Published on March 26, 2026
Dehumanization can be imposed and experienced in many ways. It affects prisoners who endure harsh treatment, victims of war, and those who, despite living in seemingly peaceful and free conditions, find themselves in states of deprivation and precariousness. More broadly, the term extends to anyone who is prevented from developing as a person, reduced to an object that is used and discarded or merely a cog in a repetitive daily machine. This phenomenon proliferated with industrialization and the subsequent rise of capitalism, often used to describe factory workers on assembly lines or the anonymous employees of any routine business. Additionally, it is a condition experienced totalitarian regimes—both ordinary citizens and subordinate officials (excluding the high-ranking figures, who are often shielded )—with prisoners seeing their numbers soar in any self-respecting totalitarian regime. Stalin’s regime is a classic example, as theorists frequently categorize it among totalitarian systems, alongside Nazism. Under his rule, the population was effectively dehumanized, with thousands disappearing into anonymity, many exiled or imprisoned for arbitrary reasons, and those few who initially served the State also subjected to a strict regimen they had to follow to avoid ending up in prison themselves.
The latest film Sergei Loznitsa, *Two Prosecutors*, is based on a short story of the same name, written , who penned it with a degree of autobiographical intent, having been arrested in 1938 and subjected to harsh interrogation without respect for human rights—another hallmark of dehumanization. The narrative, like the film, is set during that era, beginning with the arrival of new inmates at an ambiguously constructed Soviet prison. Shortly thereafter, a young prosecutor arrives to resolve an intricate request, grappling with a Kafkaesque dilemma that pits his legal idealism against the pragmatism and amorality of those around him.
In these early scenes, Loznitsa’s style is evident—capturing events from a distance yet with precision, omitting direct displays of horror in favor of allusions to them occurring behind prison walls (mirroring other recent Cannes presentations such as *The Zone of Interest*, directed veteran). The audience is made acutely aware of the constant surveillance both within and outside prison walls, with one only able to escape its gaze while confined to a cell. This is exemplified by a prisoner assigned to burn a stack of letters—appeals and complaints from fellow inmates to the authorities—without reading them, a mandate he partially fulfills. The striking visual of the old condemned man tossing papers into the fire contrasts sharply with the inherent coldness of the act, underscored and deliberate pace, justifying the static quality of the film’s frames.
Indeed, the camera remains fixed, pressing down on its subjects with tight compositions (both wide shots and close-ups), where the framing and symmetry restrict any sense of expansive perspective. The staging is marked rigor, where shots are structured for the camera to wait for the character to complete their action—following orthodox planning principles—which heightens a sense of predetermination or even predestination. This observational style aligns with the nature of individuals who must adhere to predetermined steps dictated by a will beyond their own to survive in such an oppressive and freedom-stripped regime. Yet, even when strictly following protocol, the protagonist encounters obstacles at every turn, as his personality blinds him to the fact that he must not apply his own standards and practices but instead become just another cog in the machine, never straying from the inertia of daily life. Failing to adapt to this reality, he is doomed to failure.
Furthermore, his struggle—a classic tale of an individual against their environment—unfolds not only through tangible obstacles but also through drawn-out dialogues that appear logical but often devolve into circumlocutions, or soliloquies, that obscure rather than clarify the narrative. This elongation disrupts the otherwise metronomic flow of shots and scenes, often reduced to back-and-forth transitions from one space to another, effectively conveying a sense of stasis and a closed circuit in which all characters operate. This may be the film’s most effective thematic element, despite it losing some momentum when lingering on longer conversational scenes. Those scenes, nonetheless necessary, paint a fuller picture of the selfishness, frustration, and discouragement stemming from a historical period that is not so easily forgotten. While strict totalitarianism may no longer exist, wars, oppressive regimes, and dehumanizing censorship remain persistent issues.
Related News
- A-League Women: Perth Glory coach Stephen Peters says side knows importance of final two games
- How Manchester is giving British music 'a new lease of life'
- Wicked Stepmother No Longer, a Female Pharoah Gets a Reputational Makeover
- K-Pop Band BTS Performed Two Songs from New Album ‘ARIRANG’ at the Guggenheim on Wednesday Morning
- Mamdani Now Plans $1.3 Billion in Cuts in Programs That He Favored
- India snub traditional venues for Border-Gavaskar Tests