Showing posts with label Gustav Diessl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gustav Diessl. Show all posts

Friday, 9 October 2020

Verzweifelte hausfrau… Abwege (1928), with Mauro Colombis, Pordenone Day Six


I saw this film as part of last year’s BFI Weimar Season but couldn’t resist the chance to see the restored version again, with tints and crystal clarity, and also to “remaster” my own thoughts on a film that gets less attention than most of Pabst's output. Made between The Love of Jeanne Ney and Pandora’s Box it certainly has neither the dramatic sweep of the former nor the mythic intensity of the latter, but it’s nearly on a level in subtler ways. There's always less at stake but the enduring happiness of two - or more - people is always watching out for.

 

The director turns 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 in ways that are less dramatically extreme but all the more believable. The film was entitled The Devious Path for the English market but the Giornate’s director Jay Weissberg is not alone in prefering the literal translation of A Stray which is far less judgemental and more reflective of the film’s point.  

 

Pabst certainly brought 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, who’s camera “…is as unchained as Brigitte Helm’s character...” especially as it moves in the midst of her wild dancing at the nightclub, inhibitions all lost. Helm is 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.


Brigitte

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 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.


Brigitte Helm and Gustav Diessl

Thomas is married to his work and won’t show Irene much attention let alone a good time and their union 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 to draw her and to 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.


Off to the powder room...

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, first shown at the 2018 Berlinale shows this off to maximum effect.


Local lad, Mauro Colombis, sent his recorded accompaniment from Australia, and it matched Pabst’s tonal subtlety in ways that were unexpected with rich melodic lines that were perfectly attuned to the torments and sweeping desired on screen. This online Limited Edition of Le Giornate has served to highlight the players more than usual and whilst a  virtual audience can never match the atmosphere of a live one, spirits across the globe must have been lifted by this new combination of music and movement.




Saturday, 6 July 2019

Desperate housewife… The Devious Path/Abwege (1928), with Stephen Horne, BFI Weimar Season


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...


Close-ups...


Obsession...


Disdain...


Nightclubbing...




And?

Monday, 4 December 2017

Das Buch über Pandora… Pandora's Box (1929), with Stephen Horne and Pamela Hutchinson, Phoenix Cinema


Once more out of The Box my friends but there’s no getting tired of this film especially in the wonderful surroundings of the old Phoenix and with Stephen Horne’s endlessly-inventive playing.

This is a vital film, one of the cornerstones of the silent film canon and my gateway to the whole shebang (starting with a DVD purchase in Park Street, Bristol in 2003 if you want to know). Pandora’s Box is worthy of the highest recognition and it has long merited its own book: now it has one, written by silent film expert Pamela Hutchinson and it’s the book it deserved. With her Silent London blog, Pamela has been helping to re-invigorate the British silent scene and she has played a major part in opening up the world of live silent screenings for myself and many others.

Pamela writes with an expert eye, easy wit and steadfast concision; there is much attention to detail in the book but it is all explained with fluid precision. The research is thorough, with revelations both scandalous and surprising and this is one of the best of the BFI’s Film Classics series I’ve read,  achieving its key objectives with ease, Pandora’s Box is engrossing, informative and entertaining.


That said, perhaps the highest praise I can give is that it made me experience the film in a completely different way, informed by its break down of Pabst’s directorial style and the way he worked with Louise Brooks in particular. With just five weeks shooting, perfectionist Pabst managed to construct one of the greatest silent films and he made the absolute most of his uniquely eye-catching talent.

Not only was the great “bridge-burner” Brooks temperamentally unsuited to the job of movie star she was also just not that bothered. Pabst deserves more credit for plugging her super-natural energies into the context of his film especially as she spoke no German…

Pamela introduced the screening and included some delicious titbits, Marlene being on the verge of signing up as Lulu just as Paramount gave their approval for the loan of their 21-year old misfit and Brooks’ troubled relationship with most of her co-stars (Gustav Diessl excepted…). Brooksie crashed her career but she found subsequent redemption after this controversial film was rediscovered decades after its chances of success was censored away. She wrote with fierce eloquence about her old career and spent the last third of her life celebrated by cineastes and influencing so many… not just in film but across our culture: Brooks equals self-determinated cool and she is forever now.


The book balances the, er… books in terms of Herr Pabst and whilst his Nazi collaborations no doubt damaged his post-war reputation (he did voice his un-leveraged opinions after the war), you can see how his mico-management helped to bring out the most from his crew and cast. Hutchinson relates a story of how cameraman Günther Krampf argued over whether a shot of Brooks and Fritz Kortner canoodling on her couch could be made: the director wanted the camera to close in and then move up out of view of the illicit “action” below. Krampf said it couldn’t be done but it was and we saw it today.

Pabst encouraged his team to voice such opinion though and this team ethic no doubts helps explain the results… five weeks of intensive work that, nowadays, would barely allow for a few Josh Whedon re-shoots to lighten the Zac Snyder darkness of Justice League or similar blockbuster.

Pabst is known for his abilities with actors and whilst he cast for character as well as range he was delighted to discover that his Lulu was a professional dancer. The moments when Brooks dances are visceral and define her character so well especially in the opening sequence. Brooks describes their collaboration as that between a choreographer and dancer and it’s also the dance of light on the most perfectly coiffured bob in history.


Lulu also dances with Countess Augusta Geschwitz played by Alice Roberts/Roberte, who Hutchinson rightly points out deserves more credit for her ground-breaking portrayal of lesbian longing. The Countess is an important part of the story especially given the way she, like all the men, is ultimately discarded after use. She looks lovingly straight into Lulu’s light and is doomed to shrivel in the shade.

No one escapes unscathed as Lulu burns… least of all herself. Wedekin’s story is unrelenting and whilst Pabst moved away from it to create a more socially-conscious story there is a price to pay for the earthy spirit.

Stephen Horne accompanied using an electric keyboard, accordion, flute and assorted percussion and, it seemed to me that he was finding new themes and responses. His ability to weave defined progressions into a two-hours plus improvisation is extraordinary and whilst he could make CCT footage of the A10 entertaining, working with Pabst, Brooksie and company he pulls you right into the centre of their silvery-shadowed world.


In the end, as Francis Lederer’s Alwa staggers into the fog after the Salvation Army, you are slightly dazed… You have to hope for the best and that’s the best you can hope for as the poet Peter Wylie once said and hope is, as Pamela points out, the last gift from Pandora’s box.

I try to write about the experience of watching silent film live and normally that’s a combination of variables led by the film, the accompaniment, audience and auditorium. This book added a vital new element and, I know it’s a bit much to ask, but could we have some more Pam?

As it is, it’s a text I will return to. A five-star job!!

Pandora’s Box is available from all good booksellers, the Amazon and, of course the BFI. If you like the film, the actress, silent or any film-making you should buy with confidence.