Directed by Zacharias Mavroeidis, Defunct (2019) acutely looks into the disaffection of Greek millennials through the character of Aris, a ill-fated businessman, desperately trying to make money through reselling espresso machines. After relocating to his childhood Athenian suburb of Papagou, shown as a quiet suburb, once built to house military families, is now described by his friend Ermis, played by actor Alexandros Mavropoulous, as “Nowhere worse” (00:11:40). What coincides with this decline in business is Aris’ discovery of his grandfather’s past, uncovering his covert soldier days during the Greek Civil War; which culminates in his discovery and acceptance of his grandfather’s homosexual relationship with his neighbor, who was a self-declared communist who had once been imprisoned by Aris' grandfather.
What makes Aris’ character so interesting is that Mavroeidis creates Aris’ character to have an insecure sense of identity, specifically, in his failure to have a satisfying sex life and financial success, which creates an existential crisis of manhood for the upstart salesmen. For example, when Aris is about to masturbate to internet porn he is cut off by an attractive saleswoman asking for donations regarding UNESCO world heritage sites, where of course it doesn’t take much for Aris to divulge into a desultory rant about his grandfather and the pride of his espresso business, where the saleswoman responds with “You got the gift of the gab. Aristides taught you well.” (00:20:01), resulting in Aris asking if she is insulting him, and that she should work for him, an ultimatum of his manhood and self-worth, that is consequently refused by the woman. This scene can be seen as a staple within the theme of the film; the camera holds a long take of several minutes, slowly zooming into the space of the two young people, creating a sense of closeness and claustrophobia within the confines of the frame, and Aris sporadically moving back and forth on the couch, while the saleswoman remains upright and uninterested in any sexual advances from Aris, reinforcing his inadequacy, and feelings of dislocation within his sense of purpose. Composed between the two is his grandfather’s sword, a remarkable artifact that should belong in a glass case, or in a sort of museum, is placed off-center in the drab gray and green living room, highlighting the ‘post-modern’ disaffection and what Fotiou and Fessas would identify as a testament to the “vanished past and an unknown future” (Fotiou and Fessas 113). This disaffection results in Aris confession that he plans to move out of Greece, boasting “I’m here for a month or so, then I’m off to London or Milan” (00:17:40), calling back to his hint to Ermis that he “Might even move abroad” (00:11:52) further highlighting the that Greece is not a place of where he has a future and that he must move away in order to achieve financial and thus social success. This character study into Aris is indicative of the social struggle of young men in contemporary Greece-- with no economic prosperity or hopefulness, men are left questioning their impetus within the nation-- containing an exact hypernormal attitude toward the larger systems of finance and power of Greece.
What makes Aris’ character so interesting is that Mavroeidis creates Aris’ character to have an insecure sense of identity, specifically, in his failure to have a satisfying sex life and financial success, which creates an existential crisis of manhood for the upstart salesmen. For example, when Aris is about to masturbate to internet porn he is cut off by an attractive saleswoman asking for donations regarding UNESCO world heritage sites, where of course it doesn’t take much for Aris to divulge into a desultory rant about his grandfather and the pride of his espresso business, where the saleswoman responds with “You got the gift of the gab. Aristides taught you well.” (00:20:01), resulting in Aris asking if she is insulting him, and that she should work for him, an ultimatum of his manhood and self-worth, that is consequently refused by the woman. This scene can be seen as a staple within the theme of the film; the camera holds a long take of several minutes, slowly zooming into the space of the two young people, creating a sense of closeness and claustrophobia within the confines of the frame, and Aris sporadically moving back and forth on the couch, while the saleswoman remains upright and uninterested in any sexual advances from Aris, reinforcing his inadequacy, and feelings of dislocation within his sense of purpose. Composed between the two is his grandfather’s sword, a remarkable artifact that should belong in a glass case, or in a sort of museum, is placed off-center in the drab gray and green living room, highlighting the ‘post-modern’ disaffection and what Fotiou and Fessas would identify as a testament to the “vanished past and an unknown future” (Fotiou and Fessas 113). This disaffection results in Aris confession that he plans to move out of Greece, boasting “I’m here for a month or so, then I’m off to London or Milan” (00:17:40), calling back to his hint to Ermis that he “Might even move abroad” (00:11:52) further highlighting the that Greece is not a place of where he has a future and that he must move away in order to achieve financial and thus social success. This character study into Aris is indicative of the social struggle of young men in contemporary Greece-- with no economic prosperity or hopefulness, men are left questioning their impetus within the nation-- containing an exact hypernormal attitude toward the larger systems of finance and power of Greece.
Another moment of the film that pinpoints Aris’ disaffection and dejection is after his drunken night out with his friends. With no women and reeling in the realization his perfidious friend Aggelos, played by actor Yiannis Niarros, had just been sent into debt; he wastes his time with his old pal Ermis in his grandfather’s home, which is covered in plastic after he is forced to sell off his family's belongings. At what can be described as Aris’ low-point in his character arc, Aris grips onto the sword within his hand and presses into his friend’s neck, prompting Ermis’ response, “Have you lost your mind?” (01:19:53), reflecting his loss of identity as a man trying to live off the repute of his long-dead grandfather (or rather, fixated on the vanished past), sunken within a dire socio-economic situation with little hope of convalescence, much like many citizens of Greece, particularly men. The decor of the home is completely covered in plastic, serving the audience as a reminder of his failure as a man, a failure to maintain grandfather's esteemed legacy, and subverting the established motif of his grandfather’s ‘artifact’ sword, as the epitome of his pride and self-worth, as a pernicious means of threatening others to prove to himself that he is indeed a powerful and dignified individual-- a terrible irony.
Aris’ character arc comes to a point of reconciliation, where following this tense scene, he visits his grandfather’s grave and believing Vassos, his grandfather's neighbor and secret lover, to be dead, having killed himself in front of the parliament building, which, though, is untrue. He makes amends with Ermis, and thus redeems his character’s journey of self-acceptance through the final sequence of the film; and interestingly mirroring the beginning of the film, a type of jazzy and elegiac music is transmitted through the radio, bookending the story. Driving through the dismal urban sprawl of Greece with Vassos and his cat, the music lyrics proclaims the film’s bittersweet thesis “I know you’ll never be back, but no tears fall… As your heart forgets, I go on dying… Living in darkness” (01:30:53). In the face of this, the ending is rendered optimistic with the silent drive into the mountains under the dawned sky followed by a rising sun where Aris looks over the mountains with a meditative smile at the place where Vassos and his grandfather once fell in love. The ending shot, considering the composition of the sunlit mountains in the background and the beautiful rising sun over the rolling hills of Greece makes for a hopeful ending, but ultimately bittersweet and ambiguous. The viewer, like Aris, marvels at the untouched Greek countryside, once the battleground of a traumatic civil war, now reveling in the natural beauty of the landscape, a symbol to his untapped potential as an individual in modern Greece, but leaving the question, can the disaffected man find economic and social inclusion despite his reconciliation with the past and his identity? (See Unpleasant Next)