Until now, Corneliu Porumboiu’s films have been austere, rigorously linear and lifted with a fatalistic and discreet humor. Situated in the daily darkness of Bucharest or other even less glamorous Romanian cities, they transform the grievances, frustrations and hopes of ordinary people into impassive philosophical case studies. “12:08 pm east of Bucharest” is an inquiry into the subjective nature of the historical experience. “Police, adjective” is a seminar on law, ethics and the meaning of words. “The Treasure” is both a fable of futility worthy of Samuel Beckett and an allegory of Romania’s precarious place on the fringes of the European Union.
I didn’t mention “Evening Falls on Bucharest” or the documentary “Infinite Football”, but you got it. Except that “The Whistlers”, Porumboiu’s latest film, has nothing to do with what I have just described. The timeline is fragmented, the colors are vivid, the intrigue intricate. There are picturesque non-Romanian settings and music on the soundtrack, starting with “The Passenger” by Iggy Pop. All in the service of a thriller involving a tough cop, a femme fatale and an international team of gangsters.
However, “The Whistlers” is unquestionably a Porumboiu film, and not only because it seems to be a literal (but also somewhat cryptic) sequel to “Police, Adjective”. Vlad Ivanov, who played the pompous captain of the provincial police in this film, returns in this one by playing the same guy, Cristi Anghelache. Still under law enforcement and still a moron, he now works in Bucharest. He alludes to his previous experiences during a conversation with his own boss, a prosecutor named Magda (Rodica Lazar).
Ivanov is at the same time the most constant and the most changeable interpreter of Romanian cinema, a kind of Balkan J.K. Simmons, on the spot to embody both the stoic and shady aspects of modern bureaucratic virility. In addition to Romanian canonical films like “4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days” and “Child’s Pose”, he also appeared in “Toni Erdmann” by Maren Ade and “Snowpiercer” by Bong Joon Ho. Among his other delights, “The Whistlers” gives him a rare leading role, which could even have the potential for franchise.
That is, I would happily watch half a dozen seasons of “The Anghelache Files”, with Cristi in his iron gray suit and a puzzled mine stalking trouble in various exotic locations. “The Whistlers”, which takes him to La Gomera, one of the Canary Islands, would make a decent pilot. (The title refers to a local whistling-based language called Silbo Gomero, which the gangsters in the film adapt to their own ends). Cristi arrives by ferry to find Gilda (Catrinel Marlon) a Romanian compatriot involved in criminal cases. They slept together when they returned to Bucharest, but that, she said, “was just for the security cameras.” Also for the camera, as it is a sexual and violent gender exercise.
He is also playful and aware of his own film. At one point, a gangster conclave on La Gomera is interrupted by an English-speaking filmmaker spotting the scene. A subsequent scene takes place at the Cinematheque in Bucharest during a screening of “The Searchers”. The twists and wrong directions of the plot look like nods – or nods – towards Hitchcock, classic black, David Lynch and the Coen brothers. Cristi, operating in an ethical zone as gray as his wardrobe or the sky of Bucharest, is an enigma wrapped in a puzzle stuffed with banality. Is he a cynic or a sucker, a romantic or a crook? Do these distinctions even count?
Yes and no. The pleasure of the film-geek that Porumboiu gives himself so skillfully serves as an implicit reprimand to those who reflexively associate Romania with a bare and harsh realism. To which I plead guilty, while admitting a certain ambivalence about “The Whistlers”, an ingeniously structured, engaging and witty demonstration of cinematographic skills. This is the most elaborate feature of Porumboiu and, in some ways, the least ambitious. Like a meringue or like a whistle, its substance is mainly air.
The whistlers
Unclassified. In Romanian, English and Spanish, with subtitles. Duration: 1 hour 37 minutes.