Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, disturbing images and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang
This film fascinates in all sorts
of ways.
Most notably — and, obviously,
the reason it was made — director Mick Jackson’s absorbing, rigorously faithful
drama shines a necessary spotlight on longtime Holocaust denier David Irving,
and the shameful lengths to which he went, in an effort to legitimize his odious
beliefs.
As Deborah Lipstadt (Rachel Weisz) watches nervously, QC Richard Rampton (Tom Wilkinson, standing) prepares to address another of sham historian David Irving's deplorable claims. |
American viewers — at least,
those who didn’t devour the escapades of John Mortimer’s Rumpole of the Bailey — will be equally intrigued, possibly even
astonished, by this film’s well-crafted depiction of the British legal system,
and specifically how it differs from the U.S. court system, with respect to
libel suits.
Most impressively, though,
scripter David Hare — adapting historian Deborah E. Lipstadt’s memoir, Denial: Holocaust History on Trial — has
crafted a parallel dilemma that focuses on Lipstadt herself, played superbly
here by Rachel Weisz. Lipstadt’s struggle to remain true to her own conscience
and principles, and her reluctant recognition that she must — simply must — have faith in others, is just as
compelling as the courtroom duel that dominates the film’s second half.
The title, therefore, is
deliberately double-barreled: As well as signifying Irving’s standing as an unrepentant
Holocaust denier, it also represents the tremendously difficult choice that
must be made by the passionate, fiery and independent Lipstadt, to swallow her
pride and deny a public outlet for her own righteous indignation.
We know the legal outcome; it’s
obvious — given Hare’s source material — even for viewers who didn’t follow the
case, while it unfolded during the final four years of the 20th century. But
few outside of Lipstadt’s friends and inner circle would have known how this
case affected her on a personal level; Hare and Weisz give us an intimate and
thoroughly absorbing view of how Lipstadt faced this challenge, and — with the
help of a superb legal team — ultimately triumphed.
The case began with a whisper in
1993, with the publication of Lipstadt’s book, Denying the Holocaust. She acknowledged Irving within those pages,
briefly but trenchantly, labeling him a Holocaust denier, a racist, and a
falsifier of history.
(It’s important to understand
that although Irving’s charitable views of Hitler and Nazism never were taken
seriously by mainstream historians, he was a tireless writer, having published
more than two dozen books. Regardless of how he was regarded by the world,
Irving viewed himself as a serious academic and valid historian.)
Nothing happened until Penguin
Books published a British edition of Lipstadt’s book, after which — on Sept. 5,
1996 — Irving filed a libel suit against both Lipstadt and Penguin. He rejected
the notion that he was a “Nazi apologist,” and insisted that her book cast
doubt on his competence, and therefore was designed to ruin his reputation as a
authoritative historian.
Tellingly, he didn’t back away
from the accusation that he denied the existence of the Holocaust; indeed, he
remained steadfast in this belief, insisting that there was no physical proof
that such a mass slaughter ever had taken place.
Irving obviously waited for the
British publication of Lipstadt’s book, because it allowed him to file suit in
England. As Lipstadt soon comes to understand — Weisz persuasively displaying
both disbelief and outrage — the situation is not in her favor. In the States,
the burden would have been on Irving, to prove that his “interpretation” of
history was valid, in order to demonstrate that Lipstadt was guilty of
deliberate character assassination.
Ah, but in England the burden of
proof is on Lipstadt: She must, in effect, prove that the Holocaust did take place, and that Irving intentionally disputes this. As we
viewers come to realize, during the course of this film, knowing something can be vastly different than being able to prove it. Eyewitness testimony never
carries as much weight as physical evidence, and the Nazis were very methodical
in their efforts to eradicate all buildings and support systems involved with
the mass extermination of Jewish prisoners.
On top of which, the stakes are
tremendous. If Lipstadt loses — and she’s advised, by numerous individuals, to
avoid granting Irving this very public forum — then the result would be
unthinkable: Holocaust denial would be legitimized as an acceptable alternate
viewpoint. (Here in the States, it would be akin to a lawsuit that granted
creationism equal status as an acceptable theory in public school science
classes.)
The case quickly becomes both
intriguing and infuriating. It’s also driven by a captivating roster of
characters, all of them well played by an excellent ensemble cast.
Although this clearly is
Lipstadt’s story, and Weisz’s performance has our hearts and minds, there’s no
denying the charismatic power of Timothy Spall’s interpretation of Irving.
Spall gives the man a Nixon-esque sneer that never wavers, except when Irving
plays to a crowd, or to his thuggish acolytes; then he’s all smiles and
malevolent charm.
Spall makes it clear that Irving
is intelligent, if defiantly dogmatic. But he’s also ferociously proud and smug,
and herein lies the beautiful subtlety of Spall’s performance. There’s a
telling moment, during a pre-trial conference with a judge, when Lipstadt’s
team must maneuver a stratagem by subtly appealing to Irving’s vanity. Watching
Spall’s face, as he digests and finally responds to this plot, is a thing of
sublime thespic beauty.
Tom Wilkinson is equally fine,
albeit in a more understated manner, as QC Richard Rampton, the barrister hired
to represent Lipstadt in court. He’s the calm and methodical yin to Lipstadt’s
hard-charging and righteously indignant yang: a quiet planner who — as we
eventually discover, via Wilkinson’s nuanced performance — is just as outraged
by the very existence of this lawsuit. Even so, his strategy is crafted on the
basis of winning on points, rather than trying for a flamboyant knock-out.
Wilkinson makes him more Atticus
Finch than Perry Mason, which heightens the contrast between Rampton’s courtroom
manner, and that of Irving (who, in one of his foolishly inflated decisions,
chooses to represent himself).
Lipstadt’s primary solicitor,
Anthony Julius, is played with a marvelous blend of razor-sharp intellect and
thin-lipped pragmatism by Andrew Scott. The Irish actor is best known (on these
shores) as the gleeful villains who bedevil Sherlock Holmes and James Bond, so
this role is quite a switch. Scott’s Julius radiates assurance, at times
insufferably so, and he frequently clashes with Lipstadt over issues involving
courtroom strategy.
But the key point is that Julius
truly does know best, and Scott never lets us doubt that for a second.
Jackie Clune makes the most of
her small supporting role as Rampton’s junior counsel, Heather Rogers; she’s
essentially our surrogate, experiencing and being transformed by this case, as
it develops. (The trial didn’t begin until Jan. 11, 2000, and it lasted 32
days. The judgment wasn’t presented until April 11.)
John Sessions and Mark Gatiss
both shine as two of Lipstadt’s expert witnesses: Cambridge University
historian Richard Evans and Dutch architectural expert Robert Jan van der Pelt.
Weisz’s passion drives the
narrative; we share Lipstadt’s agony over each procedural indignity, and her
growing apprehension regarding a system that seems weighted in Irving’s favor.
Lipstadt also carries the responsibility of her own Jewish heritage, and deep
feelings toward to the Holocaust survivors who attend the trial, and wish their
own opportunity to address Irving’s offensive claims.
Weisz also is adept with Hare’s
well-chosen one-liners. She raises a smile, early on, when Lipstadt expresses
willingness to accept that the British legal system might be Dickensian, as
long as it doesn’t become Kafka-esque. (Spoken like a true academic.)
The story’s destination may be
recognized, but the suspense comes with Hare’s clever construction of the
journey: We’re eager to watch how
Irving gets bested. The accurate little details that Hare includes — such as
the fact that Rampton makes a point of refusing to look Irving in the eye,
during cross-examination — are fascinating.
Be advised: Although Jackson
never dwells on Holocaust specifics, there’s no denying the highly disturbing
intensity of the on-site visit to Auschwitz-Birkenau, and the memories thus
evoked.
One small complaint: A factual
story such as this demands a few concluding text blocks, to let us know where
these people are now. Irving’s appeal of the decision was denied, and he was
forced to declare bankruptcy in 2002. And while his pretense of scholarly
legitimacy remains shattered, it hasn’t minimized his activities; visitors to
his Web site still are assured of getting “Real History!”
Lipstadt wrote the book on which
this film is based, of course, and followed it in 2011 with The Eichmann Trial. She’s currently the
Dorot Professor of Modern Jewish History and Holocaust Studies at Emory
University. And an occasional film adviser.
Denial is a gripping drama, both in the courtroom
and behind the scenes. It’s also a potent reminder — particularly at this
moment, in this country — that some battles demand to be fought, and that
pugnacious bullies cannot be allowed to prevail.
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