Films create their own reality - no one can doubt that. While watching a well-made movie, it's easy to be sucked into that reality, and skillful filmmakers can use the sense of alternate reality to press a message or make a point. Meditations on the nature of a writer or director's particular hang-ups or preoccupations, or, less critically, a writer or director's passions, are common in the world of film.
Message films aren't generally blockbusters, but thoughtful looks at a number of issues can be found in surprising places. Among the most popular issues to be examined in mainstream cinema is the question of authority - specifically questions of legitimacy, proper practice, boundaries, and the role that authority plays in society - as well as society's reactions to and attitudes regarding authority.
The films with the greatest impact are often those which present the greatest range of authoritative nature. One of my favorite films, Au revoir, les enfants, deals with a catholic school in Nazi-occupied France. The two most prominent sets of authority in the film are the only rarely present Nazis and the headmaster of the school. The hegemony of Nazism has a subtle, menacing influence - an ever-present threat that is all too easy to ignore until its reality is made abundantly, horribly clear by actions in the film's third act. The object of their actions is the subject of the headmaster's kindness - his is a benevolent and supremely kind authority that takes in and protects a jewish boy named Bonnet. Ultimately, it is the intolerance of those who feel greater loyalty to the distant, tyrannical authority of the Nazis that destroy hope for the protected.
Au revoir, les enfants tells us that the best possible application of authority is the protection of those who have no other options, no other hopes. It is a heartbreaking reminder of the brutality that misused authority can inflict, and an urgent plea for compassion and love for those who have no where else to turn.
Out of the four remaining films I've selected, Downfall is probably the most appropriate to follow Au revoir. Downfall is a German film about the last days of Adolf Hitler and the people he surrounded himself with. Downfall is about an authority at its end, and it is an end that most viewers can't wait to see. The film broke a decade-long taboo of representing Hitler on film for Germany, addressing the nature of the country's greatest shame directly.
The authority in Downfall is cut off from its domain, and the loss is keenly felt even as Hitler (played by Bruno Ganz in one of the greatest feats of acting ever captured on film) denies his lack of agency and fumes over the perceived incompetence of his staff. The personal arc of every soul in the bunker is astounding to see, and a powerful reminder that authority, regardless of legitimacy, cannot function when cut off from those it claims to supervise. Isolation in the bunker destroys Hitler's already fragile sense of reality, leading him to issue impossible commands that are totally divorced from the situation outside his crumbling refuge.
When authority cannot or does not communicate with those under its supervision, governance is impossible - Downfall reminds us that communication with and immersion in the reality of a people is crucial to authority's legitimacy.
Communication is at the heart of Brazil, Terry Gilliam's brilliant satire of government bureaucracy, society, and middle age. The event that sets the film in motion is a typographical error caused by a literal fly in the machine. As the movie continues, errors in communication abound, and total failure to communicate is responsible for many more errors in action. Furthermore, the authority in Brazil is hard to pin down, with everyone seeming to report to someone higher, and many unsure of who to obey and who to report on. There's always a bigger fish, but the fish often refuse to acknowledge their inferiors.
The practical upshot of this is a general sense of meaningless and lack of purpose. The inhabitants of Gilliam's dystopian wasteland work long hours without ever caring or knowing why. Breaks for classic TV are the norm while on the job, and there is no real sense of camaraderie or unity. Without communication from authority, or any idea of what exactly the bounds and nature of that authority are, society cannot be expected to function, and individuals have no reason to join society. Whether that authority be in the hands of one or many, or the collective whole, for that matter, it is necessary that all know exactly from whence authority derives its hegemony, and the bounds of authority's agency.
A less subtle look at failure to communicate can be found in Land of the Dead, George A. Romero's fourth Dead film. After the events of the first three films, still-living humans have managed to build fortified settlements and keep some semblance of order. Pittsburgh has one such fortified area, portrayed as a post-apocalyptic slum, with an upper class tower/city, Fiddler's Green, in its center. Paul Kaufman (Dennis Hopper) runs Fiddler's Green as a haven for the wealthy and powerful while ignoring the harsh conditions outside the tower.
Romero's metaphors have never been subtle. Land of the Dead features a wealthy, out-of-touch upper class that lives in a literal tower above the lower class below and the ultimate social outcasts, zombies, outside. No group is without error, and the humans outside the tower have worked out a functional but barbaric hierarchy, but it is through lack of communication and respect from the higher-ups that prevents any sort of social justice. It takes an evolution of the zombies, a shambling intellectual renaissance, to upset the order and equalize humanity once again.
Romero certainly wasn't pushing for cannibalistic revolution, but the message is clear: Only by cooperation and understanding can authority legitimately serve a society.
Last of all, Children of Men presents both a government that takes draconian measures to curb dissent and disquiet and a revolutionary movement that pursues its goals without regard for the individual. Both the official, legitimate authority and the self-proclaimed authority of the people destroy all societal trust by limiting freedom of association and movement, all the while destroying lives to work towards a goal that they have supreme confidence in. Children of Men tells us that abuse of power can come from anywhere, and it cautions us against blind acceptance of a movement that purports to represent a cause we agree with.
These five films represent a wide set of views on the nature and possible abuses of authority, but certain themes are constant: Authority must communicate fully and completely with those it leads, it must immerse itself in the society it controls, and it must clearly define itself and the reasons behind its actions. Timeless lessons, all.