The film’s title registers an impact: “The Human Resources Manager” at once gives the protagonist’s working title at the largest bakery in Jerusalem, and more significantly, his role in the context of this film. In the latter respect, all the key words come into play: one has to be “human” in order to understand and empathize with others; the “resources” from within are infinite as long as one doesn’t give up in the face of difficulties; what’s more, one must never relent from the position of a “manger” in living one’s own life.
Hence a director’s job may begin with choosing an appropriate title, and on this occasion, the film that follows does not disappoint either. On the whole, the direction is subtle and mature, never aiming at being flashy or overwhelming, but slowly, very slowly, leading us (the audience) to take a look, and then a second look at that sordid world as capable of being redeemed through good will and hope. The protagonist is the view-point character, who is always there witnessing the events, and who undergoes a transformation himself while reaching out to share and interact with the surrounding world and people.
The introduction of the protagonist shows us that he is an ordinary-looking office executive, with greying closed cropped hair, an ever-furrowed brow, and an expressionless face that reveals that he is tired after a long day in the office. The atmosphere of the first half hour of the film seems claustrophobic, as the sequence of events takes place in an office. The opening shots are simple and striking: rows and rows of bread are shown coming out from a bakery oven, moving forward mechanically. We would presently be reminded of the look of the bread, when the protagonist, on his way out of the office, is summoned back by his boss, seemingly a strong-willed lady, to compose a statement for the press, in connection with the accidental death of a foreign female employee. This writing job has to be carefully worded, and it must be done before the crack of dawn. Director Evan Riklis resorts to medium shots and close shots as the protagonist moves (his tired body) from place to place to nail down the facts before penning the message. The feeling of frustration is seeping through to us.
Yet even in these apparently uneventful scenes, Riklis places clues of revelation here and there. In one scene, the night shift supervisor confesses to have been mutually in love with the lady, once an engineer in her native Romania, but while in Jerusalem working as an manual worker in the bakery. The unexpected romance arouses our curiosity.
In another scene, a lady clerk comes back to the office to help out, and while going through the files, she asks the protagonist to keep an eye on her baby. Riklis uses a low angle shot to show the protagonist bending down to care for the baby. The angle of the shot re-establishes our confidence in the protagonist. He cares and he is emotional.
Yet strangely enough, the protagonist is rather unfortunate in his emotional relationship with ladies — his female boss and his estranged wife are totally unforgiving, and while his daughter understands her father’s predicament (accompanying the coffin back to the victim’s native place, and carrying legal documents, cash compensation as well as condolences to various parties), she poses on his troubled mind one more deadline to meet, namely to return promptly the next day for attending with her a school function. Such relationships are disheartening.
Ironically, a genuinely emotional relationship is in the making, when he is given a photo of the bomb victim in a drab dress. Later, the son of the dead lady would present to the protagonist a video of his mother. The mobile expression lasts for seconds, but as the music arises, we know those moments have become shared experience.
Breaking out from the protagonist’s claustrophobic environment, Riklis uses a long shot to show some small figures standing in the distance, witnessing the raising of the coffin from the ground. The scene is ritualistic and unemotional, yet nonetheless emotionally releasing in the sense that we are eventually taken outdoors to experience a roomier universe. This is quickly followed by a pan shot over Jerusalem, giving us a bird’s eye-view of the city as seen through the protagonist eye. Probably this is the place that he has spent most of his life in. With the pan shot also comes a sense of closure of his previous life. As reported in the weather forecast, a storm in the brewing.
The storm is both figurative and literal. The subsequent snow storm damages the van and halts the sending of the coffin, but an intractable storm comes from difficult human relationships, with a journalist whom he pejoratively nick-named “the weasel”, and a wild child, who is the son of the dead lady. The conflicts are triangular in the sense that each of the three (the above named two together with the protagonist) is constantly at the throat of the other two. Here Riklis alternates between medium shots and close shots with occasional eye-line shots of the protagonist to indicate his involvement with the happenings. This is also the most intriguing part of the film. Often, an argument, even a fight, seems to be leading nowhere, but if the viewpoint character is someone we can trust, the gradual transformation of the wild child into a sensitive young man (from open defiance to a midnight weeping over the coffin), and the change in the behaviour of “the weasel” (from endless arguments to sharing of experience and sharing a meal) are evidently encouraging.
The culmination of the lady’s trip home (in a coffin) materialises with the boy leading the man (symbolic?) to see his grandmother. Little objects are brought to our attention. Memorabilia such as the cross and the watch awakens a time past that has been religious and dignified (what a waste for an engineer to go to a big city to scrub factory floors).Question remains: are we going to leave the cinema in a solemn mood?
The ending scene takes us outdoors yet again, as the car speeds off in light-hearted music, with the journalist chasing in exasperated jest. This is a rare moment of pure fun in a low-key film. It suggests to the writer of this review that there is so much to gain in going out (of one’s accustomed world) and reaching out (for new experience).
Is this film a work of art? I would say yes, especially in the creating of credible and lively characters, and in charting a series of events that transforms those characters almost unawares! I hope I have cited enough examples to support my conclusion here. What’s more, I leave the cinema in a good mood as a result of an enjoyable viewing experience.
Review by: Ling C. Hung
