The Grotesque Mirror: Nadav Lapid’s Yes! and the Unraveling of Moral Complicity
There’s something deeply unsettling about art that dares to reflect the unreflectable. Nadav Lapid’s Yes! is one such piece—a film that doesn’t just critique the Israeli regime but embodies its grotesque revelry. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Lapid avoids the trap of realism. Instead of a documentary-style exposé, he crafts a surreal, almost hallucinatory world that feels both alien and eerily familiar. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘If you can’t handle the truth, maybe you’ll recognize it in a funhouse mirror.’
The Dance of Complicity
At the heart of Yes! are Y and Yasmin, a couple desperately clawing their way into the Israeli elite. Personally, I think their story is a masterclass in moral contortionism. They’re not villains in the traditional sense—they’re just people trying to survive. But what Lapid brilliantly exposes is how survival, in this context, requires a kind of self-erasure. Their dance through Tel Aviv’s high society isn’t just physical; it’s a metaphor for the way individuals bend, twist, and ultimately break under the weight of systemic violence.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s portrayal of the elite. Taxidermied heads, boot-lickers, and pixelated faces of murderers—Lapid’s imagery is so over-the-top it’s almost comical. But that’s the point. What many people don’t realize is that satire like this isn’t just for laughs; it’s a weapon. By exaggerating the absurdity, Lapid forces us to confront the reality we’ve normalized. If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s grotesquerie isn’t just a stylistic choice—it’s a mirror held up to a society that’s lost its capacity for outrage.
The Chaos Within
The scenes with Y and Yasmin’s baby, Noah, are where the film’s psychological depth truly shines. Here’s where Lapid’s genius lies: he doesn’t just show us the external chaos of their lives; he makes us feel the internal chaos. The couple’s manic dancing, their inability to sit still—it’s as if the violence they’ve compartmentalized is leaking out, infecting even their most intimate moments.
In my opinion, this is where the film transcends its political commentary. It’s not just about Israel; it’s about the human condition under oppression. Y’s moment in the park, where he watches a man leap between metal poles while scrolling through news of Gaza, is a perfect example. The juxtaposition is jarring, but it’s also painfully relatable. How many of us have scrolled past atrocities while going about our day? What this really suggests is that complicity isn’t always active—sometimes it’s just the silence we choose to live with.
The Anthem of Denial
The climax of Yes!, where Y is commissioned to write a new national anthem, is both absurd and heartbreaking. What makes this scene so powerful is its subtlety. Y doesn’t hesitate; he doesn’t even consider the moral implications. His acceptance of the task isn’t just a personal failure—it’s a collective one. Lapid seems to be asking: What does it mean to create art in a genocidal regime? Is it collaboration, or is it a desperate attempt to reclaim humanity?
From my perspective, this raises a deeper question about the role of artists in times of crisis. Olivia Laing’s The Silver Book comes to mind here—the idea that filmmaking can be an exorcism. But Lapid’s exorcism feels more like a scream into the void. His maximalism, his refusal to soften the edges, is both alienating and necessary. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘If you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not paying attention.’
The Unraveling of Sanity
What’s most striking about Yes! is how it captures the slow unraveling of sanity in a society built on denial. Y and Yasmin aren’t monsters; they’re just people trying to hold it together. But their tatters are showing, and Lapid doesn’t let us look away. The final shot of Gaza, with trails of smoke stretching into the sky, is a gut punch. It’s not just a political statement—it’s a moral one.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Lapid positions Y and Leah away from the violence, yet still complicit in it. Their ignorance isn’t innocent; it’s a choice. And that’s the real horror of the film. It’s not the bombs or the boot-lickers—it’s the way we’ve learned to live with them.
Final Thoughts
Yes! is not an easy film to watch, and it’s not meant to be. Lapid’s satire is fearless, unbothered by the regime it captures. But what makes it truly remarkable is its humanity. Beneath the grotesquerie, the chaos, and the denial, there’s a profound sadness—a recognition that we’re all capable of complicity.
Personally, I think this film will divide audiences. Some will find its maximalism overwhelming, while others will see it as a necessary wake-up call. But one thing is certain: Yes! is a film that demands to be reckoned with. It’s not just a reflection of Israel; it’s a reflection of us all. And that, perhaps, is the most unsettling truth of all.
