“This is Not the Same Country, This is Not the Same Room”: Commentary on “A Heart Broken to Pieces”
Ah, life! It’s like a box of chocolates but filled with broken hearts and missing headshots, isn’t it? So, let’s dive into this fascinating article about Shiron Shilon’s documentary “A Heart Broken to Pieces”. The story follows the *legendary* Shlomo Artzi, who, together with his band, performed in Sderot—almost a concert that wasn’t meant to be. It’s like planning the biggest birthday bash of your life only to have a clown show up with a bomb threat. Not that fun, right?
Now, the premise itself is tragically poetic. One moment, you’re in this bubble of cheery tunes and community joy, and the next, you’re dodging balloons like they’re incoming missiles. Hamas threatened to blow up their concert; live performers put in the precarious position of signing a death wish instead of a set list. But hey, the show must go on! The police and mayor tell Artzi, “It’s just a prank, bro.” Quite the adrenaline rush, wouldn’t you agree?
Fast forward two weeks, and—surprise, surprise!—a *different* kind of chaos breaks loose. War. Not exactly the kind of encore anyone was hoping for. Shilon, the ever-intrepid director, tells us that the happy-go-lucky concert became a stark juxtaposition to the grim reality that unfolded shortly after. You’ve got Sderot’s ‘happy’ vibes clashing with existential dread like a bad comedy sketch gone wrong.
But in typical artistic fashion, Shilon commits to pulling at those heartstrings, showing us luscious snapshots of life before tragedy hit. During their venture to document the concert, it appears that those feels were not merely captured but *thrown* at the audience like confetti, with a side order of melancholy. “We worked with wet eyes” says Shilon. Don’t we all? The film exposes the irony that while life can be vibrant and beautiful, it’s all too often followed by unforeseen calamity. It’s like wearing a sparkly party hat only to trip on the way to the punch bowl.
And can we just take a moment to appreciate the sensory explosion this film promises? Shilon paints a canvas bustling with colors, sounds, and the most vibrant emotions—despite the lurking shadows of loss. But what I find particularly intriguing is the decision to showcase the audience not just as mere spectators but as central characters in this life drama. Oh, it’s like a thrilling plot twist in an otherwise standard play! Just imagine attending a concert and finding immortal fame as part of the documentary – but you didn’t really sign up for that, did you?
Shilon’s challenge is fascinating: how to frame the pain of those who were once filled with joy yet now reel from trauma? It’s like trying to pour milk into a cracked glass. And while a majority of the audience filled the room as one jubilant family singing along, they were still united by that unspoken experience of grief and loss. “Everyone sings the same songs,” Shilon observed, and muse I must—there’s nothing quite like shared pain to make karaoke night feel like a funeral.
The Grand Finale: A Whisper of Hope
Ultimately, the project culminates in a bittersweet closing moment. Shilon chooses to loop back to the song “Thatar lekhem,” but not in the happy-go-lucky version. Oh no, that would be too easy! Instead, he opts for a depiction nonchalantly nestling in hope wrapped in silence, because nothing quite strums the emotional chords like a sad encore. So, that lingering feeling you take with you? It’s all a delicate balance between hope and heartbreak, much like life itself.
In conclusion, the film leaves us with a lingering sense of what once was—and what can never be again. “This is not the same country, this is not the same room.” It’s a gut-punch of a revelation, one that resonates far beyond the screen. Perhaps art—especially in its rawest forms—serves as both a lens and reflection of our collective identity, especially in trying times. Bravo, Shiron! Bravo!
“This is not the same country, this is not the same room”: For 20 years now Shiron Shilon has been a director at “Wonderful Land”, making documentaries and commercials, and also the director of Shlomo Artzi who accompanies him to all the performances. In September of last year, he traveled with Artzi and the band to Sderot for an unforgettable concert that was almost canceled due to threats from Hamas. Two weeks later, the war broke out, and the footage from that one-off evening became the movie “A Heart Broken to Pieces” (this evening, Monday, after “Life is a difficult period”, Keshet 12). In the end, a sad-happy document came out that tells about the life before Black Sabbath, about the happy people of the Otaf who celebrated without knowing that their world was going to turn upside down on them – and especially about this Israeliness that seems far away and we missed it so much.
Just before the broadcast of “Heart Broken to Pieces”, we talked with Shilon about the creative process of the film. “He was born by chance. There were two performances planned for Sderot that were postponed for security reasons over the years, but we really wanted to get there,” he tells Mako in an interview. “On the day of the concert in Sderot, news was circulated that Hamas announced that it was going to blow up the concert. They published videos of them loading the shells and missiles, put a picture of Shlomo without his head and said they were coming to blow up the party. We didn’t pay much attention to it, the police and the mayor told Shlomo: They always threaten. There was something exciting in the air, it was a good performance by Shlomo. We film every performance, but she was very happy and liberated, from these performances you go back home and it stays with you.”
Photo: from “Heart broken to pieces”, Keshet 12
“Two weeks later the most terrible day happened,” Yaron continues, “I contacted friends from News 12 and asked them to volunteer. I did an article about Yedin Gelman and they asked me to do an article about Shlomo. In the first week of the war, he volunteered, met the wounded and sang in the seven of soldiers who were killed In the interview I did with him in the south, I watched the raw material of the show and it was creepy. It was clear to me that I had to do this show and at some point the singer was no longer interested.”
“The next step was to bring Shlomo to a movie theater,” Yaron explains, “it seemed to me like a movie and not a performance. After all, usually at a performance you see the audience clapping and singing and moving on – here they are the ones who told the story. Besides the show on Sderot there is Several moments from performances during the year in Bari, in the Dead Sea and in the horizons. During the performance, you see how we were and what we will become. The film is actually a document or, as Shlomo called it, ‘blues about our lives’.
It must have been difficult to return to those happy pictures of the people whose world was turned upside down shortly after.
“We worked with wet eyes the whole time. You don’t put on a show but your feelings, it doesn’t give you rest and you want to put on the screen every person who was there. At some point we debated whether we say and frame the people who are no longer with us or let the viewer understand. No We emphasized the exception of the late Ofir Liebstein, who was a council leader who was murdered when he went out to defend his seat. There were others in the crowd, we turned to the families and there were people for whom it was difficult and I respect that. I want the audience to see the film and experience it, not guesswork. Everyone who was there and survived experienced terrible things. It was done with a lot of sensitivity.”
Photo: Elad Debi
“There were kibbutzniks at the concert as well as religious people and women with headscarves, there was a diverse audience and so Israeli. Everyone sings the same songs,” Shilon recalled excitedly at the concert. “This was the reflection of Israel in its bad hour, during the division and just before the biggest blow we suffered. That’s why it’s a kind of unspoken document, we’re not in the business of explaining, I’m not a journalist or a researcher, I want to show feelings and people.”
“It was a lovely and happy performance that will not be repeated again. Shlomo has performed over 40 shows since then, it’s not the same, he’s always tiptoeing” he says. “The happiest song there is, ‘King of the World,’ which parents would hug and send to their children, has become a memorial song. ‘Fields of Illusions’ has become an anthem again 40 years after it was written, ‘This is not the same country, this is not the same room.’ Don’t need it’ that appears in every show with the pictures of the abductees and the number of days they have been in captivity. When you listen to the words you understand what they describe.”
Photo: from “Heart broken to pieces”, Keshet 12
As a director, you wanted the viewers to finish the film with a certain feeling that would accompany them. What did you mean?
“It’s a noisy film, but there’s a lot of silence in it. I chose the song ‘Thatar lekhem’, but not its happy version. It’s a song of hope, and it’s the only time in the film that the footage from the concert on Sderot appears in color, people hugging and singing. I chose to end it in a minimalistic and quiet way It’s quiet that has hope, but it’s sad. We continue to perform, thousands of people are happy and enjoy it. There are many songs that Shlomo no longer sings or that he performs in a different style.”
“What was exceptional were the photographers, Elad Debi the chief photographer and with him Avital Davidson, Danor Glazer, Shahar Yerushalmi and Eli Zoran (Boza). They are an integral part and have been working with us for years. In the end they take close-ups of people they don’t know. Usually you don’t Filming an audience like that. But here they felt something completely mystical. You can really see what the people were going through, both in the performance and in the making of the film. They are the story, they lived This performance when it happened and in the film they continue to live it forever, even those who are not with us.”
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