Speechless as it may leave you, there’s plenty to say about Joshua Oppenheimer’s 2012 opus, The Act of Killing, which opened in the U.S. Co-produced by Werner Herzog and Errol Morris, the documentary follows former executioners Anwar Congo and Herman Koto as they make a film about the mass murders they committed roughly 40 years ago. They waste no ounce of cinematic flair in the reconstruction of details that are beyond ghastly.
Historical context: In 1965 and 1966, the Indonesian army exterminated up to 2.5 million communists, intellectuals and ethnic Chinese in a military coup that has guaranteed dominion to the right ever since. If this is news to you, you have to consider that in the absence of the usual public reckoning, these war criminals have lived relatively happy, comfortable lives and even enjoyed a certain level of national esteem. As one glorified thug puts it, “war crimes are defined by the winners. I’m a winner, so I make my own definitions.”
The nearly two-hour film is part humblebragging on the part of Anwar and Herman, two of the most feared executioners in their hometown of Medan in North Sumatra; part graphic exploration of their various killing techniques; part inquiry into how the convincing reenactments settled too close to home for many of the local actors (note that the majority of Indonesians settled for “Anonymous” in the ending credits); and a whole dose of weird aesthetic choices made by the two men detailing their inner fantasy lives, wherein Herman is often dressed in drag like a barrio prostitute straight off a Jodorowsky set.
There’s certainly potential for a movie like this to toe the line in terms of good judgment, but a “60 Minutes”-style docudrama could hardly have offered the same thorough exploration of mental pathology that explains how one goes from point A to mass murderer. Oppenheimer does a truly commendable job of remaining rather “fly on the wall” as these men openly boast of their deeds and, quite literally, play the heroes in their own movie. Barely interjecting until the end, Oppenheimer does what any excellent documentarian in his position would do – he lets the story meander in on itself, so that when he finally manages to crack the shell of Anwar’s self-deluding mythology, he does so in just a few words, and to actually stomach-wrenching effect.
Other things to make your head explode: the layers of “meta” in this whole outfit are simply astounding. This is a movie about two men making a movie about killings that were themselves inspired by American cinema (does “The Act of Killing” suddenly adopt an extra meaning?). We’re then told that Indonesia’s farce of a democracy has made “soap opera actors” out of its citizens and officials. Moreover, Anwar and Herman both started out as “movie theater gangsters” before being promoted to genocide leaders, scalping tickets outside of cinemas and cursing the Communists for banning lucrative Hollywood flicks. Incrementally more disturbing are the copious allusions to Western gangster films that Anwar and Herman aspired to (and often mimicked) during their slaughters. Thanks Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, and John Wayne for your enduring lessons on how to look cool while committing genocide – indeed, Anwar still doffs pimp-like garb well into his 60s.
Not to be overlooked are these warped reappropriations of Western culture and the subverted meaning of the word “gangster” itself. We’re reminded time and time again, “gangster” simply means “free man” in English. Like liberty and democracy itself, it’s an ideal to aspire to, and we’re left to ponder this against a backdrop of intermittent shopping malls and commercial drudgery.
Above all, you have to consider that most narratives with an antihero-type protagonist will render that character at least mildly sympathetic. Not so this time – as one of our leading stars says, “It’s not a problem for us – it’s a problem for history. Society will say we lied about the communists being cruel.” In other words, maybe we’re making ourselves look like azzholes.
The Act of Killing is the ultimate funhouse of mirrors, and it’s all fucked up no matter how you look at it.
