The Death of Mr. Lazarescu

Those Romanians, what a bunch of cards! This “comedy” follows a sixtyish man for the eight hours between the time he calls an ambulance for the headaches and vomiting he is experiencing, and his death as he lies naked on a hospital gurney, waiting for neurosurgery at the fourth hospital he has visited in the course of an infernal night (not for nothing is his first name “Dante” to go with the suggestion of “Lazarus” in his last.) He is escorted through this hell of medical indifference by an ambulance attendant, fiftyish but flame-haired, initially impatient but finally the helpless old man’s only humane advocate. The film unfolds in what feels like real time, as an unholy mash-up of Frederick Wiseman’s documentary Hospital and a low-energy E.R. in Bucharest. The 38-year-old director Cristi Puiu cites Rohmer as another influence, and this film is certainly talk-talk-talk. Frankly, it took me three evenings to get through this Death, so I can hardly join in the chorus of raves it has received. It’s not purely a matter of art house masochism (e.g., who knew so many Romanian doctors were beautiful young babes?), but if you demand entertainment from your movies, this is not for you. What humor there is, is black and deadpan. The action -- or inaction -- is artfully choreographed, with handheld camerawork that makes the most of the low budget, and with economical and revealing dialogue and characterization, but loitering in hospitals through the night at death’s door is not my idea of fun. (2005, dvd, n.) *NR* (MC-84.)