Tuesday, 9 March 2010

Jan-Christopher Horak And His Publications On Film Exile


Film-historian, film scholar and exile-research pioneer Jan-Christopher Horak

Jan-Christopher Horak has emerged as a leading figure in exile research. A committed, indefatigable, scholar, Horak’s contribution to exile research is manifold. To begin with, he was the first scholar to shed a light on the exiled film-artists, which, until then, had been neglected by exile researchers who were concerned primarily with the literary and academic emigration. Horak’s interest in the exiled film-artists was sparked while doing his MA on Ernst Lubitsch and the Founding of UFA at Boston University, from which he graduated in 1975. While his MA on Lubitsch kindled Horak’s interest in other Germans settling in Hollywood, it must not be overlooked that Horak himself is half-German (his mother is from Cologne) and that he was educated in the US as well as in Germany. Horak’s father, Czech by birth, is a concentration camp survivor who fled to West Germany after the putsch in Czechoslovakia in 1948. Hence I suggest, that Horak’s interest in exile research is a consequence of his background and upbringing. Furthermore, it is important to bear in mind that Horak’s preoccupation with exile research came at a crucial moment in German history, as a political shift to the left made itself felt in the country’s political and cultural landscape, subsequently provoking the scholarly examination of Germany’s Nazi past.

Following the completion of his MA, Horak received a grant from the American Film Institute, enabling him to conduct a series of oral histories by interviewing a number of émigrés, among whom were Douglas Sirk, Paul Andor, Johanna Kortner and Carl Esmond (formerly Willi Eichberger). Horak’s approach was entirely biographical at the time, as nothing had been done in the field of scholarly research among the exiled film-artists who fled Nazi-Germany for Hollywood. As such, his oral histories were a groundbreaking, pioneering effort which subsequently inspired fellow scholars to embark on a similar effort, for example, John Spalek, who would also conduct oral histories, although focussing on a different set of émigrés such as Miklos Rosza, Dolly Haas, the widow of Walter Reisch, etc. Horak’s oral histories were the basis for his article The Palm Trees Were Gently Swaying …(Image 23.1., 1980), which “is regarded as the first written publication on film emigration” (Horak XiX: 1984). His article, starting with a quote from Max Reinhard referring to the ‘wandering Jew’ and the age-old persecution of the Jews does not bear down on any particular aspect of emigration, but rather sets out to establish the parameters of exile in respects to the German-Jewish film-artists. Hence, Palm Trees … is an introduction, a general overview, of emigration, looking at the exigencies and consequences of exile such as the problem of language which, as a consequence, meant the loss of a readership for writers and it made it difficult for actors to find work because of their accents. Horak also touches on the visa regulations in various countries of exile as well as the journey of exile which in most cases did not lead directly to Hollywood but usually either via Vienna or Paris until political developments, such as the Anschluss or the outbreak of WWII, forced the émigrés to move on. Also briefly discussed are the restrictions technicians faced due to Hollywood’s union regulations, which, for instance, affected the cinematographers Eugen Schuefftan and Curt Courant, making it difficult for them to find work. Another issue he raises is the relative ease with which musicians such as Erich Wolfgang Korngold, Franz Waxman, Bronislau Kaper, Friedrich Hollaender, to name but a few, established themselves in Hollywood. As mentioned earlier, Palm Trees … was Horak’s first foray into the field of the exiled film-artists, and therefore his intention was not to zoom in on a particular aspect of exile as he would do later. Nor does he look at the influence the émigrés may have had on the film-industries of their respective host-country. As Horak himself elucidates, “To measure the influence of the Middle European émigrés on Hollywood in the 1930s and 1940s would be a much larger task than the one set forth here” (Horak 1980: 32). Since exile research was still in its infancy, with the material available extremely limited outside Horak’s own oral histories, it is not surprising that Palm Trees … should have its inadequacies; for example, Horak mentions Feuchtwanger and Werfel alongside Polgar, Mehring, Doeblin and Heinrich Mann, as having received a writer’s contract from the big studios, whereas we now know that the former two rejected these contracts outright as they were sufficiently independent financially to do without. These inadequacies notwithstanding, given that The Palm Trees … is a pioneering study it does cover a lot of ground, constituting Horak’s initial contribution to exile research as it marks the beginning of the scholarly examination of the exiled film-artists.

Fluchtpunkt Hollywood (Muenster: MAKS, 1984), published as an appendix to his doctoral thesis, can be regarded as an expansion of The Palm Trees Were Gently Swaying. However, with four years between them, Fluchtpunkt is vaster in scope, more comprehensive and detailed. It is worth mentioning in this context, that the first scholarly publications on film exile were beginning to appear, namely Maria Hilchenbach’s doctoral thesis Kino im Exil (Munich: K.G. Saur 1981) and Exil: Sechs Schauspieler aus Deutschland (Berlin: Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek, 1983). In other words, the field had been opened, with reliable data and facts on exile becoming more widely accessible as the number of primary literature increased. In Fluchtpunkt …, Horak looks at particular aspects of exile more closely, for example, emigration to Austria, Hungary, France and the UK, as these were the countries were most of the émigrés first sought refuge, making it clear that it were the political developments (e.g. yielding to Nazism by Austria and Hungary; invasion of France and the UK by Nazi-Germany) that forced the émigrés to move on to the US. He also takes into account the film-industries of both Germany and the US, looking at how they were linked and interacted prior to 1933, concluding that because they had close ties (e.g. Universal had offices in Berlin; Paramount part-financed German films; a number of notable German actors and directors were already well established in Hollywood; etc.) the subsequent immigration and integration was facilitated as, for instance, Hollywood already had a substantial German community by the time the majority of the émigrés arrived. Other aspects discussed in Fluchtpunkt omitted from Palm Trees … are, for instance, the various “waves of emigration” (e.g. the “first big wave” arrived following the Anschluss, the second after the outbreak of WWII), anti-Semitism and anti-German sentiments the émigrés faced in the US, the founding of the Hollywood-Anti-Nazi-League, etc. Certain topics receive more attention than others, such as the collaboration in both Europe and the US between Henry Koster, Joe Pasternak and Felix Jackson and the anti-Nazi films. While Fluchtpunkt … does not claim to examine the lives and contribution of the émigrés in detail, it constitutes an invaluable point of reference for any researcher, giving a clear and all-inclusive outline of exile in Hollywood and its consequences. Horak concludes by briefly looking at the topic of remigration which took place in only a small number of cases as, so he says, “In the world of the Heimat - and Heinz-Ruehmann films and the Conny-Froboess-Schlager, there was no room for people who had left Germany” (Horak 1984/ 2 : 37).

Horak’s second important contribution to exile research concerns the influence of the émigrés on the film-industry of their host countries. Following his MA on Ernst Lubitsch and the Founding of UFA, Horak went on to do a PhD at the University of Muenster, where he studied under Professor Winfried B. Lerg. His doctoral thesis, Anti-Nazi-Filme der deutschsprachigen Emigration ( Muenster: MAKS, 1984) is, as the title suggests, an examination of how the émigrés influenced and virtually created the genre of anti-Nazi films. To quote Horak, “once the biographical and filmographical facts are established, research can now move on to the next stage” (Horak 1984 1: XV). Hence, Anti-Nazi-Filme is a continuation of Horak’s preoccupation with exile, constituting the first scholarly attempt to assess the mark the émigrés left on the film industry of a host country, in this case the United States. As Horak points out in the introduction, his study “combines two areas of research which thus far have always been looked at separately - if at all - research on the German speaking emigration in Hollywood and research on American war propaganda” (Horak 1984 1: Xvii). He starts out on the premise that the contribution of the émigrés to the film industry of the United States made itself more felt in the anti-Nazi films than in any other genre, maintaining that “the influence of the emigrant film-artists in Hollywood should not be underestimated, since as Europeans, they were in the position to fill certain gaps in Hollywood’s film industry” (Horak 1984 1: XV). According to Horak, “of around 180 films, made between 1939 and 1945, which can be classified as anti-Nazi films, the émigrés contributed to sixty of them” (Horak 1984 1: 80). Horak surmises that even though the émigrés had a tendency to complain about the lack of realism in the anti-Nazi films, their input is nevertheless discernible. Not only did they manage to include in the narrative news from Nazi-occupied territory, gleaned from the exile press (e.g. Aufbau), but in some cases they even had their own experience to draw on, as in the case of Mortal Storm (USA 1940), which owes its accurate depiction of Nazi barbarity to the experiences of émigré screenwriters George Froeschel and Paul Hans Rameau, who had suffered at the hand of the Nazis. Anti-Nazi-Filme was a watershed in film history and exile research insofar as never before had the influence and contribution of the émigrés on the film industry of a host country been taken into account, much less the input of émigré-producers, something Horak also considers crucial in exile research as “they [the producers], more than anyone else, were in the position to find work for their fellow-émigrés” (Horak 1984 : XV). It is evident that Anti-Nazi-Filme was also meant to inspire and initiate other researchers to follow up on the ground Horak had broken, as happened, for instance, in the case of Helmut G. Asper.

Horak further investigated the émigrés’ influence on the film industry of the United States in his article Three Smart Guys (Film Criticsim, Vol. XI, nr.2, 1999), which was written in collaboration with Helmut G. Asper. Moving away from anti-Nazi films, the title of the article refers to the first of a string of films by émigré-director Henry Koster, starring Deanna Durbin, Three Smart Girls (USA 1936), a musical comedy which echoes Koster’s previous European films, and which, due to its commercial success, proved very influential. Like all its sequels, Three Smart Girls was produced by fellow-émigré Joe Pasternak, with whom Koster had already collaborated in Europe. The financial success of their film gave Koster and Pasternak enough clout to send for their partner, the screenwriter Felix Jackson, who was still in need of a visa. When Horak and Asper worked on their article, Horak was employed by Universal Studios as head of the archive department, granting him unrestricted access to the studio’s archives and records, which allows us to conclude that Three Smart Guys is based on archival facts and documents. Horak and Asper convincingly demonstrate how “three refuges from Adolf Hitler’s Germany [Henry Koster, Joe Pasternak, Felix Jackson] adapted themselves to the working methods of the studio system, while at the same time bringing to bear on their European heritage. In doing so, they not only influenced briefly the formation of a major American film genre, the musical comedy, through the discovery and nurturing of a young star [Deanna Durbin], but in the process also literally saved a major studio, Universal, from certain bankruptcy” (Asper & Horak 1999, 2: 135). Horak and Asper draw interesting parallels between the light, musical comedies Koster, Pasternak and Jackson had made in Europe and their subsequent Deanna Durbin pictures, illustrating how the latter were a continuation of the former, while replacing the stars of their European outputs - Franziska Gaal and Dolly Haas - with their American equivalent, Deanna Durbin. The article also exemplifies how the concept of Koster, Pasternak and Jackson, since it had proven so profitable, was emulated by studios such as MGM, thus underlining the impact the émigrés - and these three in particular - had on the US film industry.

With his chapter on Exilfilm in Geschichte des deutschen Films (Eds. Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler. Stuttgart, Weimar: Metzler, 1993), Horak’s contribution to exile research is twofold: to begin with, he introduces a first definition of exile film and furthermore, he redefines our present comprehension of national cinema. While essentially based on his previous publications, Fluchtpunkt … and Anti-Nazi-Filme … it is evident that with Exilfilm Horak’s preoccupations have shifted, his focus veering away from the émigrés themselves to questions concerning our understanding of exile. The first important point he raises is the definition of exile film as opposed to film exile. A question of definition that has received scant attention from film historians, film exile and exile film are two different entities, the former, according to Horak, denoting the actual duration of exile of the exiled film artist, while the latter specifically defines a film “that was made outside Germany after 1933, produced, directed, and written by German emigrants” (Horak, in Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler 1993 : 101). Demarcating exile film facilitates the identification of possible contributions and influences of the émigrés on the film industries of their respective host countries - be it France, the Netherlands, or the United States - by establishing the participation of the émigrés by film and examining those films for their genre specifics and for characteristics carried over from Weimar cinema. Horak maintains that “exile film is not a genre, since neither plot nor style have any particular characteristics; but because exile film is determined by the political and economic conditions under which it is produced, it constitutes a cinema of genres” (Horak in Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler 1993 : 106). A second, arguably more groundbreaking, point he raises in this chapter, is his claim that “exile film must be embedded in film history as a chapter that runs parallel to that of the Third Reich, as the film culture of ‘the other’, non-fascist, Germany” (Horak in Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler 102 : 1993), for, as Horak explains, “for a lot of German film-makers of the 1960s, the real German film history was not defined by the fathers, tainted by the Third Reich, but by émigrés like Fritz Lang and Lotte Eisner” (Horak in Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler 1993 : 102). Horak underlines this valid and important point by giving several examples, among which are genres in which the émigrés had already excelled during the Weimar period and which they imported abroad, for instance the Kostuemfilm (e.g. Mayerling, France 1935), or its subgenre, the biography film or biopic, which highlights this point in particular as several biopics, made by émigrés in Hollywood, were copied by Nazi Germany, albeit with an ideological bias for “… the US versions were based on scientific facts with the hero showing signs of human weaknesses, [while] the Third Reich counterparts appeal to irrationality, infallibility of genius” (examples: The Story of Louis Pasteur, USA 1935 vs. Robert Koch, Germany 1939; Dr. Ehrlich’s Magic Bullet, USA 1940 vs. Paracelsus, Germany 1943; etc. Horak in Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler 1993 : 109). In addition to that, a number of Hollywood films were based on German plays by émigré authors, e.g. Carl Zuckmayer’s Der Hauptmann von Koepenick which was released in the US as I Was A Criminal (USA 1945), involving a host of émigré-contributors, in this case Alfred Basserman (male lead), Richard Oswald (directing), Albrecht Joseph (screenplay), among others, proving Horak’s point that exile film and Third Reich film can not be separated and, in fact, are more closely linked than one is led to believe. Not only were the films, made in Hollywood by émigré-film-artists, copied by Nazi Germany, but the émigrés also imported the traditions of Weimar cinema into their host-countries whereby they influenced their respective film industries, resulting in an increasingly unsettled and fluctuating definition of national cinema as the boundaries between what is ’German’ and what is ’American’ (or ‘Dutch’, etc.) become almost indistinguishable. To quote Horak, “for the exiled film-artists, exile film, like exile literature and exile journalism, was a continuation of the democratic traditions of German culture, such as they were prior to Hitler’s rise to power” (Horak in Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler 1993 : 102). Exilfilm is a case in point of exile research being an ongoing process as increasing knowledge on exile requires new examination and as a continuous debate and analysis is bound to alter our understanding of exile and may subsequently lead to a shift in our reading of exile film.

With Sirk’s Early Exile Films: Boefje And Hitler’s Madmen (Film Criticism, Vol. XXIII, nr. 2-3, Winter - Spring 1999) Horak continues to assess the mark left by the émigrés on the film industries of their host countries, in this case the Netherlands and the United States. In this essay, Horak adjusts his previous definition of exile film, as stated in Exilfilm, slightly by adding that “In some cases, films can be considered to be the product of exile even if only the participating director and author, or producer and director, or producer and writer, were in exile. Other émigrés often worked behind the scenes in technical positions such as cameramen and designers” (Horak 1999 : 124). What is noteworthy about this statement is, firstly, that it ties in with what I put forward in the previous paragraph: exile research being an ongoing process, which, for all we know, may never be completed, thus apt to alter our views on exile and exile film by way of a continuous debate and examination. It is worth mentioning in this context, how this ongoing examination of exile film may also lead to a shift in how we read and interpret the narrative of a particular film. While in his erstwhile analysis of Boefje in Anti-Nazi Filme …, Horak focussed on the real-life events the film is based on (the massacre of Lidice by the Nazis), he is now preoccupied with the religious iconography in the film, concluding that “by appealing to the religious values of their American audience, they [émigré-producer Seymour Nebenzal and director Douglas Sirk) hope to create sympathy for the peoples of Europe” (Horak 1999 : 132). Although Horak does not specify what caused him to focus on Boefje’s religious iconography when reassessing the film, I suggest that multiple viewings, in addition to a more coherent understanding of Sirk’s life and work, invariably lead to a shift in interpreting his films. Secondly, the above statement is interesting insofar, as it points towards a further contribution Horak made to exile research as by shifting his focus - expanding the field of vision beyond directors, actors and screenwriters to technicians - he looks at people whose input and contribution to film in general, and exile film in particular, tends to be overlooked.

This shift of focus was already evident in Horak’s profile on the photographer and cinematographer Helmar Lerski, Avodah (Filmexil, nr. 11, Nov. 1998). In Avodah - Hebrew for work - Horak draws our attention to a contributor to German expressionist cinema whose input and involvement in films like Waxworks (Germany 1925), Die Perruecke (Germany 1924) and Der heilige Berg (Germany 1925) has also been ignored as film historians traditionally tend to focus the films‘, arguably more illustrious, directors. However, in Avodah Horak makes it strikingly clear that it is often those whose name and involvement in a film usually go unnoticed that contribute to a film’s lasting influence. Says Horak, “Sadly, Lerski’s cinematography in Waxworks received less attention than the expressionistic sets … for instance, had it not been for Lerski, the Jack-the-Ripper sequence could not have been filmed” (Horak 1998 : 10).

Seen in the context of his previous publications, Horak’s obituary for writer/ director/ screenwriter Curt Siodmak, In geistiger Freiheit (Film-dienst, Vol. LIII, nr. 20, Sept. 2000) is a continuance of his preoccupation with those émigrés who have been disregarded by exile research. The name Siodmak is usually associated with Curt’s more well-known brother, Robert. Horak writes of a lifelong rivalry between the two brothers, which went back to the time when they were still in Germany. Although there is no mention of the cause for this rivalry, nor does he offer any explanation why Robert’s name has burned itself into our memory far more distinctly than that of his brother’s, fact remains that Curt has thus far received scant attention from exile researchers, and that “although it is Curt’s creation, The Wolf Man (USA 1941), which seeped into America’s collective subconscious as a mythos” (Horak 16 : 2000). The obituary is full of unconcealed and unashamed praise - atonement, perhaps, for the fact that Horak himself only came to admire Curt Siodmak belatedly for when he started his oral histories programme back in 1975, he “did not venture to Three Rivers [Curt Siodmak’s home in California], not just because the $ 750 bursary was rather parsimonious, but also because I had not yet learned to appreciate Curt Siodmak” (Horak 16 : 2000). Horak talks about Curt Siodmak’s difficult relationship with Germany, which remained ambiguous throughout his life, something which was true for many of the émigrés. This, no doubt, also applies to Horak himself: German-born, to a German mother and a Czech father - a concentration camp survivor - Horak was raised and educated in Germany and the US, and to this day continues to work in both countries. Although Horak is not an émigré as such, his family background certainly resembles that of many an émigré. As a result, Horak’s empathy for the émigrés should not be underestimated. When Horak refers to Siodmak as a man with “two souls in his chest” (Horak 17 : 2000) one cannot help feeling that he is also referring to himself.

Taking into account Horak’s dual citizenship, his family history, and his education in both the US and Germany, it comes as no surprise that he should have made exile research his chief preoccupation, emerging as one of the leading figures therein. A pioneering scholar, to whom every subsequent exile researcher is indebted inasmuch as Horak paved the way by embarking on groundbreaking examination of the exiled film-artists at a time when no academic studies were available on this topic. As a great deal of émigrés were still alive when he embarked on exile research, he was able to rely on first-hand accounts. This, as we have seen, is Horak’s initial contribution to the field of exile research. Furthermore, by shifting his focus from the émigrés themselves to their creative output, he opened our eyes to their influence and the mark they left on the film industries of their respective host countries. It is important to mention in this context that Horak was the first to clearly define exile film, thus narrowing the field from a plethora of films to which a number of émigrés contributed by various degrees, to those in which the input of the émigrés is distinctly discernible. In addition to that, he draws our attention to the concept of national cinema, concluding that in the light of the substantial émigré contribution, its boundaries and its definition are blurred and thus open for debate. Lastly, by looking at the contribution of cinematographers to (exile-) film, Horak opened the field of vision beyond directors, screenwriters and actors to technicians.
In spite of Horak’s important contributions to exile research - or, possibly, because of them - there is still ample room for further exploration. For instance, organisations that evolved as a result of exile have thus far received scant attention from exile researchers, yet their role was pivotal and often crucial to the survival of the émigrés. Therefore, Horak’s contribution to exile research must be seen as an incentive, an inspiration, to follow his lead and continue further examining the field in which he pioneered.

Bibliography:
Horak, Jan-Christopher. The Palm Trees Were Gently Swaying. In: Image 23.1, 1980.
Horak, Jan-Christopher. Anti-Nazi Filme der deutschsprachigen Emigration von Hollywood 1939 - 1945. Muenster: MAKS, 1984.
Horak, Jan-Christopher. Fluchtpunkt Hollywood. Muenster: MAKS, 1984.
Horak, Jan-Christopher. Exilfilm. In: Geschichte des deutschen Films. Eds. Jacobsen, Kaes, Prinzler. Stuttgart, Weimar: Metzler, 1993.
Horak, Jan-Christopher. Avodah. In: Filmexil, nr. 11, Nov. 1998.
Horak, Jan-Christopher. Sirk’s Early Exile-Films: Boefje and Hitler’s Madman. In: Film Criticism, Vol. XXIII, nr 2-3, Winter-Spring 1999.
Horak, Jan-Christopher, Asper, Helmut G. Three Smart Guys: How a Few Penniless German Émigrés Saved Universal Studios. In: Film History, Vol. XI, nr. 2 (1999, 2).
Horak, Jan-Christopher. In geistiger Freiheit. In: Film-dienst, Vol. LIII, nr. 20 (Sept. 2000).

Filmography:
Borzage, Frank, Mortal Storm, USA 1940
Dieterle, William, Dr. Ehrlich’s Magic Bullett, USA 1940
Dieterle, William, The Story of Louis Pasteur, USA 1935
Franck, Arnold, Der heilige Berg, Germany 1925
Koster, Henry, Three Smart Girls, USA 1936
Leni, Paul, Waxworks, Germany 1924
Lerski, Helmar, Avodah, Palestine 1935
Litvak, Anatole, Mayerling, France 1935
Murnau, Friedrich-Wilhelm, Nosferatu, Germany 1922
Oswald, Richard, I Was A Criminal, USA 1945
Pabst, G.W., Paracelsus, Germany 1943
Sirk, Douglas, Hitler’s Madman, USA 1943
Sirk, Douglas, Boefje, Netherlands 1939
Steinhoff, Hans, Robert Koch, Germany 1939
Viertel, Berthold, Die Perruecke, Germany 1925
Waggner, George, The Wolf Man, USA 1941

Monday, 1 March 2010

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, David Fincher, USA 2008


The Curious case of Forrest Gump

Button has all the makings of an Oscar winner: an iconic, heart-rending backdrop in the form of the hurricane Katrina, a tragic love story between two beautiful people at the centre, misty and nostalgically beautiful imagery, and, last but not least, a loving and caring African-American mama at the heart of the story which - with Obama now president - may amplify the story’s resonance with the audience. Or so Fincher thought.

And yet - what does the film actually tell us?

Not having read Fitzgerald’s short story on which the film is based, I can’t know what he himself has to say about a man who is born old and grows gradually younger - what prompted him to write the story in the first place - but in Fincher’s film at least, there doesn’t seem to be any point to the story at all other than, perhaps, that there is only a short time in the relationship between two people when their love is at full bloom, when they are, in fact, fully compatible - at precisely the point when their ages cross in his process of getting younger and hers of getting older - and that what comes before and after is best forgotten. Even that, however, seems a moot point since it didn’t require a story like Button to point that out, and much less one that comes along so heavy-handed and that takes itself so seriously.
There are only a few moments when the film really comes to life, when it sheds its seriousness, and when all of a sudden it doesn’t matter anymore whether the story makes sense or not because it has discarded its self-importance and pompousness and taken on the mantle of a light, beautifully told, fairy-tale - and that’s when Tilda Swinton makes her appearance, adding some much needed spice to Fincher’s tedious, stale and overly long film.

As if to inject some ‘deeper meaning‘ to the story, Fincher has thrown in a little reference to Run Lola Run (Germany 1998) by speculating on what might have happened if … (and here I deliberately refrain from further elaboration as this will spoil the film for future viewers). This scene, however, seems totally disjointed from the rest of the film and certainly doesn’t add anything to further its story, let alone really inject it with ’deeper meaning’. The same goes for the ending, where in a sudden burst of philosophical deliberation, Benjamin dwells on the meaning of life for each individual.

One cannot help thinking that if Fincher had simply stuck to recounting an old-fashioned, conventionally told, love story rather than trying far too hard to be meaningful, he might have had a film, particularly when taking into account the considerable talent he had at his disposal. As is, Button comes across as a pretentious, hollow, experience that will only be remembered for its similarities to Forrest Gump (USA 1994), another film where the hero stumbles through American and world history with similar detachment, although, for all its sentimentality, Zemeckis’ film has a lightness which Fincher’s film doesn’t.


The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is out on DVD.

Wednesday, 24 February 2010

Revolutionary Road, Sam Mendes, US/ UK 2008


I recently watched Sam Mendes' Revolutionary Road for the first time, having been quite reluctant to watch it all, since I'm such an admirer of Yates' book. And, perhaps inevitably, I've come to the conclusion that the problem with Mendes’ film is not that it is a bad one, but rather that it is ultimately inferior to the book it is based on. Although literature and film are two different entities and should be treated as such, even if one is based on the other, Yates’ book is so ‘alive’, so filmic, so rich in images - with, paradoxically very little action - that one’s imagination is switched on to the hilt while reading it. And needless to say, one’s own images hardly ever match those of the finished film and as a result, watching the film can only be a disappointment. Another glitch Mendes had to face was the fact that the book is full of inner thought, monologue and dialogue - something that is very tricky to translate into the language of film. Hence, considering the richness of the book’s, shall we say, ‘non-verbal action’, using a voice-over narrator would have solved that problem elegantly.

Regarding the plot itself, there is, what I think, a very significant omission, and that’s the childhood and upbringing of both, April and Frank Wheeler. It is important for the viewer to have this background information as this explains, for instance, why Frank is so easily dissuaded from their plan of moving to Paris as Yates illustrates so plausibly in his book how man has a tendency to -subconsciously - replicate the lives of their parents. April, on the other hand, having been raised by relatives, with her father mostly absent and a mother who succumbed to alcoholism, has had an entirely different upbringing from Frank’s. And this may make it so difficult for her to lead the kind of suburban conventionality that Frank appears to be contented with - for their childhoods are almost at opposites ends from each other. Thus April, like so many women whose father was mostly absent - Bette Davis, Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Crawford, Romy Schneider, to name only some of the most famous examples - aspires to become an actress: a shattered dream, to be replaced by another, almost equally ambitious one: the dream of moving to Paris (without having a job or speaking French!).

So much for the differences between the book and the film. Looking at the film itself and pretending not to know the book - which is literally impossible as the images from Yates’ book are still so vividly present in my mind - it must be repeated that Revolutionary Road is certainly not a bad film, even though my review may make it sound like one, and, perhaps, as careful an adaptation of the novel as possible. Kate Winslet as April is superb, infinitely superior to DiCaprio, and, to me, most definitely the film’s highlight. She carries the film. The film’s production values - camera, lighting, costumes - are unobtrusively appropriate, however, Thomas Newman’s music isn’t. His score is boring and uninventive and it’s a shame that in spite of the film’s promising trailer - which used Nina Simone’s hauntingly beautiful Wild is the Wind - Newman didn’t manage to come up with something more inspiring, something that may have, if not furthered, at least matched, the plot better than the trivial music he composed for Mendes’ film. It’s a far cry from his masterful score for American Beauty. Music in a film - its score - should either be used in a way that you don’t notice it at all, or, if you do, it has to underscore the narrative. In this instance, the music is there all the time, yet it its function is unclear as it seems like a separate entity that was written for another film or, perhaps, not even any film at all.


Revolutionary Road is now out on DVD.

Saturday, 20 February 2010

And the Golden Bear of the Berlin Film Festival goes to ...

.. the German-Turkish production Bal (Honey), by Semih Kaplanoglu, seen here with Jury President Werner Herzog:

One surprise award during the ceremony went to Roman Polanski - who ridiculously enough is still under house arrest in Gstaad, Switzerland - who was awarded the Silver Bear for Best Director for the French/ German/ UK co-production The Ghostwriter.

Thursday, 18 February 2010

Jud Suess - Film ohne Gewissen, Oskar Roehler, Germany 2010


The film's poster for the UK and US markets

Oskar Roehler's highly anticipated film that revolves around the actor Ferdinand Marian who in Veit Harlan's infamous Nazi propaganda film of 1940, Jud Suess, played the central role of Joseph Suess Oppenheimer, who in the 18th century was the financial adviser of Duke Karl Alexander of Wuerttemberg. In 1925, the German writer Lion Feuchtwanger wrote a historical novel on Suess in which he examines the latent anti-Semitism that led to Suess' arrest and, eventually, to his death at the gallows. Harlan's film, which was made on the instigation of Goebbels himself, is supposed to be based on Feuchtwanger's novel. However, crucial elements of Feuchtwanger's novel had been omitted and distorted in order to correspond with the racial and ideological principles of Nazi Germany.

Tobias Moretti and Moritz Bleibtreu in Oskar Roehler's Jus Suess - Film ohne Gewissen

Ironically, Roehler's film - although, needless to say, far from being a propaganda film - also immediately sparked considerable controversy because of distortion. However, in this case the distortion relates to Ferdinand Marian's life and the background surrounding him being cast as Suess. According to Roehler, these changes were made to 'make the film more entertaining', as Roehler himself put it during the press conference. He stressed that he deliberately avoided sticking too close to the facts as his intention was not to make a documentary. Nevertheless, the liberties by Roehler and his scriptwriter have taken in their approach prompted the Berlin-based daily Tagesspiegel to write that Roehler's film 'turns an accomplice into a victim'.

During the press conference Roehler also stressed that he intended to inject his film with a fair amount of satire as, first of all, looking at Goebbels and his cronies from today's point of view, they do indeed seem like clowns, making it unfathomable how a whole nation could actually be brought to blindly follow them and fall for their insidious and ultimately murderous intentions. While this seems to make sense - although I'd have to first see the film before passing final judgment - the explanation for the distortion of certain historical facts for entertainment purposes seems much less convincing.

Director Oskar Roehler on the set of Jud Suess - Film ohne Gewissen, flanked by Martina Gedeck and Moritz Bleibtreu


Roehler's film has its official world premiere tonight at the Berlinale Palast in the presence of Oskar Roehler and the principal cast which includes German thesps Tobias Moretti, Martina Gedeck, Justus von Dohnanyi and Moritz Bleibtreu.

Monday, 15 February 2010

Reflections On The Lives Of Others, Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, Germany 2005


It's Oscar time again, and with Germany nominated yet again makes me reflect on the last time a German film won for Best Foreign Language Film, which was Donnersmarck's highly acclaimed The Lives of Others, in 2005. Writing or reflecting on the Oscars requires to take them seriously in the first place, which, frankly, I don’t, for that would also require me to accept that a film such as, say Braveheart (MelGibson; USA 1995) is the best film to come out of the US in that particular year, and that I can’t, when in fact, I considered Sense and Sensibility (Ang Lee; USA 1995) to be far superior. However, since we’re at it (and so is everybody else) - let’s talk Osacr’s!

What I did rejoice in that year, though, is the fact that The Lives of Others beat its main contender Pan’s Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro; Mexico 2006), a film I deem entirely unworthy of the hype and buzz that surrounded it on the run-up to the Oscars as Carlos Saura had already tackled a similar issue (a child coping with the exigencies of fascism by fleeing into a fantasy world) in his masterpiece Cria Cuervos (Spain 1975) in a far cleverer, far subtler way, by finding a cinematic language which, by puzzling the viewer also challenged him, thus giving him much food for thought and something to ‘take home’ instead of presenting all the answers on a platter as Toro does in his film. Pan, to me, simply is another sign of our times in which easily digestible images have precedence over content. Therefore, I dubbed Pan a Lord of the Rings set in fascist Spain.

Needless to say, The Lives of Others isn’t exactly what I’d call demanding on the viewer, either. However, unlike Pan, it is a film that has no pretence and simply sets out to tell a story - and Donnersmarck tells his story well. Moreover, it is a story that needed to be told on a topic that has so far received scant attention from filmmakers. Therefore, unlike Pan, Donnersmarck’s film has none to compare it with as he stepped on new territory. No surprise then, that a variety of Hollywood’s premier filmmakers, among them the late Sydney Pollack, are - or were - in negotiations with Donnersmarck to do a Hollywood remake of the story. This I have yet to comprehend for if anything, Donnersmarck’s film is in fact a Hollywood film made in Germany, and I don’t mean it in a derogatory way, for where Hollywood filmmakers (as well as American writers) excel in comparison to their German counterparts, is in telling stories. The best Hollywood films are simply stories - that is, with a beginning, a middle, and an end - told well. As such, The Lives of Others like other German films that have made in onto the international circuit of late, such as Goodbye Lenin, The Downfall, or Sophie Scholl - The Last Days, are remarkable insofar as previously the German films that received international attention - and were subsequently showered with awards - were films which at home hardly anybody saw: Wings of Desire(Wim Wenders, W Germany 1987), Fitzcarraldo (Werner Herzog; W Germany 1982), Germany, Pale Mother(Helga Sanders-Brahms, W Germany 1981), etc. What seems to have changed is that the films that now not only scoop awards in the festival circuit, but also get distributed outside Germany, are films that were box-office successes at home and abroad and they are by and large critically acclaimed in all territories. The Lives of Others received rave reviews in the US and France, and so did Goodbye Lenin. Their box-office success is legend : Donnersmarck's film has an accumulated box-office record of $19m, which, for a film with a reported budget of only $ 2,0, is no mean feat. Of course, the French still have trouble coming to terms with this new German phenomenon. As a press agent of a French distributor once told me, ‘German films are at the same time too close and too far away from home’, referring to France. Hence the fact that German films are still far less popular in Cannes than they are with the French public at large, not to mention with the members of the Academy, for let’s not be fooled: it would be quite a stretch to talk of any German film in terms of being a box-office hit in the US. But then, the same could be said about almost any foreign film shown in the US, Almodovar’s films and a few others excepted.

Still, one can’t but wonder what happened to make German fare so popular all of a sudden …? Is it the fact that since Dieter Kosslick has taken over the Berlin International Film Festival and established a side-section called, ‘Perspective German Film’, German cinema receives more attention as it has a platform again by making new local product accessible to foreign distributors? Or is it that German films are really that much better, or more interesting, than they were previously? Or has the perception of Germany and German films shifted to such a degree that it’s become ‘hip’ (again) to watch a German film? Or is it because German films have found a way of blending conventional Hollywood story-telling with topics from their own backyard (e.g. the Third Reich, the separation and subsequent reunification of East and West), thus making the stories more accessible to the average viewer? In an article in the FAZ following Donnersmarck’s win, the writer deplores the fact that ‘unlike other contenders for Best Foreign Language Film‘, The Lives of Others is far more conventionally told’, something he blames on the fact that ‘what the Academy expects of German films are films that deal with Germany’s history’. Although there is some truth in it, as indeed, the only German film ever to be nominated for an Oscar that did not have a historical topic was Caroline Link’s Beyond Silence(Germany 1996), a film I deemed mediocre and luckily it lost out to Netherland‘s entry, Character, Donnersmarck’s film marks a departure insofar as it is the first German film to win that does not revolve around the Third Reich.

A film which, unfortunately, was entirely overlooked by the Academy (as well as by the European Film Academy and the German Film Academy) is Requiem (Hans-Christian Schmid; Germany 2006), although it is arguably a better film and one, I might add, that does indeed have a historical subtext, albeit a vague and subtle one, for what are we to make of Michaela/ Sandra Hueller’s parents if not regarding their bigotry, their obedience, their orderliness, in fact their whole demeanour , particularly, the mother’s, as the very prerequisites that made the Third Reich possible? But this subtle undercurrent may well have been too discrete for audiences to pick up on. This subtleness, the bleakness that permeates the whole film, its off-bear character, would indeed have made it an ideal contender for Cannes - had it not been shown at the Berlinale earlier. Unlike any other organisation the Association of German Film Critics voted it the Best German film of the year. Alas, since the creation of the German Film Academy, modelled on its American counterpart, their weight in the German film industry has become negligible. It seems, that this is just another indicator that at least on a certain level, German Film has gone down the American way altogether, starting with the fact that a great many German filmmakers and actors are now working on both continents (Franka Potente, Daniel Bruehl, Martina Gedeck, Oliver Hirschbiegel, Marco Kreuzpaintner, etc.) to the way we tell our stories, of which The Lives of Others is just one example, and which includes Goodbye Lenin and Sophie Scholl - The Last Days. Personally, I don’t necessarily consider this, shall we say,‘Hollywood approach’ to be a bad thing as long as there continues to be a diversity, and room for filmmakers like Haisenberg, Petzold, Dresen, and Veiel, who counterbalance this trend by telling their own, small, although by no means insignificant, stories.

That said, why Donnersmarck found it necessary in his Oscar acceptance speech to extend his thanks to his American distributor and to governor Schwarzenegger is a mystery indeed. For me, it put a damper on the film’s win since I couldn’t help thinking of Volker Schloendorff’s acceptance speech in 1980 when he won for The Tin Drum, a speech that was humble, moving, and rendered with much less arrogance.

Friday, 12 February 2010

Berlinale: World Premiere of Roman Polanski's The Ghost Writer (France/ Germany/ UK, 2009)

Polanski's eagerly awaited The Ghost Writer premiered a few hours ago at Berlin's Berlinale Palast. Fuelled by all the buzz surrounding Polanski's recent arrest in Switzerland, The Ghost Writer has received a lot of advance publicity, which according to some critics is wholly undeserved. The worst review to date came from Variety's Derek Elley, who wrote that 'the best thing that can be said about the film is that viewers don't need to read the novel' as it is a word-for-word adaptation from Robert Harris' book. However, it's not all doom and gloom for Polanki's film as several German critics have given it favourable reviews. S. Vahabzadeh, for instance, who writes for the influential Sueddeutsche Zeitung, gave it three stars out of three. And although Kirk Honeycutt, writing for the Hollywood Reporter, was slightly less enthusiastic, overall his review at least makes you want to see the film, whereas Elley just dismisses it entirely, including its box office prospects. This phenomenon has always puzzled me: What is the point of predicting a film's box office potential? Or worse: Of not even giving it a chance? What purpose does this serve? All it does, is discouraging potentially interested distributors from buying the rights for their respective territories and keeping movie goers away from the screen. It seems to me that while any film critic is of course entitled to their own opinion and needless to say, also has the right to express it, predicting a film's failure is counter-productive to the industry - and art form! - they are supposed to serve, embrace, and love. People, including Variety's own Peter Bart, looking for the answer to the question of 'Who Killed Hollywood?', as is the title of one of Bart's books, need look no further: It's the box-office obsession by studios, producers, and obviously certain critics, but while the fear of the former regarding a film's reception is understandable, why a critic should want to kill a film before it's even opened is beyond me.




Pierce Brosnan, Ewan McGregor and Olivia Williams attending the world premiere of Roman Polanski's The Ghost Writer on Friday, 12 February 2010 at Berlin's Berlinale Palast.