Dying for a cause challenges the unqualified supremacy of life over death. Martyrdom subverts death as a source of fear, as something to be dreaded and to be avoided at all costs. The heroic death, rather than producing a sense of vanity, celebrates meaning. 

While the act of self-sacrifice itself is remarkable in its ultimate dedication to a set of ideals, its willing forfeiture of life and its irrevocability, the process through which one reaches such an act is even more intriguing. After all, is a ‘martyr’ a real martyr if the decision of martyrdom comes totally natural, without any conflict or regret? Is a ‘martyr’ a real martyr if there is no sacrifice?

In ‘A Hidden Life’, Malick prefers to shy away from these questions. The film is supposed to tell the story of Franz Jägerstätter, an Austrian farmer, who refuses to fight for the Nazis in the Second World War. But in many ways, the film does not tell that story, for it does not tell a story at all.

Jägerstätter finds a martyric death: he is executed for being a conscientious objector. Yet, he never has second thoughts, he never loses faith in his decision. Frankly, there is not even a decision in the first place, as there is no balancing, no weighing on his behalf. He never decides to become a martyr since there is no decision to be made in the first place.

And the viewer cannot but wonder as to why she should of Jägerstätter as heroic rather than as suicidal? What is the difference? Can Jägerstätter be described as courageous and selfless, driven by a desire to serve a greater purpose, if the option of self-sacrifice is so obvious to him? 

One should not forget Jägerstätter’s religiosity. Indeed, the thought of afterlife might compensate for what is left behind. The thought might provide solace and comfort, and make the earthly death feel insignificant. And indeed, an act of martyrdom is not act of empathy – it lies beyond empathy, beyond earthly relationships and connections. 

Nonetheless, by completely overlooking the human side of Jägerstätter, Malick loses his viewers. The depiction of Jägerstätter’s martyrdom becomes cruel and thus, largely irrelevant. ‘No man is an island entire of itself’, Donne writes but Jägerstätter is presented like an island in and of himself. He thinks of his family but never feels the need to be accountable to them – even if they had not asked for it. He does not feel sorry or bad for them. As he is preparing for his own martyrdom, his wife is shown to pull the plough in their fields, as if carrying her own cross, towards her own even-more-unsung-than-Jägerstätter’s martyrdom. Jägerstätter does not ask for permission, he does not make apologies.

It is true that extreme, extraordinary archetypes of human behaviour might still be insightful. Nonetheless, Malick’s Jägerstätter is alienating. He remains single-dimensional and inexplicable. There is no real development, no real progress. In this sense, the whole film feels less like a film and more like a painting, purporting to capture a specific state of being, rather than delving into its creation. 

If you watch the film expecting to understand Jägerstätter, you will leave disappointed. Rather, watching the film allows you to observe Jägerstätter, to approach him but not get too close to him. Perhaps even, to understand how the rest of the world related to Jägerstätter. But Jägerstätter remains a elusive.

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Photograph by Alotrobo