From the East: Chantal Akerman and the Weight of Waiting
From the East is one of Chantal Akerman’s quietest works, yet it carries an immense sense of history. Filmed across Eastern Europe in the early 1990s, the film observes people standing, walking, waiting, and drifting through public spaces after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Nothing is explained, and nothing is rushed. What remains is time itself, shared between filmmaker, subject, and us.
Watching From the East feels less like following a story and more like entering a state of attention. Akerman places her camera at a respectful distance. People stand at bus stops, line up outside buildings, cross streets, or sit in silence. These moments repeat, not to make a point, but to let presence accumulate. Life is shown as it is lived between events.
The historical backdrop matters. The film was shot in countries adjusting to political change, economic uncertainty, and a fragile sense of direction. The Cold War had ended, but its structures had not disappeared overnight. Akerman does not name the cities or the countries. This choice avoids turning people into symbols. They are individuals caught in transition, waiting without spectacle.
What stays with you is the stillness. In many shots, nothing happens in the way cinema usually promises. No plot turns, no emotional cues, no release. Yet the longer the camera stays, the more visible small gestures become. A shift of weight. A glance toward the road. A shared cigarette. These details form a kind of social portrait built from patience.
Akerman’s approach belongs to what is often called slow cinema, though labels feel limiting here. Her pacing asks the viewer to slow their own rhythm. In contrast to today’s maximalist images, filled with speed, sound, and constant emphasis, From the East resists consumption. It does not compete for attention. It waits for it. This can feel challenging at first, especially for viewers used to constant stimulation, but the reward comes through presence rather than payoff.
Compared to later filmmakers influenced by minimalism, Akerman’s work feels less about aesthetic control and more about ethical distance. She does not intrude. The camera observes without forcing meaning. This restraint gives the people on screen a quiet dignity. They are not framed as victims or symbols of decline. They simply exist within a moment of history that has not yet settled.
Personally, the film invites reflection on how much of life is spent waiting. Not waiting for answers, but waiting for conditions to change. In a world that pushes us to move fast and explain ourselves, From the East reminds us that endurance is also a form of expression.
Also read: The Meetings of Anna (1978): Chantal Akerman and A Room of One’s Own