nostalgia but shifts into more troubling territory. There are several unresolvable issues around the demise of the Manouchian group—which was evidently betrayed by one of its members. It seems possible that the Party could have protected these jeopardized comrades, as it did others, by placing them out of harm's way. But with the end of the war in sight, the Communists were competing with de Gaulle's Free French for the leading role in the resistance, and there is a strong suggestion that these immigrant terrorists were sacrificed on the altar of French nationalism. As the historian Philippe Ganier-Raymond puts it, "It would have been exceedingly embarrassing for the French Communist Party to have to reveal that their Resistance heroes were not grassroots Frenchmen but people with names like Mitzflicker, Weissberg, and Kojitski."

In pointing this out, Terrorists in Retirement became a scandal. Passionately narrated by former fellow traveler Simone Signoret (who was subsequently inspired to write a novel about immigrant Jews during the occupation), the movie was shelved for two years and then, once scheduled, subjected to a prolonged and bitter attack by the French Communist Party lasting throughout the spring and summer of June 1985. Terrorists evidently had its first and only American screenings at the Museum of Modern Art in the spring of 1999.

The irony is that Nazi anti-Semitic propaganda—specifically the red posters plastered around Paris by the Gestapo in early 1944 (the subject of a poem by CP laureate Louis Aragon)—was what kept the memory of the Manouchian group from being buried for good. The survivors were never granted French citizenship, let alone official recognition. Boucault's sturdy, yet haunting, tract ends without resolution. Indeed, there's a bitter prescience to its final images of a defaced Jewish cemetery.

Also to be found at Film Forum, in a fine new 35mm print, is another account of adolescent resistance at a well-mythologized historical moment: Lindsay Anderson's If . . . This self-consciously ambivalent evocation of youthful high spirits amid class oppression at an English public school had the great good fortune to materialize just before Christmas during the Year of the Barricades, 1968. This was the very apex of the British youth revolt—between the great anti-Vietnam demonstration of October, attended by young Bill Clinton among some 100,000 others, and the monthlong confrontation between students and administration at the London School of Economics.

If . . . had its New York premiere the following March, opening between Godard's Weekend and the 20th Century Fox biopic Che. The poster had a sketch of the dandyish star, Malcolm McDowell, striking an insouciant pose, one hand in his pocket and the other cradling an automatic rifle. The Voice Scenes column predicted that If . . . would "probably be the biggest movie on college campuses since The Graduate," irritating New Yorker critic Pauline Kael, who, in noting the plug, added that "one can already hear the discussions on WBAI." If . . . garnered highly positive reviews and, in a final coup, won the Palme d'Or that May at Cannes—the first movie to be so garlanded since soixante-huitarde militants shut down the festival.

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