Getting old isn’t for sissies, the saying goes. But if you survived the Holocaust, you can deal with pretty much anything.
That’s the overriding, albeit unspoken philosophy of the cast-iron old-timers who’ve spent their summers at the Four Seasons Lodge in the Catskills since 1979. They may kvetch and bicker, but they don’t ask for anybody’s sympathy.
This iconoclastic band of outsiders is profiled with unmitigated affection and respect in “Four Seasons Lodge,” a bittersweet, life-affirming documentary by New York Times writer Andrew Jacobs.
“Four Seasons” screens twice next weekend in the Mill Valley Film Festival.
Jacobs’ defiantly unhurried debut is that uncommon film that manages to exert a pull, and hold our interest, without any of the tried-and-true documentary hooks. It doesn’t expose an egregious injustice or grave social ill, nor does it drive headlong toward a life-changing showdown or competition.
All it’s got are brittle, uncompromising characters. Despite their harrowing tales of enduring the camps, they aren’t the most unforgettable people you’ll ever meet. Yet “Four Seasons Lodge” manages to draw us in without a smidgen of cuddliness or cutesiness, and makes us want to know these tough birds better.
Hymie Abramovitz and Carl Potok, the men who’ve run the lodge for years, are the affable glue that keeps the place together. They are the most diplomatic and accommodating guys around, yet one wonders how much longer they’ll be physically able to do all the maintenance and ancillary chores.
It’s not a big concern, we soon realize, for the resort is opening for what is to be its final season. As the “campers” start to arrive, the joy of reunion is tempered by the palpable sense of an era coming to an end.
The lodge has served as a favored refuge for people whose anguish at enduring a Nazi concentration camp — and losing their entire family at a young age — was, and is, beyond the grasp of anyone who didn’t suffer the same degradation and tragedy.
These survivors made a pretty good life in the decades after the war, but they never escaped the shadow of the Holocaust. Therapy? Shmerapy. Talking to another survivor was different, though. And if there was a bottle or two of schnapps, so much the better.
The lodgers, originally from Poland, Austria and Hungary, forged a unique and precious bond thanks to their shared experiences. It’s abundantly clear that the Four Seasons was an important part of their adult years.
Even now, they are OK relating painful old memories to each other, but not so much to the camera.
Watching these septuagenarians and octogenarians (and older), one could easily think that they are the last tough Jews in America. Their generation, like none since, was forged in fire, and they remain feisty and unbowed to the end.
Of course, they can’t avoid the myriad health problems associated with aging, or the loneliness that follows the loss of a spouse. Jacobs plainly admires his subjects, but he doesn’t shy away from reality.
Short on incident and drama, “Four Seasons ” is more of a slice of life and a character study. It moves at the pace of its characters’ lives, content to immerse us in their rhythms.
It’s well known that the number of Holocaust survivors is rapidly dwindling. Without being gloomy or maudlin, “Four Seasons Lodge” makes us feel as if it’s happening before our eyes.
“Four Seasons Lodge” screens at 12 p.m. Oct 11 and 2:30 p.m Oct. 12 at the Smith Rafael Film Center in San Rafael. Tickets are $10 to $12.50 and are available at (877) 874-6833 or www.mvff.com.