The terms are often used
interchangeably, but there's a difference between "naturalism," which tries to
capture the rhythm of everyday interactions, and "realism," which takes a
broader view of life at its crappiest. Cristi Puiu's pitch-black comedy The
Death Of Mr. Lazarescu seems on the surface like pure realism. It's about miserable,
lonely old drunk Ion Fiscuteanu, whose chronic pains prompt a long, hellish
journey into the Bucharest hospital system, with lots of waiting, filling out
forms, and getting bumped from one emergency room to another. Throughout, Puiu
doesn't disguise his disgust with the condescension of doctors and the
dehumanizing processes of modern medicine, which are less about listening to
patients' troubles than about getting them treated and streeted.
But though Mr.
Lazarescu
is bleak, it's far from grueling. It's an invigorating combination of Frederick
Wiseman's unblinking documentaries, the Dardenne brothers' jittery social
dramas, and one of the more visionary episodes of ER, all sprinkled with real
wit. When Fiscuteanu sits around his apartment waiting for the ambulance–which
he does for about the first 40 minutes–Puiu concentrates on the amusingly
mundane conversations his neighbors have about compote recipes and power tools,
enjoying the texture of the speech itself, as well as the irony that it's
taking place in front of someone for whom such minutiae no longer matters. Then
paramedic Luminita Gheorghiu shows up, and the movie swings through a series of
masterfully choreographed setpieces, as Gheorghiu makes it her mission to get
one harried doctor or one pissy nurse to take Fiscuteanu's condition as
seriously as she does. She calls in favors and endures brow-beatings, while
Puiu keenly observes the health-care circus, from the ridiculously snappy
patter of a devil-may-care CAT-scan tech to the petty power plays of an ER
intern.
Ultimately, The Death
Of Mr. Lazarescu
is more naturalist than realist, and it has a lot in common with the
hyper-naturalism of writers like David Mamet in the way it exaggerates the
mundane into something exotic. Puiu's film can be read as an indictment of the
inefficiencies of socialized medicine, or, given the fact that the title
character's name is a play on "Lazarus," as a spiritual allegory. But more than
anything, The Death Of Mr. Lazarescu is an intoxicating performance piece in which
skilled actors pinball off each other with such energy and nuance that the audience
almost forgets about the dying man on the edge of the frame. The style alone
makes the movie's point.