“Holy Week is a powerful film that is driven by a quiet, poetic intensity.”

The further we push back into the history of Romania, the more we discover the depth of the country’s culture, with the customs and traditions that have defined the various populations that have occupied the region being profoundly fascinating. Going by his previous two feature films, Andrei Cohn is enamoured with his heritage, having explored Romanian culture from a contemporary perspective in Back Home as well as life in the 1980s in Arest. In his third feature-length outing, he ventures even further back, voyaging to the 19^th century in what he describes as a “free adaptation” of the novel The Easter Torch by writer Ion Luca Caragiale. The film tells the story of a community situated somewhere in the countryside, focused on a family of Jewish Romanians who spend their days doing their best to ensure basic survival while navigating the rapidly changing world that surrounds them as the 20^th century approaches. A fascinating exploration of what life was like for those who lived when society was defined by a more simple existence, long before the encroaching inevitability of industrialism had reached this corner of the continent, the film examines this family as well as a number of characters that exist on the periphery, following them over the course of a few days. It oscillates between celebrations and religious observances, both of which bring up matters of identity, faith and culture that Cohn effectively weaves into the fabric of this mesmerizing film.

Through labelling the film as a “free adaptation” Cohn immediately acknowledges his intention to include some degree of artistic liberty, which involves taking the original text and crafting a film that isn’t so much a direct retelling of the story, but rather an effort to extract the general mood of Caragiale’s writing and bring it to life on screen. The results are quite remarkable – the film is extremely simple, with the majority of the story being told through conversations between characters as they go about their daily routine. However, it’s within these seemingly ordinary discussions that the depth of this film is unearthed, which relates directly to the theme of culture and how it functions within a given society. A cursory glance may mislead us into thinking that Holy Week is a folksy, quaint period drama about life in the past, when in reality it is a thinly veiled indictment of cultural bigotry, centering on the trials and tribulations of a family of Jews living within a Christian majority country. Yet they are not portrayed as solely victims of racism, but also perpetrators of the same kind of bigotry, spewing similar vitriolic statements in casual conversation as they receive. Cohn is insistent on exploring the cultural nuances of this particular moment in the past, providing a snapshot of Romanian history and intending to show how different cultures were perceived in the past. The statement the film is making is not particularly resonant from a contemporary perspective (nor does it aim to be), but these elements do work effectively in tandem to create a poignant exploration of the intersections of identity and culture at a particular point in Europe’s history. 

Accompanying the narrative is a visual aesthetic that almost overtakes the plot to become the primary aspect that defines the film. Cohn is as gifted a storyteller as he is a visual stylist, and Holy Week is an extraordinarily beautiful film. We voyage back in time to the late 1800s with a director who works laboriously to replicate what a traditional village in this region would have looked like at the time. The attention to detail in terms of the production design and costuming is impeccable, particularly in how it is striking but not bombastic. Instead, the director goes for something far more unfurnished, choosing a somewhat bleak and bare-bones style of filmmaking that still manages to be oddly beautiful despite its intentional coldness and austerity. This makes it feel as if we are stepping into a painting from the period itself, designed by someone representing the world in which they resided. It matches the harrowing scope of the story, which is haunting and unsettling, but still manages to be achingly beautiful throughout, adding to the mesmerizing nature of the film. The audience is placed under a spell, guided through a state of hypnotic intensity that is slow but never prosaic – it is clear from the outset what the director intends to convey with this story, telling it through muted colours and cold, harsh compositions that are undeniably stunning if we can look past their stark graveness. The film is ultimately not as grim as it seems on the surface – there are a few moments of sharp, biting humour scattered throughout, which contrast with the more downbeat and somber moments of introspective cultural commentary. Ultimately, Holy Week proves to be formally and tonally as invigorating as it is narratively complex, which only compounds as we venture further into the film. Holy Week is a puzzling but poetic portrait of a family and their broader community, standing on the precipice of a new century and feverishly attempting to preserve their traditions while also looking forward to the promises of the future. Executed with a simplicity and elegance that allows its more conventional elements to be perceived as strengths rather than limitations, the film is a fascinating combination of style and substance that once again confirms Cohn as a powerful voice in contemporary Romanian cinema. He has crafted a film that positions the audience as active observers, allowing us to peer into the past as if we were voyeurs, watching these traditions unfold through a series of fascinating conversations in which customs and conventions are revealed and celebrated. This film is not only an act of exploring the past, but also preserving what is left of these same traditions – Cohn doesn’t condone the views that accompany these traditions, but instead includes them as essential parts of the discussions that were likely conducted at the time to create a broad image of the dominant perceptions around culture in the era. We witness these characters doing their best to maintain their culture, hoping to avoid the march of time (being entirely aware that progress causes traditions to fade), and hoping to retain whatever vestiges of their cherished beliefs they can hold onto. Holy Week is a powerful film that is driven by a quiet, poetic intensity in which images gradually begin to supersede the spoken words to create a striking historical odyssey that is somehow both intimate and sprawling in equal measure.