Three films that governments should see (OR DON'T WANT US TO SEE)

I feel a constant anger. Sometimes my chest hurts, I feel a relentless pounding in my head, and I’m overcome by the urge to throw everything away—just to say it politely. The thought of buying a ticket to the most remote place on Earth and staying there often crosses my mind, living a life where noise, social problems, and news simply don’t exist. Whenever I go on vacation, I tend to idealize certain images that cross my mind while observing nature. I picture myself as an (almost) hermit alongside the woman I’ve loved for fifteen years, crossing a river, going to the village to buy vegetables and other things… and returning to our cabin to light a gentle sensation of warm in the fireplace and feel the beloved company of the animals that are with us at that time.

This anger isn’t pointed at anyone in particular—it’s something that has grown in me since I began to mature, since I started to understand how most things really work. And even if I wanted to, I can't separate it from my being. It’s anger toward violence, in all its forms. Do you feel anger because of violence? you might ask. Yes, I do. I know, it sounds ironic, doesn’t it? But I don’t show it. It’s contained, and I release it slowly but steadily, without hurting anyone. My loved ones know that I am a peaceful person.. Yes, there are things that frustrate me, and sometimes I might let out one occasional curse… but I do it quietly, so no one hears me. I detest confrontation, aggression, bullying. I also detest war, people’s need to showcase their hatred in front of cameras, negative reactions on social media as if that’s going to change the world—as if commenting on Instagram could bring a viable solution to the problems others face.

Recently, some things have happened—both in the world and to me personally—that relate to all this. As the public is well aware, we’re on the verge of what is likely to be classified as the Third World War. I’m not interested in which countries are siding with Israel, Palestine, or Iran, or in what started the conflict. Whether it was an Israeli or a Palestinian who threw the first stone back in 1948. In the end, if one threw the stone, the other threw it back, and so on for more than seventy-five years. “We must defend our homeland,” some may say.

But what’s the solution to all this? To wipe everything out? I don’t have answers, nor can I, nor should I. It’s not my fight. I’m not omnipresent. Oppenheimer is still writhing in his grave over the decisions he made, and I have other things to do. Sorry if this offends anyone or touches a nerve, but that’s how I feel. I can sympathize with the thousands of families suffering unnecessary loss, but I don’t know if a bomb might one day fall near my building. Nobody knows.

In a context that is close to severe—but not as overwhelming as what’s happening in parts of Asia—Argentina currently seems to be on the brink of a civil war. Maybe it won’t happen, and I truly hope it doesn’t, but the hatred spreading in the streets is too much. It’s the sensation of a war I’ve seen coming for a while now, one that has been fueled by extreme right- and left-wing ideologies. But again, it’s not my fight. I can vote, and in the end, everything seems to remain the same. If one side of the wall governs, the opposition will do everything it can to bring it down from its “privileged place”… and so on. It’s a sad scenario, and again, I calmly declare myself neutral.

Bringing this hatred into a more personal realm, I’ve recently started receiving hate on Instagram. Why? Because I recommended a film. Yes, as absurd as it is outrageous. I had always seen it from the other side—as a user—and not because I’ve spread hate before, but because I’ve always been more of an observer. And now I’m experiencing it firsthand. But I don’t suffer because of it—I simply laugh. My mental strength allows me to not take it personally, but I know some people do. There’s a growing sense of widespread hatred and nothing seems to stop it. But in an attempt to do the opposite, I thought of sharing three films that profoundly moved me and that I’d like to recommend to you.

The first may be the most obvious, as it has earned a belated cult status, and nowadays it’s impossible not to mention it in any list. Come and See (a title that symbolically invites us to witness the follow events, not to look away) was not the only film by Russian director Elem Klimov, but it was his last. The reasons that drove him away from filmmaking remain unknown to this day, but after experiencing the emotional void brought on by the most harrowing coming-of-age tale ever made, one can imagine why.

Flyora is the eldest son of a humble Belarusian family—but more importantly, he’s an adventurous young teen who believes he’s part of something greater when he voluntarily joins the Soviet resistance (in the context of WWII) after finding an old rifle buried in the sand on a beach. Along the way, he meets people, hears stories, experiences first love—but most of all, he lives through horror. His face deteriorates, his morale crumbles, and his heart blackens. Klimov’s work is a stark reminder of just how far the most cruel, vile, and repugnant creature on this planet—humanity—can go.

The Chernobyl disaster hadn’t yet occurred when Threads was released—one of several TV productions by British director Mick Jackson for the BBC during the 1980s—but something about it already warned us that the horrors of radioactive manipulation were far too close. So close you could almost feel the heat slowly peeling the skin from your face. Skirting the edge of documentary style and prioritizing its message over aesthetics, this suspense thriller with elements of “disaster movie” (which Jackson would revisit thirteen years later with Volcano) walks us through the fears of a working-class community in England after the re-election of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, with the pressure of society palpable in every corner.

The film achieves its purpose when the screen finally fades to black. The darkness is both literal and metaphorical. It punches you with both fists and stirs something inside you that’s impossible to ignore. In my opinion, it is the most devastating representation of nuclear horror ever put to screen. How is it possible that the masochists who “lead” democracy can't spare a single moment of reflection before going to sleep?

Shoah is a difficult piece of art to recommend, mainly due to its length. It’s nine hours (yes, you read it right) of interviews, testimonies of different nature, and archive footage about the Holocaust—all unified by one goal: to stir your blood and force you to rethink everything you thought you knew about war. You don’t need to be Jewish or lean toward any specific political ideology. There is nothing like witnessing the truth. Unaltered. Undeniable.

I watched this documentary over the course of a week, dnd although I can't deny it was deeply overwhelming to be in front of the television for so long, I won’t lie—it was one of the most real cinematic experiences I’ve ever had. I repeat my philosophy: I know I can’t change the past, I know the present is complicated, but I also know that looking back only makes me want to promote peace, consensus and the simple act of handshake other person's hand as the most sincere gesture with those we don't know. I can’t contribute to hatred. No good comes from initiating that process. I want my future children to be able to wake up in the morning and see the sun.

Published on JUNE 23, 2025, 20:54 AM | UTC-GMT -3

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