While the Romanian national cinema has been picking up steam (and arthouse awards) in the past few years, my experience with it has been decidedly mixed: for every Filantropica, there's been an equally outrageous miss. In fact, only a few days ago I was terribly disappointed with Catalin Mitulescu's much-hyped How I Spent the End of the World, which was both plodding and simplistic, and which I had been very much looking forward to.
Colour me that much more surprised, then, when, after watching Cristian Nemescu's California Dreamin' on nothing more than a whim, I realized that what I had just seen was one of the most sobering and intelligent films I can remember: not only the best Romanian film I've ever watched, but one of the most interesting and enlightening film experiences I've had in a long time, from anywhere. Granted, like most kids from the former Soviet bloc, I have a perverse obsession with history and politics, which undoubtedly added to my enjoyment and, possibly, understanding, and which might mean that you, coming from another background and another culture, might dislike the film; but that's for you to find out. All I can say is this: California Dreamin' thinks about stuff that I like to think about.
The Set-Up
It's 1999.
Doiaru is chief of a railway station in a Romanian village. He's corrupt and most of the villagers hate him. However, he's related to the village police chief, and, therefore, protected. As the film opens, he's trying to force a local factory into bankruptcy so that he can buy it on the cheap, while keeping tabs on his disaffected 17-year old daughter.
Then, the Americans arrive: a troop of soldiers led by Captain Doug Jones, whose mission is to transport, by rail, radar equipment meant to help in the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia.
But, Doiaru, it turns out, harbours a long-standing grudge against America for bombing his family in Bucharest in 1944 (Bucharest has the distinction of being bombed by both the Allies and the Germans in that year), and failing to arrive in Romanian before the Russians, dashing his childhood hopes—and thereby paving the way for a Communist takeover of the country, Ceauşescu and the "disappearance" of his parents.
Therefore, he cynically-but-lawfully orders the Americans to stop, asks for their papers, which they don't have (their transport being approved by the higher-ups but without bothering to supply the lower-downs with the proper documents), and orders them to stay in the town until the proper papers arrive in his hands.
The showdown is set.
War
Americans and East Europeans have very different opinions about wars, how they're run, and what they mean. These differing opinions, manifest through the film's respective American and Romanian characters, provide a core conflict in California Dreamin'.
Captain Jones is the consummate professional soldier. He doesn't question his orders; he merely wants to carry them out. He pays attention to details, keeps order among his troops, and prides himself on an extreme personal discipline. He also doesn't involve himself emotionally in the conflicts he's paid to involve himself in physically. When Doiaru tells him that then-President Bill Clinton is an idiot for poking at Monica Lewisnky with a cigar in the Oval Office, and then asks why he—Jones—agrees to "drop bombs for this man", Jones simply shrugs: he isn't doing it for Clinton, he's doing it because that's his job. The individuals in the White House, in the Senate don't matter to him. For East Europeans, on the other hand, those things do matter. In Eastern Europe, war is much more personal.
Consider this: the United States went to war against Germany in 1941, defeated Germany in 1945, and, by 1947, was giving massive amounts of aid to its former enemy. To an East European, this is unthinkable: Doiaru still bears a grudge against America for things it did in 1944! East European countries bear, and will continue to bear, grudges against Germany, against Russia. To an East European, an enemy will always be an enemy; to an American, once the war is over, so is the enemy. The American approach is, simply put, much more professional: you don't fight out of hatred, you fight because it's your duty to fight. Once the politicians declare the war over, it's perfectly reasonable to help rebuild what you've destroyed if it helps your economic prosperity in the long run. In Eastern Europe, people still declare football victories as "revenge" against past grievances, and you wouldn't be too hard-pressed to find businesses that would rather lose money than have relations with people from the "traditional enemies".
In one standout scene, Doiaru, who appears to be warming up to Jones, prepares him some food. He mixes ingredients, they chat. Then, he's stumped for a word: boiled, baked? Minced, suggests Jones. Yes, minced! He lays the plate of minced meat in front of Jones—"this is probably what the Serbs look like after you bomb them"—and walks away.
Great Expectations
Americans currently have somewhat of a poor reputation abroad. California Dreamin' gets at the reason why: it's not due to America being bad, or worse than other countries (in fact, America is much better than many other countries with better reputations); instead, it's caused by America being exactly like other countries—except with one crucial difference: people expect more from America.
And when American doesn't perform up to these lofty expectations (which are caused partly by America itself, with its idealistic rhetoric, partly by American culture, and partly by American history), people are much more disappointed than they would be if another country, say France, had done the same. In other words, when America falls, it falls from a greater height. Even if it lands in the same spot as anyone else.
In Eastern Europe especially, America was, for a long time, the ideal, the anti-communism; and if communism was the epitome of evil, then America, as its ideological enemy, had to be the epitome of good.
In California Dreamin', these hopes crop up in the suddenly-aroused dreams that Romanian girls start having when the American soldiers arrive. They will romance an American soldier, they fancy, who will then whisk them away to America, where they will live in a giant palace in Hollywood. After all, that's what happens in all those American movies, right? A bit of sobering comedy occurs when a Romanian army translator gets ahold of an American army uniform and, in his heavily-accented English, picks up two local girls who, never giving him a thought earlier, suddenly swoon before him simply because of his uniform. The reasoning: if it's American, it has to be better.
Interesting aside: as Allied planes bombed Bucharest, the film theatres played Gone with the Wind. but, as Wikipedia tells us, while the war drove Doiaru to an irrationally low opinion of America, most Romanians remained on an irrational high.
Blood
California Dreamin' climaxes in a bloody battle: The mayor and the factory workers attack Doiaru and the police. In a mess of flying clubs and thudding body blows, someone tosses a Molotov cocktail at the police van. The police respond by opening fire. The camera trembles and shakes amidst the violence.
Doiaru, felling opponents left and right, has his throat run by a knife-wielding assasin. He dies in his daughter's arms.
His is one body among many.
As for the Americans, they're leaving. As their train pulls away, they see only the celebratory fireworks planned for the village's anniversary. Which, ironically enough, has been a fraud staged for them.
They remain ignorant of the bloodshed, the deaths, the misery. And especially it's lingering consequences. Even if Captain Jones is aware that these two groups of people will beat up on each other for a while, the professional soldier in him just can't fathom that this one fight will possibly echo in generations to come. He is, so to speak, ignorant of their ignorance.
The catch? He played a part in causing the massacre.
Jones' Speech
Fed up with Doiaru and with being stalled in this small Romanian village, unable to carry out his mission, Captain Jones addresses the villagers. He's been invited by the mayor. In front of an old disco ball, gesturing, intoning like a preacher, he speaks:
People of Căpâlniţa, I want to thank you for your hospitality. And your generosity. You've shared your food. What greater respect is there than that? You know, I'm looking at this place... it's paradise. It's paradise. But I feel that a shadow has been cast over this place. You know, a shadow. Like a cloud. And I'm just thinking that this—how do you pronounce his name?—this Doriyahoo... that's just disrespect. It's disrespect. All it is. Disrespect. And no one deserves it. No one deserves it. No one! And I'm just looking at all these little faces here, races, and religions, and belief systems, and attitudes. I mean, that's what it's about! It's about attitude. That's why God put us here. That's what we're supposed to be. As God intended us to be. To be who we are. Just to be who we are. I mean, I may look like a total fool up here, but I wanna tell you something. We may look like strangers here. But I want to show you something You see this?
He takes the hand of the mayor, and lifts both hands up in the air:
We're standing here now as one. United as one. What if all of us, what if all of us right now could stand up here right now and be united as one? Just united as one. I'll tell you what. We could defeat the repression. We could defeat the tyranny. We could defeat the Doriyahoos of this world. Defeat the disrespect. The disrespect! And be united, as God intended us to be. As God intended us to be! United as one! United! United! United!
He breaks into a chant, the crowd joins in.
Although caricature, and perhaps the least subtle scene in
California Dreamin', this speech is necessary. It shows not only—to use a nice word—the bullshit that so often comes out of American politicians' mouths, but also the willingness of the people, in this case Romanians, to swallow it up. What multitude of races, what religions? Romania is 90% Romanian Orthodox, and its only two significant ethnic minorities are the Hungarians (6.6%) and the Roma (2.5%). Not to say much about the words these pronouncements are couched in: the snide address to the "little faces", the ignorant mispronunciation of Doiaru's name, the feverish invocation of God, the mock fury about "disrespect", "tyrants", "repression".
So, why do the Romanians buy it? Because it's said by an American. Had a Russian, a German, a Romanian said the same things in the same way, no one would believe him. It would be lies, obvious deception, laughable. But it's not laughable from America; America is serious and America is just. When America promises aid, promises to fight injustice, that promise is expected to be kept.
Hence, when the Chinese sell toys and food that ends up being poisonous, that's alright; they're only Chinese. And when the French chirp about world peace while being the world's largest arms dealers, that's alright; they're only French. But when America threatens to cut its substantial aid to North Korea, how dare they; they're American.
Captain Jones, for his part, perhaps doesn't realize that this stirred hatred, this pomposity, will be taken seriously by the Romanians.
He doesn't take it seriously—just as he doesn't take war "seriously", in the East European sense—so he doesn't expect anything different from his audience. In any case, even if he is serious, his main goal is to get his train moving. Whatever happens in Romania will happen in Romania. Adults live there, not children; they'll take care of it like adults take care of things in America.
Having rallied the people, Captain Jones then proceeds to negotiate with the mayor: Since Doiaru is both the enemy of the Americans, for keeping them at the railway station, and the enemy of the mayor and the people, because of his corruptness, they could unite against him, could
kill him, to solve both their problems. Although, says Jones, the Americans can't actually open fire on Doiaru and the police, they
can return fire. Therefore, if the mayor and his men start a tussle with sticks and fists, and the police protecting Doiaru fire a single shot against them, the Americans
will be there, and
will to protect the people of Căpâlniţa.
This, Captain Jones promises.
Promise Broken
Unfortunately, this American firepower
isn't there. The papers arrive at the train station before the showdown gets started, and Captain Jones is all too happy to get his troops and radar equipment on their way to Yugoslavia rather than delay any longer to back up his word. The promises he's made are forgotten. They're no longer necessary for achieving his objective. His job is done.
The Romanians, however, still meet, fight, die. The mayor and his people are left on their own. When the police opens fire, no American soldiers fire back.
Much like the Kurds during the Persian Gulf War, who, after being fed American statements of support, were left alone to be slaughtered by the Iraqis, the Romanians are left alone to deal with their own violence, in their own way, by themselves. Whatever hand the Americans played in this confrontation is left to linger. They certainly weren't the cause, but they did more than nudge it along. Sadly, it doesn't take too much nudging to get little children who don't like each other to beat themselves over the head with sticks.
The Americans eventually arrive with their equipment in Yugoslavia. It's installed and ready for action—two hours after the cease-fire is signed. An absurd irony, if not for the fact it's based on an actual incident.
Aftermath
California Dreamin' ends on a scene several years later. Doiaru's daughter and another character who now lives in Bucharest, where they both attend university, meet in a cafe. They have little to say to each other, but they seem to have managed an escape from their village: its corruption, its naivety, its grudges.
Out of a population of several hundred, these two have grown up. They're self-sufficient and independent. They no longer dream of California.
What, then, is Cristian Demescu telling us?
Probably that, like these two characters, many countries need to grow up. America is not a parent, and shouldn't be treated like one: whether in international politics or as an idealized dreamland. It's as mucked up a place as any other, and, also like any other, pursues its own goals first. It's normal; it's not saintly. In many ways, it's even naive and cynical. And when a Doiaru feels more contempt for the Americans who
didn't come than for the Russians who
did, this skewed expectation leads only to tragedy. When an entire country feels that way, it perhaps says more about that country than about America.
As a father tells his son: Go to Bucharest, go to school. If you come back, I'll break your legs.
It's as good advice as any. Because clinging to the arm of an American soldier as his train pulls away is merely the last gasp of a pipe dream. Back home, he's a nobody, too. Flirt with him, sure, but don't fall in love. The only chance for sustained happiness is to guarantee it yourself, in a reasonable way. For, especially in Eastern Europe, outside guarantees matter little in the end, no matter how great and indestructible they may initially seem.
Heroes, Villains
Captain Jones and Doiaru are the main characters in
California Dreamin'.
Jones is a stuck-up windbag, but he has his decorum, his own set of standards, and he sticks by them. When his men go whoring, he refuses. There's also more than a hint of sadness to his character: a ferocious soldier who's kept on a leash and sent on minor assignments to keep him from causing too many political problems.
Doiaru, on the other hand, is corrupt petty official who, infuriatingly, either evades or sticks to the very letter of law depending on what his mood is like and how much he likes you. His is a common breed to Eastern Europe. But, he too has his reasons. He's also undeniably intelligent and he cares for his daughter. When he dies, you feel for him.
It's much to film's credit that while these characters represent more than themselves, they are also deeply intriguing as individuals. Stubborn, aging, perhaps they're even not as different as they first appear.
Conclusion
Cristian Demescu's
California Dreamin' is one of the smartest, funniest and most tragic political films I've seen in a long time. Although it lacks the technical beauty of a film like Jean Renoir's
The Rules of the Game, it's saturated with the same mix of sharpness and humanity that Renoir gave us in 1939. And that's high praise, indeed.
