Review: Radu Jude’s ‘Eight Postcards From Utopia’ – A Romanian Ad-Nalysis

Radu Jude and Christian Ferencz-Flatz present “Eight Postcards From Utopia,” a unique documentary premiering in Locarno. This film is assembled from an extensive archive of Romanian TV ads, capturing over 30 years of the country’s transition from socialism to capitalism. It showcases how everyday items like beer, laundry detergent, and banking services were pitched to the public, offering a glimpse into the evolving cultural and economic landscape.

Designed as a “found-footage” film, “Eight Postcards From Utopia” features ads preserved with minimal care, resulting in grainy video footage. Jude, alongside philosopher Ferencz-Flatz, adopts a passive rhetorical approach, refraining from narration or secondary commentary. The film is divided into nine chapters, each with thematic strands, leaving viewers to interpret the significance of the scenes.

The sequencing of these clips by Jude and his regular editor, Cătălin Cristuțiu, offers both blatant and subtle connections. This structure adds to the film’s curiosity, making “Eight Postcards” a potential favorite at festivals beyond Locarno. However, its unconventional approach may be better suited for specialist streaming platforms, resembling a deep dive into a YouTube rabbit hole. Interestingly, it was presented alongside Jude’s “Sleep #2” at Locarno, offering a reflective look at popular culture and nostalgia.

The film’s opening chapter, “The Romanian Paradox,” features an ad with the slogan, “What belongs to all belongs to no one.” Depending on the context, this phrase can be seen as either an idyllic promise or a warning about communal living. As Romania transitioned from socialism, such ads aimed to entice the population with the promise of personal wealth, mirroring sentiments from a 1995 PSA about the country’s largest privatization program.

Political ads mix with commercials, often linking individual empowerment with national pride. A spot for Imperial vodka boasts, “Long live the Imperial party,” connecting to Roman Dacia’s hedonism, while other ads use gladiatorial imagery, even for products like Pepsi. A beer ad uniquely spins national hardships, promising “a taste as intense as life in Romania.”

Such macho posturing recurs, particularly in the chapter “Masculine Feminine,” highlighting the patriarchal perspective of capitalism. Even ads targeted at women carry a misogynistic undertone, like a leering pan over women’s legs in a pantihose commercial or the depiction of domestic duties in detergent ads. An exception appears in “Magique Mirage,” where a male sailor admires his shipmate’s fluorescent white bottoms.

The chapter “The Ages of Man” delves into Romanian male experiences, from the Ministry of Defense’s violent masculine ideal to a realtor ad showing a young man embarrassed by being caught with his girlfriend. These portrayals reflect the economic realities for many young men who can’t afford to leave home. The economic section, “Money Talks,” contrasts the promise of instant wealth with the practical steps of securing one’s fortune.

However, the epilogue, “The Green Apocalypse,” feels underdeveloped. It addresses the environmental crisis with kitschy ads of Romania’s landscapes, which might have worked better scattered throughout the film. Nevertheless, “Eight Postcards From Utopia” stands as a sharp sociopolitical piece, open to various interpretations such as visions of rebuilding, destruction, hope, or nihilistic collapse based on one’s perspective.

Source: Variety