May 19, 2008
Nothing in Spielberg’s career had really prepared us for Schindler’s List. His forays into serious drama – Empire of the Sun, Color Purple – were worthy but largely ignored. King of the blockbusters, each year Spielberg was sniffily ignored by the Academy Awards.
Despite making some of cinema’s most successful films – Jaws, E.T, Indiana Jones – no one expected or wanted serious Steven: they wanted Spielberg the spinner of dreams, the co-founder of Dreamworks.
So, in 1993, Spielberg’s unveiling of a three-hour, black and white drama about the Nazi holocaust was a turning point both for Spielberg and for cinema itself. He’d played with soldiers before in Raiders of the Lost Ark, played with sharks, spaceships and – also in 1993 – dinosaurs.
But with Schindler’s List, Spielberg put his toys away and devastated the world with an unflinching film of searing power. Shot with cool detachment, Spielberg’s adaptation of Thomas Keneally’s bestselling Schindler’s Ark eschewed his usual black-and-white heroes for a shades-of-grey rendering of a flawed protagonist.
Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) is a wheeler-dealer playboy making money out of the Nazi regime, socializing with the National Socialists only to line his own pocket. But when he witnesses the extermination of the Cracow Ghetto, something prompts Schindler to create a ruse. Staffing a failing factory with Jews, Schindler saves hundreds from the gas chambers.
But the monstrous commandant Amon Goeth (powerfully played by Ralph Fiennes), who shoots Jews for fun, is suspicious of Schindler’s activities. A battle of wits plays out against a backdrop of casual and calculated violence. Schindler’s List is as close as you’d ever want to get to the shocking brutality of the Holocaust.
In scenes of haunting power, Spielberg nails the horrors, tensions and cruelties. Shooting in black and white soon seems entirely appropriate, lending an almost documentary distance to events. But the director allows himself a telling touch of colour – as a little girl, lost in the crowd, is pinpointed in red.
Shot by cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, Schindler’s List was the start of a cinematic partnership that’s seen Kaminski shoot virtually every Spielberg film since, right up to Indiana Jones Part IV. And long-time Spielberg composer John Williams’ haunting violin refrain adds yet another classic to his roster of immediately-memorable Spielberg themes (Jaws, E.T, Indiana Jones).
But Spielberg spoils perfection with an over-the-top, almost redundant coda in which the real Schindler’s workers, and their descendants, visit his tomb in Israel. It undermines what’s gone before and somewhat self-indulgently sees Spielberg make a memorial out of his own film. His Shoah Foundation more than amply did that job: Schindler’s List is so powerful, it speaks for itself. But so unbearable, you’ll only ever want to see it once.
Despite making some of cinema’s most successful films – Jaws, E.T, Indiana Jones – no one expected or wanted serious Steven: they wanted Spielberg the spinner of dreams, the co-founder of Dreamworks.
So, in 1993, Spielberg’s unveiling of a three-hour, black and white drama about the Nazi holocaust was a turning point both for Spielberg and for cinema itself. He’d played with soldiers before in Raiders of the Lost Ark, played with sharks, spaceships and – also in 1993 – dinosaurs.
But with Schindler’s List, Spielberg put his toys away and devastated the world with an unflinching film of searing power. Shot with cool detachment, Spielberg’s adaptation of Thomas Keneally’s bestselling Schindler’s Ark eschewed his usual black-and-white heroes for a shades-of-grey rendering of a flawed protagonist.
Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) is a wheeler-dealer playboy making money out of the Nazi regime, socializing with the National Socialists only to line his own pocket. But when he witnesses the extermination of the Cracow Ghetto, something prompts Schindler to create a ruse. Staffing a failing factory with Jews, Schindler saves hundreds from the gas chambers.
But the monstrous commandant Amon Goeth (powerfully played by Ralph Fiennes), who shoots Jews for fun, is suspicious of Schindler’s activities. A battle of wits plays out against a backdrop of casual and calculated violence. Schindler’s List is as close as you’d ever want to get to the shocking brutality of the Holocaust.
In scenes of haunting power, Spielberg nails the horrors, tensions and cruelties. Shooting in black and white soon seems entirely appropriate, lending an almost documentary distance to events. But the director allows himself a telling touch of colour – as a little girl, lost in the crowd, is pinpointed in red.
Shot by cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, Schindler’s List was the start of a cinematic partnership that’s seen Kaminski shoot virtually every Spielberg film since, right up to Indiana Jones Part IV. And long-time Spielberg composer John Williams’ haunting violin refrain adds yet another classic to his roster of immediately-memorable Spielberg themes (Jaws, E.T, Indiana Jones).
But Spielberg spoils perfection with an over-the-top, almost redundant coda in which the real Schindler’s workers, and their descendants, visit his tomb in Israel. It undermines what’s gone before and somewhat self-indulgently sees Spielberg make a memorial out of his own film. His Shoah Foundation more than amply did that job: Schindler’s List is so powerful, it speaks for itself. But so unbearable, you’ll only ever want to see it once.