Character, which is loosely based on a Dutch literary classic of the same name (by Ferdinand Bordewijk), is about a young man's relationship with his vengeful father, set largely in the 1920s. Katadreuffe (Fedja van Huet) is the illegitimate son of Dreverhaven (Jan Decleir), a heartless man who disposesses
debtors for law firms and banks in Rotterdam. Raped by Dreverhaven while in his employ, Joba (Betty Schuurman), Katadreuffe's mother, refuses to marry him despite his numerous proposals. Although Joba attempts to hide Dreverhaven's identity from her son, as a young boy Katadreuffe guesses that the man is his father. When the boy is arrested for a petty crime he did not commit, he tells the jailers that his last name is Dreverhaven. Everyone in Rotterdam knows who Dreverhaven is, so he's quickly summoned to the jail. When the bailiff sees Katadreuffe, he denies even knowing the boy. Later in the film, Katadreuffe unknowingly borrows money from a bank in which Dreverhaven is an officer. When his business venture fails, the young man realizes that his father will treat him no differently than any other debtor.
We're supposed to believe that this sort of family builds character, and that's why in the end Katadreuffe is able to educate himself and occupy a position in society that neither his father nor his mother could achieve. It's the Dutch version of a Horatio Alger story. However, the film's period sensibilities of what creates character simply don't resonate in an age when psychology has taught us about the ravages of dysfunctional families. We can't feel any triumph when Katadreuffe overcomes the psychological obstacles and social barriers placed before him, because we sense the son will soon become the father.
Despite a good cast, excellent production values, and van Diem's technical skills, Character, which just won the Oscar for Best Foreign-language Film, is predictable and dreadfully misconceived. The characters, including Katadreuffe who narrates the film, are far too enigmatic. Although you guess that Katadreuffe's ambition is the result of his having been an outcast all his life-as a boy, he's continually taunted for being illegitimate-his motivations are never clearly articulated. Joba speaks about four sentences to her son in all the years they live together. While you're led to believe that she doesn't marry Dreverhaven because he raped her, near the end of the film she tells him there's never been another man in her life. So you're left to wonder why she didn't marry him. Dreverhaven's motivations are even more of a mystery-you're never quite sure if the man is mentally ill, or whether his continuing cruelty toward his son derives from his frustration with Joba. In any case, you get tired of guessing. Mike van Diem manages to elicit excellent performances from Decleir (Antonia's Line), Schuurman and, to a lesser extent, van Huet, even with the considerable limitation of a unimaginative script. However, he fails at a director's most important task: matching the style of the film-camera placement, editing and music-with its content. This is a Dickensian story shot and scored like a thriller.
As a period piece, Character relies on a suspension of disbelief that must be satisfied by a story that possesses an archetypal dimension, or that depicts an event of historical significance, or one with characters that assume epic proportions. Otherwise, it's ostentatious and, like Character, ends up being melodramatic. This is most obvious in the scene in which Katadreuffe, approaching the law firm where he must satisfy his bankruptcy, has a vision of his name on a silver plate outside the door. The plate gleams in the sunlight. Upon entering the law firm, Katadreuffe suddenly discovers his true calling-and he looks like Dorothy when she got her first glimpse of Oz. The scene is out of proportion; it leads you to believe that Katadreuffe has some great calling. He doesn't. By late-20th-century standards, Character is the story of three very disturbed people, maybe a little worse than the average dysfunctional family, whose conflicts aren't very familiar and last far too long-about 20 years for them and 114 minutes for you.
--Maria Garcia