‘Eight Postcards From Utopia’ Review: Advertising Tells (and Sells) All in Radu Jude’s Playful Post-Socialist History of Romania

As a seasoned cinephile with a penchant for delving into the depths of societal commentary through cinema, I found “Eight Postcards From Utopia” to be an intriguing and insightful exploration of post-Revolution Romania’s transition from socialism to capitalism. The film’s unique concept – using vintage ads as a lens to view this historical period – was not only innovative but also engaging, offering a fresh perspective on a topic that has been extensively covered in other films.

In my perspective as a movie reviewer, “Mad Men” beautifully glamorized the realm of advertising agencies, often captivating us with scenes that celebrated the inventive and tactical brilliance behind successful marketing campaigns. However, not every ad is as lavishly or extravagantly crafted as portrayed in the series. As “Eight Postcards From Utopia” demonstrates, even the most functional or workmanlike commercials hold their own cultural significance. This intriguing documentary, directed by Radu Jude and Christian Ferencz-Flatz, uses a colossal archive of post-Revolution Romanian TV ads to weave a humorous, chaotic narrative. Over a tumultuous 30-year-plus timespan, it chronicles Romania’s transition from socialism to capitalism, offering a unique perspective on how products ranging from beer and laundry detergent to banking were marketed to the public.

The film “Eight Postcards From Utopia,” while creatively innovative in structure, follows a simple idea – it’s presented as a genuine ‘found-footage’ production, using old advertisements that give an unpolished, uncared-for impression. These ads, often recorded on gritty video tapes, seem to have been collected without much thought for future analysis. In collaboration with a philosopher based in Bucharest who is focusing on post-socialist advertising, the provocative director Jude adopts a more subtle narrative style compared to his previous fiction work. The clips are not accompanied by narration or additional commentary to provide context; instead, the nine chapter titles (the eight ‘postcards’ of the title, plus an epilogue) serve as rough guidelines for organizing this stream of content into thematically intertwined sections.

1. The way filmmakers and Jude’s frequent editor, Cătălin Cristuțiu, have arranged and edited seemingly ordinary clips from an idealized past leaves viewers intrigued, trying to decipher the hidden meanings. While some connections are clear, others are indirect, but it’s enjoyable to try and figure them out. This curiosity factor, combined with a large dose of nostalgic humor in the content itself, should make the compact “Eight Postcards” a hit among festival programmers beyond Locarno. However, from a distribution standpoint, it might be more fitting for niche streaming platforms – a choice that is not entirely inappropriate given the film’s feel of a disjointed journey through YouTube videos. (The movie was shown at Locarno alongside Jude’s “Sleep #2,” an hour-long contemplation of year-round activities at Andy Warhol’s grave in Pittsburgh; while they aren’t directly related, they complement each other well as a dual examination of cultural cycles and nostalgia.)

“In the movie’s initial scene, an advertisement states, ‘What is common property belongs to no one,’ a slogan from ‘The Romanian Paradox.’ This phrase can be interpreted differently based on context, suggesting either a utopian idea or a warning about communal living. Here, in relation to a 1995 public service announcement boasting the largest privatization program in Romanian history, it signifies a country transitioning from being a socialist republic, eager to persuade its people of the opportunities for personal wealth through private ownership.”

In this manner, political advertisements blend with regular commercials, merging personal freedom with patriotic fervor, ignoring modern history and delving into the distant past instead. An ad for Imperial vodka boasts, “Hail to the Imperial party,” a phrase not promoting progression but rather the robust indulgence of Roman Dacia’s era. Similarly, other ads celebrate warrior-like symbolism, even when it’s merely for Pepsi. A beer commercial, however, takes a unique angle, selling resilience through adversity by implying a taste “as strong as life in Romania” – not for the faint-hearted, neither a beverage nor a nation.

This macho posturing recurs through many of the film’s other chapters, though is most specifically gendered in “Masculine Feminine,” which exposes the predominantly patriarchal perspective of capitalism. Even ads expressly targeted at women have a misogynistic tilt, from the leering pan over uniformly lithe female legs in a spot for pantihose to the dutiful feminine domesticity limned in sundry detergent ads. (One queer-tinged exception, in a short chapter titled “Magique Mirage,” sees a male sailor approvingly checking out his shipmate’s fluorescent white bottoms: Only straight Romanian men, it seems, are exempt from the lure of Ajax.)

A chapter titled “The Stages of Manhood,” provides an insight into how Romanian men are portrayed by advertisers, ranging from teasing to compassionate tones. This is contrasted with a military recruitment campaign that promotes a harsh, violent masculinity, whereas an ad from a realtor agency shows a young man being caught with his girlfriend by his mother, symbolizing the emasculating predicament faced by many young men who can’t afford to move out. The economic advantages and drawbacks of life in post-socialist Romania are most explicitly discussed in the section “Money Speaks,” where one lottery ad encourages viewers to prepare for wealth, while another portrays a woman who recently earned 12.5 million leu expressing her plans to invest her winnings in the Romanian Investment Fund, emphasizing that what belongs to everyone belongs to no one.

The final segment, titled “The Green Apocalypse,” seems incomplete, hinting at the environmental predicament using overly dramatic marketing-like depictions of Romania’s natural scenery. This part might have a stronger impact if placed within the narrative rather than as an ending to such a lively and anarchic piece. Nevertheless, “Eight Postcards From Utopia” leaves a lasting impression as a thought-provoking puzzle of social and political ideas that can be interpreted in numerous ways, offering diverse academic and emotional perspectives: it can depict reconstruction or devastation, optimism or nihilistic despair, contingent on one’s perspective.

2024-08-26 15:17

‘Eight Postcards From Utopia’ Review: Advertising Tells (and Sells) All in Radu Jude’s Playful Post-Socialist History of Romania

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