The Death of Mr. Lazarescu

Mr. Lazarescu doesn't feel well. He's had a headache for four days. He thinks it's from his stomach; he's been throwing up as well. Walking through his apartment he speaks to one of his cats, complaining about how bad he feels noting, "You don't even care, you bloody animal." The sad thing is that nobody else cares either.

The Death of Mr. Lazarescu is a trip through the impersonal world of medicine. Although set in Rumania, anyone who has made a trip to the Emergency Room will identify with Lazarescu's trip down the medical rabbit hole. Or perhaps we are meant to note that one of Lazarescu's given names is Dante and recognize this as a descent into Hell. This Hell is not one of punishment; it is the Hell of indifference.

From the time Lazarescu decides to call for an ambulance, apathy is the overwhelming attitude he encounters. Even the ambulance dispatcher only thinks he needs to stop drinking. This is a recurrent suggestion, even as he keeps getting sicker and weaker. Everyone seems to think it's his fault he's sick, so why should they bother with him.

Even those involved with him, his neighbor and, over time, the ambulance attendant who is shuffling him from hospital to hospital, are much more involved in their own lives than they are in his need.

At the hospitals he encounters issues of medical hierarchies (what business does a nurse have telling a doctor what a patient needs?), hospital politics (can he be pushed to the front of the line for an MRI just because he might be seriously ill?), and bureaucracy (can he have surgery if he is too sick to sign a consent?) Through it all he is treated not as a person, but as a bothersome intrusion into the hospitals' procedures. Finally he does find a hospital where he can get help, but it may be too late. In the end he is stripped of all dignity as he waits for help.

The Death of Mr. Lazarescu is both thoughtful and thought provoking. It was recognized at Cannes last year with the Prix Un Certain Regard. With a running time of 154 minutes, it is a bit longer than many are used to. It seeks to give us a sense of the time that Lazarescu is spending with this illness. The time also gives the viewer plenty of time to reflect not only on the times we have been Lazarescu, but also the many ways we are like all the characters who are too busy for him.

Much of the film takes place in confined places -- the ambulance, hospital examining rooms, the small apartment. It has an almost claustrophobic quality. It makes it almost uncomfortable to be so close to him amidst all this indifference and cruelty. And we should be uncomfortable with what we see.

This is something of a dark comedy. Certainly the subject matter is dark, but it is also open to considerable humor. For American audiences, however, much of the humor may not register as it would for a Rumanian audience. Still, there are places where the absurdity of the futility shines through.

This is the first of six films director Cristi Puiu plans to make about love. This film focuses on the love of humanity, but it does so by showing its absence. Lazarescu has no one to care for him more than as a passing concern preventing them from getting back to their own lives. His neighbors are busy making jam. His sister doesn’t want to come until tomorrow because it’s too late to come now. The ambulance attendants could be going to other patients. The hospital personnel are busy with other patients or with their own selfish interests. Perhaps things would be easier for Lazarescu if he had family to aid him in this Dante-esque nightmare. But if we look at all the world as neighbor (as in Jesus' Parable of the Good Samaritan), Lazarescu should not seem to be without family -- all those he came across should have recognized him as one in need and respond as if he were family.

I wonder how often we walk by Lazarescu: the guy who stands in front of the Post Office some mornings asking for change; the woman in the nursing home who can't remember who anyone is; a Palestinian whose home has been bulldozed or an Israeli victim of terrorism; a refugee from Darfur; all the people that we manage to overlook even when they stand in front of us. We may even assume that some of them are to blame for their circumstances, as everyone assumed Lazarescu's problems were based in his drinking. We often see those in need as intrusions into our lives -- keeping us from the "more important" things we want to do. Perhaps we should see those "important" things as the intrusion that prevents us for caring for our neighbors.