Nominated among the five Oscars for best international film, The teachers’ lounge of İlker Çatak failed to achieve the miracle of beating the previous favorite (The area of interest by Jonathan Glazer). Meanwhile, in Italy many were rooting for I captain by Matteo Garrone, unfortunately left empty-handed, together with Wim Wenders (Perfect days) and Spanish The snow societydirect by JA Bayona.
Compared to its direct competitors, İlker Çatak’s realistic approach probably struggles to leave an indelible mark on the viewer, in a film that is not particularly striking for its aesthetic originality, and the skill of Leonie Benesch (who plays Carla Nowak, a school teacher German lower secondary school) alone was probably not enough to make the film memorable.
If the film earned a place in the Academy final, it is probably due to the extraordinary verisimilitude with which the director (supported in the screenplay by Johannes Juncker) managed to represent the school environment, demonstrating a dry gaze and above all without rhetoric – something seemingly impossible when it comes to school, at least in Italy.
From this point of view, The teachers’ lounge it is certainly an honest, and also useful, film, capable of offering the public a taste of what it means to be a teacher in the 21st century. Furthermore, it is a story from which teachers can also draw food for reflection, not so much to find confirmation of the complexity of their work, but to explore the pitfalls and masks that the school institution hides and imposes.
In other words, the success of this almost dismissed film signals the existence of widespread interest in school, understood as an institution, but above all as a social environment at the center of bitter conflicts. And if it happens that you leave the theater with the impression that something is missing (a real resolution, a message, a unitary theme), returning to reflect on the film you will discover that the very absence of a univocal interpretation could constitute its real strong point.
Çatak’s ability is best expressed in his ability to represent the school environment in a realistic way, not simply by photographing the spaces, but above all by recording the sounds and conversations.
For those who attend school this is a well-known fact, but it is worth remembering for those who have not been in school for years: at school we talk a lot, it is one of the most communicatively intensive environments that a human being can find himself going through. Quantitative intensity, given that most of the work of students and teachers passes through oral communication, but above all qualitative, because at school it is mandatory that every sentence is measured, precise, correct. You might argue that this is true of all work environments, or at least it should be. Right, but only in part: the educational function of the school, in fact, profoundly transforms the nature of every discussion that takes place within it, in particular when it is held in front of the students, or addressed directly to them. Speaking at school is not just communicating, but giving an example, and speaking in an exemplary manner for many hours a day is extremely tiring.
Carla, a conscientious teacher, is perfectly aware of this and is able to best juggle the different needs of school communication, of which she masters all the tones: one register to explain, one to talk to colleagues, one to reassure the kids, yet another to scold without offending, one, finally, to talk to parents.
As they follow Professor Novak on her long school days through the various environments of the institution, teacher-viewers will likely feel a certain sense of familiarity. Beyond the different quality of the spaces (it goes without saying that the German ones are better than those of most Italian schools, some of which no longer even have a teachers’ lounge, converted into a classroom), Carla’s school also seems to lack a true space of silence, an authentic object of desire for teachers after many hours of conversation. In Germany, as in Italy, breaks in the staff room are often interrupted by unwanted gossip from nosy colleagues, with an inevitable effect of tiredness. From tiredness to overload the step is short, and the mistake is immediately around the corner. So Carla also does one and, what’s worse, she does it with the best intentions.
The teachers’ lounge it is a drama that arises from a few, minimal actions, capable however of triggering a series of emotional reactions that envelop one another in an increasingly rapid and oppressive manner. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the entire affair is the impossibility of attributing blame and responsibility, distinguishing once and for all victims and executioners.
In the middle school of this small German town, a trivial incident caused by some thefts will cause a real ruckus to break out, with serious consequences for adults and students. But whose fault is it? Difficult to establish. Here, it seems like everyone is trying to do their best work, always acting with the best intentions.
The principal does her best, believing she will not compromise on the zero tolerance disciplinary policy in force at the institute (but the stupidity of this choice becomes increasingly clear as the events unfold); the teachers do their best, like Professor Liebenwerda, one of the most obnoxious and gossipy, who however will be able to speak words of truth about Carla, guilty of having wanted to face everything alone, without seeking advice and discussion from her colleagues. And of course, Carla does her best. Her isolation is, in fact, her Achilles’ heel: she doesn’t agree with the school’s zero-tolerance policy, but she doesn’t have the courage to openly challenge it either. So, to exonerate her student of Turkish origins from unfounded accusations, she chooses a shortcut, trying to personally conduct the investigation into the thefts: a well-intentioned but fatal mistake.
If it weren’t for this misstep, one could say that Carla possesses all the qualities required of a good European teacher of the 2000s. Measured in reactions and equipped with a good feeling with the students, she is creative in her methodologies and fair in her evaluations, completely free from racial prejudices. If necessary, she knows how to stifle her emotions (only to be overwhelmed by them and find herself on the bathroom floor in the midst of a panic attack, forced to breathe into a bag while the parents of her class wait for her to finish a meeting fire). When she returns to class the next day, she will ask the kids to scream together as loudly as they can, and she will scream with them too. Probably a technique learned in some course for the teaching profession, an “emotional regulation” exercise like many others. Carla screams and blushes, all her students scream with her, but the exercise is of little use, because reality always takes its toll and doesn’t let itself be tamed by group therapies.
In fact, shortly thereafter, like a stubborn Erinni determined not to give up on her victim, Oskar, a child unjustly suspended from school, will return to knock on the classroom door: the unexpected presence that reminds everyone of how the real knots of the bad story that envelops the school are still to be resolved.
Oskar refuses to leave the class from which he was suspended because he claims to know the truth about some facts involving him, and he is aware that only Carla can give it to him. The decisive refusal of the teacher, who has just discovered at his expense (him and Oskar himself) how serious the consequences of a leak of information could be, aims first and foremost to protect the boy’s interests. At the same time, however, this choice of confidentiality puts him in an impossible situation to bear: he feels like the only one who doesn’t know something about himself.
“What happens in the staff room, stays in the staff room,” Carla responds to the protests. It is not a profession of hypocrisy, but the courageous acceptance of one’s role, as well as the declaration of an insurmountable limit. This is a tragic truth, even undemocratic, but necessary in an educational context. Carla has the courage to remain firm in her positions, because she has realized the damage she has caused by bringing to light secrets that were better left buried. Destroyed reputations, gossip and slander, torn classes, destabilized students: none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for that small, involuntary mistake.
Unable to tell Oskar the truth, Carla finds another path: that of remaining by his side. The two spend an entire night inside the school, in complete silence, at the end of which they re-establish a thin line of communication, no longer through verbal language, but by exploiting their common passion: mathematics.
The closing scene, which we will not reveal, is far from any banal happy ending. Before the end credits, a series of total and semi-total shots of the deserted school seem to want to remind us that the true protagonist of the film is herself, that space in which the most diverse and unexpected relationships can be woven: strong, banal, superficial, useless , decisive, dramatic, harmful, useful, risky. A place that imposes rigid roles, in which one often has the impression of be acted upon more than acting, but within which it is essential to find one’s own space.
The teachers’ lounge it is not just a film about the stupidity of “zero tolerance” in schools, but a film about the unintentional damage that teachers can do to their students, and the equally involuntary damage that parents can do to schools. A film, ultimately, about the traps of communication and the difficulty of being understood; but at the same time on the possibility of communicating despite everything, and on the generosity of those who strive to do so, starting from two conditions: being together here and now, and having something to learn from each other.
