The Lives of Others: The Constancy of Choice

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on September 1, 2007.

If I remember correctly, I initially encountered Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck's The Lives of Others (2006) when looking at the list of last year's Oscar nominations. It was nominated for—and eventually won—the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language film. I dutifully put it on my Netflix queue, where it sat many months prior to its official DVD release. It was well worth the wait.

The Lives of Others takes place in the former East Germany of the 1980s, when the state ruled supreme, supported by the infamous Stasi (an internal security agency). The movie specifically focuses on the plight of writers and artists, who essentially had three choices: (1) escape into exile (a risky proposition), (2) speak out against the regime (an equally, if not more, risky proposition), or (3) "get along" with the authorities so as to be able to continue writing, acting, directing, etc.

Donnersmarck presents us with Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch), a playwright who has chosen (at least initially) the third option. He's not necessarily happy with the East German regime, and he feels that its treatment of dissident artists is too harsh; nevertheless, for all practical purposes, he toes the line so that he can keep writing. On the other side is Hauptmann Gerd Wiesler (Ulrich Mühe), a hard-line veteran of the Stasi, who suspects Dreyman of subversion and proceeds to have his apartment completely bugged.

Much of the movie shows Dreyman and Wiesler leading parallel, yet intimately connected, lives. Wiesler spends hours sitting in his secret compound, listening to countless details of Dreyman's life: passionate disputes, mundane conversations, sexual encounters. Donnersmarck presents us with a snapshot of how a totalitarian society keeps a lid on its citizens: it not only controls the information that ordinary people consume, but it also keeps tabs on what "subversives" (or potential subversives) are thinking and feeling.

Yet, even in a society as lockstep as the former East Germany, people can (and do) find ways to resist. We see a change in both Dreyman and (more interestingly) Wiesler. After a personal tragedy, Dreyman begins to question whether his accommodation with the state is worth it, especially as he sees the repression that his friends suffer. Wiesler, after hours of eavesdropping into Dreyman's life, begins to feel some sympathy for the writer — not necessarily (or overtly) resulting from ideological conversion, but rather, from simple compassion. Though it is not clear where in Wiesler's psyche resides such sympathy (since he initially is presented as a cold, hard-line Stasi agent), we nevertheless start to see him breaking protocol and "covering" for Dreyman as the writer becomes more politically active.

Besides its wonderful writing and acting, The Lives of Others does what every great movie should do: present old themes in fresh, creative ways. Besides the questions of individualism (and individual privacy) versus state control that Donnersmarck raises, the director forces us to think (again) about the role of choice in morally difficult circumstances. The former East Germany is simply an extreme case of people having to decide whether (a) they like the status quo and actively support it, (b) they don't like it but don't take any action, (c) they don't like it and try to leave, or (d) they don't like it but stay and try to resist.

These options are always available to us at any moment in time — and we don't have to live in a totalitarian regime in order to pursue them. Even in a situation as seemingly benign as an ordinary, everyday job, there exists a status quo and the choice of whether to challenge it or not. If we find it morally problematic, then we have to decide whether to take action or to maintain a low profile and collect the next paycheck. The reality, of course, is that we probably encounter many situations in our everyday lives (not just at work) with which we have moral disagreement but with which we learn to tolerate. Rocking the proverbial boat, after all, comes with consequences — the least of which is the time and effort it takes to resist.

So, at what point does someone take a stand? This, of course, varies between individuals, but a person has to reach a point—consciously or unconsciously—at which the moral question supersedes all others. In other words, the person sees his/her reputation, financial security, and even physical safety as taking a back seat to the moral question. That question becomes the most important thing and maybe the only important thing. For Dreyman, his personal tragedy becomes the moment at which he recognizes both the moral bankruptcy of accommodation and the practical futility of trying to please East Germany's fickle and corrupt cultural overlords.

One thing that we cannot claim is to have no choice. We always have a choice, regardless of how difficult and unpleasant our options may be. As such, at any moment in time, we are doing exactly what we want to do—within our material constraints—whether we care to admit it or not. If we choose to remain in a morally problematic situation or to continue dealing with morally bankrupt people, then we have stated implicitly that we value other things (like financial security) more highly. This may make us feel bad, but we nevertheless should admit to it and either change our ways or learn to live with ourselves.

The questions of morality and resistance are, of course, only a part of Donnersmarck's well-crafted, multi-layered film. I highly recommend The Lives of Others to anybody who cares about complex, sophisticated—yet accessible—filmmaking.