Politologija ISSN 1392-1681 eISSN 2424-6034
2023/4, vol. 112, pp. 139–162 DOI: https://doi.org/10.15388/Polit.2023.112.5
Gabrielė Norkūnaitė
Institute of International Relations and Political Science, Vilnius University,
Email: gabriele.norkunaite@gmail.com
Summary. This article analyses the Lithuanian feature film Izaokas (Isaac, 2018) as an expression of memory activism. The film actualised heated debates on a national level over the role of ordinary Lithuanians in the Holocaust and collaboration with Nazi Germany, in spite of the fact that the filmmakers did not intend to engage in historical debates. Nonetheless, by generating an immersive experience and engaging viewers at the level of affect, the film effectively engages in polemics with public narratives of the Second World War.
Keywords: Holocaust, memory activism, memory mapping, public history, World War II.
Santrauka. Šiame straipsnyje siekiama išanalizuoti konkretų Lietuvos kino atvejį – istorinį filmą „Izaokas“ (2019). Šis filmas aktualizuoja Lietuvoje kilusias diskusijas dėl „paprastų žmonių“ laikysenos Antrojo pasaulinio karo metais ir (ne)kolaboravimo su nacistinės Vokietijos režimu. Naudojant emocinio įsitraukimo ir atminties aktyvizmo idėjas, tyrime aptariamas filmo potencialas įsitraukti į sudėtingos Antrojo pasaulinio karo atminties Lietuvoje formavimo procesą.
Reikšminiai žodžiai: Holokaustas, atminties aktyvizmas, atminties žemėlapio braižymas, viešoji istorija, Antrasis pasaulinis karas.
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Received: 10/09/2023. Accepted: 12/02/2023
Copyright © 2023 Gabrielė Norkūnaitė. Published by Vilnius University Press. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited.
In the view of the backdrop of Russia’s ongoing aggression against Ukraine, the history of the Second World War remains the subject of significant political, social, and cultural contention in Lithuania. Both the state and society have come to approach public history, understood here as the engagement of the public on historical matters, through the lens of ontological security, and nonstate actors mount regular campaigns of memory activism.1 Meanwhile, aesthetic representations of the period in the cinema, like the 2019 film Izaokas (Isaac) are inevitably caught up in debates over government policy and the politics of memory and the interpretive frameworks of each.
Izaokas (Isaac)2 is a historical drama based on the eponymous novel by Antanas Škėma, about a notorious massacre of Jews of during the early days of the German invasion, and the postwar lives of two friends, one of whom participated in the killings. The Lietūkis massacre, part of the Kaunas pogroms of June 1941, involved the brutal killing of some fifty Jews by a mob of local Lithuanians collaborating with the Nazis.3 Izaokas (Isaac) depicts the massacre and follows the life of one of the perpetrators two decades later. It is a complex, controversial story that blends the history of the Holocaust and Soviet occupation, exploring the entangled identity of the protagonist as both perpetrator and victim of successive totalitarian regimes.
By their own accounts, the makers of the film did not seek to engage either the policy or the politics of memory. Their aim was neither to educate nor to persuade the audience, but rather to tell a story. According to the director Jurgis Matulevičius, the film did not aim for historical accuracy, but rather the universality of human experience, a story that ‘could be told both then and now.’4 In a similar vein, producer Saulius Baltakis said it is not a story about the Holocaust, but rather about a man, guilt, a love triangle, and related topics.5 And yet the film was released at a time when the state was especially concerned with the social impact and security implications of representations of the past, and when nonstate memory activists engaged in fierce polemics about role of ordinary Lithuanians during the Holocaust.
This article considers the extent to which artists addressing controversial historical issues become implicated in the policy and politics of the past. It takes a ‘memory mapping’ approach, examining how visual creations focalize and transmit embodied knowledge and memory, and it leads to visual practices (films including) to function as sites and practices of memory activism that engage and render visible specific memory narratives.6
Even if the creators of the film sought to steer clear of public history and the politics of memory, Izaokas (Isaac) inevitably plays a strong role in each owing to the aesthetic power of the cinema and the ability of the immersive visual narrative to promote affective engagement and manipulate the feelings of the viewer by identification of with the protagonists. As noted by Kaitlin M. Murphy, the act of viewing immersive films can lead to feeling, which has the potential to provoke a sociopolitical impact.7
In light of the film’s immersive power and the cultural climate created by state and nonstate approaches to the contentious past, Izaokas (Isaac) inevitably emerges as work of memory activism. This article thus interprets Izaokas (Isaac) as an example of memory activism that reflects what I call a two-sided memory of trauma and gets stuck in it. In its an attempt to represent the trauma of Nazi and Soviet occupation as a continuous, undivided experience (that is, as a two-sided memory of trauma), it fails to distinguish the role of perpetrator and victims, diminishing the memory of the victims and the responsibility of the perpetrators.
The practices of public history in Lithuanian have been shaped in large part by the overarching policy of the government to integrate with the European Union and implement policies considered to be part of the acquis. This involved increasing government support for the professionalization of historical writing about the Second World War and the institutionalization of Holocaust education, seen as a way of strengthening democracy through the promotion of tolerance and human rights. This was initiated through the establishment in 1998 of the International Commission for the Evaluation of the Crimes of the Nazi and Soviet Occupation Regimes in Lithuania. In practical terms, the thrust of the new policy was to ensure a balance in public history and education between the focus on the crimes committed by the Soviets and the crimes committed by the Nazis, and to recognize the role of the local population as both victims and perpetrators of each.8
But after the Russian invasion of Georgia in 2008 and especially after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2014, the emphasis of public history on the balanced presentation of Nazi and Communist crimes and professional research came to be gradually displaced by a heroic narrative of national resistance against Soviet/Russian aggression. This displacement was implemented by numerous campaigns initiated by public bodies and private memory activists and was also reflected to a degree in official practices of public history, which applied principles of securitization to representations of the past. As noted by Viktorija Rimaitė-Beržiūnienė,9 the erection of public monuments, especially at central sites, became more pronounced since that time. By commemorating the partisan war and cleansing public spaces of Soviet-era monuments, public decision-makers expressed an intention to strengthen social resilience and reinforce the foundations of Lithuania’s post-Soviet, European democracy.
Discussions about the memory of WWII intensified in 2016 by nonstate memory actors (activists). Public discourse in Lithuania became saturated with the evaluation of actions of national heroes10 and ordinary people during the Holocaust. One of the controversies was related to members of the Lithuanian Activist Front (LAF) – an organization responsible for the armed anti-Soviet uprising in Lithuania during WWII,11 and the members of the Provisional Government, formed and dissolved in 1941. Kazys Škirpa was the leader of the LAF and made anti-Semitic political statements, as is acknowledged by researchers.12 The supporters of Škirpa believe that his goal of preserving Lithuanian statehood was significant enough to keep a street named after him in Vilnius. Yet, despite the opposition from these groups, the Vilnius municipality renamed the street.13 Škirpa was also supposed to be the Prime Minister of the Provisional Government which collaborated with Nazi Germany, though, if and to what extent, it remains a matter for investigation by historians and other researchers.14
Other discussions concerned ordinary Lithuanians who were involved in the Holocaust. Another memory activist, Lithuanian writer Rūta Vanagaitė15 published an autobiographical nonfiction book Mūsiškiai (Our People), with which she provoked intense debates over the role of ordinary Lithuanians, rather than that of Nazi Germany, and their responsibility in the killing of Jews.16 The book gained great popularity with the general public and beyond. A few years later, when a state theatre in Panevėžys produced a play inspired by Our People, a member of the theatre council considered the play to be an unnecessary provocation offending the Jewish community and accusing the entire Lithuanian nation of being perpetrators.17 At the same time, researchers also discussed the role of ordinary Lithuanians. Historian Dainius Noreika18 stated that some Lithuanians were both collaborators and freedom fighters during WWII. Nazi Germany initiated the local killings, although it was ordinary citizens and not fanatical Nazi collaborators who committed the crimes.
Scholars have increasingly highlighted the relationship between memory and bodily affect. This is evident in the bodily reaction that individuals may exhibit to events they experience directly, and it has also been demonstrated in vicarious forms of experience, for example, while visiting museums or commemorative sites.19
Films can also affect individual memory through the senses. Alison Landsberg even calls cinema a site for a bodily encounter with a past that is unknown to viewers.20 Prosthetic memory is sensuous, ‘produced by and experience of mass-mediated representations.’21 For Vivian Sobchack, films, like no other media, manifest sensuously and sensibly, through seeing, hearing, and physical movement.22
According to the researcher Astrid Erll, films influence public discourse through the processes of remediation and premediation. The latter is described as a reference to established cultural practices. For example, that is why the 9/11 terrorist attacks reminded many people at first of disaster films.23 The former, remediation, is a constant representation of mnemonic events. This representation is established in our culture through the constant circulation of films and other media.24 The narrative or story could be remediated as well as technology. For example, in the historic war film about the Battle of Iwo Jima, Flags of Our Fathers,25 the colors are quite blurry and reminiscent of Joe Rosenthal’s remarkable photo of the U.S. Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima.26
Despite the existence of antagonistic representations, remediation tends to unite or consolidate public memory by stabilizing certain narratives of the past. However, in order to realize the potential of premediation and remediation the film has to be received by the public. To state the obvious, films must have an audience and must be watched if they are to be seen as part of public memory. Reception is often related to popularity or just to the broad context and public discourse, such as the boom in war movies, ongoing debates, controversy, etc.27 Public memory is a process that transcends individual remembrance and becomes a shared memory. Shared does not mean unified, thus public memory may also be controversial and contested.28 Although prosthetic memory engages with each viewer personally (or has the potential to), it evokes the public past. This is where the strength of it lies – in its ability to engage without dividing and being open to all family, ethnic or other groups’ experiences.29
Landsberg introduces the idea that for the audience to think and reflect they need to be provoked, to sense a bodily experience. The interruption and shock provoke the cognitive processing of the viewer.30 In other words, Landsberg believes that films that create prosthetic memory must be both engaging and provoking (up to the point that the suture of the film is broken). She offers the idea of affective engagement. Murphy agrees with this notion: affectively engaging with visual works of memory leads to seeing becoming feeling, which has the potential to create sociopolitical impact.31
This link between visual images and social change is strengthened by the impressiveness of the visuals. The film becomes a mapped memory: an attempt to define history, memory, with mapmakers having the choice of what to include, exclude, what to highlight.32 It can also become (even without such intent) a work of memory activism as the decision of when to create and release the film is also a part of the repertoire of memory activists. The further impact depends on many factors, the current mnemonic climate and circulating mnemonic discourse. As Murphy notes, “the images may remain static, but as our memories shift and are reconfigured along with the passing of time, the meaning we attach to them will also naturally change.”33
Affective engagement is achieved with mediating devices: radio, video cameras, etc. These devices help the audience to see the historical narrative being presented more clearly as they break the immersion of the audience and bring them back to reality.34 They help the audience to escape overidentification and make them do cognitive mental work by watching the film. Affective engagement can also be achieved through the use of historical flashbacks or by mixing fictional and archival footage.35
For immersion to be broken by mediating devices or other filmmaking aspects, there first has to be immersion itself. In the film, this is achieved through the viewer’s identification with the characters and the story presented. The best-known tool for this is ‘suture’: a method where the viewers are sutured into the narrative making them feel like they are active, that they are the ones doing the looking, not just observing passively through the camera.36 Suture is often achieved by using a reverse shot and not breaking the 180-degree rule as it creates a sense of being involved in the film.37 Another film-style element that facilitates identification is point-of-view shots. The audience sees the (film) world quite literally through the character’s eyes, from their perspective.38 The use of close-up shots fixates more on the emotion of the character and makes the viewer react to it.39 It may additionally refer to power positions or hierarchies, as a particular angle may indicate which character is dominant and which is diminished, although other film details and context are also important for this kind of interpretation.40
All of these tools may lead to affective engagement. However, sometimes it may lead to ressentiment. As noted by Kazlauskaitė, who made her research case on VR reenactment of the Warsaw uprising in the Second Worl War Museum in Gdańsk, this feeling depends on the repeated re-experiencing of perceived injustice and victimhood, which also requires the expression of negative emotions directed toward the enemy, and morally superior victimhood position.41 Though she talks about the VR experience, some of it may resemble the tools used in a traditional film as well; for example, an over-expressed first-person perspective.
The plot of Izaokas (Isaac) begins during the Lietūkis massacre in 1941 and then jumps to the Soviet occupation of Lithuania in 1964, although the story remains linear. The first 10 minutes represent the Lietūkis massacre. During this time, Andrius Gluosnis, the protagonist, watches the massacre and participates in it by killing his Jewish neighbour, Isaac. Subsequently, the plot moves to 1964. Gluosnis’ friend, Gutauskas, an émigré USA-based film director, returns home to occupied Lithuania to make a film about the Lietūkis massacre. Most of the plot relates to filmmaking: the audience sees how Gutauskas presents his film idea, his filming preparty and script reading, and his efforts (often unsuccessful) to film the scenes. Another mutual friend, Elena, is an actress, who participates in the filmmaking. There is a love triangle between her and the two men, but this plotline is not relevant to the analysis. In 1964, the murderer Gluosnis is working as a criminal photographer for the KGB. At first, Gluosnis seems happy about his friend Gutauskas’ return but the making of the film about the Lietūkis massacre brings back his memories, induces guilt and further escalation. After each encounter with something that reminds him of the crime he committed, Gluosnis increasingly loses his mind. Another prominent character in the film is Kazimieras, a KGB investigator. He picks up on the buried case and tries to uncover what happened during the massacre and who were the people responsible. Both Gutauskas and Gluosnis become suspects. Gutauskas is interrogated by Kazimieras and killed by the KGB, making it look like a suicide. At the end of the film, Gluosnis is also interrogated, loses his mind completely and is sent to a psychiatric hospital. By bringing up the inconvenient history and crimes, Kazimieras becomes the target of the KGB and is probably killed off-screen.
Izaokas (Isaac) also has three distinctive numbered parts (the 2nd part is in color) which do not correspond to the standard 3-act structure, although the film maintains this traditional structure with a clear setup, confrontation, and resolution. Although for a foreign audience the plot may be a little confusing, people who know the history of occupied Lithuania, who grew up during this time or who had history lessons in school, should have a clear picture of the subtleties depicted. Unlike Škėma’s story on which the film is based, the action in the 60s takes place not in the USA but in Soviet-occupied Lithuania. The importance of this may be explained by using Pierre Nora’s idea of lieux de mémoire.42 According to Nora, the site of memory is a site that has a functional purpose, saturated with symbolic elements, carrying a particular historical significance. The traditional memory diminishes over time, while the site of memory remains.43 Site of memory is usually understood as a particular historical monument or landmark, though it can also be other more symbolic elements such as the colors of a flag or the flag itself. In the case of this film, the broader site could also be the occupied Lithuanian land. The filmmakers of Izaokas (Isaac) use this site as it is already symbolic and historically significant for the audience which is well-aware of the discourse around the memory of the Soviet occupation. This and a clear film structure make a perfect context for immersing the audience in the story.
The very first scene in Izaokas (Isaac) represents the Lietūkis massacre. The massacre and the actions of Gluosnis act as a catalyst for later events in the film. Gluosnis is not only a witness to the massacre but also one of the perpetrators. He kills his Jewish neighbor, Isaac. This could be interpreted as part of a wider narrative in Lithuanian public discourse: some ordinary Lithuanians collaborated with Nazis and took part in the Holocaust. A prosthetic memory (of Jews killed by ordinary people, or of being a perpetrator) is created through affective engagement: the constant Gluosnis’s point of viewshots and similar film-style elements. The identification with a murderer is bypassed by nonglorified violence and such mediated devices as photographs of the massacre and the shooting of the film about Lietūkis.
The scene starts with chaos. Gluosnis walks down the war-torn streets, full of noise, fires and shots. The main character looks weak but determined: he walks slowly, with a small limp, towards the epicenter of the massacre, not caring about the dangerous surroundings. The audience is sutured into the film from the very first shots. The camera follows Gluosnis from over his shoulder, observing the massacre from Gluosnis’ point of view. This camera angle allows the audience to identify with the character44 and is the first of this kind in the film.
The scene depicts not only Gluosnis but bystanders, with whom the audience may identify as well. The killers and torturers are aggressive, physically strong, armed with rifles or shovels. Meanwhile, the unarmed bystanders look less dangerous. Yet, Izaokas (Isaac) shows the cruelty of the bystanders in another way. At one point, an elderly woman runs to the dead bodies and rushes to steal from the dead, even pulling off a shoe. Stealing and cruelty are not the main focus of the shot but rather a background action summarizing the role of the bystanders. They were close to the killing, they contributed to the Holocaust and the humiliation, while remaining invisible, ordinary people. In other countries from Central and Eastern Europe, such as Poland, discussion about the role of ordinary people during the Holocaust has been ongoing for some time. The most heated debates were sparked by controversial academic studies, namely, Jan T. Gross’ book Neighbors,45 which redraws the boundaries between perpetrators and bystanders. This theme has also been developed in Polish cinema.46 On the other hand, the topic of the role of ‘ordinary people’ seems to be quite recent in Lithuanian national cinema and is gradually revealed only in Izaokas (Isaac). The role of the bystander is not taken further after this scene, yet the audience is invited to consider the role played by their country in the Holocaust, and especially the involvement of ordinary people, those most similar to them. The audience is encouraged to look at the torturer empathetically, and to understand how even an ordinary man can become a collaborator.47
The killing is violent but not aestheticized. The space is claustrophobic, dirty, full of swearing and abuse. Like everything in the introduction, the scene is witnessed through the eyes of Gluosnis. The audience is affected by a sudden change of perspective and shock as the camera pans from Gluosnis’ point of view to close-up shots of mutilated bodies. The scene becomes gory when a hand is chopped off with a shovel. It is difficult to have a unanimous interpretation of the images of violence as they are always on the verge of ambiguity.48 This reference is from a book about violence by Nerijus Milerius, who also co-wrote the script for Izaokas (Isaac). He believes that the potent, violent beginning of the film shocks the audience and makes them look further.49
The constant unwillingness of the audience to identify with the main character and pulling them out of the world of the film is also emphasized through the use of mediating tools. Gluosnis is a crime scene photographer for the KGB, so photos and photography are often depicted in the film. Two scenes stand out. In the first, Gluosnis is developing pictures of the Lietūkis massacre and keeps searching for his image. The audience is shown the photograph of a man who resembles both Gluosnis and Isaac. In the second scene during the interrogation, Kazimieras shows Gluosnis the same photos. This brings Gluosnis to talk and reveal the motive for the murder. He thought Isaac betrayed him, and this was the reason for Gluosnis’ imprisonment. In both scenes, photos are an important tool that makes the past ‘speak.’ Also, in this scene, there is a brief mention of Gluosnis’ affiliation to the LAF. It is mentioned quickly and never fully expanded, but the possible questioning of actions by some LAF members during the Holocaust is in the film.
Another form of affective engagement can be seen in the Gutauskas plotline. He is making a film about the Lietūkis massacre and constantly brings the viewer back and forth to the reality behind the screen. This is largely carried out through a meta-narrative: making a film in a film. At one point, Gutauskas presents the idea of his film to other people and lets the audience relive the first scene of the movie with an explanation. He says that the camera should follow the main character and maintain the perspective of an observer who corresponds to the audience’s suture in the film. It is easy for the audience to experience the importance of remembering the tragically ended events at Lietūkis and the cruelty of the local people because Gutauskas’ plotlines are characterized by the cracks in the narrative flow mentioned by Landsberg.
Affective engagement is especially encouraged by another mediating tool: the video camera. Izaokas (Isaac) includes several filmmaking scenes. In one of them, Gutauskas discusses a scene with Elena. She believes that no words are needed before the killing of Isaac, ‘there should be a cry from the inside. A beastly scream of a murderer.’ The film suggests a narrative where the brutality of the killing is acknowledged, and the killers are called beasts and nonhumans. In another scene, the protagonist says that he loves Isaac because he is the only one who will never leave him. This line could be interpreted as the collective state of Lithuanian society: some of the citizens were perpetrators, some collaborated with the Nazis, but the guilt and the memory of Lithuanian Jews would never leave the public memory. Both scenes also mark the transition between the three different parts of the film, and the transition from white-and-black to color, and vice versa. The transition is just another disruption of the narrative flow.
The camera as a mediating device is present without a physical camera in the scene where Gutauskas and other actors perform a script reading. This is still a performance of memory and is shot in a dark-lit manner. After hearing the words ‘What if Isaac is still alive? What if he’s alive forever and we’ve both been moved to the next circle of hell?’, Gluosnis starts spiralling, literally and metaphorically. Fraught with anxiety, he runs down dark corridors and an endless staircase, down to where he finally falls to the ground next to the bodies of the victims (which he hallucinates). The scene is shot from Gluosnis’ perspective as the shaky camera mostly stays over his shoulder. However, the scene is distinctive enough to throw the viewer off. The spiraling, the darkening of the image, almost pitch black, and the sudden and bright sight of victims stands out from the previous cheerful scenes of two best friends meeting after many years.
The narrative of the Holocaust in the country and a real-life pogrom, the Lietūkis massacre, is depicted on screen. The protagonist and other main characters are compelling and draw the viewer in. The use of affective engagement through violence, changes of color, and such mediating devices as the photographs and video camera makes this film a perfect example of how the potential of affective engagement can be realized in practice. The memory of Lithuanian Jews and the crimes of ordinary people may permeate public memory through the audience and the use of film as a mass-media device.
All of this makes the case of Izaokas (Isaac) to be considered a mapped memory. Willingly or not, the filmmakers became memory activists by considering reminding the audience of the notorious history of Lietūkis, by showing the role of ordinary Lithuanians during the massacre, and by presenting the protagonist who participated in the killing himself. The story is presented by heavy use of affective engagement elements having a potential to stabilize the mnemonic narrative.
Despite the fact that Isaac has reasons to be mapped memory and its filmmakers are doing the work of memory activists, there are at least three arguments why the film only reflects the mnemonic discourse in Lithuania and even diminishes the memory of the Holocaust and its victims.
First, the Jewish victims have no agency, they have no lines in the films. Other characters decide to speak for them. The director Gutauskas is making a film about the massacre, the KGB agent Kazimieras is trying to determine the truth and the facts about the perpetrators of the massacre. In addition, many Jews perished during the Lietūkis massacre but remain nameless victims. The only victim with a name is Isaac, but even he is portrayed only in a few scenes and remains a faceless person. The killing scene is lit in such a way that Isaac’s face is covered with darkness and shadows. This interferes with the audience’s identification with the character. The ambiguity of Isaac’s appearance and presence may be explained by the fact that Gluosnis starts to identify with Isaac.
That is also the second point about how the Holocaust narrative and the memory of Jewish victims are obscured by other themes. Gluosnis’ identity as a perpetrator is subject to confusion. There is no doubt that Gluosnis killed Isaac during the Lietūkis massacre, but later in the film Gluosnis starts calling himself Isaac and creating confusion about his identity. The character’s shame and guilt are brought out for all to see. Lithuanian film critics also noticed the interlaced themes and the confusion of different identities. They wrote that historical truth in the film is fragmented and ambiguous; the horrors of the Holocaust, victims, and collaborators intertwine.50 This creates a possibility for a feeling of resentment and victimhood.
The ambiguity of Gluosnis’ identity is especially evident during a scene where Kazimieras shows Gluosnis photographs taken at Lietūkis. Gluosnis persists in maintaining that he is not in the photographs, only Isaac is. For a split second the camera zooms in on a photograph with a man looking like both Gluosnis and Isaac. This scene serves not just as a plot device but also brings another mediated tool: the photographs. The audience can only assume the identity of the gloomy figure in the photographs as they cannot see Isaac’s face. Whatever conclusion they draw, the photographs they are shown allow them to withdraw from the narrative and actively think about what is happening on screen.
Third, the memory of Holocaust victims is conflated with the Soviet occupation, regime, and its victims. Even though the first scene in Isaac depicts the Lietūkis massacre, even before the scene, the film starts with intertitles. They convey the message that in 1940 the Soviet Union seized Lithuania and conducted massive deportations of Lithuanians to Siberia. The second epigraph relates that the Nazis liquidated almost all the Lithuanian Jews and that several thousand Lithuanians also took part in the massacres. Then, the third and final epigraph returns to the theme of occupation by stating that after WWII, having retaken the country, the Soviet Union launches investigations into the perpetrators of war crimes and that the deportation of innocent people continues. This enveloping of the Holocaust memories with remembrance of Soviet atrocities continues throughout the whole film and is evident from the Gutauskas and Kazimieras plotlines, which start as carriers of the Holocaust and their victims’ remembrance but end by emphasizing the oppression of the Soviet Union.
Kazimieras tries to uncover the true nature of the Lietūkis massacre and find those involved. As the plot develops, Kazimieras becomes involved in the corrupt KGB system. He uncovers the fact that many KGB agents could have taken part in the pogroms. This is not acceptable to the KGB, so Kazimieras’ name is given to a hitman and Kazimieras is probably killed off-screen. Like other men in the film, Kazimieras is shown as a frequent drinker since alcoholism was one of many consequences for large numbers of Lithuanians during the Soviet regime. Even though Kazimieras is a KGB agent, the corrupt, unjust, and cruel system and its oppression are transmitted through him. This narrative is facilitated for the audience through affective engagement. One of the mediated devices involved in Kazimieras’ case is the photographs. At one time, Kazimieras presents Lietūkis’ case to his colleagues. He shows the photographs of Gutauskas and mentions the script’s uncanny resemblance to the real events. One of the photos shows Gutauskas with Antanas Škėma, the real writer on whose fictional story Isaac is based. Škėma is well known to the Lithuanian audience and should especially help in inducing the cognitive work of the audience.
Meanwhile, Gutauskas tries to make a film about Lietūkis. The topic of the Holocaust is important for him and he wants to remember it. When Gluosnis is trying to convince Gutauskas that the story of Isaac is not important or needed by anyone, Gutauskas replies that ‘Everyone’s memories are needed. You are what your memories are! Without memories, you cease to exist,’ ‘As long as I’m alive so is he [Isaac]’. According to Primo Levi, testimonies are crucial for victims and survivors: testimonies give a reason to live, to overcome victim status, trauma and gain a new identity. It means becoming a winner as the truth of the victim is known, not the Nazi’s version of it.51 The Gutauskas plotline also raises interesting ideas about the collision of individual and public memories. What is the definition of the public after all? In the film, a filmmaker is trying to bring back the memories of victims to the public. He does it in a very specific way – by making a historical film. Is it enough and would the audience understand what is shown, would they be affected, would their minds, and the public mind, be altered? This question may not have a right or wrong answer, but if we lean towards agreeing with the words of a fictional character, then it means that we, as an audience, can also become carriers of prosthetic memory and make a change in the public memory.
Yet, the narrative of the Holocaust victims’ remembrance shifts towards the remembrance of Soviet oppression as Gutauskas faces Soviet censorship while making the film. The KGB is suspicious of Gutauskas’ film as it retells the story of Lietūkis in detail. Gutauskas is arrested during the filming and is taken into custody where he is interrogated, beaten, and later killed. To a certain extent, the scene of Gutauskas’ interrogation resembles the scene of the massacre: the camera angle is similar, as is the kicking of the body. The interrogation scene is not as violent, but Gutauskas is presented as a victim of a regime using similar methods to those of Nazi Germany. The interrogation scene pulls the audience away from the narrative, as does the use of a mediated device: a bugged conversation. When Gutauskas returned to Lithuania and was greeted by the local authorities, he is later shown in a car, followed by Kazimieras, who intercepts his dialogue with Elena. The bug is a specific device often associated with spy movies. Film genres regulate and limit certain horizons of expectations,52 so a change in genre can lead to a further break in the suture.
In other words, both the Kazimieras and Gutauskas plotlines serve as a transition from Holocaust remembrance to the themes of Soviet occupation. The remembrance of the Holocaust may not form a connection with the audience, since it may be too short, sidelined, and ineffective, as it steadily intertwines with the narrative of Soviet occupation, which eventually becomes the primary narrative. This interpretation is reinforced by Jurgis Matulevičius, the director of the film. According to him, even though Lietūkis is a real historical event, Izaokas (Isaac) is driven by the peculiar world of the film, in which the protagonist seeks a way for forgiveness.53 The director also believes that the Holocaust is not the main idea of the film but is rather the setting that helps to reveal the story of the main character.54 As this main story drifts towards the suffering experienced from the KGB and the occupation regime, and the narrative has many successful instances of affective engagement and perspective (immersive shots including) from the main characters, it may be said that Izaokas (Isaac) leans towards creating feeling of resentful victimhood.
Through the meta-narrative of a director making a film about Lietūkis, Izaokas (Isaac) provides a good example of the extensive use of affective engagements. The audience can identify with the main (anti)heroes, be sutured into the narrative, and pulled back. In other words, if there is a film that could potentially engage with the audience and collective memory, it is certainly Izaokas (Isaac). The film presents a double narrative. On one hand, it retells the events of the Lietūkis massacre, one of the first and most violent pogroms in Lithuania. It acknowledges the role of bystanders, of ordinary people, and also the possible role of some members of the LAF.
On the other hand, Izaokas (Isaac) also tells the story of both the Holocaust and Soviet oppression in Lithuania. The latter takes over the former in a narrative sense: it dominates and engages the audience with the same mediating tools, thus also affecting the audience. The two narratives overlap as imagery from one is laid over the other. This visual confusion diminishes the potential of the memory of the Holocaust in the film, as the narrative of the Soviet oppression dominates and takes over. In spite of their nonpolitical intentions, the filmmakers nevertheless emerge as unwitting memory activists.
Because of its immersive visual storytelling that encourages viewers to identify with the protagonists, the film evokes feeling and a sense of victimization, potentially resulting in a sociopolitical influence. As Izaokas (Isaac) was not widely popular in Lithuania, it is difficult to say on what scale it influenced the collective memory and/or public history of the state. However, as how it is made, the film maps the memory of the (post) WWII. It is a work of memory activism, that highlights the aspects of WWII memory that are important for the state in the times of uncertainty and threats. Despite the memory mapping potential and filmmakers being memory activists, Izaokas (Isaac) only corresponds to discussions that have saturated public mnemonic discourse in Lithuania.
Most debates, influenced by nonstate memory activists, over the last few years about the Holocaust and WWII have focused on members of the LAF and ordinary Lithuanians. That makes Izaokas (Isaac) a map that tries to cover two different memory landscapes, and so it only touches upon the difficult memories, especially the Holocaust, as the role of its victims is lost and diminished in the film.
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