And so ended the BFI’s excellent Weimar Cinema season and
all thanks to Margaret Deriaz for programming so many of the best and most
representative films of the period. Some of my favourites have of course been
Pabst’s and this film shows the director at his subtle best turning what could
have been a light romantic tale into an intense psycho-drama that plumbs the
depths of naughty, bawdy, gaudy, snorty Berlin club culture.
Pabst brings out the very best of Brigitte Helm as he did
with a nervy Garbo and a fearless Brooks, with a mix of instruction, editing
and the flying camerawork of Theodor Sparkuhl. She’s almost ever-present and we
see every delicate transition as she flits from intense frustration to anger,
from desire to fear, hate to love… her body thrown into acute angles just as her
unique features shift through gears most of us don’t have. She’s the only thing
really happening in the film which is a minimalist story of suburban
disconnection stirring horrific extremes in her character Irene Beck.
Pabst digs into her portrayal and the tension is not just
surface but disturbed. Helm was a relatively inexperienced actress at this
point, just one year on from Maria but she had already worked with Pabst on Die
Liebe der Jeanne Ney and there was obviously a connection with the actress
willing to commit so much. Occasionally she over-steps but quickly corrects and
is always inhabited by the moment; a true “silent actress” supple and sensuous whether
tortured or teasing.
But yes, Gustav Diessl is also in it as her neglectful
husband Thomas and he’s full of dark-eyed tricks of his own. He too can
transmit mixed signals and come over all doe-eyed destroyed seconds after being
in control… he’s a very shadowy presence next to Brigitte’s shining light but… casting,
lighting, directing will all do that for you.
Thomas is, heh, married to his work and won’t show Irene much
attention let alone a good time and their young marriage has hit the rocks at
just the wrong point. Irene is much too much to not be noticed and artist Walter
Frank (Jack Trevor) can’t help but be drawn to her… constantly sketching his
affection in a studio dominated by her image. Irene and Walter plan an escape
but Thomas spots the clues and arrives just in time to bring his wife back.
Irene is not to be constrained and breaks away to find
her friends, led by Liane (Joyless Street’s Hertha von Walther) in a nightclub.
This “den of iniquity” as Councillor Möller (Fritz Odemar) calls it, offers all
kinds of temptation and as Irene sits knocking back the champagne her eye is
caught by a lone woman, Anita Haldern (Ilse Bachmann). Eventually she follows
her behind a curtain emerging somewhat refreshed by powders unknown as Pabst
ticks off as many illicit activities as he can.
Irene dances, flirts with a boxer Sam Taylor (Nico Turoff)
– who couldn’t be more different than Thomas, and makes sure Walter also sees
her independence. It’s a heck of a night and Sparkuhl’s camera draws us, hand-held,
into the heart of the action, inebriating the viewer with images.
No less impressive is the scene once Irene gets home to
find Thomas lying still in the darkness; the couple re-unite and all seems
forgiven until Thomas spots the very odd hairy-chested man-doll Irene had been
given at the club. It doesn’t look much to me but as a token of unabashed male
sexual interest it’s clear enough to him. The row resumes and the new dawn fades…
Irene now begins a liaison with Boxer Sam who we see soaring
in a display of the animalistic masculinity Thomas does not provide, and as he
asks Walter to draw her picture, it looks like artist vs athlete unless Thomas
the Accountant can intervene…
Ultimately the “devious” path is more about truth and fidelity
than sex, drugs and nightclubbing and is very engaging, emotionally heightened cinema
that relies on the depth of feeling rather than drama. It looks sensational partly
because both Brigitte and Gustav do, and this new restoration, shown at last
year’s Berlinale shows this off to maximum effect.
Of course, the experience was also enhanced by another of
Stephen Horne’s emotionally-intelligent accompaniments – as fluid as Fräulein
Helm and dark and serious as Herr Diesel. A subtle mix of strong lines and
syncopated sympathy one senses that Stephen may have played in more than a few Berlin
bars…
Two months and a couple of dozen superb films, the BFI’s
Weimar Season has been the best silent film strand in my time – I’m a very late
adopted having started in 2010. The audience seem to have been there and we
have enjoyed the show.
Ich danke dir Margaret und dem BFI!
Interiors...
Interiors...
Close-ups...
Obsession...
Disdain...
Nightclubbing...
And?
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