Is the idea of evil's everyday nature still worth debating? Philosopher Hannah Arendt first applied the term to Nazi official Adolf Eichmann's unremarkable demeanor. Today NAZA features masked Israeli intelligence operatives describing their distant role in Gaza operations. One participant draws a parallel to Nazi Germany, a link that sparks debate yet comes from within the group. Their ordinariness feels contemporary and recognizable. These speakers are educated, urban professionals who describe themselves as progressive and tolerant. In short, they resemble typical readers of thoughtful journalism.

One of them even states outright that the campaign amounts to genocide.

Directors Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor have created a deeply unsettling work. Yet similar shocks have come from earlier films that let perpetrators describe their deeds, a category sometimes labeled perpetrator cinema. Joshua Oppenheimer's 2013 release The Act of Killing presented members of Indonesian death squads from the 1960s and earned widespread praise. Its relevance has only grown sharper since.

Earlier, Errol Morris examined American soldiers involved in the Abu Ghraib scandal in Standard Operating Procedure. Dramatic treatments such as Jonathan Glazer's The Zone of Interest, showing an Auschwitz commandant's domestic life, fit the pattern as well. Glazer serves as executive producer on NAZA, which carries a Guardian credit.

Recurring questions run through these projects. Who actually carries out crimes against humanity? The answers remain unsettled. NAZA shows ambitious Tel Aviv professionals who reference the October 7 attacks as rationale. Standard Operating Procedure features rank-and-file troops from the war on terror. The Act of Killing shows aging enforcers restaging their killings of activists as scenes from gangster films. Theatrics emerge from moral emptiness.

The images stay with viewers long after, even when words fail. Roger Ebert once described cinema as an empathy device, yet these works disrupt that process. How does one relate to figures who display little regret?

For some viewers NAZA raises extra difficulties. Israeli authorities have discussed removing citizenship from Abraham and Szor and issued other warnings. Even distant audiences find the material taxing. Viewers may feel distress while recognizing how protected that distress remains. The notion of shared responsibility may surface.

Perpetrator cinema reaches beyond questions of responsibility. It seeks to understand the person who commits the act. On the Jewish Currents podcast, Oppenheimer discussed this goal: understanding large-scale crimes requires examining the individuals who perform them.

Alternatively, perhaps actions alone reveal enough about mass killers. The Act of Killing drew sharp criticism in 2013, with one prominent British documentarian labeling it a snuff film. Oppenheimer later released The Look of Silence, focused on survivors. NAZA has drawn advance objections from Palestinian voices such as poet Mosab Abu Toha, who noted that Gazans have already recorded the recent years. He asked what new element the film supplies.

Under this view NAZA is faulted for centering the perpetrator and granting a platform that might belong instead in a courtroom. Yet another blunt question lingers: what motivates the participants to speak?

In Killing Anna, Syrian officers were drawn into recorded conversations by an academic posing as a regime supporter. Most subjects in these films know they are being filmed. One might expect tearful admissions. The reality differs.

Participants in Standard Operating Procedure edged toward regret but mostly offered justifications. They received payment for their time, adding another layer of ethical tension. Oppenheimer discovered that his subjects in The Act of Killing expressed open satisfaction rather than remorse. They assumed an American filmmaker would endorse their actions against leftists. Abraham has noted that some NAZA interviewees spoke from a position far from regret. The issue of involvement arises once more. Should filmmakers pursue such material?

Absence of remorse carries consequences. One Indonesian subject in The Act of Killing remarks that victors define war crimes. In these films the power to define shifts. Oppenheimer achieved this by allowing subjects to expose their inner states. NAZA uses rigorous reporting to elicit statements that reveal an absence of conscience.

Palestinian testimonies from Gaza have often been overlooked. The Israeli government's reaction to this Israeli-made film is revealing. Beyond threats to the directors, officials released a competing video titled Naza: The Real Story in an attempt to regain narrative control.

A filmmaker's position can prove essential. Adriana's Pact featured Chilean director Lissette Orozco interviewing her aunt, suspected of ties to Pinochet's secret police. Once confirmed, the aunt's furious reaction to perceived family disloyalty became central. NAZA gains access because its makers are Israeli, a connection that would likely be absent otherwise.

Beyond access, their identity demonstrates that Israelis can still reject current policies. While valuable internationally, these films carry greatest weight inside the societies they examine. Official Indonesian accounts once echoed the gangsters' claims of eliminating communists. Oppenheimer distributed his film freely there. NAZA challenges the notion that such acts stem only from fringe extremists. Perpetrator cinema directs attention toward higher authorities whose deceptions are exposed.

Viewed this way, a measure of optimism appears. Yet these works counsel restraint. Commercial films often supply emotional resolution. Here resolution stays out of reach. Near the close of The Act of Killing, one of the more approachable subjects begins to gag, as though his body seeks to reject its history, yet nothing emerges. Watching NAZA, viewers recognize that events in Gaza continue.

The specific hope these films offer is narrower. On the Jewish Currents podcast, Palestinian filmmaker Rami Younis recalled a conversation with director Hany Abu-Assad, whose work had been criticized for humanizing Israeli officers. Abu-Assad asked what happens when an enemy is continually portrayed as less than human, and what that does to the portrayer.

Humanizing usually suggests softening. NAZA and The Act of Killing show that humanity includes the capacity for harm. They also supply a means of resistance. The perpetrator refuses to recognize shared humanity with the target. Perpetrator cinema instead invites close examination of people with whom we prefer no connection, and affirms that we remain human, however disturbing that recognition becomes.