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Distortion is a disturbing, haunting film, about life imitating art and art reflecting life. Haim Bouzaglo, the director of the film, plays the role of Haim Bouzaglo, artistically blocked and sexually impotent playwright, who finds inspiration in his suspicions about the subject of his girl friend's documentary. As an Arab suicide bomber, disguised in skullcap and American t-shirt, wanders through the landscape in search of his target and his nerves, Haim transcribes his girl friend's life as she films her documentary and incorporates himself and his actors' lives during rehearsals. But the bomber has already struck and Haim has left the restaurant just minutes earlier. Despite the manipulation of time and space, the story is crystal clear, comprehensive and absorbing, a brilliant commentary on the "distortion" of everyday Israeli life, where the political is intertwined with the personal, where everyone lives "on the edge," and people never know whether they are playing leading roles in their own lives or are merely dispensable bit players in someone else's dramatic narrative.
Bouzaglo plays with this notion of everyone being an actor in someone else's production brilliantly. We are always voyeurs, seeing what the fictional director sees illicitly but also what the "real" director chooses to reveal. To remind us that these glimpses are violations of privacy, Bouzaglo takes us into the bathroom and the bedroom (sometimes the bedroom is the street and rooftop), and repeatedly frames his views within TV, video, or security screens. Actors play the role of actors who represent the "real" characters played by actors. Of course, each of the actors is the star of his or her own production, only dimly aware of their diminished roles in their fellow actor's personal films. The detective hired by the playwright becomes a character in the play. The actor hired to play the role of the detective seeks out the detective for "tips" on how to play the role, is caught by the detective on surveillance tapes, and they attend a cast party as their real selves.
Despite this multiplicity of views, there is no mistaking the clear lines of this narrative: the playwright searches for subject matter, the bomber seeks a target, and the detective stalks the filmmaker. Nor is there any difficulty locating Bouzaglo's ultimate targetenervated and impotent Israel, fully conscious of the threatening peril but incapable of meaningful action. Israel is Bouzaglo, the impotent fictional playwright cannibalizing his own life for his play. Israel is also the bankrupt soldier-entrepreneur who is the subject of the filmmaker's documentary, the cheating actors and actresses, and the cuckolded husband. They are all Israel because they are all helpless, caught in inaction or aimless action, as the bomber scans the landscape for his best target. All the characters can do as another bombing is reported is have sex and keep "score" of victims.
There is personal triumph, vindication, perhaps revenge at the end of this play within a story within a film, but viewers will be left aching for the state of Israel even as they are filled with admiration for Bouzaglo's memorable rendition of a nation's plight within the telling of an individual's story.


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