4 MONTHS 3 WEEKS AND 2 DAYS

That’s the exact duration of time that Gabriela (Laura Vasiliu) has been pregnant when we stumble into her life in a shabby dorm in some Romanian town firmly in the iron grip of Nicolai Ceausescu’s oppressive rule. Abortion is illegal, while a fifth month termination invites an even harsher sentence. Everything from cigarettes to mint to cosmetics must be procured on the black market, even necessities like cooking gas, sugar and meat are heavily rationed, it’s impossible to go anywhere without an ID, the streets are uniformly bleak by day and night, people in any position of privilege exploit their powers and the state impinges on individual lives in a multitude of ways.

It is in this claustrophobic atmosphere that Gabriela’s friend Otilia (Anamaria Marinca) bravely steps up to assist her roommate in getting the job done and goes about organising things she’s scarcely capable of handling. Through the course of a few hours, both girls are exposed to the worst horrors everyday life could possibly throw up. Cristian Mungiu’s ‘4 Months 3 Weeks and 2 Days’ isn’t a tale of transformation and personal growth as ‘The Lives of Others’ (set in Communist East Germany), which offers cathartic closure for the protagonists. It’s a scathing, in-your-face account of the crushing impact that the combined forces of totalitarianism and patriarchy have on the lives of two young girls.

Mungiu throws us right into their precarious situation by stripping his film of all embellishments. The only gimmick he employs (if you can even call it that) is to keep the narrative starkly realistic, with excruciatingly long shots (no close-ups, mind you), maximum use of natural light and hand-held camera, absence of background music and extraordinarily authentic performances. He chooses Otilia as the central figure in his plot and doggedly follows her through all the disturbing events she must face to help out a friend who’s basically cowardly and self-centred. Gabriela leaves Otilia to do everything for her – procure a hotel room after she’s bungled the booking, fetch the abortionist (curiously named Mr. Bebe) even though he’s specifically asked her to come in person, and even borrow some money from her boyfriend Adi to help fund the procedure. Worse, she lies about the exact state of her pregnancy and leaves them both vulnerable to Bebe’s exploitation.

In the middle of this mess, Otilia must visit Adi’s house for his mother’s birthday party -- he’s as self-absorbed and insensitive as her friend and determined to test her loyalty. Mungiu sadistically places the camera at the table in this supposed scene of revelry with a bunch of rude, garrulous people who’re thoroughly oblivious to the plight of the poor girl numbly sitting through this ordeal. The scene is exactly seven-and-a-half minutes long and it goes on, relentlessly, without a single cut as they make stodgy conversation around things like different ways of cooking potatoes and the good old days. An absolute masterstroke to drive home Otilia’s anxiety and helplessness.

‘4 Months 3 Weeks 2 Days’ ends as abruptly as it opens, in the middle of a conversation. There’s no polished finish, nor pat resolution. It’s ‘cinema as an experience’ at its best. A few hours of unbearable tension that you must live through with the characters and come as close to touching their lives as it is possible for an audience to do through the artificial medium of the screen. I watched the film twice, back-to-back and interestingly, even though I knew what was to happen, the second viewing was just as thrilling, depressing and engrossing as the first.

Surprisingly, while ‘4 Months 3 Weeks and 2 Days’ won the Palm D’Or at Cannes, it didn’t even get an Oscar nomination, and while ‘Counterfeiters’ which won the Best Foreign Language Film award is wonderful, I’m afraid it isn’t quite in the same class. Perhaps the wise old men of the Oscar committee decided they’d done their bit by applauding the voice of the former Communist bloc last year with ‘The Lives of Others’.

The Holocaust, on the other hand, they never can get enough of, can they?

Deepa Deosthalee