A Hidden Life (2019)

A discussion that has cropped up once again in political and media circles has been around “antifa”, and every time it happens a lot of people with the same wearied tone have to explain it’s not an organisation, it’s an ethos, a motivating ideal, a praxis and a shared struggle: it is just short for “anti-fascist”. Such struggles can take an explosive, active form, and there are no shortage of World War II movies to illustrate that (though most are Hollywood stories of heroism against the odds). Terrence Malick’s most recent film instead deals with the internal contortions, of morality and faith competing with self-preservation, and the way that just these simple acts of resistance can carry their own dangers. The only thing that “antifa”, such as it is, calls us to do is to resist fascism. All that I can hope is that to continue to do so is something which does not lead to the outcome in today’s film, but as some of the world’s largest countries have taken an active turn towards demagoguery and fascism, that is starting to seem rather more perilous.


I haven’t really connected with many of Malick’s films since The Thin Red Line (and certainly not the last few), as he’s progressively loosened his narrative focus in preference for impressionistic movements. However, with A Hidden Life, he seems to have reined this extravagance in a bit (though the stylistic tics are still very much evident), not to mention choosing a setting and theme that seems more fitting to his particular style. Of course, there’s still plenty of voiceover, used more as another layer of sound than to convey any specific information, and he takes the interesting decision to have the film in English except where perhaps the words are less important — background chatter, bureaucratic invective, in which case it’s in German.

It’s an odd film, though, that bathes this story — of Franz (August Diehl), an Austrian peasant in the early-1940s, who grimly resolves (with an at times wavering, but nevertheless increasingly bitterly held, sense of moral clarity) to defy military tribunals and not speak the ‘Hitler oath’ — in a certain sort of beatific calm, which makes sense given he was after all beatified not so long ago. There’s little sense of the actual war, and perhaps in 1940-1943 (when the film is set), it hasn’t particularly reached the alpine Austrian setting of St Radegund or even the Berlin prison he’s shipped off to later. There’s one chilling scene where the village’s mayor inveighs against the dangers of immigrants and foreigners, despite clearly having none in his midst, which obviously remains current, but otherwise this is very much focused on Franz and (almost equally) his wife Franziska, grounding their story in the community and (as you might expect from a Malick film) the glory of the natural world. It’s not even quite as overtly spiritual as some of his more recent films have been, though given Franz’s Catholic faith and his later beatification, it is obviously imbued with that throughout.

I liked it, and didn’t even feel the running time once the movie started to hold me. It’s shot with some oddly distorting lenses, and the camera operators must all have been children given how close to the ground the camera seems to be most of the time, but Malick’s impressionist excesses aren’t so much on show or are perhaps less jarring when not juxtaposed against Hollywood or indie music backgrounds.

A Hidden Life film posterCREDITS
Director/Writer Terrence Malick; Cinematographer Jörg Widmer; Starring August Diehl, Valerie Pachner, Michael Nyqvist, Jürgen Prochnow, Matthias Schoenaerts, Bruno Ganz; Length 174 minutes.
Seen at Curzon Mayfair, London, Friday 17 January 2020.

Criterion Sunday 177: Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum (The Lost Honour of Katharina Blum, 1975)

The records I keep show that I’ve seen this before, but I don’t remember anything about it (admittedly, it was 17 years ago). However, I don’t think that’s from any inherent lack in the storytelling: it presents a tale of a woman being hounded by the police and the press for her possible complicity in a terrorist’s actions from little more than meeting him at a party and sleeping with him. It hardly seems to have aged in 40 years in the ways that women are so often made to publicly feel shame for the act of desire and for events which continue to saturate our headlines, so in that sense it remains very much topical. The heavier-handed thread is about abuses committed in the name of journalism by an out-of-control yellow press intent merely on splashy, exploitative stories that sell papers; this also has hardly aged but the way the film presents it can be a little on the nose, especially in the hypocritical words that form the epilogue. I suspect instead that my absence of memory of seeing this film is perhaps more a stylistic one: it’s shot well, but feels a little prosaic in its cutting, something of that socialist realism of the 70s coming through. And perhaps that’s not itself a failing, really. Like other Margarethe von Trotta works I’ve seen it’s almost too self-effacing stylistically, and deserves greater praise.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Directors/Writers Volker Schlöndorff and Margarethe von Trotta (based on the novel by Heinrich Böll); Cinematographer Jost Vacano; Starring Angela Winkler, Mario Adorf, Dieter Laser, Jürgen Prochnow; Length 106 minutes.

Seen at home (VHS), Wellington, August 2000 (and most recently on DVD at a friend’s home, London, Sunday 29 October 2017).