Radu Muntean’s Întregalde is a sharply drawn and subtle fable about the meaning of charity and the limits of altruism, and it finds the Romanian director far from the cosmopolitan, post-Ceaucescu Bucharest of his breakthrough drama, Tuesday, After Christmas. Like many of the canonical works of the Romanian New Wave, Muntean’s 2010 film wrung considerable tension from quotidian but irreconcilable domestic dramas. Though Întregalde quickly, and unexpectedly, evolves into something close to a genre exercise, it’s similarly dogged in its quest to illustrate the gaps between human values and human nature.
Set in and around the Transylvanian town that it’s named after, Întregalde begins in a crowded warehouse filled with a din of chatter and where large white sacks are being packed with food and other consumer products. It’s a hub for a humanitarian aid agency, and a hive of volunteers are prepping to set out into isolated nearby villages and distribute these goods before Christmas. The early scenes are a swirl of characters, concerns, and quips, a sea of information that feels chaotic until a convoy of SUVs enters a narrow valley that cuts through the Carpathian Mountains. These large vehicles are dwarfed by the epic scenery, Muntean’s first hint that these do-gooders aren’t really the protagonists of this story.
After a few deliveries, the film’s main characters—empathic Maria (Maria Popistașu), strong-willed Ilinca (Ilona Brezoianu), and hot-headed Dan (Alex Bogdan)—connive to continue their deliveries in the same vehicle. Amid the banter, Dan basks in the goodwill of giving a child an iPad while questioning the utility of the donation; Ilinca discusses her romantic travails; and Maria proves a moderate voice. They bond in criticizing the head of the non-profit, named Radu, who somehow has enough money to purchase a second home near a ski resort.
Cinematographer Tudor Vladimir Panduru dynamically shoots the characters and their exchanges from the interior of the car, seemingly exploring every possibility through which to gaze at the trio in different combinations. And just as Întregalde has seemed to settle into its themes and characters, the vehicle comes upon an old man, Kente (non-professional actor Luca Sabin, who Muntean discovered while scouting locations for the film). He’s walking toward a logging road bound for the local sawmill, and after a long debate, Ilinca and Maria convince Dan to let Kente into the car and give him a ride to his destination.
With Kente’s entrance into the film, Muntean sets his moral inquisition into action, neutrally observing what are already three richly drawn characters as they navigate how comfortable they feel literally going out of their way to help someone who’s apparently infirmed and possibly suffering from memory loss. A lengthy deliberation about whether to turn onto the logging road carries the distinct whiff of a horror film, as Muntean’s characters seem merely to be convincing themselves to set out on a doomed path. Their doubts are quickly realized, as their SUV slides off the road’s muddy tracks. Modern comforts (phones, GPS) function only fitfully, and with darkness will come a freeze that will strand them for the night.
This abrupt tonal change is accompanied by a striking change in scenery. The expansive views that dominated early scenes give way to a strip of mud bordered by wooded hillsides, and as night falls, the forest surrounding the seemingly endless road starts to feel claustrophobic. One scene has the characters gathering branches in an effort to give their car enough traction to get back on the road, and Muntean holds so long on his images that the proceedings take on an improvisatory feel, suggesting a slapstick comedy infused with dread. Întregalde sustains this unusual tone as it further sinks its claws into the characters: Kente, fed up with the delays, sets out to the sawmill himself, prompting another long debate about whether to assist him, and after Dan eventually and reluctantly follows him, two men (Toma Cuzin and Gabor Bondi) drive by and offer Mara and Ilinca futile assistance while arguing in a local dialect.
Though much of its humor and horror comes from somewhat obvious, prosaic observations about the differences between generations and regional cultures, Întregalde proves remarkably nuanced about how those on different “sides” interact among their own groups. The genial shit-talking among Dan, Maria, and Ilinca curdles quickly under pressure due to a series of misunderstandings and lapses in perspective. Their bond isn’t transactional, but under normal circumstances it’s brief and voluntary. At best, they treat Kente like a project worth their time, though Dan in particular cools on the situation quickly, calling Kente “Forrest Gump.”
Întregalde’s coda, at once immaculately subtle and fiendishly clever, considers what happens when Kente himself returns home, completely reliant on those around him for his food, clothing, and hygiene. With a neutral tone that isn’t judgmental but is nonetheless hyper-inquisitive and devastatingly witty, the film exposes the differences between doing good to feel good about yourself and doing good because simply because there’s no one else there to help.
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