Romania 2/4: The Judges and the Assassin

Libération, 27 Dec 1989

Second text of the Romania series.

The Judges and the Assassin  

At which point is there a need to show? At the point where others need to see. The new authorities in Bucharest had therefore a need to show to the people of Romania (and to the world) the proof that a trial had indeed taken place. To show became the symbolic condition of their new and fragile power. One had to rearrange the film in the right order and ensure that shaky or fixed shots from the trial succeeded the fixed image of the Conducator’s corpse. A military trial which, even if summary, could come across as an “act”. The message of the judges is not directed to Ceaușescu but to the TV audience: yes, this trial is not only legitimate but legal. So we, who are not Romanians, will have seen the Ceaușescus in the spotlight of the media only once, the last time. We, who more or less ignored the idealised icons of the Conducator, will have watched for a short while a bitter old killer with a wily air and dry gestures, and accompanied by a shrew. And in case we doubted it, we were reminded that great moments of History – providing they are followed “live” – contain their share of dead times and embarrassment. Given the progress made by television in its “duty of interference”, we should expect other scoops that will resemble – that’s life – monstrous trivial events where all the actors play badly. 

At which point is there a desire to see? When something is hidden from us of course. Paradox: at the moment when, for the first time, we see a dictator having lost power and soon his life, it is quickly no longer him that we want to see. We want to see those that judged him, and were well in their right to do so, but not necessarily in their right to avoid images. The off-camera is a reserve of the imaginary that must never be left fallow. Yesterday, the images of these off judges, of whom we sometimes saw an elbow or a shoulder, were missing. And the freeze-frame this time no longer had the value of an absolute signal but came across more as a poor ruse so that we wouldn’t see what we were nevertheless hearing. The act which consisted of improvising and filming this trial was suddenly no more than half an act. It’s as if the judges had been too close, even in the off-field of a camera, to continue to compromise themselves. The solitude of the Ceaușescu spouses in the image has perhaps no other off-screen than the solitude of the Romanian people facing themselves.   

First published in Libération on 27 December 1989. Reprinted in La maison cinéma et le monde, vol. 3, POL, 2012.