Cristian Mungiu makes the practical business of obtaining an illegal abortion almost unbearably tense. Anamaria Marinca holds our attention throughout; the pressure sometimes feels excessive, but we would still urge people to see it.
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days is a frightening film about trying to get something done when almost every practical step carries a risk. We would urge people to see it, with a clear warning that it is hard to sit through. Cristian Mungiu follows Otilia as she helps her roommate obtain an illegal abortion in Romania in 1987. The story is intimate, but the law determines what the women can ask for and whom they have to trust. Mungiu gets considerable suspense from that dependence, without making their distress feel like an excuse for a thriller.
Anamaria Marinca makes Otilia’s resourcefulness believable because she never presents it as confidence. Her concentration suggests someone who must think carefully even when there is no time to think at all. We were frightened by the effort it took her simply to keep a conversation going. Marinca gives the practical business of asking for help the strain of a task that has to be done correctly, with no assurance that doing it correctly will be enough.
Laura Vasiliu, as Găbiță, helps keep the friendship awkward and believable. Neither actor seems interested in making her character especially likeable, which is a relief in a film with so much at stake. Mungiu’s screenplay gives the dialogue the awkwardness and pressure of people needing something from one another. The women remain people whose immediate needs deserve attention, even when the subject invites everyone else to deliver a speech.
Oleg Mutu’s long takes make it difficult to settle into the comfortable position of merely observing. We have time to study a face, then more time than we want to consider what might happen outside the frame. Dana Bunescu’s editing is equally important: the intervals between cuts make waiting an active part of the suspense. There are moments when a change of shot would let us relax, and the film keeps us waiting instead. The precision is impressive, though the technique is demanding enough to become a problem of its own.
Mihaela Poenaru’s production design gives this pressure an ordinary setting, which makes it more disturbing. Nothing about the surroundings offers the comfortable excuse that such cruelty belongs somewhere separate from everyday life. Mungiu finds room for mundane absurdity and small acts of generosity, and these keep the people around the women from becoming a uniform procession of monsters. His attention to the constant bargaining also makes the political setting clear without requiring anyone to explain the entire country.
The reservation concerns how firmly Mungiu controls our response. At times the prolonged attention to distress feels insistently severe, as though allowing us a moment’s breathing space would somehow be dishonest. We do not think the film needs quite that much pressure to make us understand, and its 114 minutes can feel punishing. Yet Marinca and Vasiliu keep our attention on what their characters need to do next, even when the direction seems determined to leave us exhausted.
A social drama this severe can easily start treating its characters as evidence. Mungiu avoids that because we are kept close to Otilia’s practical concerns, and because Marinca makes her worth watching even when she has little freedom to act. We understand the politics through the strain of helping a friend. See it when you have the attention to give it, and no need for reassurance before bed.
