Criterion Sunday 205: Die Sehnsucht der Veronika Voss (Veronika Voss, 1982)

One of Fassbinder’s final films (indeed, the last to be released in his lifetime), this is a dreamlike reverie of soft black-and-white, specifically an hommage to a presumed golden era of Hollywood (and Nazi-era) filmmaking, flashbacks to which are all starry-eyed lights and slinky fashion. The star of these films is the title character (Rosel Zech), who a decade after World War II is struggling to get work and struggling to keep her fragile sense of identity. She meets a sports reporter (Hilmar Thate) who doesn’t know who she is, and strikes up an affair, during which he discovers she’s being drugged by a rapacious doctor (Annemarie Düringer), and resolves to try and free her. These genre elements though are largely interwoven into a story that’s about the dangerous addiction not just to morphine but to fame itself, with a subtle through line of satire that is difficult to laugh at given the suffocating atmosphere of much of the film. It’s a more admirable piece than one I genuinely love, but thus is often the way with Fassbinder.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director Rainer Werner Fassbinder | Writers Fassbinder, Pea Fröhlich and Peter Märthesheimer | Cinematographer Xaver Schwarzenberger | Starring Rosel Zech, Hilmar Thate, Cornelia Froboess, Annemarie Düringer | Length 104 minutes || Seen at a friend’s home (DVD), London, Sunday 25 March 2018 (and before that on VHS at the university library in Wellington, April 2000)

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Losing Ground (1982)

You sort of expect that all the best works of an era will be known and widely celebrated already, but then you see something which was once obscure that blows you away. This feature-length debut by Kathleen Collins (an academic and playwright who died a few years later) is said to be the first feature film by a Black woman in America, but despite that it’s very far from being some pioneeringly amateurish stab at filmmaking from a dilettante. Rather this is a deeply-felt, very carefully constructed film that shapes its narrative and characters in very particular ways, in which Collins makes full use of the cinematic means at her disposal. There’s drama in its story of a relationship between Sarah (Seret Scott), an intellectual professor of philosophy who is serious-minded and likes order in her life, and her husband Victor (Bill Gunn, himself a director of pioneering films like 1973’s Ganja & Hess), a loose, louche painter of abstracts with a ready smile and the desire to constantly move around. Yet there’s also plenty of comedy, not to mention a filmic tone that keeps pushing at the edges of both registers, never resolving any of its characters into stereotypes or boxes but allowing them many forms of expression. It’s remarkable too that this story of middle-class intelligentsia is exclusively made and performed by people of colour, but that may be the reason for its marginalisation since its initial release. Whatever the reasons for its obscurity, it’s a brilliant film with some fantastic performances that presents a really compelling and complex inner journey of one woman.


SPECIAL SCREENING FILM REVIEW
Director/Writer Kathleen Collins | Cinematographer Ronald K. Gray | Starring Seret Scott, Bill Gunn, Duane Jones | Length 86 minutes || Seen at BFI Southbank (NFT3), London, Wednesday 25 May 2016

De stilte rond Christine M. (A Question of Silence, 1982)

This Dutch film, the first by director Marleen Gorris (who would go on to win an Oscar for Antonia’s Line in 1995, as well as making a fine English-language adaptation of Mrs Dalloway a few years after that), is generally hailed as feminist classic of the 1980s. It deals with the murder of a shopkeeper by Christine (Edda Barends) — helped by two bystanders, housewife Annie (Nelly Frijda) and secretary Andrea (Henriëtte Tol) — and their subsequent legal defence, led by the evidence of a court-appointed psychiatrist (Cox Habbema). The film still retains a lot of power in its dissection of sexist attitudes, as it depicts scenes from the lives of each of the three women, as well as the psychiatrist, which illustrate the societal attitudes which have contributed to their actions. The title’s “silence around Christine M.” refers to the silent witnesses to the women’s crime, whose invisibility within this context is a riposte to imbalances in ‘justice’ as applied to the crimes of men against women. And although it retains a number of dated characteristics from the decade — the hair and fashions most obviously — seeing it on the small screen doesn’t diminish the stark simplicity of the set design as well as the elegant camera movements which tie these characters together visually. It remains a fine film, whose central thesis isn’t greatly changed even 35 years on.


FILM REVIEW
Director/Writer Marleen Gorris | Cinematographer Frans Bromet | Starring Cox Habbema, Nelly Frijda, Henriëtte Tol, Edda Barends | Length 92 minutes || Seen at home (streaming), London, Thursday 28 January 2016

Passion (1982)

After the full stop that was Week End (1967) and the partial return of Tout va bien (1972), Godard sort of disappeared into a wilderness of televisual and video-based filmmaking. Upon his return to the cinema screen in 1980 with Sauve qui peut (la vie), he may have been once again using recognisable star actors, but the narrative structures were certainly far from mainstream. This second film of his return is within a filmmaking framework familiar from Le Mépris (1963), which film incidentally also starred Michel Piccoli and was shot by Raoul Coutard. However, the Godard of 20 years later has a quite different method of putting together narrative, making Passion a rather more challenging viewing experience.

This is, however, the experience of this later period of Godard’s filmmaking, as the links between scenes — not to mention between image track and soundtrack — become increasingly tenuous. You could view this as a breathtakingly brazen disregard for conventional narrative structures (the beginning, middle and end “but not necessarily in that order” approach of one of Godard’s famous dictums), or as an increasingly cranky and self-indulgent way of befuddling the audience, but I choose to take it as both. I cannot deny that actually watching the film is perplexing, but this isn’t the emperor’s new clothes: there is a method here that definitely yields some interesting results.

As with Le Mépris, once again there’s a fairly self-critical portrait of the artist, who here is the bespectacled Polish filmmaker Jerzy (Jerzy Radziwiłowicz). Like Godard (living and working in Switzerland by this time), Jerzy is in some sort of self-imposed exile, stranded outside his country as the first political convulsions are taking place that by the end of the decade would lead to the overthrow of Communism. He is making a film called Passion which seems anything but passionate from what we see — beautifully-shot and lit tableaux of unmoving figures which seem to restage Renaissance paintings and give plenty of opportunity for the baring of female flesh, which Jerzy rather imperiously co-ordinates when he’s bothering to work on the film at all. Unsurprisingly there are problems with the budget, and it’s never quite clear what the plot is (indeed, the question is put to him directly at one point, to which he amusingly reacts with disgust, rather suggesting that plot is beside the point for Godard/Jerzy).

The rest of the cast are largely enacting a scenario involving factory owner Michel (Piccoli) and his wife Hanna (Schygulla), as well as Isabelle (Huppert) as a factory worker who comes into conflict with Michel. The ideas Godard seems to be playing with involve the demands of a working life (shades of Tout va bien) and those of the heart. There are communication issues too, particularly between the non-Francophone characters (Jerzy and Hanna). It’s difficult, though, to draw out more expressive ideas on just one viewing — Godard’s films get increasingly elliptical and densely-layered and require more time to unpick. His soundtrack work still likes to fade in and out repeated snatches of music (here it’s most prominently Gabriel Fauré’s Requiem), but there’s also images with different sounds matched to it (voices that don’t emanate from the characters we’re viewing, for example). And then there’s some typically playful Godardian self-referentiality, as when Isabelle tries to clear out her father from a room only to be told by another character that the elderly actor playing her father wants to get more attention when he delivers his single line (for which Godard immediately cuts away).

It’s far from a terrible film (whatever the limitations of my star-rating system), and in fact Passion may be, as I’ve implied (I hope), one of the most suggestive and rich of his 1980s output. It’s definitely films such as this one that demand repeat viewings to fully absorb some of the textures and ideas. It’s too easy to write this off as just an incoherent jumble, but for the first-time viewer that’s quite likely what it will come across as. However, that viewer can at least be thankful that like most of Godard’s films it hovers under the 90 minute length, and perhaps the mystery will incline that imagined viewer (who may or may not be myself) to return to it someday.


© Parafrance Films

DIRECTOR FOCUS FILM REVIEW: Jean-Luc Godard
Director/Writer Jean-Luc Godard | Cinematographer Raoul Coutard | Starring Isabelle Huppert, Jerzy Radziwiłowicz, Hanna Schygulla, Michel Piccoli | Length 86 minutes || Seen at university library, Wellington, March 1999 (and more recently at home on DVD, London, Monday 30 September 2013)

My Rating 2 stars worth seeing


Next Up: Godard did a few other films during the 1980s including a typically ornery adaptation of King Lear (1987) which I haven’t yet seen. At the end of the decade, he made Nouvelle vague (1990) which in its name suggests a look back on his founding legacy. I do intend to watch and review this, but in the meantime I have his short German travelogue Allemagne année 90 neuf zéro (Germany Year 90 Nine Zero, 1991).