What ‘The Act of Killing’ Reveals About Memory and Power
The 2012 documentary The Act of Killing feels less like a film and more like a mirror held up to a nation’s darkest hour. Rather than simply recounting the 1965–66 Indonesian anti‑communist purges, it invites the perpetrators to reenact their crimes—sometimes as musical numbers, sometimes as gangster fantasies. The result is a strange, unsettling collage that forces viewers to confront how violence can be rehearsed, celebrated, and ultimately forgotten.
Why the film’s approach matters
Most historical documentaries rely on archives, interviews, and a narrator’s steady voice. Jehane Noujaim and Joshua Oppenheimer tossed that script out. They gave former death‑squad leaders the tools to stage their own stories, letting them choose costumes, lighting, and even genre. By doing so, the film exposes a stark contradiction: these men see themselves as heroes, yet the audience sees the grotesque choreography of mass murder.
That contradiction is the film’s power source. When Anwar Cahya directs a scene where he shoots “communists” with a pistol made of foam, the absurdity forces a cognitive split. One part of the brain registers the theatricality; another registers the reality behind the joke—thousands of bodies, families never reunited. The tension keeps the viewer uneasy, preventing the usual emotional distance that a traditional documentary might afford.
Memory as performance
In the villages where the purges occurred, oral histories were often the only record. Oppenheimer’s camera captures how these oral traditions have been reshaped into performance. Former militia leader Ghulam Rizal repeatedly rehearses a scene where he proudly declares, “I am the best in the world.” Each retelling adds a layer of bravado, diluting the factual details of who was killed and why.
This phenomenon isn’t unique to Indonesia. Historians note that societies emerging from trauma frequently rewrite events to serve present needs—be it national unity, political legitimacy, or personal absolution. The film therefore acts as a case study, showing how memory can be a living, mutable thing, especially when the storytellers are also the perpetrators.
The moral paradox of participation
One might wonder: does giving murderers a platform risk glorifying them? The directors were aware of that danger and built safeguards into the process. They intercut the reenactments with interviews of victims’ relatives, whose silent gazes cut through the celebratory footage. Moreover, the men’s own facial expressions begin to crack.
In a later scene, Amir Parra watches his own performance—an elaborate, jazz‑infused montage of killings—then laughs nervously, glancing at the camera as if noticing the audience for the first time. That moment suggests a fissure in his self‑mythology, hinting that the act of reenacting may sow seeds of doubt.
How the film reshaped documentary practice
- Subject‑led storytelling: By handing the camera to the killers, the film flips the usual power dynamic, making the subjects the architects of their own narrative.
- Hybrid genres: Mixing horror, musical, and true‑crime elements forces viewers to navigate multiple emotional registers.
- Ethical transparency: The filmmakers never hide the discomfort of their method; they openly discuss their own doubts in behind‑the‑scenes footage.
These innovations have inspired a new wave of documentaries that prioritize immersion over detachment. Think of Leviathan (2014), which embeds itself within a fishing fleet, or For Sama (2019), where the director becomes the storyteller. Oppenheimer’s willingness to tread into the moral gray area paved the way for such bold experiments.
What the film says about power structures
Beyond personal guilt, The Act of Killing illuminates how state‑sanctioned terror persists when the narrative remains unchallenged. In the film, the perpetrators are not merely foot soldiers; they occupy positions of local authority—mayors, businessmen, even teachers. Their continued reverence in their communities underscores how power can be normalized when accompanied by a curated memory.
When the documentary aired in Indonesia, it sparked a public reckoning. Some officials demanded bans, fearing the exposure of “unpatriotic” truths. Yet countless street art murals appeared, depicting the film’s iconic scenes with the word “truth” scrawled in bold. That grassroots response signals a shift: the act of remembering, once controlled by the state, is now being reclaimed by citizens.
Lessons for viewers
Watching The Act of Killing is not a passive experience. It asks you to consider:
- How do you recognize your own biases? The film’s stylized reenactments make it easy to dismiss the killers as caricatures, but the raw interviews remind us that these are real people with real power.
- What role does art play in processing trauma? The absurdity of a death‑squad leader performing a tap‑dance number forces a confrontation that pure archival footage might never achieve.
- Can performance become accountability? While the men never fully confess, the act of performing their crimes in front of a camera creates a public record that is hard to erase.
In the end, the documentary does not hand you a tidy moral verdict. Instead, it leaves you with a lingering question: if a society can let murderers turn their atrocities into entertainment, what does that say about the stories we choose to tell—and the ones we choose to silence?