In The Act of Killing, Joshua Oppenheimer has assembled a group of thugs who were
instrumental in the murder of over one million suspected Communists when the
Sukarno government was overthrown in l965. It’s a kind of Truth and Reconciliation Commission in reverse, to the extent that the perpetrators
proudly boast about their crimes. Anwar Congo and Herman Koto who play
themselves in the film would also be wonderful
casting choices for an Indonesian production of The Threepenny Opera, (despite the fact that Congo’s face bears a disconcerting resemblance to one of the most peaceful politicians of all time, Nelson Mandela). These goons freely admit the Communists weren’t the cruel ones and proceed to demonstrate
their torture techniques, one of which is garroting with a wire, preferred
because there’s nothing the victim can do to loosen the pressure, even in the
unlikely case that his or her hands were free. Gangster, Congo explains means
free man and he is revered as a force behind the still feared paramilitary Pemuda Pancasila Youth, which is still active today. Where the provenance of terrorism usually comes from training camps, Congo and Soto are in love with Hollywood and claim to have learned
their sadism from Brando, Pacino and John Wayne. Imagine movie characters from
Quentin Tarantino’s Resevoir Dogs
(with its famed torture scene) or Pulp Fiction running a real country and you get some insight into The
Act of Killing. Is it a documentary? Hard to say. In fact, it’s a
reenactment and as such it’s easy to see Congo and Koto would be
willing to cooperate. By reenacting atrocities so brazenly, Oppenheimer’s cast are sending out a message. Yet there are times when the film is gets ahead
of itself. A group of villagers playing their parts—as the victims or rape and
torture—can’t stop crying even after their scene ends and when Congo plays the
subject of an interrogation, who is accused of trying to ban Hollywood films,
he seems to be caught up short. He has to stop. As brazen as he is,
he’s the one character who admits to being haunted by nightmares. He’s also plainly capable of compartmentalizing with the help of alcohol, marijuana and ecstasy. The Act of Killing is a little like using the Nuremberg trials as a
casting couch for The Producers. Say instead of sentencing Goring, Bormann or Hess you offered to
make them film stars. Oppenheimer has inadvertently created a new form which we
might term real cinema verite. He isn’t using non actors to play roles, as in The Battle of Algiers. He’s using real war criminals who still inspire fear. Read the film’s final credit sequence (as the director instructs in his prologue to the film). Half of the names read ‘anonymous.”
, which by the way have no monopoly on either humor or grotesquery, as evidenced in Lang’s effort. A B-girl named Lucy Chapman (Deborah Green) is burned with cigarettes, tortured and murdered. Gloria Grahame’s character Debby Marsh has half of her face burned off and gets her vengeance by reciprocating the favor on her thug lover Vince Stone (Lee Marvin). But there is no shortage of one-liners, sometimes of an uproarious nature, amidst the bleak landscape. Walking into Glenn Ford’s hotel room, Grahame comments, “Say, I like this, early nothing,” and says that her scar-face is “not so bad…it’s only on one side” and that now she can look at the world “sideways.” Grahame actually acts as the soothsayer, the drunken Tiresias of the film, popping out with aphorisms while defying gravitas. Of course the greatest influence on Fritz Lang’s work in The Big Heat is Lang himself. You don’t have the shadows of 
; in fact, the film, and in particular a timeless scene in a nightclub called The Retreat where mobsters hang out, is full of light. But it’s a glaring light, the cosmopolitan light of 
, which is recalled in one character's soliloquy, set against an iconic cityscape of towering skyscrapers that juxtapose cozy images of corruption with the juggernaut of impersonality.
