Performers: Klaus Maria Brandauer, Krystyna Janda, Ildiko Bansagi, Rolf Hoppe, Peter Andorai, Karin Boyd. Summary: the story of a stage actor’s dilemma in 1930s Germany as to whether he should cooperate with the Nazi regime or assert his independence. Eventually a Faustian bargain is reached.
“What do you want? I’m only an actor . . . ”
István Szabó has never received his due in the pantheon of cinematic auteurs, and similarly his opus maximus Mephisto hasn’t gotten the respect it deserves. The film’s current semi-oblivion is a long way from its initial release and subsequent, albeit short-lived, apotheosis as evidenced by its being the first Hungarian movie anointed with the Oscar for best foreign film. Thus the very recent Kino DVD is all the more welcome [1].
To me, the film that most resembles Mephisto is Cabaret [2]. Yes, Cabaret is a musical, more or less, and Mephisto is not. More important, in Cabaret the personal story receives more emphasis than the historical context, and in Mephisto the reverse is true, at least in the second half of the film. In any case, both Mephisto and Cabaret have the dark undercurrent of impending fascism that overlays every scene, and like Cabaret, Mephisto is arguably more satisfying in small doses rather than full gulp – for all its virtues the whole never quite equals the sum of the parts. Mephisto then is a vignette-rich affair, laden with period detail, sumptuous production design and fine acting, but like our hero, lacking a true center of gravity.
Although it’s set in the early, though no less dark, years of National Socialist Germany, Mephisto is really a timeless meditation on: how far will we go for temporary success, power, admiration? It explores the existential nuances that creative – and performing – artists find themselves enmeshed in when working in a totalitarian regime. As a result, some artists thrive, some barely survive, and some lose everything. As a consequence, deals with the devil have to be made. One might – a bit self righteously perhaps – make the comparison to the absolute power of the dollar in otherwise democratic countries, and the attendant encroachment of bourgeois consumerist culture, where image making, promotion and management assume a ruthless prominence. A softer form of totalitarianism, if you like, but the principle still applies: what price glory, success, artistic opportunism? Thus an extra layer of pungent irony in our hero Höfgen’s association with a Bolshevik theater troupe in his up-and-coming years in Hamburg: Russian style communism was eminently, and equally, repugnant to both fascist and capitalist sensibilities.
Still, thanks to Klaus Maria Brandauer’s miraculous performance, we relate to the flawed main character; we actually sort of root for him, compromised as he is. He gets our sympathy, perhaps because he’s been co-opted by forces far more adept at the deadly game than he. Thus he is, maybe not quite a victim, but in any case very much out of his league, and we recognize this.
In a curious sleight of hand Szabó and the writers manage to brilliantly conjure up a 1930s German zeitgeist without ever mentioning real people, or for the most part real events. You’ll listen in vain for the words Hitler, Führer or Goebbels. You’ll hear no Wagner music. Moreover, real events tend to be obscured or misrepresented. Yes, they get the Reichstag fire correct, but there’s a reference to the Nazis polling a majority of the vote in an election. Actually the best the Nazis ever did was a middling 37 per cent, a plurality to be sure, but far from a majority [3].
Along the way we meet a Herman Göring-like General [4] who also serves as ‘prime minister.’ He fancies himself an aesthete and benevolent patron of the arts. No surprise then that he loves pomp and ceremony, especially when it’s in his honor. With icy malevolence he delivers his words with an undercurrent of the threat of violence even when he’s affecting his most silky exterior. And he doesn’t hesitate to brutally, in both the literal and figurative sense, put artists in their place when they stray, even his protégé Höfgen. There’s also a sculptress who specializes in hideous massive nudes the type of which made Nazi officials salivate. The woman suggests Leni Riefenstahl though the connection isn’t made explicit. Otherwise the various characters – officious bureaucrats, elegantly dressed SS officers, high society beau monde – function more as types than substitutes for real people.
Trivia: Mephisto ostensibly is based on the career arc of Gustaf Gründgens, a prominent German actor in the 1930s, but in an ironic twist the film anticipates Brandauer’s eventual film career, which, like Höfgen‘s, peaked early on.
[1] Special mention is also due to film historian Samm Deighan‘s insightful commentary, which is almost as good as the film itself.
[2] Sometimes it conjured up The Last Metro, also overtones of Das Leben der Anderen.
[3] Contrary to popular opinion, Hitler didn’t seize power, nor did he win in a fair and open election. Actually power was handed to him: in 1933 a group of conservative politicians, including former chancellor Franz Von Papen, with the acquiescence of President Hindenburg, agreed to make Hitler chancellor in the misguided calculation that they could control him.
[4] Rolf Hoppe does a wonderful job in the role of the general, though he doesn’t particularly resemble Göring physically.
In a curious sleight of hand Szabó and the writers manage to brilliantly conjure up a 1930s German zeitgeist without ever mentioning real people, or for the most part real events. You’ll listen in vain for the words Hitler, Führer or Goebbels. You’ll hear no Wagner music. Moreover, real events tend to be obscured or misrepresented. Yes, they get the Reichstag fire correct, but there’s a reference to the Nazis polling a majority of the vote in an election. Actually the best the Nazis ever did was a middling 37 per cent, a plurality to be sure, but far from a majority [3].
Along the way we meet a Herman Göring-like General [4] who also serves as ‘prime minister.’ He fancies himself an aesthete and benevolent patron of the arts. No surprise then that he loves pomp and ceremony, especially when it’s in his honor. With icy malevolence he delivers his words with an undercurrent of the threat of violence even when he’s affecting his most silky exterior. And he doesn’t hesitate to brutally, in both the literal and figurative sense, put artists in their place when they stray, even his protégé Höfgen. There’s also a sculptress who specializes in hideous massive nudes the type of which made Nazi officials salivate. The woman suggests Leni Riefenstahl though the connection isn’t made explicit. Otherwise the various characters – officious bureaucrats, elegantly dressed SS officers, high society beau monde – function more as types than substitutes for real people.
Trivia: Mephisto ostensibly is based on the career arc of Gustaf Gründgens, a prominent German actor in the 1930s, but in an ironic twist the film anticipates Brandauer’s eventual film career, which, like Höfgen‘s, peaked early on.
[1] Special mention is also due to film historian Samm Deighan‘s insightful commentary, which is almost as good as the film itself.
[2] Sometimes it conjured up The Last Metro, also overtones of Das Leben der Anderen.
[3] Contrary to popular opinion, Hitler didn’t seize power, nor did he win in a fair and open election. Actually power was handed to him: in 1933 a group of conservative politicians, including former chancellor Franz Von Papen, with the acquiescence of President Hindenburg, agreed to make Hitler chancellor in the misguided calculation that they could control him.
[4] Rolf Hoppe does a wonderful job in the role of the general, though he doesn’t particularly resemble Göring physically.
No comments:
Post a Comment