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Volume 30, Number 4 (1996) reprinted by permission of the Law Review cite as 30 U.S.F.L. REV. 1077 (1996)
By ROBERT L. WARING*
WHEN I LEARNED the University of San Francisco
Law Review was soliciting articles about films every lawyer should see,
the first film that came to mind was Z,1
written and directed by Costa-Gavras and released in 1969.2
I first saw Z at age sixteen, and it was the first film that I had
ever seen in a foreign language. Although I would like to pretend that
the viewing of Z was the result of my political awareness and good
taste, in fact, my French teacher took our class to see it in the hope
of increasing our interest in the language.3
I am not now, nor have I ever been,4 someone who normally sees a film twice by choice. However, during the next year I went back to see Z twice more with subtitles, and twice more when the dubbed version came out. I saw the film a sixth time about ten years ago, and twice more during my writing of this Essay. Z is a powerful film for any audience, and a must-see for lawyers. My two most recent viewings of the film marked the first time I saw Z as a lawyer. The effect was profound. Writing this Essay about Z helped me to understand why my ardor for social justice - kindled more than a quarter century ago, but remaining relatively dormant for most of my adult life - had suddenly reemerged with a vengeance five years ago. It was as if a voice, perhaps that of Costa-Gavras, had commanded me to go to law school and do some good in the world. Seeing Z again also helped me to understand why I had waited so long to listen to that voice. This film, more than any other, represents to me what it means to be a lawyer. I. Make Films, Not Bombs Z, based on the novel of the same name,5 tells the more or less true story of the 1963 murder of the Greek pacifist, physician, and politician, Gregory Lambrakis, and the efforts to bring his killers to justice. The killers' connections to the Greek government are hinted at in the opening scene, which shows a military officer's speech about the need to cure the malignant social disease infecting the moral values of the youth. It is a message that could have been lifted from a Presidential stump speech written by Pat Buchanan in either 1968 or 1996. The film is presented in a pseudo-documentary style, proceeding at an accelerated pace reflective of the urgency of events. Z's tone is set in the opening credits, which contain a startling reversal of the normal movie disclaimer. The screenwriters proclaim that any similarity to actual events or persons is "INTENTIONAL." It is thus no surprise that Costa-Gavras and his movie were banned in Greece, just as the novel and its author had been. According to Costa-Gavras, his decision to make the film Z was a response to contemporary political events in his Greek homeland. Opposed to answering violence with more violence, he instead made a movie. He was unable to get conventional financing, and shot his script on a shoestring budget in Algeria after convincing some Algerians to pay transportation and hotel expenses for the cast and crew. The Algerian government provided soldiers to portray Greek security forces.6 None of the outstanding cast of actors were paid for their work in the film.7 As portrayed by veteran actor Yves Montand, Lambrakis is a charismatic and sympathetic figure. Resigned to the dangers facing him, he is unafraid. It is unfortunate that the story line allows him only limited screen time, for the film might have benefited from a greater exploration of his character, as well as from the display of a wider range of Montand's considerable acting skills. One thing that keeps Z from being just another political thriller is the beautifully understated performance of Irene Papas. As Lambrakis' widow, she fills the emotional void in the film created when he is slain. She appears to carry all the pain that her husband's staff, still fixated on continuing his political movement, cannot allow themselves to feel. She also prevents the film from completely lionizing her husband, as her face also reveals the detrimental effects of his personal failings. She demonstrates a foreboding awareness of the suffering that is yet to come, a national tragedy that none of her husband's followers can foresee. After the success of Z, a Hollywood studio offered Costa-Gavras a great deal of money to direct The Godfather.8 He declined after the studio refused to make changes in the script that he believed were necessary to prevent the film from glorifying the Mafia. Most Americans, if they are aware of Costa-Gavras, know him through his 1982 film Missing.9 Starring Jack Lemmon, Missing tells the story of an American father seeking to learn the fate of his son abducted by the Pinochet dictatorship in Chile. Like many of Costa-Gavras' films, including Z, Missing explores how the government's lies destroy a character's faith in the system. What makes Z especially compelling for lawyers is that it is a magistrate whose faith is destroyed. II. The Second Time Around It is not necessary to see Z eight times in order to understand and appreciate its excellence. However, the strength of a film can be measured by the impact of a second viewing. Looking past its anti-fascist message, Z is, at its core, a murder mystery. The faces of the large cast of co-conspirators are scattered throughout the film; you see them many times before understanding their true significance in the story. Part of the fun of seeing Z again is noticing how many times and in how many settings Costa-Gavras introduces these faces without giving anything away. The second time around, the film becomes more hauntingly compelling as it reveals more of each character's role in the complex murder plot. A repeat viewing also exposes more of the mechanics of Costa-Gavras' suspenseful and brilliantly edited storytelling. Watch how the repetition of simple phrases such as "lithe and fierce like a tiger" and "name, first name, profession" build tension. III. This Section Will Spoil the Ending I hate it when reviewers give away too much of the plot, which is why I include the warning above. If you have not seen Z, I suggest you stop reading now and resume this Essay after you have viewed the film. A large video store with a good selection of foreign films will probably have a copy for rent. Those old enough to remember the time period portrayed in the film, or who are students of modern Greek history, may be aware that the magistrate in the story, against the advice of his superiors, charged officials at the highest levels of government with conspiracy in the murder.10 The government eventually fell and a fascist military junta seized power in a bloodless coup d'etat in 1967.11 These events raise two important questions. The first is whether the prosecutions of high officials were in the best interests of the nation. Although the indictments were but one of many factors leading to the coup, assuming, arguendo, that these indictments actually precipitated the coup, was the pursuit of justice worth the years of repressive military government that followed? To pick an example close to home, there are those who argued then, and may still believe today, that the charges alleged against Richard Nixon were ultimately not in the best interests of our nation. In spite of Nixon's efforts to forestall his departure by picking the hapless Gerald Ford to replace his disgraced Vice-President, Spiro Agnew, the nation nevertheless endured two years of Ford's rudderless administration. National disgust with politicians was so great in 1976, the year of our nation's bicentennial, that voters opted for cleanliness over experience. In spite of my personal admiration for Jimmy Carter, his name is not on many lists of great Presidents. National cynicism peaked in 1980, when voters elected the most ideologically corrupt President in the last fifty years. Ronald Reagan ran on a platform of fiscal conservatism, and then proceeded to nearly bankrupt the national treasury. When the issue arose of Reagan's possible impeachment for crimes committed in conjunction with Iran-Contra, congressional leaders concluded that another attempt at Presidential impeachment would not be in the national interest. The question of bringing national leaders to justice is likely to become an increasing international paradox, as events in Argentina, Haiti, Rwanda and Bosnia are demonstrating. Z does not provide any answers to this question, but it does dramatically illustrate the sometimes terrible price to be paid for the pursuit of justice. The second question raised by Z is a more personal one. In the film, the magistrate investigating the politician's death begins his task with impartiality,12 scrupulously refusing to characterize the crime as a murder. In a variation of blind justice, he wears tinted glasses, presumably to avoid unconsciously revealing his reactions to witnesses' statements. The system is functioning as it should, until he gets too close to the truth. Various government officials tell the investigator to back off, to think of his career and his country, but his decision as to what to do is never in doubt. He appears to be on autopilot - steadfastly following his supreme obligation to uphold justice. He listens politely to his superiors, but regards their protestations with the same detached skepticism he brings to his interviews of the witnesses. When I first saw Z in 1969, that magistrate was a hero to me. I was awestruck just five years later, when, in what appeared to be life imitating art imitating life, Senate Watergate attorneys went after our national leaders on live television with the same unstoppable zeal. I had seen Z five times and I knew how this national scandal would end. The good guys would win, and this time there would be no military takeover. Yet despite my youthful idealism, I knew that for every triumph of right over might in the world, there were at least several other people in white hats who got their heads blown off. To me - with my view of the legal world coming through the lens of a movie projector - if you were an attorney, you had to be able to risk it all for what you believed in. If you were to follow your sworn duty to uphold justice, you had to be prepared to resign, be fired, or even go to jail if necessary. I have been unable to shake that sense of immense responsibility for the consequences of one's actions that Z portrays as an inseparable part of lawyering. I realize that most lawyers never face the kind of burden shouldered by that Greek magistrate, but I also know that one does not always have a choice in the direction life leads. Seeing Z again after becoming a lawyer helped me to see one reason why I had put off going to law school for so many years: I was not prepared to take the kind of risks that I saw undertaken in Z. With the seasoning that comes from surviving to reach middle-age, and another career to fall back on in an emergency, I now feel more prepared if I have to take a stand. Perhaps I am guilty of excess self-righteousness, but the standard was set by Costa-Gavras, who, in order to uphold his principles, turned down a shot at directing The Godfather. Neither the dog-eat-dog world of Hollywood nor the legal profession encourage such moral sacrifices. The world unfortunately has an inexhaustible supply of clients willing to provide renumeration to attorneys who are willing to do immoral things on their behalf. A final lesson from Z is that you should guard against underestimating the value of your work. Costa-Gavras sold the rights to Z to an Italian distributor for $60,000, apparently not realizing the film would make millions at the box office.13 Z is a film that is full of surprises, not the least of which is the source of the name chosen for the title, a secret not revealed until the very last line of the film. If you are in the mood for a morality film about the struggles of a lawyer who insists on adherence to the rule of law, I suggest a spellbinding evening with Z. |
