Rubble, Ruins and Romanticism: Visual Style, Narration and Identity in German Post-War Cinema [1. Aufl.] 9783839421833

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Martina Moeller Rubble, Ruins and Romanticism

Film

Martina Moeller (PhD) works as a DAAD lecturer at the German Department at the Université Mohammed V in Rabat, Morocco. Her research interests include German cinema, film theory and intercultural literature.

Martina Moeller

Rubble, Ruins and Romanticism Visual Style, Narration and Identity in German Post-War Cinema

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de © 2013 transcript Verlag, Bielefeld

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Cover layout: Kordula Röckenhaus, Bielefeld Cover illustration: Still from »Die Mörder sind unter uns« (1946) by Wolfgang Staudte, © DEFA-Stiftung/Eberhard Klagemann Proofread and typeset by Martina Moeller Printed by Majuskel Medienproduktion GmbH, Wetzlar ISBN 978-3-8376-2183-9

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements | 7 Table of Figures | 9 Introduction | 13 1. The Neoformalist Approach: Questions of Form and Style | 33 Film as an Aesthetic System | 33 The Result of Construction: Meaning | 49

2. German Romanticism: The Stylistic Origin of Rubble Films | 55



Leading Stylistic and Narrative Romantic Devices | 58 Ruins and Fragment: A Romantic Discourse on Crisis | 87

3. The Romantic Discourse in a Selection of Rubble Films | 93 Rubble Films: Common Features and Main Differences | 105 The Romantic Discourse | 113 The Murderers Are Among Us (1946): A Break with Nazi Cinema? | 119 Film Without a Name (1947/48): Irony Shall Help Us! | 159 The Blum Affair (1948): Engel’s Critical View on the Past | 195 The ‘Last’ Illusion (1948/49): Double Views and Mistaken Perception | 225 Second Hand Destiny (1949): The Demonic Bourgeois | 255 The Lost (1950/51): No Escape? | 275

Conclusion | 293

Literature | 307

Acknowledgements

For many years I have been fascinated by how visual style and narration affect our perception of cinema. Therefore, it seems only natural to write a study on visual style and narration in cinema. My choice to explore post-war German rubble films relates to the fact that individuals and families in Germany and beyond are still deeply impacted by the consequences of Nazism and the Second World War. I am profoundly indebted to many people over the course of my journey towards the completion of this project. I would especially like to thank my supervisors Guido Rings and Karina von Lindeiner-Strásk, who helped and supported me in many ways. Without their engagement, I would not have completed this project. I also want to thank Thomas Keller and Marion Picker, who also provided much support and important ideas. I am grateful for the support of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek, in particular from Ms. Anke Hahn, as well as the Bundesarchiv in Berlin. They allowed me access to archive materials of great importance for my work. I also received support through a research post and scientific exchange at the Université de Provence (Aix-Marseille I). I would like to thank the entire German department of this university and in particular two excolleagues: Cécile Bonnet and Lidwine Portes. I am grateful to Peter Carrier for his advisement and help concerning this project. Many thanks also to Martin Lampprecht for his general support and his help in creating the cover of this publication. Finally, thank you to Gael Mooney, Catherine Griffith and especially to Stephan Schmuck, Suzanne Royal and Sonia Li, who corrected my GermanEnglish with great care and effort.

Table of Figures
Figure 1: The Murderers Are Among Us (1946), Wolfgang Staudte. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 13
Figure 2: The double motif in Staudte’s film. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 15
Figure 3: Moonlit Night near Ruegen (1819) by Carl Gustav Carus. Staatliche Kunstsammlung, Dresden. 69
Figure 4: Shade and Darkness—the Evening of the Deluge (1843) by William Turner. Tate Gallery, London. 70
Figure 5: Caspar David Friedrich, Monk by the Sea (1809). Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin. 72
Figure 6: Caspar David Friedrich, Winter (1808/1810). Destroyed by fire in the Glaspalast (1931), Munich. 77
Figure 7: Wolfgang Staudte, The Murderers Are Among Us (1946). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 78
Figure 8: Caspar David Friedrich, The Cathedral (1818). Collection Georg Schäfer, Schweinfurt. 81
Figure 9: Ernst Ferdinand Oehme, Cathedral in Winter (1819). Galerie Neue Meister, Dresden. 82 Figure 10: Caspar David Friedrich, Cemetery in the Snow (1817/19). Destroyed (1945), formerly in the National Gallery, Berlin. 85
Figure 11: Hildegard Knef as Susanne and Borchert as Mertens. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 129
Figure 12: In Brückner’s home with Mertens as a guest. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 129
Figure 13: Stylised setting and lighting indicate Mertens’ trauma. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 130
Figure 14: Robert Forch as Mondschein with Borchert as Mertens. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 134
Figure 15: Film poster The Murderers Are Among Us (1946). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 151
Figure 16: Martin (Söhnker), Christine (Knef), the scriptwriter (Odemar), the actor (Fritsch) and the director (Hamel). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 169
Figure 17: Irene von Meyendorff, Hans Söhnker, Annemarie Holtz. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 173
Figure 18: The refugee couple (Carsta Löck and Erich Ponto). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 184
Figure 19: Kurt Ehrhardt (Dr Blum) in The Blum Affair. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 209


10 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM

Figure 20: Paul Bildt (councillor) and Hans Christian Blech (Gabler). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 210
Figure 21: Gisela Trowe (Christine) and Hans C. Blech (Gabler). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 211
Figure 22: Oak in the Snow (1820) by Caspar David Friedrich. Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Cologne. 212
Figure 23: Arno Paulsen (Platzer) and Hans Christian Blech (Gabler). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 213
Figure 24: Carl Wery in Via Mala by Josef von Baky (1943/1945). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 225
Figure 25: Fritz Kortner as Professor Mauthner (1949). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 235
Figure 26: Two Men by the Sea at Moonrise (1817) by Caspar David Friedrich. Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin. 241
Figure 27: Peter Lorre as the Hans Beckert in Fritz Lang’s M (1931). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 243
Figure 28: Fritz Kortner as the returning Mauthner. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 244
Figure 29: Fechner welcomes Mauthner. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 247
Figure 30: Scholz/Sylvestro (W. Borchert) and the teacher. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 263 Figure 31: Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Bernhard Goetzke in Dr Mabuse (part two). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 268
Figure 32: In the right corner Ernst Waldow (Gärtner) in the arena before Sylvestro reveals his past. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 269
Figure 33: Eric Ponto (Sapies) manipulates W. Borchert (Scholz). Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 270
Figure 34: Karl John, Peter Lorre, Josef Dahmen in The Lost. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 279
Figure 35: Lotte Rausch, Peter Lorre, Alexander Hunzinger in The Lost. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 280
Figure 36: Helmut Rudolph as Oberst Winckler and Lorre as Rothe. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 281
Figure 37: Claustrophobic interiors. Nowack (Karl John) from behind and Neumeister (Lorre), in the canteen. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 282
Figure 38: Richard Münch kills the resistance fighter in The Lost. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 283
Figure 39: Lorre as Rothe in The Lost. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 284
Figure 40: Two Men Looking at the Moon (1819) by Caspar David Friedrich. Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin. 285
Figure 41: Despair (1893/94) by Edvard Munch. Munch Museum, Oslo. 287


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Figure 42: Renate Mannhardt as Inge and Lorre as Rothe. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 290
Figure 43: Eva Ingeborg Scholz as Ursula with Lorre as Rothe. Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin. 290
Figure 44: The Sea of Ice (1823/1824) by Caspar David Friedrich. Kunsthalle, Hamburg. 303

Introduction

Ruins and rubble in German rubble films (Trümmerfilme)1 set in the aftermath of World War II represent a collective symbol2 of defeat. The landscape of destroyed cities, still recalling the recent battles, renders this defeat an inescapable aspect of everyday life for the German population. This image of destruction provoked feelings of shame, sorrow, guilt, anger, and opposition against the prior regime of National Socialism and the victorious occupation forces of USA, England, France and the Soviet Union. Yet these ruins do not call to mind the concept of Romantic ruins: their detachment from reality and their dreamy nostalgia for past times. The post-war ruins represent a reality of painful, traumatic, and catastrophic contextual events and the necessity to reconstruct a new life upon these experiences of crisis (see figure 1).

Figure 1: The Murderers Are Among Us (1946).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

German audiences and critics did not appreciate most rubble films and their allegoric images of defeat and crisis. Thus it is not astonishing that the term ‘rubble

1

Rubble films are a subcategory of German post-war cinema dealing with the aftermath of World War II. Most of these films were produced between 1946 and 1951. In general, they were negatively perceived by German critics and audience.

2

According to Link (1988), collective symbols represent a nation in a given historical moment.

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films’ initially evolved as a negatively connoted nickname3 for films that dealt with past events of the National Socialist regime and the shadow it cast over the post-war period. The traditional, negative view of post-war German cinema tends to define rubble films as simplistic film texts of low artistic quality that lack a serious impact towards the past and present times.4 Rubble films are considered to reaffirm the spectator’s image of him or herself as ‘good Germans’ during ‘bad times.’5 These prejudices are quite justified for those rubble films that refer to the problems of the recent past and present period in a reconciliatory manner without any critical discussion about German national identity and society in the aftermath of war and Nazism. Most of these films were produced in a ‘pseudo’ neorealist film style. This style seems to represent reality through principles earlier established by French magic realism and Italian neorealism.6 Nevertheless, these films also largely depend on principles of classical cinema style, which show a strong resemblance to patterns of Hollywood cinema; that is why I propose to call this kind of style a pseudo neorealist style. In opposition to these reaffirming and reassuring classical patterns, there is also a category of rubble films that refers to contextual reality quite differently. Style depends here on a stylised realism that creates signification by transcending a representation of external reality. This transcendence works to embody the inner subjective world and feelings of the protagonists in these films. The inner vision of outer reality forms the representation of reality in these films, and a particular use of film techniques shapes its visual form. These films are made of a stylised realism. As a formalist style,7 it relates to and partly originates from, according to Irving Singer, German idealist philo-

3

Compare: Schweinitz (2002), p. 629.

4

See: Brandlmeier (1989); Shandley (2001); Schweinitz (2002); Bergfelder (2007);

5

Shandley (2001), p. 62.

6

See: Kiefer / Ruckriegl in Koebner (2002), p. 493-499.

7

This distinction also marks the two dominant traditions in cinema during the 20th cen-

Fuchs in Fischer (2007); Arnold-De-Simine / Schrey in Böhm / Mielke (2007).

tury, which are realism and formalism. Theoreticians of realism demand that film should copy external reality very precisely. This tradition is often linked to a Marxist point of view on contextual reality. The most well known representatives of this tradition are Siegfried Kracauer and André Bazin. The formalist film theory such as proposed by Sergei Eisenstein, Rudolf Arnheim, Béla Balázs, and others underscores the effects of film techniques for creating a representation of reality that transcends a simple copy of the external world. For more information see: Singer (1998), p. 1.

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sophy of Romanticism.8 In addition, other visual and narrative elements from German Romanticism can be found in these formalist rubble films: typical patterns of Romantic motifs and themes such as doubles (Doppelgänger), doomed wanderers, demonic citizens,9 antiheroes, iconic representations of landscapes and ruins (see figure 2). These elements are combined with techniques that invoke other Romantic aspects such as uncanny and fatal atmospheres, irony (between the fictive narrator and the film text), images of ruins and landscapes (evoking the impression of fragmentation), and open-end narration.

Figure 2: The double motif in Staudte’s film.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

All these visual and narrative Romantic elements contribute to produce a point of view on controversial issues in a contextual society. This point of view accentuates problematic and usually oppressed or tabooed aspects of contextual reality; an aspect that also relates to Romanticism, as we will see in chapter two. In some rubble films the major function of this point of view is to provoke a discussion on German national identity and society in the post-war era. This Romantic

8

Singer writes: ‘Formalist thinking about appearance and reality in relation to film issues from philosophical idealism of the nineteenth century.’ Ibid., p. 21. Singer’s citation refers to two principles of artistic representation that are important for film analysis: first, the principles of mimicry (following Aristotle in classicism); second, a transcendent modus of representing reality that employs artistic forms in order to express the artist’s ideas over the external reality rather than only coping it. The latter thus depends on a formalist style. This tradition stands in line with ideas about art proposed by Socrates and Plato and marks strongly the concept of art in Romanticism.

9

I will use the term of a ‘demonic citizen or bourgeois’ according to Lotte H. Eisner’s definition of a ‘demonic bourgeois’ in The Haunted Screen (1956), p. 106.

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discourse10 and its function in a selection of rubble films has not been analysed thus far. In response to the lack of key aspects of Romantic visual style, narration and literary motifs in rubble films, this study addresses a major gap in research. In particular, the question of the intertextual,11 intericonic, and intermedial references imposed through visual style in rubble films has been misguided. Most researchers and critics have asserted that rubble films mainly represent a reversion to German Expressionist cinema, painting, or literature. 12 Yet I argue that other intertextual devices13—ranging from Weimar cinema, the ‘aesthetic of opposition’14 during the National Socialist regime, and film noir, as well as neorealism—impose more upon the aesthetics of rubble film than Expressionism. Earlier approaches also failed to acknowledge the decisive Romantic influence on films of the aesthetic of opposition during Nazism. Consequently, the hypothesis of this study is that intertextual and intermedial Romantic devices from German Romanticism—which reappeared in Weimar cinema as well— represent the most important references to the subcategory of formalist rubble films. In order to prove this assumption, I will first investigate how new narrative and visual devices were developed in Romantic art and literature. Secondly, I will examine how these devices were later revived in German cinema during the post-war period. In doing so, the study is also concerned with the ways in which the impact of a Romantic discourse contributes to a reflection of the historical conditions and national identity in rubble films.

10 The term of discourse is employed according to the definition of the philosopher Michel Foucault, such as presented in L'Archéologie du savoir (1969). 11 This study considers film as a text and employs the term intertexutal in order to show how film directors quote or refer to other films. 12 For example most recently Fuchs in Fischer 2007 (DVD). 13 Device is a terms of the neoformalist method of film analysis this study employs. It refers to procedures in an artwork that create its style and meaning. Device is the translation of the notion ‘priëm’ that was developed by the Russian Formalists, such as Victor Sklovskij. Compare: Sklovskij in Mierau (1987), p. 11-32 (for more information see chapter one). 14 The term of ‘ästhetische Opposition’ refers to a number of films, which were defined by Karsten Witte in Lachende Erben, toller Tag (1995) as the aesthetic of opposition to the propagandist entertainment films of the National Socialist period. For more information see the analysis of The Murderers Are Among Us in chapter three.

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This research builds on the pioneering work of Lotte H. Eisner,15 who argued in 1952 that Weimar cinema largely depends on the narrative devices and motifs of Romanticism. Although Eisner briefly discusses post-war cinema at the end of her book, she did not venture to assert that these aspects also occur in many rubble films. Therefore I will further develop Eisner’s approach in order to show how a revival of Romantic literary motifs and aesthetics constituted a Romantic discourse well beyond the Second World War. Although Eisner was an art historian, she only randomly mentioned the central intermedial references from Romantic paintings that were revived in German cinema of the Weimar epoch. Eisner mentions a painting by Caspar David Friedrich as an example of motif continuity, but she fails to engage more closely with the aesthetic devices of this art form and its return via film. Therefore, I will build upon these findings in order to compare the aesthetic patterns in Romantic paintings (in particular the artwork of Caspar David Friedrich) with visual devices from selected formalist rubble films. The central aim of this work is to show that the supposed aesthetic similarities fulfil the same functions. Furthermore, I aim to analyse whether or not we can define a visual and narrative tradition from Romanticism to rubble films in the aftermath of the Second World War. As already outlined, elements of Romanticism enter German cinema while other art forms celebrated Expressionism. For example, the film directors Stellan Rye and Paul Wegener revived significant Romantic narrative patterns during World War One with The Student of Prague (Der Student von Prag, 1913). In Weimar cinema, these Romantic patterns later gained a wider recognition with films such as The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari, 1919/1920) and Nosferatu (Nosferatu, 1921). Yet the Romantic patterns established in The Student of Prague and, to some extent, in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari and Nosferatu, work primarily as a ‘vehicle’16 for suspenseful entertainment. In The Student of Prague and The Cabinet of Dr Caligari these patterns are even consciously imposed as part of a commercial strategy that is aiming to attract the audience through Gothic elements 17 in combination with new film techniques. This Romantic discourse, however, lacks considerable social-

15 Eisner’s book was first published in France in 1952 with the title L’ecran démoniaque. In 1969, the English language version was published under the title The Haunted Screen. 16 The word vehicle refers here to a means that represents the narrative and visual impact of Romantic literature and art in Weimar cinema. 17 This study considers Gothic literature as a subdivision of Romanticism that refers to the German term of Schauerliteratur (see the beginning of chapter two).

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critical intention. This lack of an obvious social-critical intention distinguishes some films of the Weimar Republic from the selected formalist rubble films. As opposed to the examples above, Romantic patterns in other Weimar films are used intentionally to convey a critical attitude towards aspects of contemporaneous reality. This phenomenon is also developed by the extensive use of ambiguity that mirrors the time context and identity construction within it as a problematic one: such as in Nerves (Nerven, 1919) by Robert Reiner, The Spiders (Die Spinnen, 1919/1920) and the Dr Mabuse films (Dr Mabuse, The Gambler, part one and two, 1921/1922) by Fritz Lang. Just as films of the aesthetic of opposition during Nazism, our selection of post-war rubble films returns to these earlier cinematographic traditions. Beyond the question of a possible tradition, another significant issue in this discussion relates to the significance of the return to Romantic aesthetics; more specifically to what extent this return can be regarded as a serious interrogation of a socio-political crisis in which aesthetic representation can be seen as an indication of aspects of a national cinema style. Therefore, the key research objectivities of this study are: • •

•

•

To explore how the Romantic discourse determines the visual style and narration of selected rubble films. How intericonic, intertextual, and intermedial elements, as well as visual devices from Romantic painting affect visual style and meaning in rubble films. Considering that the Romantic style breaks with the principles of Classicism in art, is it useful to examine to what extent some rubble films break with the classical film style tradition? Is the result of this break a style that creates the impression of visual fragmentation, depicting identities in crisis? To what extent did these representations of fragmentation and crisis turn rubble films into an unwanted national memory of the National Socialist past and the post-war period? Finally, does the visual construction of a controversial ‘national identity’ evident in some rubble films function as a reflective criticism of German nationalism before, during, and after the National Socialist regime?

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The Debate of Style: Formalism versus Realism Most studies18 define the period of rubble films as occurring between 1945 and 1949. The primary reason for this relatively short time span is the currency reform of 1948 and the return of materialist wealth, which only served to lessen the already fading interest of German audiences in rubble films. However, this study extends the widely accepted timeframe of rubble films to 1951, as clear evidence exists that, in particular West German productions contributed significantly to a Romantic tradition. Examples of such films include Second Hand Destiny (Schicksal aus zweiter Hand, 1949) by Wolfgang Staudte, The Last Illusion (Der Ruf, 1949) by Josef von Báky and Fritz Kortner, and The Lost (Der Verlorene, 1951) by Peter Lorre. To make a complete list of all rubble films made in the early post-war period would be extremely difficult, given that most German post-war films deal with problems of the recent past and then-present times. Even those productions that do not explicitly display rubble or ruins often represent them by metaphor or otherwise indirectly.19 Recent studies on rubble cinema, such as those by Robert Shandley (2001) or Jamey Fisher (2007), avoid the problem of how precisely to differentiate early post-war films from rubble films by focusing only on specific patterns.20 Since it is difficult to make a clear distinction between ordinary post-war films and rubble films between 1946 and 1951, this study approaches the problem by approximation and suggests that there exist around fifty rubble films. As already mentioned, most of these films employ a pseudo-neorealism or a formalist style in order to address the problem of German national identity in the post-war period. The formalist style refers to post-war reality in two ways: the first way goes about it directly, by showing the setting of destroyed cities; the second way addresses post-war reality indirectly and metaphorically, without

18 For example: Shandley (2001); Brandlmeier (1989). According to Pleyer (1965) this period ends in 1948. 19 For example in: Martina (Martina, 1948/49) by Arthur Maria Rabenalt or The Lost Face (Das verlorene Gesicht, 1948) by Kurt Hoffmann. See also Bergfelder in Spicer (2007), p. 141. 20 Shandley states that he only investigates films that show rubble and ruins, but then, interestingly, also extends his discussion to films like The Blum Affair (Affaire Blum, 1949) by Erich Engel, a film devoid of any portrayal of rubble. Meanwhile, Fisher focuses on the problem of the image of the child and youth in rubble films, and therefore limits his selection in response to these subjects.

20 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM

exposing rubble and ruins or other major aspects of the period. The distinction between pseudo-neorealist and formalist style in rubble films is important, as it explains the negative perception that audience and critics predominantly accorded post-war rubble films, especially those made in a formalist style. The terms of realism and formalism are closely linked to an important discussion on style in literature: the debate surrounding Expressionism had initially sparked a controversy regarding realist and formalist style. The Marxist philosopher and literary critic George Lukácz had considered the formalist style in literature to be indirectly responsible for the rise of the National Socialist regime.21 I suppose that the lasting impact of this debate provoked leading film critics in the post-war period, such as Eisner, Siegfried Kracauer, Chris Marker, Ulrich Gregor, and Enno Patalas to discredit the formalist tradition in cinema and decry rubble films as insignificant. This study argues that these assumptions brought about the misinterpretation of formalism in some rubble films. In contrast to the controversy surrounding realist and formalist styles, I argue that Staudte’s first rubble film The Murderers Are Among Us (Die Mörder sind unter uns, 1946) introduces visual techniques and a subject matter that invokes a Romantic discourse. This film not only questions important aspects of post-war reality, but also introduces a Romantic aesthetic that marks the later films of the subcategory of formalist rubble films. As already mentioned, formalist rubble films essentially differ from the other grouping of rubble films, which consist of a pseudo-neorealist tradition. The latter films are closely related to the classical cinema style and usually lack a serious discussion of contextual reality. Interestingly enough, these rubble films are related to a realist tradition that was also employed during Nazism, just as in the propaganda film True Love (Die große Liebe, 1942) by Rolf Hansen. In this respect, the discussion of realism and formalism in rubble films will address viewpoints on formalist style such as including those expressed by writers such as Bertolt Brecht and Peter Weiss (The Aesthetics of Resistance, 1975/1981), as well as and by the film philosopher Irving Singer (Reality Transformed: Film as Meaning and Technique, 1998). I focus on how the formalist style engenders a Romantic discourse that provides a critical reflection on past events and post-war reality. I am aware that the

21 Lukácz first introduced this debate in 1934 by publishing in the Moscow exile journal Internationale Literatur the article ‘Größe’ und ‘Verfall’ des Expressionismus. In this article, he defended a bourgeois realism against formalist styles such as Expressionism (see also Theory of the Novel, 1920; Realism in the Balance, 1938 etc.). Beutin / Ehlert / Emmerich et al. (2001), p. 460.

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distinction between a realist and formalist style is problematic by nature: Singer states that ‘reality as portrayed in films is always a product of formalist techniques and creative innovations that enable some filmmakers to express what he or she considers real in the apparent world.’22 This citation refers to the difficulties of distinguishing between a realist and formalist style. However, clarifying the differences between realism and formalism would require a work of its own.23 In this study, I will nevertheless employ the terms realism and formalism in order to define a style in fiction films (films that seeks to reproduce reality) based on a filmic realism. Formalist style depends here on a stylised realism that creates signification by transcending the way how we perceive external reality. This transcendence works to represent the inner subjective world and feelings of the protagonists in these films. Furthermore, a particular use of film techniques creates a highly stylised realism in order to visualise these impressions and feelings. The distinction between realist and formalist features thereby evolves from how intensely formalist techniques shape the given realist style. Finally, an important aspect of this transcendence is that a controversial point of view emerges towards contextual reality. The selection of rubble films that I will examine is distinguished by their significant composition of formalist film techniques. These techniques create a stylised realism and are combined with Romantic patterns. The analysis in the subsequent chapters will demonstrate that this unique combination functions to question post-war reality to a much greater extent than the rubble films of the pseudo neorealist style. Thus the analysis of my chosen film samples focuses minutely on inherent patterns of filmic forms as represented in each film. This procedure is an important aspect of the theoretical approach of neoformalism that this study employs. For neoformalist24 film analysis, ‘great theories’25 are those that only explore cinema through patterns of other art mediums such as lit-

22 Singer (1998), p. xiii. 23 Many researchers even agree that realism in cinema is mainly a matter of viewing habits and conventions. See Kiefer / Ruckriegl in Koebner (2002), p. 493. 24 Neoformalism is an approach of film analysis that builds upon literary theories by the Russian Formalists in the early 20th century. This term should not be confused with that of formalist style in cinema. Formalist style results in a special use of film techniques, while the Russian formalists investigate literature through a focus on the principles of its formal construction. 25 Great theories are, according to Bordwell, methods of analysis that focus on interpretative issues and lack interest in the patterns of the filmic material itself (for more information, see the beginning of chapter one on neoformalism).

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erature, theatre, and fine arts. However, these earlier theories fail to consider sufficiently the texture of the film material concerning its own inherent poetics and aesthetic devices. The tradition of filmic realism in rubble films has already been investigated by scholars such as Brandlmeier, who makes a particular examination of the neorealist film Germany Year Zero (Germania Anno Zero, 1947) by Roberto Rossellini. The film serves as an important reference point to illustrate the visual style and narrative patterns present in German post-war and rubble films.26 Brandlmeier outlines parallels between rubble films and neorealism, such as the use of expressive27 camera techniques and fatalistic worldviews embedded in dark and pessimist melodramas.28 As I will demonstrate in upcoming chapters, these elements are all central aspects of the Romantic discourse in the rubble films that I will discuss.29 Italian neorealism also indicates parallels to films linked to the new objectivity movement of the late Weimar Republic, like People on Sunday (Menschen am Sonntag, 1929/30) by Robert Siodmak, Rochus Gliese, and Edgar G. Ulme (film script: Billy Wilder). Most importantly, some directors of the new objectivity movement later went on to make rubble films.30 Many researchers assert that neorealism, in addition to Expressionism, is an important stylistic intertextual reference in rubble films.31 Yet more importantly,

26 Compare Fisher in Ruberto / Wilson et al. (2007) and Brandlmeier, who outlines the parallel between rubble films and neorealism—an expressive camera technique, a fatalistic worldview, and dark and pessimist melodramas. Brandlmeier (1989), p. 55. 27 We use the term ‘expressive film techniques’ as defined by to Bary Salt. It refers to techniques such as extreme camera angles that produce dramatic effects. Salt (1983), p. 199. 28 Brandlmeier (1989), p. 55. 29 Additionally, these influences might also be traced to earlier realist traditions such as French magic realism of the 1930s (for example films by Marcel Carné) or American and French film noir. Notably, most of these traditions are reciprocally informed by Weimar cinema: film noir references formalist films (such as in Caligari, Shadows or Nerves), which show a strong affinity with the aesthetics of Romanticism. 30 For example: To Whom Does the World Belong? (Kuhle Wampe oder Wem gehört die Welt, 1931) by Slatan Dudow (film script: Bertolt Brecht) and Emil and the Detectives (Emil und die Detektive, 1931) by Gerhard Lamprecht (script once again by Billy Wilder). 31 Robert Rossellini’s Germany Year Zero (1947) is often praised, beyond its stylistic achievements, for providing a critical discussion of German national mentality in the early post-war period. Yet, the critical impact of this film did hardly reach Germany’s

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this study will show that the formalist tradition of Weimar cinema plays a significant role in contributing to the construction of a discursive representation of national identity in German rubble films; because the formalist tradition more critically interrogates post-war reality than in films assumed to be closely related to the pseudo-neorealist tradition in German post-war cinema (such as In Those Days, Between Yesterday and Tomorrow, Rotation etc.).32 Methodological Reflections In order to analyse style and narration in the selected examples of rubble films, this study employs the neoformalist procedure of ‘sample analysis’33 as proposed by Bordwell and Thompson. The neoformalist approach does not recognise a separation between form and content; as such, the conceptual and theoretical framework of this study is informed by the neoformalist concept of an ‘overall form’ that exists in each film. The overall form is composed of these two interactive systems, narration and visual style.34

cinema-going public due to the nearly complete censorship of Rossellini’s film. It was extremely seldomly distributed in cinema and never in television until as recent, as 2003, when it was finally entered into the official German film list (Filmkanon). Schrey in Böhm / Mielke (2007), p. 304-305. 32 The rubble filmmaker Peter Pewas is the most prominent example for showing the limited influence of Italian neorealism on German rubble films. As the most promising talent of German cinema under the protected auspices of the Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels, as well as that of the film academy director Wolfgang Liebeneiner, Pewas made his first film during Nazism, The Enchanted Day (Der verzauberte Tag, 1943-44), in a style close to neorealism. Although Pewas witnessed and admired Rossellini’s work in his neorealist rubble film Germany Year Zero, he later turned away from the neorealist tradition in order to revive earlier formalist patterns of Weimar cinema when he produced his rubble film Street Acquaintance (Strassenbekanntschaft) in 1948. Compare: Shandley (2001), p. 135. 33 The neoformalist approach combines a comprehensive analysis of formal patterns in principles of film construction and socio-cultural norms, which is extremely useful for this study. In contrast to psychoanalytical, feminist and deconstructionist ‘screen theory’ of the 1970s, the neoformalist approach demands a deeper analysis of aesthetic film material in relation to historical context, spectator reception, and film theory. Bordwell (1985); Bordwell / Thompson (2003). See also chapter two for more information. 34 Ibid. 50; ibid., p 389-394.

24 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM

Using these theoretical tools, I explore the formal construction of the Romantic discourse through a selection of rubble films by identifying stylistic devices, referential links, and exploring their function within each film’s overall form. The construction of narration, style, meaning, and even ideology is always analysed as it relates to formal elements and structures in each film’s overall aesthetic composition. Therefore, the analysis of visual style refers to the principles of construction and interaction within ‘the overall system of relations that we can perceive among the elements in the whole film.’35 This concept demonstrates how cinematographic principles interfere with intertextual, intericonic, and intermedial references that influence style and shape meaning. Finally, the analysis of visual style, its ‘constitution, function, consequences and historical manifestations,’36 and its relation to the narrative impact enables us to define the ‘Romantic discourse.’ By analyzing a selection of rubble films, this project aims to show that the Romantic discourse provokes partly a challenge of prior classical tradition in cinema under the National Socialist rule. To further this analysis, I will also study the following: the neoformalist key concept of ‘defamilarisation’37 and the distinction of syuzhet and fabula. These concepts will be synthesized in an analysis of the socio-cultural context and the responses of post-war audiences. Reviews written by film critics represent these contemporary sources. They allow us to explore why certain visual devices in some rubble films defamilarised and thus challenged a post-war audience’s perception of rubble films. These perceptions were built firmly upon visual and narrative patterns of National Socialist ideology that had been transmitted through so-called non-political entertainment films. The presence of such films in German cinema and television did not end with the breakdown of Nazism. On the contrary, Harro Segeberg considers the early distribution of these non-political entertainment films as the ‘final completion [of entertainment cinema produced under National Socialism] in German post-war cinema.’38 German television still broadcasts many of these films, while still others, such as True Love (Die große Liebe, 1942) by Rolf Hansen or The Golden City (Die goldene Stadt, 1941/42) by Veit Harlan, have recently been released on DVD. The methodology of neoformalism that I employ enables us to focus on the particular properties of the film medium in relation to audience responses within a socio-historical context. Since Bordwell’s own theories on style in cinema (as

35 Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 49. 36 Bordwell (1985), p. 371. 37 Thompson (1988), p. 11; Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 430. 38 Segeberg, (2004), p. 223.

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in Narration in Fiction Film, 1985) strongly references works by the art historians Erwin Panofsky and E.H. Gombrich, this study also draws on the reflection on visual style and iconography by Panofsky and Gombrich. With reference to Gombrich’s definition of style in art as the ‘expression of the age,’39 the second chapter analyses to what extent the controversy over style in Romanticism gave birth to forms of fragment and fragmentation, which introduced a subversive potential to the fine arts and was revived in German cinema from the Weimar period to the post-war era. In order to gain a deeper insight into how Romantic patterns in the selected rubble films launched an artistic discourse that influenced perceptions of German audiences, I will combine the neoformalist approach with the technique of discourse analysis created by the philosopher Michel Foucault. Discourse analysis examines writing, texts, and discourses as constructive phenomena, shaping the identities and practices of human subjects.40 While Foucault shows how institutions employ the practice of discourse in order to force people into patterns that change identities, I will adopt Foucault’s theory of discourse in order to show how artwork, in this case cinema, creates a symbolic order which reflects contextual reality. According to Foucault, this symbolic order of stylistic and narratives elements can be defined as an ‘archive.’41 The archive of artistic means furthermore reflects the ‘monument,’42 which is a specific historical moment. The combination of artistic means that reflects the monument can reappear (though possibly modified) in different historical contexts. In addition, various aspects such as cinema and art traditions, the voices of German critics and cinema audiences, as well as post-war cultural policies and conditions, informed the discourse in and on rubble films. Thus, the term ‘discourse’ is used to identify how Romantic aesthetics and formalist film techniques create a symbolic discourse that discusses the conditions of contextual reality and thereby affects how people perceive post-war German society and national identity.

39 Gombrich (2006), p. 480. 40 Foucault explains how these discourses act both as institutional technologies of power, implemented and enforced by official authorisation, as well as technologies of the self, internalised means for the self-discipline of action, practice, and identity. According to Foucault, these technologies have both productive and negative materialistic, bodily, and spatial consequences for human subjects and communities. 41 ‘l’archive.’ Foucault (1969), p. 173. 42 ‘le monument.’ Ibid., p. 14-15.

26 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM

A Focus on Aesthetics Bordwell’s work on visual style offers a productive approach to the study of the Romantic discourse in a selection of rubble films previously not considered. What makes this study significant is its investigation of the subject of Romantic discourse in relation to the concept of visual style with a special emphasis on intericonic, intertextual and intermedial references, together with how they create the visual representation. Since most previous studies have concentrated on how rubble films mirror the past in terms of ‘dealing with the National Socialist past’ (Vergangenheitsbewältigung)43 and often ignore a deeper consideration of stylistic devices and their Romantic origins,44 this will be the first study to explore in detail the intericonic and intermedial impact of German Romanticism on rubble films. Another relatively untouched aspect that this study addresses is the visual aesthetic of landscape in rubble films, in particular the relation of rubble films to Romantic paintings by Caspar David Friedrich. In regard to the findings of Angela Dalle Vacche (1996), I will investigate the function of landscape as an expression of psychological condition within a socio-political context of crisis. With the results of this study, I aim to fill a gap in work done on rubble films. They will also help lay the groundwork for considering the reproduction of a Romantic discourse in other areas of German cinema, European cinema,45 as well as filmmaking in Hollywood.46 Structure Based on the results of Bordwell’s, Staiger’s and Thompson’s study on classical style in Hollywood cinema, the first chapter defines the ways in which ‘nonconforming’47 visual and narrative forms oppose the reassuring and affirmative

43 Such as Hoffmann / Schobert (1989); Brandlmeier (1989); Becker / Schöll (1995); Shandley (2001). 44 Kaes (1987), p. 16; Heinzelmeier (1988), p. 11; Shandley (2001), p. 1-8. 45 For example the films of the Hungarian film-maker Béla Tarr, the Berlin School, in particular, Angela Schanelec and Christian Petzold, or the Russian film-maker Andrei Swjaginzew. 46 For example film noir, neo noir or as in the recent study on Romantic irony in Hitchcock’s film oeuvre by Allen Richards in 2007. 47 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75.

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effects of classical style in cinema.48 Non-conforming devices include visual conventions, e.g. film techniques that were placed at the forefront in order to overtake narrative functions, as well as other patterns in visual style or narration that challenge the idealising effect of classical cinema style. Beyond various Romantic narrative aspects, this also refers to visual forms that evoke the impression of fragmentation, such as extreme camera angles, canted shots, chiaroscuro lighting, shadow effects, and expressive camera movements. In our selection of rubble films, frequently employed visual patterns evoking the visual impression of fragmentation serve to challenge the harmonising wholeness of classical forms, thereby acting as a mirror of post-war German identity and society. I will demonstrate that non-conforming patterns allow films to portray a historical moment of crisis in an ambiguous manner, such that traditional values and convictions are called into question. Our selection of rubble film is based upon these non-conforming aesthetic devices, which distinguish them from those conventional rubble films that make use of classical conventions. Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us was the first so-called rubble film to introduce these non-conforming patterns, which were then repeated in later rubble films. Therefore, The Murderers Are Among Us served as a trendsetter for the rubble films that followed it, which is why this film will serve as a particular reference for discussing non-conforming features and what sets them apart from conventions in classical style. In the end, what emerges from the application of these non-conforming visuals and the way these devices are arranged is the Romantic discourse. Chapter two focuses on the birth of a Romantic discourse and its function in the literature and paintings of German Romanticism. This chapter explores patterns and functions of typical Romantic motifs and subject matter such as doubles, doomed wanderers, demonic citizens, double and errant perception, iconic representation of landscapes, as well as ruins, given that these aspects later return in some rubble films.49 In the first part of chapter two, I discuss the Roman-

48 Thanks to viewing conventions of predictable visual patterns, style passes in classical cinema relatively unnoticed and works to reassure and reaffirm pre-existing views on society and its values. Compare: Ibid. Linda Schulte-Sasse speaks even of an absolutely control of ‘film viewer’s rate of comprehension’ in classical cinema that creates a ‘pleasurable wholeness’. Schulte-Sasse (1996: 11) (165) 49 They are combined with film techniques that invoke other typical Romantic devices such as uncanny and fatalistic worldviews/atmospheres (often indicated by environment and landscape), ironic discourses (between a fictional narrator and the film text), fragmented space, and open-ended narration. Special attention is paid to the

28 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM

tic novella The Sandman (Der Sandmann, 1816) by E.T.A. Hoffmann, as this text develops facets of typical Romantic motifs and themes such as alienation, doubles, and mistaken perception that return in many rubble films. By drawing on Romantic paintings by Caspar David Friedrich, Carl Gustav Carus, Carl Blechen, Johan Christian Dahl, and others, I will be able to explore the sociopolitical function of certain visual devices within contexts of crisis. After all, key examples of their work can be regarded as acts of opposition against the invader Napoléon Bonaparte (circa 1806/1810), while others object to the conservative restoration in Germany following the Vienna congress in 1815 (especially in the case of Friedrich). The assumption is that here, as well as later on in Weimar Expressionism and rubble film, subjective notions of Romantic style attempt to break with the norms and conventions of dominant classical academic style in art (e.g. under Bonaparte, restoration, the Kaiserreich and National Socialism). Consequently, a core goal of this study is to investigate how far and to what aesthetic end literary and visual concepts of Romanticism break with classical traditions in literature and art. In order to achieve this, I draw upon the literary and visual reflection of the historical context of crisis, which is related to the concept of national identity in art. As opposed to previous investigations of the continuity of literary motifs, this project identifies important iconic and stylistic aspects in Caspar David Friedrich’s work in particular, which importantly mark some of the selected rubble films. In comparison to other German Romantic painters such as Carus or Dahl, Friedrich employs more characteristically Romantic devices in order to represent the impact on the socio-political changes taking place in German society and national identity. This is why Friedrich’s Romantic discourse creates distinctive patterns of an aesthetic of opposition that also importantly marks our selection of rubble films. Therefore, Friedrich’s style is at the forefront of this study rather than other Romantic painters who express their socio-political opinions more moderately. Finally, the return to Friedrich’s aesthetic devices renders the visual representation of national identity through 50 51 Romantic devices a cornerstone of this study.

double motif and the literary and visual constructions of fragmentary identities and their meaning within the social-historical context of high and late Romanticism (from approximately 1800 to 1830). 50 These aspects are provoked due to constraints of the socio-political condition of crisis. 51 The similarity of Friedrich’s visual devices to those in some rubble films, in particular to the groundbreaking The Murderers Are Among Us, questions whether an intermedial and intericonic tradition ranging from these paintings to German cinema exists. Eisner (1952), as well as two art historians, Angela Dalle Vacche (1996) and William

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I distinguish classical style52 in National Socialist entertainment films from the stylistic and narrative Romantic elements in films of the aesthetic of opposition by arguing that the use of an artistic camera style, which is put into the fore, appears as a central oppositional pattern in Romance in Minor Key (Romanze in Moll, 1942).53 This aesthetic strategy is an important visual device, designed to establish a critical perception instead of uncritical empathy. Comparable to by Bertolt Brecht’s ‘effect of distanciation’ in literature and theatre, this accentuated expressive style favours a critical perspective of the film story, because it weakens the processes of identification and empathy. This effect conflicts with the narrative and visual strategies in the so-called non-political entertainment films of the National Socialist period. Some films contain propagandist elements created by a canonical narrative and stylistic composition that reinforce identification and empathy. The result of this reinforcement is that the spectator recognises the model characters in the film and decides to adapt their behaviour to his or her own life. Narrative and visual patterns in Romance in Minor Key break with such practices and enable the audience to judge each character individually, without outside influence.54 This methodical process also aims to support the key hypothesis of this study: that classical visual style and narrative devices in entertainment cinema

Vaughan (2004), have demonstrated how Friedrich’s aesthetic reappears in the German cinema of the Weimar republic, in films such as those by Fritz Lang and Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau. 52 According to Linda Schulte-Sasse, the classical style in the so-called ‘non-political entertainment’ of National Socialist cinema creates an illusory sense of ‘wholeness,’ which serves to transmit National Socialist ideology. This classical style is comparable to Hollywood cinema. In contrast to these idealising forms, the discussion explores films of the ‘aesthetic of opposition’ (Witte 1995) to demonstrate how fragmentary visual forms and Romantic motifs challenge the creation of homogeneity and coherence in cinema under Nazism. Schulte-Sasse (1996), p. 11. 53 Lowry notes certain examples: ‘sometimes the camera perceives figures and objects which do not fulfil a narrative function; sudden inserts foreground certain objects; often the camera jumps at a new scene.’ (manchmal nimmt die Kamera Figuren oder Objekte wahr, die keine narrative Funktion haben; plötzliche Detailaufnahmen stellen Objekte in den Vordergrund; oft “springt“ die Kamera auf einen neuen Schauplatz.) Lowry, p. 218. The camera movements and editing techniques are employed in such a conspicuous way that the narration is usually rendered artificial. 54 Compare: Lowry (1991); Witte (1995); Rentschler (1996); Schulte-Sasse (1996); Ascheid (2003); O’Brien (2006).

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under National Socialist ruled still a German post-war audience’s perception of films to such an extent that the non-conforming style, iconography, narratives, and motifs of some rubble films did not appeal to the German public—a problem that is manifest on the level of a visual style rather than in a narrative construction. This effect also arises due to the frequent use of genre devices and conventions that had not been permitted during the Third Reich, such as the criminal film, because of their potential to conflict with patterns of classical conventions. In divergence from the previously mentioned studies, this project focuses on a selection of formalist rubble films. In these films, emphasis is placed on how style and narration contribute to the creation of a controversy on German postwar society and national identity. The main objective of the last chapter is to demonstrate how visual and narrative patterns of a Romantic discourse present in each rubble film constructed, each in a different manner, conflict with the aesthetic devices employed by filmmakers in the National Socialist entertainment industry. Another aspect is that oppositional patterns in these rubble films serve to criticise German postwar society while evolving by placing a problematic male identity in the fore55 ground through visual and narrative patterns of fragmentation. Anke Pinkert has previously referred to these male identity constructions as the ill male or German patient, but without detailing their Romantic implications. Therefore, this analysis focuses on how the specific Romantic patterns constructed the fragmented male identity and how a general aesthetic of fragmentation worked to oppose the harmonising features of a classical style, which, as a key element of transmitting National Socialist ideology in film, was still widely expected by larger parts of German cinema audience. The six selected films all employ an artistic visual style that narratively accentuates problems of male identity as a symbol for the crisis in the post-war East and West German society and as a central aspect of the Romantic discourse. The rubble films that I will discuss share a central narrative device: visual form. The visual form present in these films evokes the impression of fragmentation that sets the stage for the subversive potential of leading Romantic motifs, such as the double, the demonic citizen, and the doomed wanderer, all of which appear as central elements in said films. Beyond these key aspects, each of the selected rubble films displays a unique selection of Romantic elements that fulfil the same narrative and visual functions: non-conforming visual devices, Romantic motifs, and icons engender ambiguous viewpoints on the period of the late Weimar Republic, the up-and-coming National Socialist regime and the post-war

55 Pinkert (2008), p. 118-136.

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period. These elements produce, in each film, a discussion about German national identity, notably, one that is gendered male. This effect of the Romantic discourse is not necessarily based on a complete break with the visual conventions of classical style. A combination of classical and non-classical elements can also irritate the audience and thereby challenge the harmonising cinematographic structures of classical style. Based on these criteria, the selected films are: The Murderers Are Among Us (Die Mörder sind unter uns, East Germany, 1946) by Wolfgang Staudte; Film Without a Name (Film ohne Titel, West Germany, 1947) by Rudolph Jugert, the former assistant of rubble film director Helmut Käutner, who wrote the film script; The Blum Affair (Affaire Blum, East Germany, 1948) by Erich Engel; Second Hand Destiny (Schicksal aus zweiter Hand, West Germany, 1949) by Wolfgang Staudte; The Last Illusion (Der Ruf, West Germany, 1949) by Josef von Báky—Fritz Kortner wrote the script and appears as the main actor; and The Lost (Der Verlorene, West Germany, 1951) by Peter Lorre.

1. The Neoformalist Approach: Questions of Form and Style

F ILM

AS AN

A ESTHETIC S YSTEM

This chapter will investigate the neoformalist method of film analysis as it relates to the analysis of rubble films that I will discuss later on. Neoformalism is the most suitable method because it explores the principles of formal construction in film. This approach corresponds to the project’s aim of investigating how constructive principles and devices create a cinematographic Romantic discourse in the selected films. As already mentioned in the introduction, I will also ground my analysis on methods of classical film theory: in particular, the differentiation of formalism (Sergei Eisenstein, Rudolf Arnheim, Béla Balázs) and realism (Siegfried Kracauer and André Bazin) will be employed to define all rubble films as consisting of a visual style shaped differently and to various extents by formalist elements. Other methods of scientific enquiry such as linguistics (Christian Metz), political philosophy (Althusserian Marxism) or philosophical approaches (Gilles Deleuze), structuralistic semiotics (Umberto Eco, Jan Marie Peters, Peter Wollen etc.), post-structuralist literary, feminist, gender and discourse analysis (Laura Mulvey, Jacque Derrrida, Julia Kristeva, Michel Foucault,) or psychoanalytic theory (Jacques Lacan’s psychoanalytic findings applied on film by Metz) might have been other choices for analysing the selected rubble films. Yet as Bordwell argues in Post-Theory: Reconstructing Film Studies (co-edited with Noël Carrol),1 most of these theoretical approaches impose on cinema concepts and structures that were created to analyse other media such as literature, art and philo-

1

Bordwell / Carrol (1996), p. 3-33

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sophical texts, or are preoccupied with questions of origin in other scientific fields. To avoid dogmatic interpretations that might result from employing these ‘great theories,’ as Bordwell calls them, this study focuses on the properties (characteristics) and constructive features of the film medium through a formalist approach, which also includes spectator responses and a socio-cultural context as well as the properties common to the film production in a given period. Another important difference between some of the above-discussed approaches and neoformalism is that the latter emphasises cognitive processes of film reception by focusing on how defamiliarisation affects our habitual perception to understand some of the functions and motivations underlying a film as the result of a distinct historical context. These are important aspects to consider in order to understand how and why rubble films were perceived in a particular way, why filmmakers employed certain techniques in a given historical situation, and how the context of production influenced these choices in style and form. Beyond the central focus on neoformalism, I will also employ theoretical aspects of the previously named methods if the filmic construction of meaning requires it. To be specific, this will draw on Marxist, literary, semiotic, and psychoanalytic approaches, as well as discourse analysis by Foucault. Discourse analysis is particularly useful in this study, since the Romantic devices in the rubble films being discussed are considered a symbolic discourse, reflecting German society and national identity in the post-war period. The following short introduction on the neoformalist method of film analysis will also raise further questions and problems related to the approach and in relation to the analysis of rubble films. Bordwell and Thompson define the project of neoformalist historical poetics in Film Art: An Introduction (2003). Through a critique of the screen theory of the 1970s, a theory that combines psychoanalytical, feminist, and deconstructivist approaches, Bordwell and Thompson make a strong case for a neoformalist approach. Unlike screen theory, neoformalism demands a different kind of analysis that requires deeper engagement with the filmic aesthetic material, while simultaneously taking into consideration historical context, spectator reception, and film theory. Thus, historical poetics propose an alternative to a conventional interpretative tradition. Historical poetics studies ‘how, in determinate circumstances, films are put together, serve specific func2 tions, and achieve specific effects.’ This procedure is highly significant for the analysis of rubble films, since a particular historical moment, the film’s histori-

2

Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 266-7.

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cal context, impinges on a film’s narrative and stylistic construction, as well as on the way the post-war German audience perceived the given film. In this approach, meaning does not appear as content imposed on a passive viewer. This assertion distinguishes neoformalism from other approaches that often define the viewer as a passive receiver upon whom meaning is imposed. The difference between these approaches is of major significance for this analysis. Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson write that the spectator actively chooses and uses filmic cues as constructed by the filmmaker to execute ‘determinable operations of which the construction of all sorts of meaning will be part.’3 To understand the viewer as actively contributing to the creation of meaning in film, it is useful to investigate how the prior cinematic experience of the German audience and the historical context of the post-war period marked the opinions of and judgements on rubble films, as expressed by the German public. By focusing on narration and style and their effects on the post-war spectator, I aim to explain why the German audience quickly rejected formalist rubble films in favour of the newly released, so called non-political entertainment films produced during National Socialism and, though less enthusiastically, foreign film productions.4 Given the great diversity of genres or combinations of genre conventions, styles, and subjects in the films considered here, it is important to point out that neoformalism is not a comprehensive theory; instead, it is akin to a set of tools, which, when applied to each film, develops a distinct method, which, in turn, depends on the film’s unique form.5 This method assumes similarities within works of (film) art, comprehension processes of spectators, and the existence of relations between art and society, and is what defines neoformalism as an aesthetic approach. A theory of film art is created by generalising assumptions and based upon this process film is defined as an artwork.6

3

Ibid., p. 270.

4

Pleyer writes, ‘die Kinobesitzer spielten nach Möglichkeit vor Kriegsende gedrehte deutsche Unterhaltungsfilme, die besonders beliebt waren, oder aber ausländische Filme, die zum überwiegenden Teil immer noch mehr Ansehen genossen als die neuen deutschen Trümmerfilme.’ (1965), p. 155.

5

Bordwell examines how meaning is constructed, using the method of sample analysis. First, he sets up assumptions about the interplay of narration, style, and a film’s overall form and, depending on this, he develops the analysis that examines the dominant formal system. By referring to sample sequences, he proves the given thesis and discusses the film’s composition. Compare: Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 230.

6

Compare: Thompson (1995), p. 23.

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Against the backdrop of Russian Formalist poetics, which considers the artwork as a sum of devices (priom),7 film is understood as an aesthetic system in which varying devices create relations among one another. Thus, it is possible to say that the sum of devices interacting together create an aesthetic system called a film. Neoformalism attempts to examine how these devices interact. Ultimately, through the description of this process, a poetic8 of the film medium emerges. 9 According to Bordwell, some of the main questions arising from the neoformalist approach, and which will be addressed within the selection of rubble films, are: what principles underlie the compositions of these films, and how do they produce cinematographic effects? How do the various parts relate to one another in order to create a whole? How do these principles arise and change in the distinct empirical context?10 Finally, which intertextual, intermedial, and intericonic aspects mark the films in question and how do they work together in order to produce a Romantic discourse? This approach allows for an explanation not only of the relationship between style and narration, but also as to why and how the interpretation and perception of rubble films differ in their respective changing historical context. We have already highlighted that the analysis of visual style and narrative form also takes into account the pre-existing knowledge of the historical and cultural context and a spectator’s prior familiarity with the film medium or other art mediums. This assumption allows for a more comprehensive understanding of how these elements interact in the construction of meaning in rubble films. For example, it is

7

Device is the translation of the notion ‘priëm’ that was developed by the Russian Formalists, such as Victor Sklovskij. Compare: Sklovskij in Mierau (1987), p. 11-32. Cited from: Thompson in Albersmeier (2003), p. 434.

8

‘Aristotle’s fragmentary lecture notes, The Poetics, addressed what we recognise today as drama and literature. Since this time we have had, Stravinsksy’s Poetics of Music, Todorov’s Poetics of Prose, a study of the poetics of architecture, as well as, the Russian Formalists’ Poetic of the Cinema. Such extensions on the original concept are plausible since it need not be restricted to any particular medium. “Poetics” derives from the Greek word poiesis, or active making.’ Bordwell in Palmer (1989), p. 369-398.

9

‘The poetic of any medium studies the finished work as the result of a process of construction—a process which includes a craft component, the more general principles according to which the work is composed, and its functions, effects, and uses. Any inquiry into the fundamental principles by which a work in any representational medium is constructed can fall within the domain of poetics.’ Ibid., p. 371.

10 Ibid., p. 369-398.

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impossible to examine the function of rubble and ruins in these films without referring to the historical context, because circumstances of the post-war period profoundly marked the visual and narrative functions of these aspects of decor of rubble and ruins. Finally, the discussion seeks to explore the dominant narrative and visual devices that repetitively appear in the rubble films under examination. This procedure will identify Romantic patterns as repetitive and dominant features in the selected films. These results give rise to further questions: why does this particular visual representation of rubble and ruins appear in combination with Romantic elements in the aftermath of war? What kinds of narrative functions do these elements serve? Is the reason for the generally negative perception of these films in Germany related to the dominance of Romantic elements, and to their special visual and narrative functions? These questions are closely related to the concept of historical poetics. This concept works on the assumption that norms and conventions in cinema underlie changes and developments because of evolving contextual empirical conditions (which determines the availability of particular film techniques, etc.). In relation to rubble films, this assumption explains why certain stylistic manifestations prevailed in some films. More importantly, taking into account the material conditions in post-war Germany, such as limited technical means, the shortage of film, or censorship regulations enforced by the occupation forces, helps to indicate a sustained explanation for certain stylistic manifestations. The aim of this analysis is therefore to understand the principles and effects underlying the construction of these rubble films, as well as their ‘constitution, function, consequences, and historical manifestations.’11 Following the neoformalist approach, each film will be analysed as an ‘overall system of relations that we can perceive among the elements in the whole film.’12 This is possible, since the filmic form displays different aesthetic devices

11 Ibid., p. 371. 12 ‘If form is the total system which the viewer attributes to the film, there is no inside or outside. Every component functions within the overall patterns that are perceived. Thus we shall treat as formal elements many things that some people consider content. From our standpoint, subject matter and abstract ideas all enter into the total system of the artwork. They may cue us to frame certain expectations or draw certain inferences. The perceiver relates elements to another and makes them interact dynamically. Consequently, subject matter and ideas become somewhat different from what they might be outside the work.’ Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 49.

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in each film that systematically depend on distinctive historical conditions. 13 Outlining the similarities of these distinctive formal principles of style and narration will allow us to draw conclusions about the principles of aesthetic composition in the selected rubble films. Story and Plot – Understanding Narrative in Film The first rubble film ever made, The Murderers Are Among Us by Wolfgang Staudte, introduced various narrative techniques such as voice-overs, flashbacks, special Romantic motifs and themes such as the double, doomed wanderers, demonic citizens, and fatal/uncanny atmospheres. These narrative elements are combined with artistic visual devices including canted camera framings, vanguard camera movements, and editing, as well as topographic references to the post-war period. Since all of these cinematographic techniques and Romantic elements more or less reappeared, albeit in a modified version in most of the later rubble films, it is possible to assume that this first rubble film exercised significant influence on other films. It is for this reason that Staudte’s film will serve as a model or reference point in the discussion of special problems related to stylistic and narrative patterns in rubble films. To understand how narrative conventions and visual devices were used to manipulate the viewer’s perception, it is useful to consider the ‘fabula/syuzhet distinction’14 in the neoformalist approach. The term syuzhet15 refers to the actual representation of the story within ‘the form in which the perceiver actually encounters it.’ 16 Syuzhet (or plot) respects the order of cues in the ‘work and the series of information processes which designate them’17 and refers to everything visible and audible presented in a film, including those elements not actually presented but only mentioned. Consequently, the term syuzhet refers to the order of how information is conveyed in a film. Notably, flashbacks and voice-over

13 This refers mainly to this mode of production in different studios and to film techniques, which underlie changing conditions in different historical circumstances. 14 This concept was developed by the Russian Formalists in order to examine how narration functions. The Russian Formalists used the notion fabula to describe the chain of represented events as they take place in real life. Here the fabula is the material to create the syuzhet. Compare: Albèra (1996), p. 238. 15 The syuzhet can be described as a system that ‘arranges components – the story events and states of affairs – according to specific principles.’ Bordwell (1985), p. 50. 16 Ibid., p. 49. 17 Ibid.

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are dominant syuzhet patterns, which shape the form of how the structure of a story is actually arranged. These components are usually given out of order, thus requiring the viewer to mentally rearrange them in order to create a logical chain of events.18 Since the viewer of a film must construct the story that is represented to him or her, he or she must actively arrange the causal connections of events.19 This process of establishing chronology that causally links the material is called the ‘fabula.’20 Furthermore, the fabula is a pattern that allows the ‘perceivers to create narratives through assumptions and inferences. It is the developing result of picking up narrative cues, applying schemata, framing and testing hypothesis.’21 In practice, the viewer applies viewing skills gained from former experiences of watching films and viewing artworks. These skills permit him or her to combine the story through the mental construction of linked material. For that reason, fabula,22 which is sometimes referred to as story, is defined as an abstract and formal structure that interferes with the viewer’s knowledge of structures, motifs, and genres. Events in films usually appear in a way that enables a viewer to rearrange and process them into a logical chain of meaning. Yet we will see that, due to the non-conforming devices in our selected rubble films, the spectator is often confronted with a plot arrangement that is confusing and challenges his or her preconceived assumptions.

18 Thompson (1988), p. 39. 19 From the storyteller’s perspective, the material of the plot is used to build the story, by deciding how various elements are to be presented. However, from the spectator‘s perspective, the film provides the plot that is the basis of cues on which to recreate the story in his mind. Compare: Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 71. 20 Ibid. 21 Bordwell (1985), p. 49. 22 Because fabula is not materially presented in a film, it can therefore only be guessed. The distinction between fabula and syuzhet is significant for the description of the artistic-creative act of production, and for the representation of the constructive, as well as for the mental process of the spectator. The viewer acknowledges the story during the process of storytelling and reconstructs it in a new form. At the same time, the plot is influenced by hidden cues and information, stylistic characteristics, and unrepresented, conventional, and schematic knowledge. Whereas the plot names the architectonics of the film’s representation of the fabula, the syuzhet pattern is independent of the medium.

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Style and Narration In the following section I will discuss how to analyse stylistic and narrative patterns in the selected films. According to neoformalism, each film consists of an overall form, which is itself constructed by two other systems. The first is the dramaturgical system and presents the process of narration. The second consists of film techniques, which create their own formal system in every single film. It results from the ‘unified, developed, and significant use of particular technical choices’23 and is nothing other than ‘style.’ A director creates a distinctive stylistic system through choices of film techniques such as mise-en-scene, cinematography, editing, sound, etc. Since these elements interact with and affect narration on all levels of the overall form, it is not possible to analyse these two systems in a given film separately. This is why the process of narration cannot be ignored, although this study focuses primarily on function and meaning of visual style in the selected rubble films. Beyond their stylistic function, techniques can serve narrative functions 24 such as to ‘advance the cause-effect chain, create parallels, manipulate story relations, or sustain the narration’s flow of information.’25 At the end of this section, I will discuss how in the classical film style this function usually appears in a supportive and subservient role in relation to the process of narration. By contrast, the stylistic system of art films often dominates the narrative system to such an extent that the spectator sometimes struggles to construct meaning from overly confusing cues. Based on this distinction, this study acknowledges an important assertion. This project argues that the rejection of most rubble films by German audiences was closely linked to the ways in which its non-conforming visual style and narration challenged or even broke with the norms and conventions of a classical cinema style—a style that was dominant during the twelve years of cinema under the National Socialist regime. The term classical style is based upon the research results of the neoformalist studies by David Bordwell, Janet Staiger, and Kristin Thompson, The Classical Hollywood Cinema. Film Style & Mode of Production to 1960 (1985), and David Bordwell’s Narration in Fiction Film (1985). These studies not only investigate the classical style in terms of its functions and principles, but also consider the

23 Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 175. 24 Moreover, film style may attract our attention separately from the narrative or nonnarrative form, with the result that in some films—mostly art films—these techniques give more emphasis to patterns of style than to narration. 25 Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 175.

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changes that take place in various historical contexts. Furthermore, they provide an excellent overview of the most important principles, on which the classical style depends. In Narration in Fiction Film (1985), Bordwell introduces three central propositions on the construction and function of classical style in cinema: first, ‘classical narration treats film techniques as a vehicle for the syuzhet’s transmission of fabula information.’26 In this process, every effect of technique must be obedient to a character's transmission of fabula information; therefore, ‘bodies and faces become the focal point of attention.’27 In a break from classical style, several factors serve to transmit more important fabula information than those provided by the actors themselves: namely, formalist settings of ruins or landscapes, chiaroscuro lighting, and particular visual framings that create the impression of fragmentation. This function reveals the first contradiction to the classical style, since we can summarize that in classical cinema, style only supports the narration in a compositional and subordinating manner. The second aspect Bordwell proposes is that style encourages the spectator in classical narration to construct ‘a coherent, consistent time and space’ for the ‘fabula action.’28 In many rubble films, the construction of time is rather confusing due to the many flashbacks or flash-forwards that demanded a lot of effort and willingness from the post-war viewer to organise these cues into a linear order of cause and effect. Moreover, the construction of space does not always follow classical patterns, in which the ‘heroic’ male character is placed in a central axis position. The classical hero is well lit and looks towards the camera. For example, in The Murderers Are Among Us, the male protagonist Mertens is often placed outside the classical central axis. He appears in a backside perspective, shaken with trauma or walking away. This non-classical position is underpinned by low-key or chiaroscuro lighting and framed by a shot space, evoking the impression of fragmentation—a result of the formalist camera framings such as canted shots and extreme high and low angle perspectives. Similar patterns also reappear in other formalist rubble films such as Second Hand Destiny, The Lost, The Last Illusion, and others. In the classical style, camera movements aim to create ‘an unambiguous, voluminous space.’29 This principle of construction also conflicts with all our selected rubble films: space often appears as narrow, dark or gloomy and evokes the impression of fragmentation. It is also marked by low-key and chiaroscuro

26 Bordwell (1985), p. 162. 27 Ibid. 28 Ibid., p. 163. 29 Ibid.

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lighting. Extreme camera angles and perspectives can sometimes be unsettling for the spectator, transmitting a sense of alienation, despair, and hesitation towards the ‘antihero’ male protagonist. Furthermore, camera movements encourage readings of ambiguity through the use of extreme angles and perspectives. In Film Without a Name, the camera movements are placed in the foreground in order to function as an ironic comment and to highlight the artistic possibilities of the medium; the result being a style that creates distance from the narrative content. Similar stylistic aspects can be seen in the other films discussed here. Bordwell writes that the composition of shots in the classical style aims at ‘making each shot the logical outcome of its predecessor and at reorienting the spectator repeated set ups.’30 However, these principles are frequently challenged in our selection of rubble films. For example, besides the use of extreme camera movements and angles in Staudte’s and other films, such classical compositions do not appear constantly. Sometimes his cameraman even crosses the 180-degree line of the continuity-system.31 Such crossings disturb the spatial orientation of the audience and remind them that they are watching a film, as the cinematographic devices are given dominance. Some of these visual devices were also used in Weimar cinema, film noir, and in films of the aesthetic of opposition during the Third Reich (for example Käutner’s Romance in Minor Key). As we will see in the selected rubble films, such foregrounded artistic devices not only encourage a critical, distanced view of the protagonists, which affects the whole film action, but also often reduces the process of identification and empathy for the viewer. A third aspect mentioned by Bordwell maintains that the classical style consists of a ‘strictly limited number of particular technical devices organized into a stable paradigm and ranged probabilistically according to syuzeht demands.’32 The important point here is that all stylistic conventions function in a subordinating manner to the syuzeht. They must meet the viewer’s pre-existing knowledge of filmic conventions in order not to irritate the perception of the audience. According to the expectations of the spectator, filmic conventions fulfil a highly codified function in a given context. Film genres also function in this way, because they shape and form the viewer's expectation. Therefore, variations appear foremost on the level of story construction and not on the level of visual style. 33

30 Ibid. 31 For example, when Mertens leaves the night club at the film’s beginning and when the character Mondschein enters the study of the clairvoyant. 32 Bordwell (1985), p. 163. 33 Ibid., p. 164.

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In a similar way, framings of people in the classical style are restricted. Characters are mostly depicted between full shot and medium close up and usually at eye level, thus ‘straight on at the shoulder or chin level.’34 Moreover, Bordwell notices that these framings are less likely to be an extreme long shot or an extreme close up, a high or low angle.’35 Contrary to these classical conventions, the selection of rubble films examined here indicates a wide range of film techniques that do not correspond to the canonic restriction of stylistic and narrative patterns. Furthermore, extreme camera angles are frequent in many of these films, as are long shots and close ups, which create framings in which the eye level is not maintained. They function to transfer the deranged psychological word missing of the anti-hero into filmic properties. These devices break with the classical conventions and norms employed under National Socialism, contributing to the creation of visual and narrative ambiguity. Such artistic devices are often considered to be formalist techniques that were developed during the Weimar epoch of German cinema. The censorship policies of the National Socialist film industry banned many of these stylish devices of the Weimar cinema period because they were not well suited to propagandist purposes.36 However, this does not imply that rubble films are completely avant-gardist and experimental. Yet the stylistic and narrative compositions of the selected films invoke and provoke a subversive Romantic discourse that challenges existing stereotypical patterns in films produced during the Third Reich. Many of these non-classical devices correspond to patterns found in the American film noir genre. In their study on the classical style in Hollywood cinema, Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson demonstrate how these film noir elements function in a way ‘non-conforming’37 to the classical style. The most important aspect of their non-conforming function is that film noir narratives represent an ‘assault on psychological causality.’38 The heroes often suffer ‘internal conflicts with an existential awareness of his or her situation.’39 Thus, the ‘classical conventions of logical action, defined characters, and psychological stable hero’ are challenged because they ‘are subverted by film noir’s attractive killers, repellent cops, confused actions, gratuitous violence, and weary or disorientated

34 Ibid., p. 163. 35 Ibid. 36 Compare: O’Brien (2006), p. 223. 37 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid.

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heroes.’40 In a similar vein, film noir tends to break with the requisite happy ending so popular in the classical style. In opposition to the open ending in many film noir, the happy ending in the classical style serves to reconcile the audience with problems, presented earlier in the film’s story. These non-classical patterns are perpetuated in the rubble films discussed here, as shown by the visual and narrative means that depict the suffering male anti-heroes who are tortured by the memory of past events. In this way, the figure of the male anti-hero, as a non-classical narrative element, functions to deconstruct the typical visual and narrative conception of a classical sublime hero. The non-classical visual and narrative patterns oppose and deconstruct the idea of a wholeness because they depict and recall the dysfunctional elements and moments of crisis in a story, just as indicated by the figure of the anti-hero. In our selection of rubble films, moments of crisis are mirrored in the way these devices challenge and oppose harmonizing principle, and because they emphasise problematic aspects, such as feelings of alienation, strangeness, and taboos within society. However, this does not indicate that classical patterns are completely absent in the selected rubble films. After all, the play with an audience’s expectations also results from a particular combination of classical and non-conforming devices.41 Rubble film directors also employed typical classical norms and conventions, for example: the use of an establishing shot followed by a break of the space into closer views and/or shot/reverse shots; and a return to more distant views only when character movements or the entry of a new character requires the viewer to be reoriented. The analysis of the selected film samples demonstrate that such combinations of classical and non-conforming patterns fulfil important roles in creating the Romantic discourse on a narrative and visual level. Another important part of this combination of classical and non-classical features is that many rubble films represent quite unusual elements of genre conventions. Therefore, it is often difficult to speak of a ‘genre’ of rubble films. Narration and visual style in our selection of films simultaneously include devices of criminal films, film noir, war veteran films (Heimkehrerfilm, a subdivision of rubble films), and melodrama. For example, in The Murderers Are Among Us, intertexutal references to Weimar cinema, the aesthetic of opposition, and Eisenstein's Ivan the Terrible mark the film’s overall form, as well as intermedial devices from Romantic paintings, such as those by Caspar David

40 Ibid. 41 For example, Staudte’s cameraman Behn-Grund juxtaposes classic principles with non-conforming ones by framing the central characters of Susanne and Mertens in very different manners.

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Friedrich. However, the most important aspect of this challenge is that visual style does not pass unnoticed in these films. Visual style appears not to be invisible or seamless such as it does in the classical style.42 Finally, the most important function of the non-conforming style within the rubble films under discussion here is to overtake narrative goals that not affirm reassuring viewing conventions through the use of predictable visual patterns. I will examine how visual framings of the rubble or the natural landscape, as well as fragmentation of the shot space, unsettle the audience and lead them to question the moral state of the German people in the aftermath of World War II. These methods of fragmentation create an ambiguity in the selected films that contradicts the creation of what the film researcher Linda Schulte-Sasse calls a ‘pleasurable wholeness’43 normally present in the classical style. Film Noir: A Challenge of Traditional Artistic and Social Values Many of the artistic devices that closely link the aesthetic of opposition to the rubble films discussed here represent a modified return to the artistic, highdeveloped style of Weimar cinema, which is said to have greatly influenced American film noir. This influence is largely due to the emigration of German film talent to Hollywood as a result of Hitler’s rise to power. According to Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson,44 German film techniques were initially only selectively assimilated by the Hollywood machinery; for instance, some ‘devices were inserted into generic contexts: ‘low-key lighting for mystery, distorted perspectives for horror, odd angles for shock effects’ 45 and despite a few exceptions, ‘camera movement was used to establish locales or follow principal characters.’46 German film techniques of Expressionist cinema were employed to achieve character subjectivity and ‘were seized upon for momentary, intensified inserts.’47 The assimilation of German cinematic devices into Hollywood cinema production began already in the late 1920s when Hollywood films first included ‘prismatic or distorted imagery, multiple superimpositions, skewed perspective in a set design, camera gyrations to indicate a character’s intoxication, delirium,

42 Bordwell (1985), p. 162-164. 43 Schulte-Sasse, (1996), p. 11. 44 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 73. 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid. 47 Ibid.

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dream or emotional anxiety.’48 These devices, less frequently employed in the 1930s, reappeared in the subjective, point-of-view films of the 1940s, while other formal properties of Expressionist cinema, such as ‘the more episodic and open-ended narrative, the entirely subjective film, or the slower tempo of story events, were not imitated by Hollywood.’49 Consequently, Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson argue that ‘the classical style took only what could extend and elaborate its principles without challenging them.’50 With the development of film noir in the 1940s, a return to the visual took place as well as an interest in the narrative patterns of Weimar cinema that challenge the harmonising features of classical cinema style. This change was closely related to the historical background of World War II and the artistic, social, and political tensions it created. According to the film noir researcher Sheri Chinen Biesen, film noir metaphorically mirrors ‘the profound variance between condoned, regulated, and sanitized propaganda representations of the war and the realities of war culture.’51 Moreover, the dark visual style in film noir contradicted the ‘morally up-lifting screen material’52 that American censorship promoted. The sinister and uncanny chiaroscuro style of film noir symbolised the ‘uncertain fear, violence, and agonizing hardship of everyday life in wartime America, coinciding with rationing of basic daily items, war related shortages and non-material deprivations.’53 Similar to Weimar cinema and some rubble films, the visual expression of this socio-political context of crisis failed to reaffirm or to comfort the audience, since it artistically generated a sense of the sinister, tense, and fearful atmosphere of wartime reality, so that the effects of the war on American society and its values were reflected on in a critical way. As previously mentioned, this effect is primarily achieved on the level of visual style due to the ‘particular patterns of non-conformity within Hollywood’ of film noir that have ‘functioned not to define a coherent genre or style but to locate in several American films a challenge to dominant values’54 in American society. Thus, it can be deduced that these patterns of non-conformity in the

48 Ibid. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid. 51 Biesen (2005), p. 59. 52 Ibid. 53 Ibid. 54 Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson argue that no fixed generic conventions exist. This statement permits us to define the genre of film noir so that ‘films of many different sorts can be considered to belong to ‘film noir’.’ (1985), p. 75.

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visual and narrative style of film noir function to provide a critical reflection of American society in a state of crisis. In the film analyses of chapter three, I will return to this discussion in order to examine how formalist rubble films employ stylistic and narrative conventions that, as in film noir, challenge the idealising and harmonising effects of the classical cinema style. It will be shown that these effects primarily result from the creation of a visual and narrative ambiguity, which is why they conflict with the reaffirming and assuring functions of the classical style. Defamiliarisation as a Key Concept This project sets out to explore the extent to which the non-conforming visual and narrative devices in some rubble films challenged the viewing habits of the German post-war audience, which were strongly formed by the classical style in cinema under National Socialism. This challenge of the viewing habits will be explained within the neoformalist approach’s key concept of ‘ostranenie.’55 Translated as ‘defamiliarisation,’ this term describes the renewing effects on our mental processes through the aesthetic play achieved within an artwork. In his article Art as Device from 1916,56 the Russian Formalist Viktor Slovskijs describes defamiliarisation as a technique that decontextualises our experience of art and provides a strange view of familiar subjects. In this way, art defamiliarises our habitual reception of the everyday world, ideology, and other artworks. This effect is first achieved by taking material from its habitual context or source; and secondly, by locating it in a new context, thereby eradicating any prior meaning or relation to its original function.57 The concept of defamiliarisation is a key aspect for the analysis of how classical patterns, in combination

55 One should not confuse Bertholt Brecht’s term of defamiliarisation and the Russian concept of ostranenie because of the similarity of names, although they do share some principles. Brecht aims to discourage the audience from identifying with characters; by losing detachment, the action must continually be made strange, alien, remote, and separate. To do this, the director must use any devices that preserve or es-tablish distance. The result of this is what Brecht called the Verfremdungs-Effekt (the effect of distancing). In neoformalism, defamiliarisation can in many ways create effects, yet they are not necessarily connected to didactic aims such as in the case of Brecht’s Verfremdungs-Effekt. 56 See Slovskij in Mierau (1987), p. 11-32. 57 As a result, the history of aesthetic form is defined as an ongoing deautomatisation, which provides endless new ways of defamiliarisation. Thompson (2003), p. 430.

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with non-conforming techniques or narrative devices, challenged the viewing habits of German post-war audiences. The defamiliarisation of reality, which is the main purpose of artworks, challenges our perception because it resists automatisation. Accordingly, the meaning in films changes constantly throughout history. These assertions allow every film—even an ordinary one— to be regarded as a defamiliarisation of the stylistic traditions to which it belongs. The neoformalist approach examines a film based upon its historical context because in ‘particular historical circumstances, certain possibilities are present while others are not.’58 Finally, film form, techniques, and stylistic possibilities and their perception by the audience depend on a historical context, since technical and stylistic components change under historical circumstances and are not always accessible to all filmmakers. Neoformalism regards a film’s aesthetic norms and conventions. By focusing on cinematic characteristics, this approach differentiates film from other media and exhibits its qualities as an art form. Since neoformalism declares film to be art, the aesthetic composition of filmic form59 is of far more interest than concepts of ideology, power, or sociological significance of filmic communication. Although Bordwell and Thompson criticise the common interpretative theories for their predictable results of analysis, they do not deny the necessity of interpretation in the process of understanding a film. In fact, because film is not just seen as a sort of communication, interpretation is thus only one tool among others.60 Yet, this focus on typical narrative and visual patterns in cinema does not exclude the use of traditional interpretative theories and their impact. If a film’s overall form requires such approaches, the neoformalist analysis can easily adapt to such needs. Accordingly, chapter three’s analysis of the selected rubble films will combine neoformalism with concepts of interpretative theories.

58 Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 464. 59 Noël Carrol explains in his book A Philosophy of Mass Art that it is possible to analyse ideological processes within a cognitive paradigm. Compare: Carrol (1998). 60 Thompson (1988), p. 13.

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C ONSTRUCTION : M EANING

Since this study adapts certain terms of neoformalist film analysis in order to explore meaning and function of visual style and narration in rubble films, this part further investigates definitions and terms of this approach. Thompson defines meaning, like every other aspect in a film, as a ‘device.’ A device is described as ‘any single element or structure that plays a role in the artwork—a camera movement, a frame story, a repeated word, a costume, a theme, and so on.’ 61 With their potential for defamiliarisation and creating a filmic system, all devices of a medium or its formal organisation are treated as equally important. Furthermore, the way in which devices are organised may not only indicate meaning, but may also, as previously mentioned, engender visual and narrative effects of defamiliarisation. This section will closely examine neoformalist concepts of ‘function’ and ‘motivation’ relevant to the overall form of a film in order to make conclusions about the principles underlying the organisation of devices within the selected rubble films. Following the Russian Formalist Yuri Tynjanov, Thompson defines ‘function’ as the interrelationship between all elements in a film’s whole system. Function also refers to the purpose of a device as indicated through its presence. Even if distinctive films consist of the same devices, function can create differences between them with the result that meaning will differ as well. Depending on the film’s context, any device may fulfil different functions. Thus, in analysing a film, one must understand the function of devices in their particular context.62 Whereas a film’s function is produced on the basis of devices, it is motivation that justifies the presence of any given device. For Thompson, motivation is an interaction that operates between the work’s structures and the spectator’s activity. She introduces four basic types of motivation in reference to the pattern of the Russian Formalists:63 compositional, realistic, transtextual, and artistic.

61 Ibid., p. 15. 62 For example, one such single device, such as a low angle shot can, within a changing context, produce different aspects of meaning. This study not only investigates the construction of meaning within a single film, but also compares its stylistic and narrative manifestations to earlier, contemporary, as well as later film traditions. Thereby one will understand how particular cinematographic intertextual references impinge on the production of meaning. 63 The Russian Formalists created all types except of the transtextual motivation. Bordwell introduced this one. Bordwell (1985), p. 36.

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Compositional motivation explains the reason for inclusion of any device and its necessity for the construction of narrative causality, space or time.64 Although a realistic motivation is an appeal to ideas about reality, it does not need to be an imitation of reality.65 This much will become evident in the discussion of the realist style in through the selected rubble films. Transtextual motivation refers to the presence of the visual and narrative conventions and patterns of other artworks in a film. In relation to historical circumstances, transtextual motivation may vary. Mostly this motivation refers to specific generic or stylistic conventions in cinema or other art forms relevant to a given film sample.66 Here, transtextual motivation will be investigated along three subdivisions: intertextual, intermedial, and intericonic references in the rubble films discussed here. Artistic motivation is present in every device of an artwork, since it functions partly ‘to contribute to the creation of the work’s abstract, overall shape – its form.’67 In comparison to other kinds of motivation, artistic motivation68 can exist by itself; it shifts our attention to the aesthetic qualities of an artwork. This function manifests itself in rubble films particularly through the frequent usage of rubble and natural landscape settings, expressive lighting, and artistic camera

64 Another function of composition is to justify why information, which a spectator may need to know at a later stage, is provided early on in a film. Although compositional motivation should indicate plausibility, which is not always given, viewers may be willing to ignore insignificant lacks of plausibility in the story in order to continue. This type of motivation creates ‘a kind of internal set of rules for the individual artwork.’ As a result, these cues lead the spectator to appeal to notions from the real world as a way in which to justify their presence. Thompson (1988), p. 16. 65 Thompson explains that realistic motivation can appeal to two broad areas of our knowledge: on the one hand, our knowledge of everyday life gained by direct interaction with nature and society; on the other, ‘our awareness of prevailing aesthetic canons of realism in a given period of an art form’s stylistic change.’ Ibid., p. 17. 66 Thompson assumes that ‘transtextual motivation is a special type which pre-exists the artwork, and upon which the artist may draw in a straightforward or playful way.’ Ibid., p. 19. 67 Ibid. 68 In a narrative film, artistic motivation can be systematically foregrounded. In such cases, the artistic patterns of the artwork compete for our attention with the narrative functions of the devices. As a result, a parametric form is created. In such films, certain devices, such as colour, camera movements, and sonic motifs are repeated and varied across the work’s form: they become parameters.

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techniques. Due to their non-conformity to the classical style, these aspects embody a strong potential for defamiliarising processes of automatised perception of narrative and genre conventions, as the sample analyses will show in chapter three. As we have discussed, devices can serve several functions and motivations. They can create ‘the narrative, can appeal to similar devices familiar from other artworks, can imply verisimilitude, and can defamiliarise the structures of an artwork itself.’69 Even meaning, a result of devices, may serve these different functions. Provided that meaning is the result of an artwork’s formal components, the Neoformalists deny the feature most common to aesthetic theories: the ‘formcontent split.’70 This aspect has already been differentiated into separate categories in the analysis of style and narration. Here, meaning is understood as the work’s system of cues for denotations and connotations. Thompson distinguishes among four basic levels of meaning: referential, explicit, implicit, and symptomatic. Some cues have pre-existing meanings; for example, clichés and stereotypes, which, while serving functions, are used as basic materials in an artwork. Denotation refers to referential and explicit meaning, while referential meaning involves all facets of the real world—those, which are immediately recognisable by an audience. While explicit meaning is understood as abstract ideas, both explicit meaning and referential meaning function within a film’s overall form, defined by context.71 In contrast to denotations, connotations need to be explored on a different level of interpretation. We distinguish connotations as having either an implicit or a symptomatic meaning. Implicit meaning involves all symbolic and hidden meanings, which are only referred to by suggestion. Bordwell points out that ‘units of implicit meaning are commonly called themes, though they may also be identified as problems, issues, and questions.’72 Symptomatic meaning is comprised of the interpretation of a film’s non–explicit ideology, the reflection of social tendencies, or ‘as a suggestive of the mental state of large groups of people.’73 Finally, influenced by economic, political and ideological processes, meaning can be seen as the individual expression of an artist and as a conse-

69 Thompson (1988), p. 19. 70 Ibid. 71 Whether or not we are able to decode these types of meaning depends on our prior experience of artworks and the world. 72 Bordwell (1999), p. 9. 73 Thompson (1988), p. 12.

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quence of these social dynamics, as demonstrated in the films produced before, during and after the National Socialist rule. Historical Poetics As discussed earlier, the neoformalist method examines a film’s formal system in order to analyse its function. Film form and style always depend on a distinctive historical context, to which spectators respond in reference to experiences gained from media, art, and the real world.74 Particular historical circumstances shape the film’s overall form through the available choices of film techniques and production conditions. Film movements and visual styles are the product of historical circumstances. Filmmakers who operate in the same context may share common production structures and certain ideas about filmmaking. Therefore, the ‘concept of formal and stylistic systems’ allows us to ‘compare films within a movement and to contrast them with films of other movements.’75 Yet, the neoformalist definition of a movement goes beyond analysing stylistic and formal aspects; it also means to identify and understand relevant factors in the cinema of each nation and period that cause a movement. Given this definition, rubble films can be considered a movement, even though rubble films vary greatly in terms of aesthetics, narrative construction and genre conventions. Likewise, the intentions of rubble directors were also varied: some intended to seriously reflect the post-war period and the past, while others employed the setting of ruins and rubble as a backdrop for average entertainment stories that could have played any historical time. In order to explain how and why the movement of rubble films began, developed, and declined, I will consider a range of factors: the state of film industry, artistic theories that influenced or were applied by filmmakers, distinctive technological features, and the socioeconomic context of the period. Thompson defines historical context as ‘background,’76 which is based upon a concept of norms and deviations. There are three different types of back-

74 Bordwell / Thompson (2003), p. 439. 75 Ibid. 76 The film analysis focuses on three different contexts of experiences that are called backgrounds. First, Thompson explains knowledge of the everyday world. Without it, the viewer would not be capable of understanding referential meanings, stories, character behaviour, or other basic film devices. More importantly, this type of background creates symptomatic meanings in relation to society. Secondly, backgrounds from other artworks help to understand conventions. Finally, we learn to understand

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grounds: the prior experiences of the everyday world, knowledge of other artworks, and experiences of the practical purpose of films, which can include advertising, reports, and so on. The analysis focuses on the ‘film’s adherence to and departure from its background norms’77 and the historical context of these backgrounds.78 In general, the understanding of referential and symptomatic meaning depends greatly on the original context. By contrast, a film’s constructive structure usually provides explicit meanings because they are more obvious to the spectator. The type of background used in the final analysis always indicates the assertion as to whether the audience is familiar with the film’s various backgrounds, or not. Backgrounds may also refer to film style—for instance, by challenging or confirming traditional norms. In each case, the analysis of backgrounds demands a historically valid method that depends on how defamiliarisation occurs in the given film. Since defamiliarisation is grounded in historical context, ‘devices that may be new and defamiliarising will decline in effectiveness with repetition.’79 As a result, the concepts of defamiliarisation, automatization, and changing backgrounds help to distinguish different film movements and styles. As mentioned before, film history may be also be understood as a history of film style. Films are shaped by particular trends of style and genre conventions, which in turn are informed by historical context. Thus, analysing rubble films includes foregrounding their conventions and backgrounds as a way of establishing how they conform or deviate from existing norms of earlier, concurrent, and later film traditions.

the difference between practical and artistic usage of an artwork. Thompson (1988), p. 21. 77 Ibid. 78 These components provide cues for the construction of an appropriate method of film analysis. According to this, neoformalism analyses historical functions and motivations in film. An exact reconstruction of viewing circumstances is not a precondition for analysing a film. Furthermore, it is useful to examine those meanings that are privileged or emphasized by a film in order to decide what sort of background may be foregrounded for the discussion. Hence we must attend to those aspects that are difficult to decode, since these cues help to move beyond obvious levels of meaning. Ibid. 79 Ibid., p. 25.

2. German Romanticism: The Stylistic Origin of Rubble Films

Lotte H. Eisner has contributed significantly to issues of Romantic narratives and motifs in Weimar cinema.1 Yet no study has explicitly explored the impact of Romanticism in rubble films. Peter Pleyer’s early sociological study (1965) considers German rubble films primarily through an analysis of their subject matters and impact on the German public in post-war cinema. Wolfgang Becker and Norbert Schöll (1995)2 have discussed aesthetic cinematographic devices in East and West German rubble films from 1946 to 1949, albeit through the lens of these films’ interactions with their National Socialist past. They thoroughly analyse the function of identity patterns of ‘good Germans in bad times’ and provide an overview on film techniques frequently employed in rubble films, but their study does not refer to the Romantic discourse. The recent study by Robert R. Shandley (2001)3 provides a good overview of most rubble films up to 1949, while also giving interesting interpretations of the narratives, and many useful bibliographic links to further reading on most rubble films up to 1949. Unfortunately, Shandley’s analysis stays within given political prejudices on the topics of East and West Germany and the role of the occupation forces—an aspect that disappoints and interferes with his otherwise illuminating results. In addition, a comparative study by Fisher (2007) focuses on the representation of youth and children in rubble films, especially in comparison to Rossellini’s Italian neorealist rubble film Germany Year Zero (1947).

1

L'écran démoniaque (1952, translated as The Haunted Screen in 1969).

2

Becker / Schöll (1995).

3

The German edition of the book was published in 2010 (see: Shandley, Robert R.: Trümmerfilme: Das deutsche Kino der Nachkriegszeit. Berlin: Parthas Verlag, 2010).

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To cite another contribution, Silke Arnold-De-Simini (2007) investigates the traditional function of the ruin in urban architectural history (städtischer Baugeschichte) and in rubble films after 1945, while in The Destroyed City (Die zerstörte Stadt), Dominik Schrey (2007) explores the theme of memory in Roberto Rossellini’s Germany Year Zero. Finally, Eric Rentschler investigates the meaning and function of ruins in rubble films in an article (2009), yet in doing so, he does not note a link to paintings by Caspar David Friedrich. This project builds on the findings of these studies. Pleyer, for example, has asserted that German cinema had never before departed so far from the demands of the audience, playing instead to the interest of many rubble film directors who were fascinated with problematic topics of the post-war era; they aimed at an honest reflection on the past. However, most studies have ignored this line of argument. Instead, rubble films were often investigated in terms of the predominantly negative way that they reflected on the past in relation to post–war social issues. Thus, the research is dominated by the idea that rubble films function as an uncritical mirror of post-war society.4 Another popular line of research is the question of how cinema became useful in dealing with the past, as well as reeducating and democratizing the German people.5 The representation of the Holocaust and its victims under the National Socialist regime is also an aspect of rubble film research.6 The studies mentioned above have shown that victims of Nazism (who were persecuted for ethnic or political reasons) are an under-represented subject, which has been often treated in a merely sentimental nature. As previously noted, only one study by Becker and Schöll (1995) explicitly considers elements of genre and visual construction in rubble films. However, this study primarily ignores the function of intertextual and intermedial devices within the historical cinematographic context and its contrast to cinema under National Socialism. Questions of generic and stylistic elements are predominately treated in relation to neorealism, film noir, or Expressionist cinema (rather than the whole of Weimar cinema). Only Tim Bergfelder (in Spicer 2007) has briefly explored stylistic aspects of intericonic, topographic references and the Romantic motif of the double in film noir and in two rubble films (The Murderers Are Among Us and The Lost). Despite the multitude of these studies, none exist that explore the role of a Romantic discourse in relation to the construction of visual style, icons, narratives and motifs.

4

See: Bessen (1989); Greffrath (1995); Faulstich / Korte (1990); Shandley (2001);

5

For example: Fehrenbach (1998).

6

For example: Shandley (2001); Weckel (2003); Ebbrecht (2005).

Horbrügger (2007); Fisher (2007).

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Barry Salt’s study on style and technology in cinema (1983) also offers a useful source for one’s understanding of the impact and effect of technology on visual style in film production. Interestingly, Salt was the first critic who noted the uniqueness of Staudte’s extreme camera angles and perspectives, which clearly distinguished Staudte’s camera work from that of Expressionist cinema.7 Another enlightening study on this subject is the collection of essays Expressionist Film. New Perspectives (2003) edited by Dietrich Scheunemann. Here, Thomas Elsaesser highlights the importance of the Romantic impact on style, narrative, and motif in Weimar cinema. Beyond this article, however, the lack of investigation into Romantic literary, figurative, and intermedial aspects includes intertextual references between Weimar cinema, the aesthetic of opposition during National Socialism, and the more artistic samples of rubble films. These elements are a prerequisite for the identification of a Romantic tradition. Notable to mention is that the available English literature on rubble films and post-war German cinema contains more precise discussions on the intertextual references to film noir, Weimar cinema, and Expressionist film (most recently Bergfelder 2007) than does German literature. However, intericonic references to ruins, landscape, and visual forms to Romantic paintings by Caspar David Friedrich and others, are widely ignored. In fact, as the scarcity of publications testifies, only a few scholars have explored visual style in rubble films, and then only briefly and superficially. It is at this gap in research that the significance of this study emerges, as its findings will add to our knowledge about this area and offer new avenues of research to follow that have previously not been considered.

7

In The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, shadows are mostly painted on the Cubist sets. Extreme camera angles or canted shots do not exist, and lighting plays no major role in producing visual effects. The painted decor represents the only genuine Expressionist visual element and gives evidence to the total effect of bizarre, non-naturalistic distortion. Compare: Scheunemann (2003), p. 137.

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L EADING S TYLISTIC

AND

N ARRATIVE R OMANTIC D EVICES

Building upon the research pioneered by Eisner (1952), this study claims that artistic devices from a literary subgenre of German Romanticism dominantly mark the visual style and narration of the rubble films under examination in this project.8 To gain a better understanding of the function and meaning of these leading Romantic literary and visual devices, one must first embark on an investigation of their origins in the new literary genre of German Gothic literature (Schauerliteratur). This subgenre of German Romanticism emerged in the eighteenth century under the influence of the French revolution and restoration in Germany (1815) and is also an artistic reflection of the beginnings of modernity and capitalism.9 These structural changes find expression in aesthetic patterns and motifs. Typical patterns in Gothic literature10 were the representation of alienation, fatalism, uncanny atmosphere, mysterious interiors and exteriors of houses, architecture and landscape, and motifs such as doubles (Doppelgänger), doomed wanderers, demonic citizens, ghosts, devils, Satanic human beings, and tyrants. Much like rubble films (see chapter three), the genre of Romantic literature has been shadowed with misunderstanding. While the Gothic tradition has long been recognised by Anglo-American literary studies, German Gothic literature nearly disappeared from German literary studies because of its reputation as trivial, populist entertainment. In comparison with the literary works of the Enlightenment, German Gothic literature is considered anti-modern and anti-rational, because its stories seem to encourage escapism rather than enabling its readers to gain a deeper understanding of cause and effect. Although Gothic literature has been accused of providing an apolitical and fatalistic worldview,11 this study suggests a different approach to the genre: to view it as providing a literary code that represents social processes of crisis. In this light, it becomes possible to read this literary genre as one that enables the transfer of anxieties, uncertainties, taboos, and problems into aesthetic patterns and properties, which represent conditions of crisis. As will be demonstrated here, the outcome of this is ‘an aesthetic of fragmentation’ that reflects lives and identities in crisis. This understanding of how Gothic German literature functions allows us to explain the transfer of its aesthetic devices to German cinema, as in films such as

8

Ibid. , p. 11-13.

9

Beutin / Ehlert / Emmerich et al. (2001), p. 223.

10 Scheunemann (2003), p. 12. 11 Schmitz-Emans (2004), p. 12-16; Frank (1989), p. 27.

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The Student of Prague (first version in 1913 by Stellan Rye and Paul Wegener) or The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (Robert Wiene, 1920). Here theses devices act as intermedial codes of crisis. This study will demonstrate that these visual and narrative patterns of Gothic literature make a return in Weimar cinema, as well as showing how they are adapted and transformed through cinema’s newly developed techniques. Furthermore, these aspects also establish the typical properties of Weimar cinema to be found not only in Expressionist film, but also in the aesthetic of opposition (during Nazism), rubble films, and film noir. Eisner primarily discusses the influence of Romantic (Gothic) literature on Weimar cinema, but only briefly mentions the impact of Romantic visual arts. Therefore, it is useful to address this issue in the second part of this chapter, which explores visual devices in selected Romantic paintings. With specific reference to the works by Caspar David Friedrich, it will become clear that the structural framework of historical crisis, such as external constraints under occupation, or war, produces a Romantic discourse that functions as an aesthetic of crisis. This new aesthetic opposes the otherwise dominant classical style and its idealising elements. As we will see, Romantic features in Friedrich’s paintings invoke evoke a reflection on the reality of the time as a result of direct and indirect references to problematic aspects of the time context (post-war period, occupation, and restoration). A similar reflection of Romantic elements can also be seen in some Weimar films, in films of the aesthetic of opposition during National Socialism and in some rubble films. Arguably, the most prominent theme in German Romanticism—and espe12 cially in Gothic literature—is alienation. Similar to rubble films, the idea of alienation is often linked in Romantic literature to the uncanny, as well as to identity configurations that make use of the double motif. We will see that the feeling of unease induced by changing structural conditions is translated into Romantic Gothic literature as a representation of uncanny or fatal events, which in turn create identity troubles based upon feelings of alienation. Drawing on E.T.A. Hoffmann’s The Sandman (Der Sandmann, 1816), this study explores the function and meaning of these aesthetic patterns within the

12 This study defines alienation as provoked by extreme external constraints, such as occupation and economic/social changes or mobility. In addition, the two dominant but conflicting worldviews of Enlightenment and Romanticism mark the artistic expression of the feeling of alienation and existential crisis in art and literature.

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story’s narrative. Against the background of structural changes, 13 social and economic mobility became a visible phenomenon.14 In urban areas, migrants often encountered numerous previously unknown situations and dangers. These new circumstances were often expressed in the literary representations of stories, in which mobility15 frequently marked the beginning of uncanny events, such as in The Sandman.16 In our selection of rubble films, we will see that mobility in terms of return from war, imprisonment (seldom from a concentration camp), or exile also accompanies the beginning of alienation within a previously familiar context. Romantic motifs such as the double, the doomed wanderer, and the demonic citizen represent mobility and the feelings of alienation that result of it. The text The Sandman illustrates this idea through its male protagonist, Nathanael, who becomes alienated from his friends, fiancé, and family because of mobility. The move into his new environment provides a framework, in which uncanny events from his childhood recur. It is here that Nathanael’s meeting with the salesman Giuseppe Coppola, murderer of Nathanael’s father (as the double Coppelius), is played out. Having witnessed the murder of his father as a child, Nathanael becomes a doomed wanderer trapped between two worlds—that of his childhood, and that of his student life. Nathanael cannot find inner peace in either of his two lives because his traumatic childhood experience returns; even the love of his fiancé Clara cannot soothe him in his traumatised state. The motif of the doomed wanderer underlies Nathanael’s double identity, becoming fully clear when he buys mysterious glasses from Coppola. The glasses change his perception of reality so that he falls in love with the puppet Olimpia.17 Nathanael’s love for Olimpia appears as an uncanny alienation from reality because of his mistaken perspective.

13 Apart from the French Revolution, which forced the aristocracy to leave their homes, the notable growth in population around 1815 was accompanied by a parallel migration of people to urban areas. Schwering in Schanze (2003), p. 29-30. 14 Elsaesser in Scheunemann (2003), p. 50-54. 15 In E.T.A. Hoffmann’s The Sandman, the demonic Sandman appears as a travelling salesman whom the male protagonist will meets in another place, far from home. 16 The implication of this development for this discussion is that mobility can be read as provoking alienation and ambiguity, because individuals have to negotiate their new, unfamiliar environments, thus affects their perception of and adherence to traditional values with which they had previously identified. 17 Olimpia, the object of male desire in Hoffmann’s story, embodies human vanity that desires to subject nature to a machine-like human being. In addition, her figure symbolises male desire for a woman companion by appearing in the form of a machine-

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Like most male rubble film protagonists, Nathanael is haunted by a terrible event of the past in combination with the reappearance of a double alter ego (here the salesman). Due to the mysterious glasses purchased from the salesman, Nathanael suffers a double perception of reality (one with and one without the glasses), which results in his double identity. The subject of visual distortion in terms of delusion also appears in the rubble films discussed here as a philosophical attempt to comprehend the rise of National Socialism Germany (see in particular Second Hand Destiny and The Last Illusion). The mysterious glasses introduce into Hoffmann’s text the subject of a mistaken or ‘double’ perspective that functions as a variation of the double motif. The double perspective is closely linked to the double character of Coppola. By connecting the motif of the double to the subject of double views, Hoffmann refers to two central aspects underlines a central aspect of the story: Nathanael mistakes reality for what he wishes to see when looking through the magic glasses. This visual distortion not only renders him a double, because he becomes another person after having used the glasses, but puts him under Coppola, or Coppelius’, control. We may also read Nathanael’s double vision as the effect of being dazzled by his desire to see what he wants. In this way, it is possible to relate this state of being dazzled to Sigmund Freud’s definition of ‘the uncanny.’18 The ‘uncanny is not really something new or strange, but something from the past, something from long ago, well-known to the soul, but which became alienated due to the process of dismissal.’19 If we apply Freud’s definition to the mysterious glasses, it can be argued that the glasses bring about the return of a prior ‘well-known re-

woman that functions as a perfect response to male wishes and needs. Moreover, this representation indicates a new regard for gender relations within the Romantic epoch, such as in Friedrich Schlegel’s short story Lucinde (1800). 18 Freud argues that the literary representation of uncanny events provoke alienation as the result of a return of something well known and familiar in an unfamiliar and different, hence uncanny, form. Moreover, this indicates ambiguity: on the one hand, it refers to something concealed or estranged, while on the other hand it suggests something well known and comfortable. This signification is implicit in the German word for uncanny (unheimlich): heimlich can be translated as homely, from the word home (Heim). The prefix of negation, un-, reverses the meaning to something like a return or an awareness of an unfamiliar form. 19 ‘Unheimliche ist wirklich nichts Neues oder Fremdes, sondern etwas dem Seelenleben von alters her Vertrautes, das ihm nur durch den Prozeß der Verdrängung entfremdet worden ist.’ Freud (1970), p. 264.

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ality’ (the object of the puppet Olimpia) in a new and unknown way. The once well-known element is thereby turned into something uncanny and strange (for instance, the portrayal of the puppet as a living person).20 The uncanny and haunting return of a dismissed past also leaves its mark on many rubble films, such as The Murderers Are Among Us, The Blum Affair, Second Hand Destiny, The Lost and The Last Illusion. A dismissed past returns here as a warning of the terrible consequences of building up a new life upon a process of suppression or wilful forgetting. Yet Olimpia is an illusion, produced by the mysterious glasses. Nathanael's alienation represents the result of a double vision that indicates the inability to capture reality adequately—an effect of a mistaken perception and failure to read the external, outer world correctly. The end of the novella suggests that this mistaken perception of reality is the reason for Nathanael’s identity troubles. After looking through the mysterious glasses once again, Nathanael is mistaken about Clara and attempts to kill her. The fact that Nathanael buys the magic glasses from the salesman suggests a critical attitude towards capitalism’s role in society. Nathanael’s alienation is directly linked to capitalist production and regard for the individual. A certain criticism of capitalist structures in German post-war society also returns in the analysis of our rubble film selection. These films are not only concerned with issues of alienation and double identities, but also address problems related to the impact of capitalism on people’s lives. Nathanael’s fiancée Clara explains his state of alienation. For her, it is a kind of conflict, trauma, or even suppressed desire, and this explanation is echoed by Nathanael: ‘Coppelius and Coppola alone exist in my inner soul and are a phantom of my ego, which immediately vanishes if I only recognise them as such.’21 By providing a reasonable explanation for Nathanael’s state of mind, Clara represents rationality, while Nathanael becomes more and more alienated from reality, thus embodying irrationality. The two conflicting principles at work in Hoffmann’s text are thus revealed to be rationality and irrationality. This opposition is also evident in the rubble films discussed here, but set against the

20 In the case of Nathanael, one can read the return of the puppet in the form of a living person as the return of Nathanael’s suppressed desire for a (submissive) woman who corresponds to his ideas. 21 ‘Coppelius und Coppola nur in meinem Inneren existieren und Phantome meines Ichs sind, die augenblicklich zerstäuben, wenn ich sie als solche erkenne.’ Hoffmann (1968), p. 60.

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backdrop of the abuse of ‘instrumental rationality’22 (Frankfurt School, especially Max Horkheimer) in Nazism and as a critique of the Enlightenment’s ideas of reason, rationality, and progress, as well as in relation to the capitalist bourgeois society. The variations of the double motif identified in Romantic literature and in rubble films bring to the surface what scholar Dietrich Scheunemann refers to as ideas traditionally associated with Romanticism. These ideas question the Enlightenment’s concept of a ‘harmonious subject identity and the progress of mankind through the individual’s education and cultural refinement.’23 The motif of the double reveals what is usually hidden or repressed by culture: ‘the destructive potential of desire, the prevalence of the unknowable, and the corruptible conditions of subjective identity.’24 Consequently, this other side of human nature introduces a meaning that serves to question our traditional ideas about society and men. We will see that the double motif introduces a similar serious reflection on the post-war period of World War II and earlier that notably marks all of the selected rubble films. Romantic artists attempted to focus on irrational aspects in human nature. To underline these aspects of human nature can be read as a return to ‘another reality,’ one that opposes a rationalist, enlightened worldview.25 Thus, this study considers the Romantic preoccupation with the uncanny and the inexplicable as a response to the preceding era of the Enlightenment,26 which considered rationality as the central and all-explaining force of all action. As opposed to the litera-

22 In The Eclipse of Reason (Kritik der instrumentellen Vernunft, 1947), Horkheimer fundamentally criticised European Enlightenment with the terms of instrumental reason, which refers to the abuse of reason under false premises such as in National Socialism. This not only aimed to criticise capitalism, but also the human desire to rule nature through the exercise of reason. Although Horkheimer, like Adorno and Lukász, saw the subjective impact of Romanticism as preparation for the rise of Hitler’s regime, his criticism of the Enlightenment and its conception of reason reveal many similarities to how Romantic writers, artists, and philosophers attacked the Enlightenment. 23 Scheunemann (2003), p. 131. 24 Webber (1996), p. 148. 25 Yet, when these idealised dreams were not realised, some Romantics, such as the writer Friedrich Schlegel, escaped from the socio-political changes into a socially accepted form of irrationalism: here the religious promise of salvation of Catholicism. Safranski (2007), p. 172-193. 26 Elsaesser in Scheunemann (2003), p. 45.

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ture of the Enlightenment, in which uncanny events appeared as the miraculous 27 (Wunderliche/bare) and are mostly framed by rational explanations, E.T.A. Hoffmann’s text (and more generally, Gothic literature as a whole) does not always offer a reasonable explanation for the uncanny; instead, the uncanny possesses an autonomous status. The literary phenomenon of the uncanny can be said to function as an artistic code that expresses alienation from and unease in a given society. Similarly, in rubble films, these contradictory elements are employed to raise questions and to depict unease linked to past events and the behaviour of Germans during the Third Reich, in particular the figure of the troubled post-war German man. Hoffmann’s The Sandman underlines the conflicting relations between the principles of rationality and irrationality through his character Nathanael, who suffers from the inability to come to terms with these two principles and attempts to oppress one for the sake of the other.28 This conflict between rational and irrational impulses gives form to an alienation that stems from the dominance of the rational, which denies the existence of ‘the other’—the so-called dark or irrational side of human nature.29 Another strong link between Romantic literature and rubble films is represented by the motif of the male double, or a split-identity, in combination with the demonic citizen. As earlier outlined, this study argues that the emergence of these motifs in Romantic literature is closely related to the events which took place in the wake of the French Revolution, the Enlightenment, and the rise of capitalism. With the aristocracy’s loss of power, the changes enabled the rise and dominance of the bourgeoisie. Thanks to these events, the bourgeois citizen evolved as a new identity construction, one that was met with either praise or suspicion. The role of the bourgeoisie and the part it played during the Third Reich will make another appearance in this chapter when we address the role of capitalist structures in rubble films. This discussion brings to mind the ways in which the identity of the German bourgeoisie was constructed, as proposed by authors such as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller. Theses authors introduced new elements into

27 Bär (2005), p. 228. 28 He oppresses the irrational aspects and considers himself saved until the devilish salesman reappears one last time, and Nathanael dies. By attempting not to deal with both principles Nathanael fails, because both principles catch up with him in the end, despite his best efforts. 29 In this respect it should be noted that Gothic writers explored and described the human unconscious long before psychoanalysts did.

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the identity of the emerging middle class, declaring education and cultural refinement as its means of formation. This development gave rise to a new literary genre, the Bildungs- and/or Entwicklungsroman.30 Literature played an integral part in the formation and development of an ideal middle class identity by emphasizing internal and external psychological processes of socialisation. Those, in turn, would fashion man as a partly ‘idealised hero’ with a reasonable role in society, as, for instance, in Goethe’s novel Wilhelm Meister’s Years of Travel. By employing Romantic motifs such as doubles, doomed wanderers, and demonic citizens, the rubble films in this discussion question the classical model of human identity and nature through the lens of the experience of war and Nazism. Interestingly, like most formalist rubble films, Romantic literary reflections failed to influence a larger public. They were only of concern to a small elitist group of educated people and were quickly criticised by the literary and artistic movement of Romanticism itself. As demonstrated through the analysis of The Sandman, Romantic writers foregrounded paid special attention to aspects of man that had been previously dismissed by the classical ideal. Literary depictions of artists feature a double or split-identity, thus challenging the classical concept of a well-balanced citizen.31 Therefore, the Romantic discourse on double identities appears concurrently with a discourse on the artist within bourgeois society. The character of the artist introduces ‘the other’ as a sort of identity crisis or conflict, provoked by the irrational and unconscious impulses of artistic talent or uncontrollable desires, longings, traumas, mysterious past events, etc. The citizen-artist conflict does not appear in rubble films, but makes its mark on literary works of the same epoch, such as Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann (Doktor Faustus, 1943) and Mephisto (Mephisto, 1936) by Klaus Mann, both of which employ the double motif to criticise identity patterns inherent in Nazism.

30 Such as Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship (Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre, 1794-1796) and Wilhelm Meister’s Years of Travel (Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre, 1821). Friedrich Schiller discussed this subject in his programmatic text Letters upon the Aesthetic Education of Man (Über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen, 17941795). 31 For example, E.T.A. Hoffmann’s novel Kater Murr (1820/1822) is a late response to Goethe’s conception of the ideal citizen’s identity. The novel parodies the classical idea of the development of a successful educated person and underscores its philistine aspects through the example of the protagonist Murr, a Romantic artist,. Through the fragmentary nature of the biography of Murr, Hoffmann capitalizes on the failure or inability to bring into balance the contradictions between the ideal and life.

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The motif of the double and split-identity, which also reappeared in Weimar cinema, functions in rubble films as a method by which to study the human abyss. As the example of Weimar cinema shows, the use of these Romantic motifs represents alienation, identity crisis, and unease, developing into a significant pattern in the aesthetics of modernity. Based upon literary and figurative Romantic devices, alienation, identity crisis, and unease continue to develop in Expressionist film and Weimar cinema into a distorted image of an outside world that represents an inner vision; it is visualised through Expressionist decor, uncanny atmospheres, chiaroscuro lighting and variations on the Romantic double motif. These visual and narrative devices return in rubble films as symbols of alienation, identity crisis, and unease. 32 As previously mentioned, Freud explained the literary representation of alienation and uncanny events as a return of earlier dismissed elements. Although once well known and familiar, the dismissed elements return in an unfamiliar, hence, uncanny form. In this respect, the uncanny also expresses an alienation or crisis that is linked to new structural developments. If we consider the process of dismissal as the suppression of a previous social structure, which will be replaced by the capitalist/industrialist order, then the uncanny appears as an expression of the loss of the familiar. This loss evokes a crisis through being alientated from an earlier, familiar-context and socio-political structures. Many Gothic novels describe a feudal society of aristocrats who live in castles and experience strange internal or external events. As such, this study proposes to read the portrayal of the vanishing aristocratic class as representing a world order that falls apart only to be rendered into an order of fragmentation. 33 This process of decline, crisis, and fragmentation provokes a questioning of traditional values and beliefs. As seen in many rubble films, the motifs of doubles, doomed wanderers, demonic citizens, and post-war ruins evoke the impression of inner and outer fragmentation. Fragmentation is the aspect that links these Romantic elements by creating the impression of (identity) crisis. Especially, the Romantic motifs represent identities in crisis, which undergo a condition of transition without a clear future development. These Romantic motifs transfer outer conflicting conditions into the sphere of individual identity. The representation of unsettled post-war (male) identities in the aftermath of World War II speaks for a similar condition of transition; yet these representations also challenge con-

32 ‘Unheimliche ist wirklich nichts Neues oder Fremdes, sondern etwas dem Seelenleben von alters her Vertrautes, das ihm nur durch den Prozeß der Verdrängung entfremdet worden ist.’ Freud (1970), p. 264. 33 Schwering in Schanze (2003), p. 503.

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textual German society because of earlier calling into question beliefs, values, and traditions. The sociologist Max Weber defined the change from a feudal to an industrialist society as a disenchantment of the individual through instrumental rationality.34 The Frankfurt School35 further developed Weber’s idea as an explanation for the rise of authoritarian ideologies, such as Fascism and Stalinism, while Siegfried Kracauer, Ernst Bloch, and Walter Benjamin described the modern human condition as one of alienation. Ian Aitken, a researcher of film and philosophy, agrees with the aforementioned scholars, arguing that alienation is the result of subordinating questions of ethics and aesthetics to the ‘imperatives of an instrumental rationality’36 as well as to laws of the commercial market, which govern the culture industry. In this new materialist context, the individual experiences him- or herself as being constantly manipulated by instrumental rationality and (ab)used, reduced to a function within a larger system. As insinuated suggested earlier, similar ideas appear in rubble films. They are closely linked to the Romantic discourse and provide a critical reflection of the entanglement of capitalist structures, the bourgeoisie, and Nazism. In some rubble films, a critical reflection of capitalist structures re-emerges in combination with Romantic elements such as the demonic citizen or the cold heart.37 This combination often mirrors the problematic aspects of the post-war crisis and the corresponding new beginning on a metaphorical level. Therefore, I argue that Romantic impact and stylistic devices, especially in earlier rubble films (before the currency reform), were applied to encourage the German people to reflect on their own involvement in past events during the National Socialist rule as the only genuine way to reach a new beginning.

34 This aspect refers to the subject’s alienation and loss of unity within society due to the condition of being subjected to the manipulation of the capitalist system. 35 Weber’s reflections on the consistent rationalisation of modern life also influenced the Frankfurt School, which was founded in 1923 and consisted of the scholars Max Horkheimer, Friedrich Pollok, Theodor W. Adorno, Herbert Marcuse, Leo Loewenthal and others. 36 Aitken (2001), p. 15. 37 The cold heart (Das kalte Herz, 1827) is the title of a Romantic fairy tale by the German writer Wilhelm Hauff. This Romantic motif criticizes human greediness for materialist gain by turning the heart of greedy people into a cold and unemotion stone.

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The Break with the Classical Tradition and its Function The majority of film researchers and critics have usually agreed on the following assumption: that aesthetic patterns in most rubble films revert to Expressionist paintings and film.38 In the previous section, an alternative approach has been suggested; it considers traces of motifs and aesthetic patterns in Romantic (Gothic) German literature and which contribute to the emergence of a Romantic discourse in some rubble films. I have also suggested that the aesthetic reversion to Romanticism in rubble films may not be a unique phenomenon, but rather the result of a visual and narrative tradition that also informed Weimar cinema, Expressionist film, the aesthetic of opposition during National Socialism, and film noir. In order to define this tradition more precisely, I will closely examine a set of particular visual devices that developed in Romantic paintings. In The Story of Art, Ernst H. Gombrich writes that, as a consequence of the French Revolution and the Age of Reason, ideas about art changed in many ways in the period between the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. A plurality of styles, a new individuality of expression, and a new freedom in terms of subject matter developed in all domains of art,39 in particular in ‘landscape painting.’40 Gombrich named this evolution a ‘break in the chain of tradition’41 in all domains of art,42 provoking a general discussion on the norms and forms of art. These controversies weakened the power of the art academies, in which art students were taught the classical techniques and methods of the old masters.43

38 For example: Eisner (1952); Marker (1954); Siclier (1956). 39 First in architecture and later in fine art, people ‘began to become self-conscious about style’ and controversies arose about the ‘right style.’ Gombrich (2006), p. 362-363. 40 Ibid., p. 373. 41 Ibid., p. 365. 42 However, this development also introduced great insecurity into the work and life of many artists. The era in which aristocrats would buy paintings of traditional beauty was over, and the art market changed, too. Artists had an unlimited field of choice but became increasingly dependent on public taste, if they wanted to sell their works. Gombrich writes that artists ‘began to see themselves as a race apart’ and the ‘perfect means of expressing individuality,’ which also led to a new pastime for some artists, which was to ‘shock the bourgeois.’ Ibid., p. 382. 43 In particular, the French Revolution had a great impact on the range of new subjects and styles. Artists turned away from the dominant pictorial discourse of religious subjects taken from the Bible and legends of the saints’ in favour of expressing heroic events of their own lifetime. Ibid., p. 367.

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Some artists focused on depicting actual reality, while others were inspired by ‘history, and to the painting of heroic subjects.’44 The new freedom in artistic expression prompted the invention of new artistic devices while simultaneously reviving earlier traditions. When Napoleon Bonaparte achieved power, he brought to art and architecture the neo-classical style. At the same time, a revival of Gothic architecture, the Italian Renaissance, and German art of the period of Albert Dürer took place on the continent.

Figure 3: Moonlit Night near Ruegen (1819).

Staatliche Kunstsammlung, Dresden.

The Romantic artists employed stylistic devices from these art epochs in order to express their own individual and subjective ideals. Literary imaginations of Ludwig Tieck and Wilhelm Heinrich Wackenroder also influenced the development of German Romantic art at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Gombrich interprets this pluralism of styles as ‘a crisis of art,’ which provoked a break with the earlier dominant tradition of the official art academies, thus marking the ‘new artistic beginning’45 in Romantic art. Romantic artists intended to create a ‘contemporaneous art by reviving historical forms.’46 This programme

44 Ibid., p. 369. 45 ‘künstlerischen Neuanfangs.’ Ibid. 46 ‘zeitgemäße Kunst durch Wiederbelebung historischer Formen.’ Warncke, CarstenPeter in Schanze (2003), p. 393. The revival of historical forms refers to earlier German art tradition going back to the age of Dürer, and shows that Romantic artists were conscious of national tradition.

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distinguishes the works of German Romantic artists such as Caspar David Friedrich (1774/1840), Carl Gustav Carus (1789/1869, see figure 3), Philipp Otto Runge (1770/1810), Karl Blechen (1798-1840) or the Nazarenes,47 as well as international artists such as the Norwegian Johan Christian Dahl (1788/1857), the French Eugène Delacroix (1798/1863) and the English painters William Turner (1775/1851, see figure 4) and William Blake (1757/1827). These painters developed stylistic devices that indicate non-conformity with what was historically known as the ‘academic classical style.’ Caspar David Friedrich is certainly not the only painter of the German Romantic art tradition, yet besides Carl Blechen or the Norwegian pioneer of Expressionism Edward Munch, this study refers specifically to Friedrich’s paintings. Other painters such as Carl Gustave Carus, Johan Christian Dahl, or Friedrich’s former private student Ernst Ferdinand Oehme (especially in Cathedral in Winter, 1818) made it their primary work to copy central aspects of Friedrich’s style by softening his socio-political insinuations.48

Figure 4: Shade and Darkness—the Evening of the Deluge (1843).

Tate Gallery, London.

In 1803, Philipp Otto Runge introduced Friedrich to the circle of Romantic writers centered around the Schlegel brothers, Ludwig Tieck, the philosopher

47 The term ‘Nazarene’ or ‘alliance of Luke’ (Lukasbund) refers to a group of artists at the art academy in Vienna (founded in 1809). These artists left Vienna for Rome and devoted their life and art to the principles of Christianity. Idid., p. 399-404. 48 Vaughan (2004), p. 309.

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Friedrich Daniel Ernst Schleiermacher, and their ideas.49 Although the literary movement of Romanticism was already in decline, it seems that especially the Romantic criticism of the rational impact of the Enlightenment had a strong influence on Friedrich’s work50 and his artistic expression of existential forlornness and alienation, as the analyses of Friedrich’s paintings will show. Although Friedrich’s influence on art and culture today appears extensive, in the nineteenth century the interest in his art began to fade soon after his initial success. Starting from the Vienna congress in 1815 and throughout the Biedermeier era and the Gründerzeit, the public preferred a complacent style that avoided political insinuations and celebrated inwardness, as well as the contemplation of nature. Yet in the early twentieth century, a new interest arose in Romanticism, particularly in Friedrich’s work. This development can be linked to a particular event, the Century Art Exhibition (Jahrhundertausstellung),51 which was a retrospective of nineteenth-century art and took place in Berlin in 1906. By celebrating national art production, this exhibition drew attention to Friedrich’s paintings and revived interest in his abstract and subjective style.52 Friedrich’s art and aesthetic evidently enjoyed great popularity at the beginning of the twentieth century.53 During the period of National Socialism, the patriotic impact of patriotism inherent in Friedrich’s paintings was even misinterpreted as a representation of ‘Germanness’ in relation to the ideology of the regime. The new interest in Friedrich’s art brought it into the proximity of German cinema, which at the time was in its heyday in Berlin. This is evidenced, for in-

49 Ibid., p. 55. 50 Ibid. 51 Vaughan (2004), p. 319. 52 On the occasion of the anniversary of the War of Liberation (Befreiungskriege) in 1913, Friedrich’s artworks once again enjoyed attention, due to their strong nationalistic nature. Two years later, during World War I, Andreas Aubert’s unfinished monograph on Friedrich was published. Tellingly, its subtitle reads God, Freedom, Fatherland (Gott, Freiheit und Vaterland). The tone of the title anticipates the ways in which National Socialism later interpreted Friedrich’s works in the service of their ideology. 53 The art historian William Vaughan outlines Friedrich’s great influence on Symbolism (possibly also on Alfred Böcklin but surely on Edward Munch), Expressionism (especially Emil Nolde), Surrealism, as well as on more contemporaneous artists in and outside Germany, such as Joseph Beuys, Edward Hopper and many others. Ibid., p. 316-332.

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stance, in The Student of Prague (1913).54 Vaughan states that traces of Friedrich’s aesthetic can be seen in films of the Weimar republic, such as The Nibelungen (Die Nibelungen, 1924) by Fritz Lang and Nosferatu (1921) by Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau. He concludes that Friedrich’s style later travelled to Hollywood as a result of people in the film industry migrating from Germany to the United States during the time of German fascism. Based on this evidence, we may conclude that Friedrich’s visual style occupies a central position in the development of the visual style of Weimar cinema and beyond. Before embarking on a detailed examination of the Romantic discourse through various rubble films, it is useful to consider three of Friedrich’s paintings in order to outline aspects of his style that later return in the following films: Cross in the Mountains (Tetschner Altar, 1807/1808), Monk by the Sea (Mönch am Meer, 1808/1810, see figure 5), and Winter (Winter – Klosterruine Eldena, 1808-10, see figure 6).

Figure 5: Caspar David Friedrich, Monk by the Sea (1809).




Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin.

54 The Romantic poem The December Night (La nuit de décembre, 1833) by Alfred de Musset and other Romantic texts (Poe, Hoffmann, Wilde, and Goethe’s Faust) inspired the story written by the two scriptwriters Hanns Heinz Ewers and Paul Wegener. It can be assumed that they were both familiar with Friedrich’s aesthetic. At the time, they both lived in Berlin and were fascinated by Romantic literature and art, as the film’s overall atmosphere shows.

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The purpose of this study is to outline the ways in which Romantic stylistic devices deconstruct the principles of the dominant classical style, thereby encoding dysfunctional aspects of contextual society through the medium of painting. The focus on dysfunctional or problematic contextual issues begs a central question: are Friedrich’s visual style and figurative impact suitable to open a reflection on society? Friedrich’s visual style primarily developed during the occupation of Germany by Napoleon Bonaparte’s troops, including Friedrich’s hometown of Greifswald. A well-known critic of the occupation, he deconstructed the neoclassical ideal55 of sublime representation that was favoured by the invader. Friedrich turned instead to an extreme stylistic realism that transcends our ‘normal’ perception of reality. This transcendence is based on principles of subjective inner vision to convey a sense of outer reality through painting. As a result, nature is no longer imitated, but art replaces the imitation of nature.56 Deprived of the central viewpoint used in classical styles, the observer feels both involved57 and unsettled by the landscape representation. This approach assumes that Friedrich’s style explicitly refutes Napoleon Bonaparte’s neo-classicism58 through the use of non-conforming (thus non-classical) motifs, subjects, and stylistic elements. Through the use of these new artistic procedures and devices, Friedrich sought to portray foreign rule as responsible for the decline of German national identity and the subsequent alienation of its people. This break with the classical tradition was of central importance, as it allowed Friedrich to develop his own ‘new’ style59 and kindled a great controversy about acceptable norms and forms of art.60 What is most important to observe in Friedrich’s transcendental formalist style is that the landscape itself is the central subject, and no longer man. As the following analysis of Friedrich’s paintings will demonstrate, the portrayal of landscapes functions as an allegory for the

55 For example, Napoleon had himself painted as a sublime and glorious victor in the neo-classical style. 56 Uerlings (2000), p. 37. 57 Ibid. 58 For more information, see: Warncke in Schanze (2003), p. 197. 59 Ibid., p. 36. 60 The so-called Ramdohr-feud (Fehde) began with the painting of Altar Teschner (Cross in the Mountains, 1807-08). The chamberlain, Friedrich Wilhelm Basilius von Ramdohr, opened the feud by criticising Friedrich’s painting for its failure to meet the norms prescribed by the Enlightenment and the classicist attitudes, an opinion shared by many other contemporaries. Ibid.

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psychological condition in decline, which is provoked by the socio-political context of crisis. A similar, though modified representation of the psychological condition re-emerges in Weimar and Expressionist cinema as well as in rubble films, taking the form of distorted decor, uncanny atmospheres, and in the ruins and rubble of post-war cityscapes. These landscapes create an environment that represents a psychological condition of alienation, crisis, and decline. This study thus claims that certain artistic devices used by Friedrich emerge in German cinema from the Weimar Republic through the post-war period. As a result, I suggest that a visual tradition exists that can be traced from Caspar David Friedrich’s paintings to rubble films, and beyond. The Romantic style, especially the non-conforming visual patterns, which were developed by Friedrich, excited much indignation in critics of the day. The painting entitled Monk by the Sea (see figure 5)—like works by Carus and Turner (see figure 3 and 4)—illustrates reasons for some of these indignant responses. In order to identify the principles of non-conformity present in Friedrich’s work, an analysis of the formal construction of Monk by the Sea is useful. Friedrich refuted the classical structure of a centred, sublime, and heroic 61 human subject in order to create an aesthetic crisis. Similar to Monk by the Sea, the monk featured in Winter represents a type of doomed wanderer who has lost his inner balance, indicated by his non-central position and the fact that he is depicted from behind. While the lonely figure in the seascape seems to be haunted by religious doubts, the monk in Winter appears to be tormented by the hostile natural environment, which can also be read as a metaphorical representation of the socio-political conditions of occupation. In Monk by the Sea, the predominant use of blues, greys, and black for the seascape does not evoke a feeling of empathy for and identification with this small figure; instead, it favours a more distant, analytical view. In this painting, man appears powerless, lost, and at the mercy of the dominating visual elements, the sea and the sky—thus natural landscape. Similar representations are also present, albeit modified, in rubble films wherein male protagonists play the role

61 This is evident in Friedrich’s Monk by the Sea, in which the only figure, a small and frail monk, appears lost and alienated against the background of the most dominant visual element in the painting, the seascape. This image of misplacement and alienation is enhanced by the monk’s position outside the central axis of the painting. As we will see later, the absence of a central perspective, set against an overpowering image of ruins or nature, is also present in some rubble films as an attempt to represent the inner unsettledness and existential tragedy of the male protagonist.

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lost wanderers within a gloomy and cold landscape or ruined city environment (especially in The Murderers Are Among Us, The Last Illusion, and The Lost). According to Friedrich’s own interpretation, the figure of the small dark monk in front of a hostile, nearly black sea and cold blue sky signifies human vanity as it seeks to unravel the laws of nature.62 Busch reads this disconnect between the figure of the monk and the natural setting as a symbol of an important and referential meaning related to the cultural-historical impact of the Enlightenment: ‘The monk, so we can conclude, may have Faustian impulses of self-arrogance, yet the painting intends to show us how vain and foolish this undertaking is; man can only win a presentiment of God, for him [man] only the belief in and the hope for mercy remains. Friedrich draws an anti-Faustian position. It appears to be prescribed in the tradition of German Romantic in Johann Georg Hamann, who discredits the scientific, technological progress of the Enlightenment as a self-empowering of men in order to be superior to God.’63

It is therefore possible to characterise the monk in Friedrich’s painting as one who is lost and alienated from nature (an allegory for God) due to an inner conflict. These conflicts exist as an allusion to the impact of the Enlightenment on contemporary thought, as the Enlightenment replaced God with human talents such as rationality, reason, and the belief in scientific and technological progress.

62 ‘And if you longed from morning to evening, from evening to sinking midnight; you would still not invent, nor get to the bottom of the impossible to investigate, the unfathomable hereafter! With high-spirited conceit you consider how to become a light for prosperity, how to decipher the darkness of the future! What is only holy presentiment, only seen and recognised in faith; finally to be known and to be understood clearly!’ Friedrich (2001), p. 282. This interpretation reveals Friedrich’s pantheistic beliefs and explains why nature, as the representative of God, is given prominence over the small monk. 63 ‘Der Mönch, so können wir schließen, mag faustische Anwandlungen der Selbstüberhebung haben, doch das Bild will uns zeigen, wie eitel und töricht ein solches Unterfangen ist; von Gott kann der Mensch nur demütig eine Ahnung gewinnen, ihm bleibt allein der Glaube und die Hoffnung auf Gnade. Friedrich markiert eine antifaustische Position. Sie scheint für die Tradition der deutschen Romantik in Johann Georg Hamann vorgebildet, der entgegen der Aufklärung den wissenschaftlich-technischen Fortschritt als Selbstermächtigung des Subjekts, als Superia gegenüber Gott diskrediert.’ Busch (2003), p. 64.

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These ideas are demonstrated through the alienation of the meditating monk, whose juxtaposition with the forces of nature serves as a criticism of the ideas of the Enlightenment or, more specifically, the idea of man as a powerful ruler over nature through his ability to reason and be rational. This critical view is expressed primarily through visual style by means of artistic devices, choices of motif, and a departure from the classical style. Going beyond a general criticism of ideas stemming from the Enlightenment, other references to contemporary historical events can be found in Friedrich’s painting. These references concern foremost the French occupation and its effect on German national identity. The monk can be interpreted as an appeal for resistance against the French invaders. His black cowl identifies him as a Capuchin 64 monk. The Capuchin order of monks was, according to Busch, a well-known opponent of Napoleon Bonaparte’s occupying forces. During this period, the representation of Capuchin friars also served as a ‘staple motif in Romantic literature.’65 Since Friedrich66 himself was an opponent of Napoleon, we can presume that he would have sympathised or even identified with the figure of the friar.67 The monk’s presence indicates how Friedrich encodes references from his cultural-historical context to convey his subjective view on society. More specifically, such encodings represent a first step in the construction of an aesthetic of opposition against both the dominant styles in the fine arts and against the impact reality of Napoleonic occupation. As an extension of this analysis, it is ne-

64 Ibid., p. 65. 65 ‘Standardmotiv in der romantische Literatur.’ Siegmund (2003), p. 65. 66 ‘Zur Entstehungszeit des “Mönch am Meer” gehörten sie zu Napoleons entschiedensten Gegenern und mußten Friedrich von daher durchaus sympathisch sein. Zudem bildeten sie ein. Schließlich dauerte die Napoleanische Okkupation von Pommern und Greifswald von 1807 bis 1810; man kann sagen sie umfaßt die gesamte Entstehungszeit des “Mönch am Meer”.’ Ibid. 67 ‘Vor dieser historischen Folie mag man den Mönch als in der Tat als einen Eldenaer Laienburder ansehen, der am Gestade steht, über die Ostsee schaut und über die Hoffnungslosigkeit der Zeitläufe nachsinnt – ein Napoleonisches Opfer, in dem Friedrich sich womöglich selbst erkennen wollte.’ Ibid., p. 66. At this time, Capuchin monks did not live in the Eldena monastery, but Cistercian monks lived there. They wore a white cowl with a black collar. The black cowl would nevertheless identify a Cistercian lay monk, who usually dressed in the black cowl. Another possibility could be that Friedrich painted a Capuchin monk at the seaside without any particular reference in mind.

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cessary to examine another of Friedrich’s paintings in order to single out further visual elements and motifs that contribute to an aesthetic opposition of Napoleon’s rule. To this end, I will also examine Winter (1808/10, see figure 6), which Friedrich painted during the same time period as Monk by the Sea. In Winter, landscape and ruins make up the central motifs marking the visual style of opposition. Furthermore, the use of these elements of visual representation is repeated in a modified way in Staudte’s first rubble film, The Murderers Are Among Us (see figure 7), and in Peter Lorre’s film, The Lost.

Figure 6: Caspar David Friedrich, Winter (1808/1810).

Destroyed by fire in the Glaspalast (1931), Munich.

In Winter, the landscape functions as an allegory for the psychological condition of a man haunted by the changes in the contemporaneous sociohistorical context of time. The painting underlines the bleakness of a harsh winter landscape, the fragmentary state of a Gothic monastery in ruins, and a frail old monk who is turned away from the viewer. These elements appear as if imprisoned by an overarching wall of shadow fragmenting the pictorial space. Moreover, the monk’s posture suggests a man who is hunched over with age and possibly grief. The figure’s position evokes a sense of loss, despair, alienation, isolation, and proximity to death—all underscored by the hostile meteorological mise-en-scene

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of deep snow. Friedrich’s decision to represent the monk from behind, to place him outside of the picture’s central axis, as well as the hostility of the natural setting and tall ruins, demonstrate his refusal to adhere to the classical conception of man as a powerful and rational hero. A central symbol of opposition against the French occupation takes form in the Gothic ruins of the Eldena monastery. Beyond its obvious religious implications,68 the Gothic architecture of the Eldena monastery makes an important reference to the fact that Gothic architecture was mistakenly defined in Romanticism as the ‘German style’ of ‘German antiquity.’69

Figure 7: W. Staudte, The Murderers Are Among Us.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Against the backdrop of Napoleon Bonaparte’s occupation, Gothic architecture may be read as an indication of an emerging new national consciousness. 70 The Gothic ruins depict the real ruins of Eldena’s monastery. Notably, the monastery is located not far from Greifswald, where Friedrich grew up, and is one of Friedrich’s most frequently painted ruins. In other words, they can be read as a topographical and patriotic metaphor for home (Heimat). In the light of the above-mentioned arguments, it can be understood that Friedrich’s Winter simultaneously shows opposition to ideas of progress, as related to the Enlightenment

68 Gothic ruins refer to Friedrich’s personal religious convictions and his disagreement with the leading churches, whose version of faith did not agree with Friedrich’s pantheistic convictions. Thus, the ruins of the monastery indicate the desire for a return to nature. This representation not only symbolises the decline of the leading institutions of faith, but also the condition of fragmentation. Siegmund (2003), p. 8. 69 ‘deutscher Stil’; ‘deutsche Antike.’ Ibid., p. 141. 70 Ibid.

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and Napoleon’s rule, as well as a decline in religious values and German national identity. Thus, the depiction of decline serves as an appeal for resistance; a similar appeal for resistance importantly, returns in our selection of rubble films. Based upon the analysis of Winter and Monk by the Sea, one can argue that Friedrich’s visual style deconstructs the classical representation of forms that create the impression of unity and wholeness. In opposition to the classical style, Friedrich’s work focuses on fragmentation, as evoked by the non-fixed and decentred perspective as well as by the representation of ruins, shadows, and the alienated man; his use of these elements serves to provoke feelings of alienation, crisis and decline. The most significant visual element in the picture is arguably the extreme wall of shadow, which splits the unity of the image. Such dramatic use of shadows, along with other visual patterns, also marks the décor of Weimar cinema. Moreover, the lack of a fixed point of view, as represented by the slanting shadow, visually supports the impression of alienation and crisis; together with the chiaroscuro lighting visible in the lower part of the painting, it also introduces the impression feeling of an uncanny threat or menace. The ambiguity of the painting’s meaning, resulting in an impression of the uncanny, has fostered a wealth of interpretations by art historians as a result of the painting’s complexity. The complex impact of meaning in this painting, which has prompted different art historical interpretations, provokes the uncanny, due to the ambiguity of its meaning. This ambiguity has resulted in more questions than answers about the painting’s impact. Similarly, representations of the uncanny are a leading visual element in Weimar cinema and in some of the later rubble films (especially in The Blum Affair by Erich Engel). The central figurative element of the visual style evocative of fragmentation is the iconic image of the ruin. In Romantic literature and the fine arts, the icon of the ruin fulfils an important metaphorical and allegorical function, as ruins are often associated with the concept of fragmentation. However, the fragmentary nature of the ruin not only refers to decline and destruction, but also embodies 71 the hopes for future change: The Romantic writer Friedrich Schlegel demarcated ruins from the form of the fragment. He defined the ruin as a broken object, related semantically to (past) history, nostalgic moments of reflection, opposition to progress (i.e. the French Revolution, Enlightenment, and the Industrial Revolution); on the other hand, he interpreted the fragment as an unfinished object that awaits future progress to be completed.72 Thus, we may assume

71 Compare: Assmann / Gomille / Rippl (2002), p. 9-10. 72 Ibid.

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that the setting of the monastery ruins, combined with the previously mentioned elements of a visual style evoking an impression of fragmentation, unify Schlegel’s definition of ruins and of the fragment. That the painting is set in ruins symbolises the decline of the past, while the visual framing of diagonal shadows, the lack of a centred perspective, and chiaroscuro lighting generates a discourse about the past, as well as its effect on the present and future. Thus, non-conforming devices construct an allegorical landscape that represents Friedrich’s own feelings of alienation. The Gothic ruins function as a central link to the decline of the past, while Friedrich’s style focuses on the ‘missing’ element, that is, a longing for fulfilment. As we will see, this combination of ruins and visual forms of fragmentation is also significant for certain rubble films. In these films, ruins represent the taboo of the past, and their presence provokes negative effects of the past on the present and future, while the visual style thanks to special film techniques highlights the condition of the unaccomplished and incomplete fragment and fragmentation in order to represent problematic aspects of contemporaneous reality. A similar visual style is present in some rubble films as well as in Friedrich’s paintings, representing an allegorical vision of decline and deconstructing the affirmative character of the classical art ideal (such as indicated by the positive, life-affirming hero of Classicism). Just as Friedrich attacks the ideological position of the victor Napoleon Bonaparte along with his definition of rationality and technological progress, some rubble films criticise the ideological abuse of the classical film style in National Socialist cinema. This criticism translates as a visual form that puts emphasis on issues of dysfunctionality, taboo subject matter, and the dismissed in society. In Friedrich’s case, he denounces the vanity and arrogance of an unquestioning belief in progress and the infallibility of man. In this way, he creates a vision of an alienated humanity, set against a background of man’s failed ideas (the ruins), overwhelmed by the greater and more threatening force of nature (God). Yet Friedrich’s allegorical depiction of decline is not defeatist. Instead, he seeks to provoke a response with this style to contemporary society and its values, in the hope of inciting profound change. These reflections lead to a central question: can the representation of ruins in these Romantic paintings be read as an icon of opposition? In order to answer this question, it is necessary to discuss the representation of ruins as a means to provoke a discourse on a society of the same time period.

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The Aesthetic Setting of Ruins: A Longing to Overcome Reality Friedrich’s painting Winter demonstrates the use of artistic devices that later emerge become dominant techniques in Weimar cinema and rubble films. He frames the Gothic ruins of the cathedral within a landscape setting from a dramatic low-angle perspective, while also using artistic elements such as the meteorological mise en scene and night lighting (in cinema, low-key lighting). To gain further insight into how the meaning of ruins is determined by this visual style, I will analyse Friedrich’s painting The Cathedral (Die Kathedrale, 1818, see figure 8).

Figure 8: The Cathedral (1818).

Collection Georg Schäfer, Schweinfurt.

It was painted three years after the Vienna Congress, during a period where the restoration of more traditional values took place in German society. The painting’s neo-Gothic style, which gained popularity in painting and architecture during the eighteenth- and nineteenth- centuries, varied greatly from its medieval predecessor. The elegant, high-reaching architectural form of the cathedral seems to stretch to infinity, as if to suggest an experience of transcendence.

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A similar neo-Gothic style appears just one year later (1819) in the painting Cathedral in Winter (Dom im Winter, 1819), by Friedrich’s private student Ernst Ferdinand Oehme (see figure 9).

Figure 9: E. F. Oehme, Cathedral in Winter (1819).

Galerie Neue Meister, Dresden.

Siegmund describes this style as the ‘wish or illusion Gothic.’73 The stylistic device of the church seems to encourage unlimited experiences of spirituality and soul-searching, while its Oriental decor suggests a multifaceted mystery. The painting The Cathedral also illustrates how the visual techniques of the neoGothic style created a longing for an experience of transcendence: the striving architectural elements are extremely elevated and elongated with an exaggerated ‘low-angle perspective.’74

73 ‘Wunschgotik oder Illusionsgotik.’ Siegmund (2002), p. 137. 74 ‘Unteransicht.’ Ibid.

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The extreme elevation of architectural forms created a sense of poetic and artistic promise, symbolising the Romantic longing to exceed and transcend outer reality. Similar aesthetic devices, such as extreme high and low camera angles, were adapted by the film industry; they make frequent appearances in Weimar cinema as well as in rubble films. In the main chapter on rubble films, we will see that these devices function as dominant aesthetic features of visual style in many rubble films. They create meanings that also express a deeper longing to overcome the unsettling outer reality of the post-war period, as well as to surmount traces of the National Socialist past. While these features of the Romantic sublime75 aim to overcome social reality, the dark Gothic can be read as a visual metaphor for the dismissed and taboo aspects of social reality, which, according to Freud, return as the uncanny. Although not always linked to Gothic ruins, these opposites resurface in rubble films; the Gothic aspects are often employed to create a sinister, uncanny, and fatal atmosphere linked to crime, atrocities, and other events of the National Socialist past and the aftermath of the war. Their visual representation is reminiscent of the different techniques employed in other Romantic paintings to depict in Black Gothic: ‘While Friedrich’s portrayals of landscapes with ruins mostly include motifs of decline, an endless sense of forlornness, cold loneliness, and a sense of melancholy (for instance, the lonely monk in the bleak winter landscape); Victor Hugo, William Turner or Carl Blechen, for example, expose much more terrifying and menacing moments. The ruins are shown at night or in a meteorological mise en scene (such as storm clouds), which bathes the scene in a mysterious light. In Blechen’s Ruin of Cloister Oybin, […] 1822/23, [...] the ruin obviously becomes an uncanny place.’76

75 Like Carl Blechen’s Gothic Church Ruin (Gotische Kirchenruine, 1826, see figure ten), medieval Gothic style referred beyond the artistic representation of the longing for transcendence to other aspects of Romanticism. As previously mentioned, the representation of the gruesome, sinister, disunited, and alienated also appears in Friedrich’s work. These two contradictory ideas are, according to Siegmund, the ‘Romantic sublime, transcendental and striving through the Gothic architecture’ (romantische Erhabenheit: Transzendente, Aufstrebende in der Form der gotischen Stürzkonstruktion) and the black Gothic, which is represented in Blechen’s painting by ‘the sinister and gruesome subterranean passageways’ (Düstere, Schauerliche – die “schwarze Romantik” – in den unterirdischen Gängen). Ibid., p.139. 76 ‘Während in Friedrichs Landschaftsdarstellungen mit Ruinen meist Motive des Verfalls, von endloser Verlorenheit, fröstelnder Einsamkeit und Melancholie zu finden

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Gothic ruins do not make up the dominant visual element in rubble films. However, the weather-dominating mise en scene of natural landscapes with or without ruins, in combination with the contrasting chiaroscuro night lighting and extreme camera angles, do feature as significant stylistic elements in many rubble films. These in turn prompt sinister, threatening, uncanny, or fatal atmospheres or moods, which are often closely related to the return of a secret and taboo past (such as in The Murderers Are Among Us, The Blum Affair, The Last Illusion, The Lost, and others).

sind (wie z.B. der einsame Mönch in einer kahlen Winterlandschaft), werden z.B. von Victor Hugo, William Turner oder Carl Blechen die furchterregend-bedrohlichen Momente bei der Ruinendarstellung stärker hervorgehoben. Die Ruinen werden nachts oder in einer meteorologischen Inszenierung (z. B. Gewitterwolken) gezeigt, die die Szene in ein geheimnisvolles Licht taucht. In Blechens “Klosterruine Oybin” [...] 1822/23 [...] tritt vor einem drohend dunkel bewölkten Himmel die Ruine als unheimlicher Ort in Erscheinung.’ Ibid., p. 140.

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Visual Style of Light and Shadow The stark contrast between black and white light, as in Winter and Cemetery in the Snow, for instance (Klosterfriedhof im Schnee, 1817/1819, see figures 6 and 10), is a central visual element of Friedrich’s paintings that later plays an important role in rubble films. Chiaroscuro lighting appears in stark contrast with the snow-covered landscape, the small black-cloaked monk, trees with bizarre branches, as well as with the crosses and tombstones in the cemetery. This type of contrasted lighting frequently reappears in the rubble films discussed here.

Figure 10: Cemetery in the Snow (1817/19).

Destroyed (1945), formerly in the National Gallery, Berlin.

The use of contrasting black and white lighting is a major stylistic element in Weimar cinema. Eisner borrows the term chiaroscuro, which she employs to refer to this style of contrasting set design, thereby transposing the term from art history to cinema. For her, chiaroscuro lighting describes the use of light as ‘a sort of twilight of the German soul, expressing itself in shadowy, enigmatic interiors, or in misty, insubstantial landscapes.’77 In Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, this type of contrasting black and white lighting mostly occurs as part of the Expressionistic setting, while F.W. Murnau employs chiaroscuro lighting in a naturalistic setting in Nosferatu (1922). Chiaroscuro lighting became a major stylistic element of German cinema of the 1920s and was later successfully exported abroad following the rise of the National Socialist regime, later re-emerging in some rubble films. As we have seen in the previous section, the chiaroscuro lighting in Caspar David Friedrich’s paintings is added to natural settings as a metaphorical expression of fatal and

77 Eisner (1973), p. 8.

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uncanny atmospheres and psychological conditions of inner distress. Therefore, it is possible to argue that the literary description of a ‘psychological conflict’ can be linked to the visual means of chiaroscuro lighting in the following way. It can serve to exteriorise and metaphorically represent an existential conflict through various artistic media, such as film, literature, or painting. In Hoffmann’s The Sandman, a similar inner conflict results from a clashing relationship with the inner and outer world in which the protagonist, Nathanael, is no longer capable of keeping in balance.78 Later, Hoffmann describes the uncanny power as its own mirror image.79 As such, we can conclude that Romantic literature creates a kind of psychological conflict that relates to a play between the two conflicting parts of human nature: good (clear) and evil (obscure). This ambiguity recollects the previously mentioned conflicting principles of objectivity/subjectivity and rationality/irrationality (see the previous section on Schlegel’s theory of Romantic poetry). These aspects may also be linked to the Dionysic and Apollinic principles, as defined by Friedrich Nietzsche.

78 ‘If there is a dark and hostile power, laying its treacherous toils within us, by which it holds us fast and draws us along the path of peril and destruction, which we should not otherwise have trod; if, I say there is such a power, it must form itself inside us and out of ourselves, indeed; it must become identical with ourselves. For it is only in this condition that we can believe in it and grant it the room that it requires to accomplish its secret work.’ (Gibt es eine dunkle Macht, die so recht feindlich und verräterisch einen Faden in unser Inneres legt, woran sie uns dann festpackt und fortzieht auf einen gefahrenvollen verderblichen Wege, den wir sonst nicht betreten haben würden - gibt es eine solche Macht, so musz sie in uns sich, wie wir selbst gestalten, ja unser Selbst werden; denn nur so glauben wir an sie und räumen ihr den Platz ein dessen sie bedarf, um jenes geheime Werk zu vollbringen.) Hoffmann (1968), p. 56. Translation quoted from: http://www.fln.vcu.edu/hoffmann/sand_e.html; (24 April 2010). 79 Ibid.

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C RISIS

As mentioned above in relation to Friedrich’s painting, the representation of ruins can also work as a metaphor for decline, which refers to a critical attitude towards the ideas of the Enlightenment. By referring to the French writer Constantin-François Chassebœuf de Volny, Sophie Lacroix has shown that in the academic discipline of the history of ideas, ruins represent a figurative or conceptual allegory, indicating ‘a careful scepticism of the idea of progress.’80 The allegorical concept of the ruin refers to what Volny defines as a tendency towards ruin, which is inherent in human nature itself. According to Volny, it is impossible to prevent this tendency by any law or order. Even the human ability to reason and exercise rationality cannot prevent that ‘an empire falls into ruin or dissolves.’81 Thus, ruins appear here as a conceptual allegory reminding us of the possibility of decline and destruction that is already embedded in each form of human development, progress, or act. In this way, Lacroix concurs with Volny’s reflection: ‘Ruination is not accidental, but is derived from a human tendency to alter things that exist. The ruin makes a mark not only because it is the effect of a disaster or a destruction, rather, it is the visible form of a planned catastrophe which was originally inscribed, in the form of a principle, into what is happening. The ruin reveals what is fundamental, because it is inscribed into this initial form…’ 82

The allegorical function of the ruin consists in making visible a possible future decline or catastrophe. According to Lacroix, this function has a ‘critical value in relation to the dominant ideology of the Enlightenment, which is one of histori-

80 ‘l’histoire des idées’; ‘un scepticisme prudent à l’égard de l’idée de progrès.’ Lacroix illustrates the use of ruins as an allegory of scepticism in two examples: the first is situated in the historical context of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution. Volny discusses the fate of civilization through a meditation on ruins in Les Ruines ou Méditation sure les Révoultions des Empires, edited in 1791, only two years after the French Revolution. Lacroix (2008), p. 65. 81 ‘un empire tombe en ruine ou se dissout.’ Ibid. 82 ‘La mise en ruine n’a rien d’accidentelle mais procède d’une tendance humaine à altérer ce qui est. La ruine ne s’impose donc pas seulement comme effet d’un désastre, d’une destruction, mais elle est la forme visible d’une catastrophe programmée, inscrite originairement sous la forme d’un principe dans ce qui advient. La ruine révèle ce qui fonde car elle est inscrite dans cette forme initiale...’ Ibid., p. 67.

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cal progress.’83 More importantly, Lacroix links Volny’s reflection on the function of ruins to a text by Walter Benjamin, which was also written in a historical moment of crisis: the rule of National Socialism, the Second World War, and the Holocaust. In this respect, ruins, for Benjamin, represent the ‘visibility of societies in times of distress.’84 Benjamin critically remarks that although historicism claims an apparent objectivity, it aims to achieve a glorious, final triumph, one that is only possible at the cost of denying subjectivity.85 He defines this denial as an unconscious neglect of the possibility of a catastrophe. Written in 1940, Benjamin’s philosophical reflections on the allegory of ruins criticize a conception of history that is evident in the classical style of entertainment cinema under the National Socialists. We could then read the denial of subjectivity, on which Benjamin draws, as the rejection of individualism and subjectivity—an ideology that underpinned National Socialist entertainment films as a way of pursuing their national goals. Many of these cinema productions claimed to present an objective view of true life under the National Socialist rule. Yet this objective perspective was nothing but a propagandistic cinematographic ‘illusion of a pleasurable wholeness,’86 one that excluded a subjective perspective and which was devoid of critical voices that may have emerged under National Socialist rule.87 Benjamin’s analysis demonstrates how history, either idealized or as an illusory concept of narrating events, can serve an ideological purpose by muting unwanted aspects of a social reality. As a consequence, Benjamin demands an uncensored conception of history, one that can take into account the idea of a

83 Ibid. 84 ‘la visibilité des sociétiés en temps de détresse.’ Benjamin quoted from Lacroix (2008), p. 434. 85 For Benjamin, this allegory is useful, because it enables a distant consideration of history, revealing such a history to be but ‘an illusion, a repression of the real pain of the world’ (qu’une illusion, un refoulement de la véritable douleur du monde). Ibid. 86 Schulte-Sasse (1996), p. 11. 87 This is particularly evident in the case of two films made during the National Socialist regime and the reasons for which they were censored. Criticism of social life or any other problematic aspects of the new National Socialist reforms from individuals was not permitted, but were evident in Life Can Be So Wonderful (Das Leben kann so schön sein, 1938) by Rolf Hansen or in Peter Pewas’ film The Enchanted Day (194344), both of which were prohibited.

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possible catastrophe,88 including potential dangers, problematic aspects, or risks that beset society without having to resort to lies and illusions to instil a false consciousness into a people’s collective memory. These reflections also indicate the ease with which the dreams and fears of a people can be manipulated for specific ideological purposes by muting unwanted aspects of a social reality. Lacroix suggests that both Benjamin and Volny, due to their particular viewpoint as witnesses of times of distress,89 define ruins as allegories or symbols in art and ideas, representing ‘the bad consciousness of an epoch that wanted to trust totally in the idea of reason; [the ruins] thereby revealing the sinister reverse side that escapes the rule of reason.’90 The image of ruins refers here to the hidden and taboo sides of a society. The act of making ruins visible in art might thus be defined as an aesthetic opposition to classical conception in art. The classical style is revealed as proclaiming an idealising viewpoint by repressing taboos and unwanted aspects of a society. If we apply the theories of Volny, Benjamin, and Lacroix on the allegory of ruins to Friedrich’s paintings and rubble films, then we can presume that their function is to provoke a discourse on contemporary society without repressing or dismissing ‘unwanted’ aspects. Within a given historical context, such a view can help us to deconstruct and challenge concepts, forms, and styles that are complicit in creating illusory or idealistic wholeness.91 In other words, the incomplete, fragmentary, or even non-systematic representation of ruins challenges forms and styles that reaffirm wholeness and totality. This challenge generates a controversial discourse about society’s values by focusing on and accentuating the difficult and unwanted aspects that are usually suppressed. In Friedrich’s paintings, it has been demonstrated how non-conforming patterns of a visual style evoking the impression of fragmentation and crisis can help initiate a serious discussion of contemporary circumstances. Yet the visual representation of ruins adds another aspect to this discussion: the implicit meaning expressed by ruins simultaneously relates to the past, present, and future,

88 ’il faut fonder le concept de progrès sur l’idée de catastrophe.’ Benjamin quoted from Lacroix (2008), p. 434. 89 Ibid., p. 68. 90 ‘la mauvaise conscience d’une époche qui aurait voulu se confier entièrement à la raison; elles en révèlent l’envers obscur qui échappe à la maîtrise rationaliste.’ Ibid. 91 Lacroix writes that ‘the extreme lability of the condition of the ruin accentuates its opposition to something defined and substantial.’ Also, its ‘non-systematisation, [...] sets totality into question’ ([sa] non-systématicité, [...] la pose en critique de la totalité). Ibid.

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therefore accentuating history as a process. Similarly, as an icon of memory, ruins in rubble films create a link to the earlier National Socialist era and its effect on the present and future. The figurative representation of ruins prompts an aesthetic of fragmentation, which mirrors not only the concept of Romantic artworks, but also that of life.92 Fragmentation highlights the unattainable idea of wholeness and unity in Classicism, and therefore was understood as a kind of destruction revealing the true nature of life: ‘The incomplete, unfinished, and at the same time once again dilapidated form of the ruin allows the observer’s imagination to roam to the past or future – into the distance – and makes it into an impulse of experience of transcendence and infinity. The essence of the ruin is thus no longer an erstwhile perfection crafted by man – as in Classicism – but only the destruction, which reveals the true nature.’93

These reflections overlap with Friedrich’s non-conforming visual style in generating an aesthetic of fragmentation and crisis, which emphasises the condition of incompleteness, lack, dysfunction, or dismissal. Going beyond the often-cited religious implications, Friedrich’s style artistically expresses his personal conflicts in relation to the social-political context. It is this subjective perspective that provokes a serious discourse on German national identity against the background of external control during the occupation. Friedrich’s aesthetic of opposition refuses to forget the past times (before French occupation), a refusal that excludes the possibility of adaptation to the new circumstances in a reconciliatory manner. Frank reads the impulse of refusal to forget the past as the ‘will to keep memory alive’ and as ‘the true Romantic impulse,’94 which judges the idea of ignoring a problem to be a dismissal of it. Since any form of process, which is made possible thanks to repression, leads to ‘doom’ (a process that is only given

92 This also refers to Friedrich Schlegel’s concept of the perfect incompleteness (perfekte Unvollkommenheit). 93 ‘Das Unvollkommene, Unfertige und zugleich wieder Verfallende an der Ruine läßt die Phantasie des Betrachters in die Vergangenheit oder Zukunft – in die “Ferne” – schweifen und macht sie so zu einem Anstoß der Transzendenz- bzw. Unendlichkeitserfahrung. Das wesentliche der Ruine ist damit in der Romantik nicht mehr – wie in der Klassik – eine einstige, durch Menschenhand geschaffene Vollkommenheit, sondern gerade die Zerstörung, die das eigentliche Wesen offenbart.’ Siegmund (2002), p. 125. 94 ‘den Willen Erinnerung wach zu halten’; ‘der eigentliche romantische Implus.’ Frank (1995), p. 129.

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visibility in art), this kind of progress provokes on the long term a ‘lack of salvation’ in society.95 The focus on the dysfunctional aspects within a society incites a critical stance that not only refutes the idealistic wholeness of classical depictions, but is also aware of an aesthetic of fragmentation and crisis. In cinema, this aesthetic returns on the level of style and narratives, which are related to the aboved-mentioned Romantic elements. In rubble films, the impression of fragmentation and crisis, evoked by the image of ruins and visual style, does not only stand for the memory of the past as a missing, dysfunctional element; it also relates to the lasting influence of past events on the post-war period. In particular, the visual and narrative representation of fragmentation foregrounds underlines what is absent and thereby often creates uncanny and fatal atmospheres in cinema. In film noir and many rubble films, the uncanny refers to the repressed events of the past. We may therefore conclude that ruins, by virtue of recalling the (oppressed) past, may function as a symbol of opposition in art— especially when combined with a visual style that suggests fragmentation and referencing references a historical moment of crisis. This combination produces a discourse on social reality. In the rubble films discussed here, especially in the later ones, one can see that the meaning of opposition shifts towards a warning that history may repeat itself if humanity refuses to remember earlier events. While Classical art focused on Greek ruins and style, the Romantic painter Friedrich reverted to Gothic ruins and architectural style.96 However, the Gothic style had more than just political implications (such as serving as a sign of the emerging new national consciousness under the pressure of Napoleon’s invasion); it also recalled the Middle Ages. In this respect, the Gothic style and ruins were an artistic expression of a longing for previously idealised times.97 The return to the Gothic revealed aspects of Romantic art concepts and attitudes that were ambivalent to life; indeed, the fragmental form of a ruined building also

95 ‘Unheil’; ‘Heil-losigkeit.’ Ibid. 96 Ibid., p. 123. 97 In a break with the democratic representation of the Enlightenment, this introduced a new perspective to this era, which had up until then been defined as the dark epoch of barbarism. Thus, a new attitude developed in opposition to the negative classical image of the Middle Ages by celebrating it as a lost era of humanity’s unity with its origin and God. Such a feeling of eternal loss reinforced the Romantic longing for ‘an unattainable ideal, whose irretrievability causes a feeling of nostalgia.’ (ein unerreichbares Ideal, dessen Unwiederbringlichkeit ein Gefühl von Wehmut hervorruft.) Ibid., p. 131.

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embodied the Romantic idea of life in a ‘time of radical changes.’98 With reference to some rubble films, we will explore the ways in which the return to settings of a Gothic architectural style functioned as a reflection on a German national identity. However, these reflections are usually not linked to a nostalgic Romantic longing in rubble films. Based on the findings of the previous section, it is possible to argue that ruins functioned as the primary signifier of a break with the dominant traditions and definitions that made up the classical style and its adherent ideas. Thus, the Romantic ruin can be defined as a symbol of opposition because of its fragmentary form, perceived non-conformity and disunity, and its ability to provoke a disturbing aesthetics of fragmentation and crisis. This aesthetic questions classical ideas of wholeness and reason. As a consequence of this new conception of art, the icon of the ruin climbed great heights to become the embodiment of Romantic art. These connotations were recognised and revived for the making of rubble films: the fragmentary form of ruins underscores a break with the idealising and illusory sense of wholeness in the classical cinema style. Harmonising classical patterns are set in contrast to the fragmentation evoked in many rubble films in order to highlight the experience of defeat, loss, and crisis that is signified by the icon of the ruin.

98 ‘Umbruchszeit.’ Ibid.

3. The Romantic Discourse in a Selection of Rubble Films

Hour Zero: German People, Art, Literature and Cinema Finally, in wake of the invasion and military action of the Allies, the National Socialist regime capitulated1 and Wilhelm Keitel signed the contract of unconditional surrender in Berlin-Karlshorst on May 9, 1945. The reaction of the German population to these events must have been diverse: while some had long awaited this moment, others experienced a deep crisis and anxiety about an uncertain future. All the propagandist slogans of a revolutionary social renewal and illusions of a thousand years of the Third Reich collapsed, leaving millions of ruined, abused, and wretched people who were simultaneously plagued by guilt and shame about the recent events.2 Of course, the consequence of total war was total defeat and destruction: Around 55 million people3 (of which 25 million were civilians) had lost their lives due to war, terror, or crimes of the National Socialist rule. 15 million people had been sent to concentration camps for political, religious, or racist reasons; 11 million of them were killed (of whom around five or six million were Jews). Moreover, 7.8 million war victims were Germans, of whom numbered 4

1

A few days earlier, the capitulation had been signed on the 7th of May in Reims.

2

The cinema-like illusions of Hitler’s glorious nation and its bright future were revealed as nothing more than a pack of lies and insubstantial prophecies. Only a few months before the unconditional surrender and against all facts, Hitler had nevertheless announced via radio on January the 30th 1945 that the final victory would soon come.

3

Cited from Görtemaker (2002), p. 9-13.


94 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM million soldiers and 3.8 million civilians. To add to these staggering casualties, war wounds, trauma, and illnesses forever marked those who survived; furthermore, most German cities had been destroyed. By the end of 1946, 5.6 million refugees had already fled into the west from the east, and until 1950 there were 7.5 million refugees. Many people were fleeing from the Red Army or had somehow survived the last bomb raids and found themselves in the middle of totally destroyed cities battling conditions of hunger, homelessness, and exhaustion. In the end, nothing remained of Hitler’s fanatic dreams to establish in the name of national pride and racist mania a great Aryan community – that is, nothing but the total breakdown of the political, social, juridical and economical system and of all humanistic values in Germany. The most important National Socialist leaders—such as Hitler and Goebbels, and later Himmler, Göring, and Ribbentrop—escaped public justice via suicide. Yet at the beginning of 1945, many people still believed in the myth of the infallibility of the Führer, so that a part of German society even seemed to be ready to follow the proclaimed Neroorder in March 1945. This order foresaw the total destruction of Germany and its 4 people because, according to Speer’s testimony, Hitler concluded that the war appeared to be lost, and that the German people were not worthy to survive because they had been too weak to conquer the world. National Socialist rule had been a totalitarian one that demanded of its people total surrender and irrational loyalty. These ideals were promoted and supported by great ceremonies and promises to faithfully follow the myth-like leader Adolf Hitler, even into death. This pseudo religious cult5 dissolved but slowly. The bomb raids by the Allies (which had destroyed all larger German cities towards the end of the war) only provoked a sort of defiance, not surrender. These bombings seemed to have increased the irrational faith of parts of the

4

Albert Speer, one of Hilter’s closest followers, testified that Hilter explained in March 1945: ‘If the war will be lost, the people will be lost, too. This destiny is unavoidable’ (Wenn der Krieg verloren geht, wird auch das Volk verloren sein. Dieses Schicksal ist unabwendbar). Moreover, it seemed unnecessary in Hitler’s opinion ‘to make allowances for the basic needs of the people for its most primitive survival’ (auf die Grundlagen, die das Volk zu seinem primitivsten Weiterleben braucht, Rücksicht zu nehmen). In opposition to this, it would be better ‘to destroy these things’ (diese Dinge selbst zu zerstören) because the German people had turned out to be the weaker ones. Ibid., p 9.

5

This is a term Ian Kershaw introduces and it is cited from: Hischfeld and Renz (1995), p. 11.

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German population in the National Socialist leadership and its military power. They nourished a German population with the idea that they were innocent victims of a great catastrophe that was out of their control. In addition, Goebbels’s propaganda machine created such a dark and fearful picture of life under the occupation of the Allied Forces that German people feared for the possible aftermath of war and the end of Nazism. But National Socialism indeed collapsed, and people were left alone to carry on with their lives within the ruins, to find out the real extent of the regime of terror, and to deal with the experience of war, trauma, expulsion, loss, despair, alienation, powerlessness, and guilt. The destroyed country, coupled with the general chaos and disorientation that ensued, increased feelings of crisis, senselessness, and hopelessness. This world seemed not to be ruled by reason; history provided no meaning, no meaningful development appeared to be possible, and progress seemed nonexistent. It was only then that many Germans began to understand the immense abuse of propagandist slogans of the National Socialist regime, which had been employed to manipulate beliefs, feelings, and persuasions. Yet other parts of the population refused to recognise the truth and kept on idealising. Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich described this collective psychological strategy of escaping reality as a nationwide refusal to come to terms with the past.6 Through testimonies such as war letters,7 we must assume that most Germans knew about the National Socialist atrocities and war crimes, though possibly not about their true extent. However, people had other priorities to deal with in the post-war period. Serious reflection on the past events was not the most urgent matter, and it became suppressed by the necessity to somehow survive the chaos of the aftermath of war. On June 5, 1945, the Allied Forces implemented major changes in order to rule the occupied territories: the government power over the defeated country was divided into four occupation zones among the Allied Forces of France, the United Kingdom, the USA, and the Soviet Union. Consequently, each zone set up its own military government and conditions of governances. Most importantly, cultural activities were also under the command of each military government and could be affected by censorship. According to Klaus Kreimeier, the rule of the occupying forces provided another shock: after the breakdown of the National Socialist party, German society had to adjust to the capitalist system in

6

See their book The Inability to Mourn. Principles of Collective Behavior (Die Un-

7

For example, the collection of letters of the last three months of the war. In: Hischfeld

fähigkeit zu trauern. Grundlagen kolletiven Verhaltens), 1967. and Renz (1995), p. 11.


96 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM the western zones, while in Russian territories life was structured by a ‘rigid “superego” in the shape of a collectivist ideology.’8 In the western zones, this meant a fight for survival, as it was nearly impossible to survive on the rations provided by the Allies. Therefore, the years between 1945 and 1948 mark a period in German cultural history known as the time of the black market—a time during which the capitalist way of life showed its true face.9 Black market, prostitution, double moral standards, and the lack of morale marked the widespread feelings of crisis and the everyday fight for survival. Although most people were likely unfamiliar with the term existentialism, as represented by Albert Camus, Martin Heidegger, or Jean-Paul Sartre, this philosophy mirrored the common feeling of ‘being thrown into a life’ that provoked disgust because of life’s lack of morals or sense. Hence, the idea of being thrown into a hostile world became the central metaphor for being exiled into conditions of crisis and for a loss of orientation. The Protestant and Catholic Churches seemed to be the last institutions of faith at this time of despair.10 They represented security, safety, and transcendental sublimity, and were left apparently untouched by the catastrophic conditions of crisis. Along with the newly awakening faith in religion and its worldly institutions, superstition also increased in these times of crisis. When cultural institutions re-opened, high culture—such as the classical works of art, literature and theatre—also offered comfort because of its timelessly accepted and indestructible values of humanism. An increased demand for culture, in particular for theatre and concerts, was comparable to the increasing interest in religion and churches.11

8

‘rigideres “Über-Ich” in Gestalt einer kollektivistischen Ideologie.’ Kreimeier in

9

Nichts kennzeichnet besser die Verfassung des dekomponierten Gemeinwesens, das

Hoffmann (1989), p. 10. sein physisches Weiterleben nach der Rationalität eines objektiv irrationalen und irreguläre funktionierenden “Marktes” zu “organisieren” hatte. Der Ökonomismus des “Organisierens”, die Symbiose von Anarchie und Selbstregulation der “freien” Marktkräfte, schließlich ein als “Ellenbogen-Mentalität” moralisch in Verruf geratener, gleichwohl zu keinem Zeitpunkt politisch reflektierter Überlebenswille: dies war der Stoff, aus dem ein geschlagenes Volk mühsam seine nationale Substanz, seine tägliche Orientierung, aber auch seine Mythen und Träume rekonstruierte.’ Ibid. 10 Damus (1995), p. 70. 11 Ibid.

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‘People visited the theatres as a kind of holy place, in which the German classics were played and declaimed with great pathos. They thirsted after pure values, after ideals of humanity such as celebrated in Goethe’s Iphigenia drama and Lessing’s “Nathan der Weise”.’12

This return to the timeless classical ideals of humanism allowed people to fill the space left by the lack of reliable values and persuasions; more importantly, it nourished hopes for a future of reconciliation and tolerance. Many people experienced hunger, renunciation, and despair as a great humiliation.13 Only transcendental moments of high, pure classical culture and of religious salvation provided a brief escape from the depressing, distressing everyday life. It can be assumed that under these conditions, the public rejected serious discussions about the recent past, instead longing for escapist experiences that provided new energy in order to confront the ruined reality of life. In accordance with this tendency, modern art could only generally refer to current events because artistic and political actuality excluded one another.14 Because of this, contemporary artists only rarely addressed political subjects openly.15 Most art exhibitions showed a tendency to return to earlier modern forms of expression.16 Directly after the end of National Socialism, ‘all art that had been banned and persecuted [during National Socialism] were regarded as

12 ‘Die Menschen suchten die Theater, in denen die deutschen Klassiker mit großem Pathos gespielt und deklamiert wurden, als Weihstätte auf. Sie lechzten nach unverfälschten Werten, nach Menschheitsidealen, wie sie Goethe in seinen IphigenieDrama feiert und Lessing in “Nathan der Weise”.’ Ibid. 13 Damus writes: ‘Viele Menschen lebten in der Trümmerzeit unter Bedingungen, die sie als erniedrigend empfanden. Dabei ging es nicht nur um die sozusagen meßbaren, die konkret benennbaren Nöte wie mangelnden Wohnraum oder Hunger, sondern um die Lebensumstände insgesamt. Davon waren insbesonders Menschen aus bürgerlichen Schichten und Intellektuelle betroffen. Sie waren erniedrigened Umstände und Zwangssituationen nicht gewohnt.’ Ibid., p. 71. 14 Ibid., p. 67. 15 If artists addressed such topics, such as for example Max Beckmann’s expressive and realistic art, it was not very warmly received. Ibid. 16 Many artists who had been banned under the National Socialist system or who had emigrated, such as Wilhelm Lembruck, Ernst Barlach, various Expressionist painters, and Franz Marc, were exhibited together with other contemporaneous artists.


98 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM “extreme” and “modern”.’17 While the modern art form before Nazism was celebrated as up-to-date, some artists and critics consistently adhered to the politics and definitions of art under the Third Reich by proclaiming that to exhibit ‘German art’ could return the lost positive aspects of German cultural traditions. 18 These statements are in line with the return to classical modernism. This reversion also served to avoid a serious discussion of the recent past in art, enabling artists to pursue earlier traditions in the post-war period, even those close to fascist ideals.19 The era of fascist Germany was over, yet no one would openly talk about the feelings of defeat, anger, or shame that many people experienced. The favoured term used to describe the end of the National Socialist period was ‘breakdown,’ 20 because it suggests a link to fatalism, destiny, and myth. Artists like Carl Hofer, Karl Schlesig, or Franz Radziwill preferred to address subjects of the recent past and present in a metaphorical and mystifying manner.21 National Socialism and war were mainly depicted as a sort of ‘destiny, as a disaster that had come over the world.’22 These artists possibly wished to express the incomparability of the National Socialist crimes and of the war initiated by fascist Germany; yet ‘[...] to mystify war as an apocalypse as well as to demonize National Socialism served to release—[these representations rather than] absolve from responsibility.’ 23 In particular, the depiction of ruins in many art works testifies to an interpretation of history as a process of nature.24 For example, the painting Berlin at the Sea (Berlin am Meer, 1947) by the Berlin painter Werner Heldt shows typical

17 ‘Unmittelbar nach dem Ende des Nationalsozialismus galt in Deutschland alle Kunst, die zuvor als entartet geächtet und verfolgt worden war, als “extrem” und “modern”.’ Damus, p. 38. 18 Ibid.,p. 42. 19 Ibid. 20 ‘Zusammenbruch.’ Ibid. 21 For example, Radziwill’s painting The Complaint of Bremen (Die Klage Bremens, 1946) combines religious references with a Surrealistic style to represent bomb victims, refugees, ruins, and a landscape littered with rubble, all as a result of an apocalypse. 22 ‘Schicksal, als Unheil über die Welt gekommen.’ Ibid., p. 46-47. 23 ‘so diente die Überhöhung des Kriegs als Apokalypse wie die Dämonisierung des Nationalsozialismus der Entlastung – sie sprechen frei von Verantwortung.’ Ibid., p. 47. 24 The painter Werner Heldt writes about his work: ‘I always represented the victory of nature over human work in my paintings.’ (Ich habe in meinen Bildern immer den Sieg der Natur über das Menschenwerk dargestellt.) Ibid.

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patterns of representing rubble and ruins in the aftermath of the war. The painting depicts typical empty Berlin blocks of flats being invaded by the natural world of sand and water. The almost intact block of flats appears to be eroded by these elements of nature in order to suggest that humanity, represented by the apartment blocks, cannot survive against the dissolving and destructive powers of nature (thus mythical higher forces).25 To depict ruins in this way does not aim to emphasise the destruction, death, and pain of the reality of rubble landscapes, but instead evokes a feeling of sentiment and poetry. To illustrate the ruins of the Third Reich and the War as a natural process denies that they were caused by political actions and human decisions.26 Disguised as a higher destiny,27 these representations provide relief from responsibility. West German artists returned also to Expressionist traditions because they had previously been attacked and banned by the National Socialists, and to call on ‘formerly Expressionist painters meant an act of recompensation.’28 Many Expressionist painters remained in Germany during the National Socialist regime, although their art did not fit into National Socialist ideals. While proclaiming ‘inner emigration,’ most of these artists went on to depict mythical or Greek subjects, such as nature and the domain of inner life.29 In comparison to artistic movements in the aftermath of World War I, this developement constitutes a major difference: while Expressionist artists explicitly attempted to criticise contemporary society, artists working after 1945 tendentiously avoided discussing the reality of society and politics. This development favours an interpretation of past and present events as a sort of mythical natural development of history,30 which occurred in Germany unbeknownst to the German people. These kind of artistic reactions corresponded to the existential condition and the spirit of the age: in the aftermath of war and National Socialism, people felt ‘powerless and extradited,’31 while at the same time seeking protection, security, and affirmation in religion and culture.

25 Compare: Ibid. 26 Besides Holdt, many other artists chose the same sort of representation. Ibid., p. 6467. 27 Ibid. 28 ‘Die Berufung ehemals expressionistischer Maler galt als Akt der Wiedergutmachung.’ Ibid., p. 29-30. 29 Ibid. 30 Ibid., p. 67. 31 ‘ohnmächtig und ausgeliefert.’ Ibid.


100 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Post-war German literature displays similarities to those tendencies outlined in the fine arts. When referring to early post-war literature, one usually employs terms such as literature of the ‘clear cut’ (Kahlschlag) and the ‘hour zero’ (Stunde null), terms that seem to suggest a departure from the rubble of the National Socialist past. Yet most post-war writers, such as the rubble filmmakers, were not young talents, but had already pursued a career during Nazism or even earlier. Thus, it seems more appropriate32 to speak of a new structuring of literary life33 and cinema production. Emigrants such as Thomas Mann, Heinrich Mann, Alfred Döblin, Lion Feuchtwanger, and Bertolt Brecht34 often further developed earlier traditions such as the historical novel. The philosopher Theodor W. Adorno, an emigrant who returned to Germany after 1945, demanded a radical change for literature and art after Auschwitz: a sort of a break with the western ideals of the Enlightenment and humanism.35 He argued that to continue to pursue these earlier traditions would recall the atrocities against humanity that were committed under National Socialism. Adorno argued that the memory of the Holocaust should be recalled as a kind of a new categorical imperative in literature and culture. Yet

32 Hoffmann (2006), p. 14. 33 Many writers, such as Gertrude von Le Fort, Otto Flake, Hans Carossa, and Frank Thiess stayed on during the Third Reich in Germany as representatives of inner emigration. In the post-war era, they often combined, classical, mythical, and Christian literary patterns in order to elevate the present defeat into a higher sphere of general human experiences. Decline, guilt, and the horrible reality of the post-war period was therefore transferred (for example, in the fine arts) into natural processes or supernatural events out of human force and control. In particular, the revival of classical and mythical features allowed one to pursue traditions that had developed during fascism and earlier, which were often employed as a method to excuse the German population. Other writers revived earlier traditions such as Romanticism and Expressionism, and both during and after Nazism, the leading genre in poetry was nature and lyric, whose themes escaped the given socio-political reality. Ibid. 34 Here, Brecht also stands for the literary development in the Soviet occupation zone in the later founded GDR, where two dominant literary categories appeared step-by-step. As in cinema, they focused on the antifascist past or present day themes. The latter was supposed to show the everyday life of ordinary working class people in order to praise the achievements of socialism. The dominant style was a socialist realism, such as proclaimed by Georg Lukàzs. 35 Adorno (1976), p. 31.

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by 1950, literary descriptions of Auschwitz or other National Socialist atrocities had already become a boring expression of sentiment.36 Nevertheless, some younger writers sought to avoid the aestheticised inwardness and ideal of timelessness (Ideal der Überzeitlichkeit) present in magical realism in literature; among this group were Heinrich Böll, Wolfgang Borchert, Günter Eich, Wolfdietrich Schnurre, Johannes Becher, and Alfred Anders. These writers searched for new ways to express the experiences linked to defeat and decline and life amidst the ruins and rubble. Strongly informed by the structure of the American short story, which functions as a counter model to bourgeois literature, many of these authors aimed to avoid typical formal and narrative aspects of the bourgeois novel, such as the auctorial narrative perspective. It was replaced by a personal or neutral viewpoint in order to involve the reader by provoking unsettlement and inner distress resulting from the disordered post-war world. This type of post-war literature turned away from aestheticism and inwardness in favour of a realistic description of post-war conditions, in this way paralleling Italian neorealist literature (neo-verism).37 According to Jürgen Wertheim,38 existentialist philosophy by Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre strongly informed these writers as well as post-war German society. In particular, the literary works of Alfred Anders were largely inspired by the existentialist term of freedom and the experiences of the absurd, as outlined in Camus’ philosophical essay The Myth of Sisyphus (1942). Patterns of existentialist philosophy mark some rubble films, such as Film Without a Name. In the early post-war period, Wolfgang Borchert’s short stories gained appreciation39; they are still discussed in German schools today.40 Yet the period of reception of rubble literature refers mostly to the first six years after the war.

36 Fritz Raddatz, when editing texts of the group 47 (1947-62), pointed out that terms such as Hitler, SS, KZ (concentration camp), Nazi, etc. would not even appear within the whole volume of this edition. Hoffmann (2006), p. 14. 37 The aims of these writers were: to clean language from the jargon and slogans introduced by National Socialism; a simplicity of expression, appropriate to portraying the experiences of war; a modus of expression that turns away from the propagandist abuse of language during the Third Reich; refusing escapism into a literary idyll or into the ideal of timelessness, which avoided a realist depiction of post-war reality; a modesty of expression to avoid exaggerations and a language of pathos, such as was used in literature under National Socialism; freedom in expression. Ibid. 38 Wertheimer (1977), p. 270. 39 Töteberg (2002), p. 99. 40 Fuhrmann (1993), p. 89.


102 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Even as early as 1951, Heinrich Böll had problems publishing The Silent Angel (Der Engel schwieg, 1949/1951) because the book dealt with life in the rubble landscape, beginning on May 8, 1945, the day of the unconditional surrender. Böll’s publisher objected to publishing the book, and it was therefore delayed until 1992. As indicated in Werner Bellmann’s afterword in the book’s 1997 edition, the main argument for this delay had to do with the public’s changing tastes; in 1951, the past misery and the war were no longer acceptable subjects in 41 literature. As we will see in our later film analyses, the year 1952 not only marked the end of rubble literature, but also of rubble films. 42 Moreover, 1952 saw the division into West and East German literature. In the GDR, SED-leaders43 at the second party-conference instructed writers to employ a politically affirmative ‘socialist realism,’44 which strongly differed from modernist modes of expression. Similarly to GDR cinema, two main categories gradually began to appear in East German literature: they either focused on the anti-fascist tendencies in reponse to the National Socialist period or on themes of the present times under socialism. The latter showed the everyday life of ordinary working-class people in order to praise the achievements of socialism. Although this study focuses primarily on style and narrative patterns in formalist rubble films, it is nevertheless necessary to mention the reasons why some cinematographic productions in the years during and after the National Socialist regime appear to gain more public acceptance than others. For example, Wolfgang Liebeneiner45 adapted Wolfgang Borchert’s successful post-war theatre piece The Man Outside (Draußen vor der Tür, 1946) for cinema with the title, Love 47 (Liebe 47, 1947). The theatre play tells the story of an emotionally lost war veteran who suffers a deep crisis of identity when he returns home to Hamburg. However, the adaptation transformed Borchert’s piece into a kitschy film with a happy end that proposes love as the answer to post-war problems. In spite of the film’s partly experimental visual style (indicating research into new means of expression) and the prior success of the theatre piece, the film failed to convince the audience completely.

41 Compare: Bellmann in Böll (1997), p. 196-197. 42 In the same year, authors such as Ilse Aichinger, Ingborg Bachmann and Paul Celan were awarded a prize by the group 47, indicating that literary taste in West Germany changed to classical modernity. Hoffmann (2006), p. 14. 43 Social Unity Party of Germany, Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands. 44 Winter (2002), p. 10. 45 Liebeneiner had been the director of the film academy under the Nazis.

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In order to answer questions concerning the acceptance or rejection of cinematographic patterns, one must consider how a given socio-political and cultural background shapes and affects the reconstruction of past events as a cultural memory. Jan Assmann writes that ‘cultural memory indicates that memory is always a social training established by elites, a sort of training into a canon and hence into a hierarchy of meanings.’46 Thus, film directors, painters, or writers construct their version of prior times in a way that largely depends on dominant frameworks in a given society. As early as 1924, Maurice Halbwachs demonstrated that memory cannot exist independent of a social frame (cadre social).47 If so, we can also argue that memory is made by a plurality of experiences and opinions that are to be dominant within a society. Therefore, the question of whether a filmic representation of past events becomes a success or not is closely linked to whether or not a film represents a memory construction that is acceptable or provides sufficient identificatory patterns for the majority of the audience. In this respect, and against the background of the earlier described dominant forms of expression in fine art and in rubble literature, it seems evident that little tolerance existed in German post-war society for critically addressing the recent events. Other problems were that filmmakers had to treat these subjects with a certain degree of care due to the censorship that the Allied Forces might impose.48 In addition, after the constant onslaught of ideology in cinema under

46 ‘kulturelle Gedächtnis gezeigt, daß Erinnerung immer ein von Eliten betriebenes soziales Training, eine Einübung in einen Kanon und damit in eine Hierarchie von Bedeutungen ist.’ Assmann (1992), p. 87. 47 The concept of social frames was developed by Emile Durkheim. Halbwachs employed this processes of memory in order to demonstrate that they cannot be described or even thought of independently from a social context. Hoffmann in Flacke (2004), p. 151. 48 Wolfdietrich Schnurre, a rubble writer and film critic, even went so far as to argue that the allies favoured the unpolitical entertainment before films that would refer seriously to contemporaneous problems: ‘Vergleicht man ferner die von der alliierten Zensur zur Verfilmung freigegebenen Stoffe mit denen die abgelehnt wurden, so kommt man schon nach wenigen Stichproben, zu dem immerhin nachdenklich stimmenden Resultat, dass das Seichte und Unverbindliche das Gewünschte war und daß das Problematische, Aktuelle, die brennende wirklichkeitsechte Zeitaussage zum Unerwünschten gezählt worden ist geworden. Mit einem Wort: es wurde hier mit einer derat fatalen Beharrlichkeit farblosestes Mittelmaß forciert, beste Stoffe jedoch


104 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Nazism, the German public was suspicious of both foreign and domestic cinema productions; they were continually wary of possible propagandist impact. 49 Ironically, these suspicions did not hinder German audiences in their enjoyment of newly released entertainment films produced during National Socialism, which contained much hidden ideology. A final remark must be made concerning the conditions of film production in post-war Germany. For German filmmakers, hour zero meant the breakdown of the National Socialist film universe and the UFA studios. After twelve years of artistic isolation from international development within a well-supported but also highly censored studio system, they were finally able to keep up with trends and styles of cinema all over the world. The occupation forces distributed their film productions and used cinema as a means to reeducate and to democratise the German population. In terms of visual style, German filmmakers began to reexplore developments beyond the classical style of National Socialist propaganda cinema. Interestingly, the western zones employed press media primarily ‘as a means to diffuse information and impact in the sense of reeducation.’ 50 The focus on the press was in fact part of a commercial strategy: Hollywood’s powerful film industry wished to use Germany as a second market for its own film production and therefore saw no urgent need to reestablish a German film industry. This cultural political policy hindered redevelopment of the German film industry and art for many years, since small production firms, wishing to make more artistically demanding films, could not survive alongside the great North American film distribution companies that ruled the German market. These film politics suppressed film productions that displayed a critical attitude towards post-war problems by supporting the general tendencies of the public to watch cheerful entertainment in German cinema until the late 1950s and 1960s. Only the fact that the Soviet sector was able to quickly reestablish cinema production in 1945 (by founding the Filmaktiv51 and opening the DEFA-studios)

zurückgewiesen, daß sich einem rückschauend nun doch die Frage nach dem eigentlichen Sinn dieser Zensurschraube aufdrängt.’ Schnurre (1950), p. 48-49. 49 For example, see the film reviews about Staudte’s first rubble film in Kersten (1977), p. 102-105. 50 ‘als Mittel zur Verbreitung von Informationen und Gedanken im Sinne der Reeducation.’ Cited from: Pleyer (1965), p. 31. 51 In November 22, 1945 a first meeting of culture representatives, filmmakers, and writers took place in the Hotel Adlon in Berlin. The aim was to reconstruct film production in the Soviet Occupation Zone (SBZ). The most well known members of the

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forced the western Allies to also support German film productions. In the Soviet sector, during the celebration of the film license for the newly founded DEFA studios, Colonel Tulpanow (the cultural officer) underscored that, in particular, the ‘film as an art of the masses’ should work as ‘a sharp and powerful weapon against the conservative capitalist tendencies and for a deep rooted democracy opposing war and militarism and for peace and friendship of all peoples all over the world.’52 Yet after the first creative years, the focus on socialist realism and anti-fascist films dealing with the past coupled with the partial banning of avantgardist and formalist patterns in East-German cinema would soon restrict artistic forms of expression in favour of passing socialist ideology. R UBBLE F ILMS : C OMMON F EATURES

AND

M AIN D IFFERENCES

The following section will provide an overview of the differences and similarities within the diversity of rubble directors and films. Mostly born in the first decade of the twentieth century, German rubble directors were exclusively male and, as relatively older men, did not make up a new generation of filmmakers. All of them were in some way familiar with cinema under Nazism, and in the aftermath of the war, some of them sought to renew cinema and its forms of expression. When the Allied forces intended to conduct a thorough de-nazification of German film personnel, it turned out that most filmmakers, film personnel, actors, etc. had in one way or another been involved in cinema production under National Socialism. Therefore, it was impossible to suspend all of them from working in post-war cinema. Beyond the general de-nazification procedures, main film figures during Nazism, such as Veit Harlan and Leni Riefenstahl, were called to trial but quickly released as followers (Mitläufer). Most rubble directors were familiar with the films and styles of the Weimar Republic, such as Expressionism, new objectivity, as well as other realist and formalist tendencies, since they usually first entered the film business during the years of Weimar Republic in the 1920s and early 1930s. This period of great cinematographic creativity in German cinema strongly influenced cinema pro-

Filmaktiv were Boleslaw Barlog, Hans Deppe, Hans Fallada, Werner Hochbaum, Gerhard Lamprecht, Herbert Maisch, Peter Pewas, Wolfgang Staudte, Günther Weisenborn, and Friedrich Wolf. 52 ‘Film als Massenkunst’; ‘eine scharfe und mächtige Waffe gegen die Reaktion und für die in der Tiefe wachsende Demokratie, gegen den Krieg und Militarismus und für den Frieden und Freundschaft aller Völker der ganzen Welt werden.’ Cited from: Pleyer (1965), p. 33.


106 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM duction all over the world. Nazism brought the decline of this highly creative period of filmmaking. Yet a certain continuity of narrative and style devices of Weimar cinema existed even during the National Socialist period, though within restricted limits. Thus, it is not astonishing that these devices returned as leading patterns in some of the post-war rubble films. In the aftermath of World War I, commercial and financial constrictions, as well as the socio-political chaos, released a high amount of creativity and social criticism, which gifted film directors, such as Fritz Lang, F. W. Murnau, Robert Wiene, G. W. Pabst, to name a few, were able to transform into a plurality of artistic forms of expression. Yet in comparison to the post-war period following World War I, the end of World War II provided less space and acceptance for artistic experiments. It has been previously mentioned that emotion of defeat was so profound in the aftermath of World War II that many German people saw themselves as victims rather than as responsible for the catastrophe of Nazism. After a short period of openness until the currency reform in 1948, strategies of survival generally consisted of repression and escapism regarding past issues. In addition, the National Socialist past still existed in the memories of many people as a golden time. As a result of these problematic circumstances in the post-war period, people looked to cinema as an escape from the cruel reality of the lost war, destroyed cities, poverty, and atrocities committed in the name of Germany. They longed for cheerful fantasies in order to experience, however briefly, from the tiring reality of rubble and ruins. The attendance data available53 for early post-war film productions up until 1948 show that the East German DEFA productions were much more popular from 1946 to 1948 than West German ones. The first rubble film, The Murderers Are Among Us, had around 6.5 million viewers in 1946. It was followed in the same year by Gerhard Lamprecht’s rubble film, Somewhere in Berlin (approximately 4.2 million spectators, also in 1946). However, the most successful rubble film was Marriage in the Shadows (Ehe im Schatten, 1947) by Kurt Maetzig. It boasted nearly 13 million spectators and was followed in the same year by Werner Klingler’s Razzia (Razzia, 8 million viewers) and Peter Pewas’s Street Acquaintance (Strassenbekanntschaft, nearly 6.5 million viewers). Yet this data must be considered against two facts: first, no films were produced in the West zones until the summer of 1946, due to the previously mentioned film pause; secondly, a cinema ticket was very cheap and permitted people to relax for a few hours. Therefore, cinema was a popular and financially accessible pleasure. Given this data, the year 1947 was the most successful rubble film year. In 1947,

53 See: http://www.insidekino.de/DJahr/DDRAlltimeDeutsch.htm; (20 January 2007).

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some rubble films finally appeared in the Western zones, yet by 1948, the interest in this type of cinema was already in decline. Now, I will add just a few words on the extraordinary success of Maetzig’s Marriage in the Shadows, which anticipates the later genre of antifascist films (antifaschistischer Vergangenheitsfilm) dealing with Nazism. The film refers to the true story of an actor couple who committed suicide due to persecution on grounds of the woman’s Jewish origin. This story is closely related to Maetzig’s own parents, who decided to divorce for same reason. Although this film exemplifies the terrors of persecution by the National Socialist regime, it offers patterns of identification with the male protagonist as a good German who dies with his Jewish wife. Given this story construction, the film has the effect of excusing and affirming the German audience and does by no mean provoke serious introspection. In the same year, Käutner employed a similar theme in his West German episodic film In those Days, which depicts a Jewish-Aryan couple who also commits suicide in order to escape persecution. Stylistically, these two films employ a pseudo neorealist style without demanding formalist features. Yet Käutner’s film lacks the socialist impact of Maetzig’s film. Likewise Razzia and Street Acquaintance avoid directly dealing with problems related to the recent past and they may have achieved success precisely because of this avoidance. Through a moralist and educative point of view, both films focus, on the dark side of the flourishing black market and prostitution rampant in the early post-war years. As a suspenseful crime film, Razzia employs a realist style, while Pewas’s film largely reverts to Weimar formalism. Yet the style employed in Pewas’s film is less artistically interesting than in Staudte’s first rubble film. Another major difference between these two rubble films is that Street Acquaintance provides identificatory patterns for the post-war male German as a good socialist humanist who saves a young woman who is endangered by prostitution and sexually transmitted diseases. Anchored in everyday post-war life, both of these films clearly serve educational and partly propagandist aims, which are more or less openly disguised by a suspenseful film structure. The most successful West German rubble films until 1948 were Harald Braun’s Between Yesterday and Tomorrow (1947, English sector) with two million viewers and Josef von Baky’s And the Sky Above Us (1947, first film production in the American sector) with two million viewers. 54 Both of these films largely correspond to what we attribute to classical film style. They ‘rely on notions of decorum, proportion, formal harmony, respect for tradition, mimesis,

54 Pleyer (1965), p. 155-156.


108 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM self-effacing craftsmanship, and cool control of the perceiver’s response.’55 Beyond a set of well-known stars from National Socialist films, Braun’s film revives certain ideological and film aesthetic aspects of this earlier cinema period. As such, rubble and ruins function only as illustrative decor for the film’s sentimental story. For example, And the Sky Above Us provides a simplistic story of a returning war veteran who, after a few failures, turns into a good person. As a cheerful comedy with a happy ending, this film highlights the great German film star Hans Albers in the leading role. It is precisely these combinations of wellknown classical filmic aesthetic patterns, traditional conventions, and stars of the previous cinema period that might explain the success of these films. In 1948, Erich Engel’s DEFA rubble film The Blum Affair also had considerable success with 4.3 million spectators. However, Artur Brauner’s West German Morituri (directed by Eugen York in 1947/48), one of the few rubble films dealing with the Holocaust that was distributed in Germany, failed to attract German audiences, attracting only around 420,000 viewers. Besides the aforementioned film Marriage in the Shadows by Maetzig and the episode in Käutner’s film, only one other film dealt with the Holocaust and the persecution of the Jews. Long is the Road (Lang ist der Weg, 1947/48), written by Israel Beker and directed by Herbert B. Fredersdorf and Marek Goldstein, recounts Beker’s own experiences as a Jewish resistance fighter and those of his family in a concentration camp. According to Shandley, this film was, a ‘public information campaign’56 that mainly pleaded with the British regime to allow displaced Jewish Holocaust survivors to immigrate to Palestine. With this goal in mind, the film was aimed at an international audience and was only released in Germany in 1948.57 In order to demonstrate what was popular with the public in 1948, it is crucial to mention the most successful West German film production of the early post-war years: The Secrets of Soul (1948) by Kurt Hoffmann,58 which had nearly 3.8 million spectators. This classical mystery film tells the story of a female double who lost her memory. However, the film shows no direct references to the post-war context.59

55 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 3. 56 Shandley (2001), p. 94. 57 Ibid., p. 101. 58 Hoffmann had already worked during National Socialism (Kohlhiesels Töchter in 1942/43 etc.) and later went on to direct successful comedies. 59 For example: Wir Wunderkinder (1958), Das Wirtshaus im Spessart, Die Bekenntnisse des Hochstaplers Felix Krull (both 1957).

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Peter Pleyer’s study on early German post-war cinema shows that during the period from 1946 to 1948, 67.5 percent of all films played out ‘completely or partially in the immediate present (Gegenwart) of the post-war period.’60 Furthermore, Pleyer concludes that never before in German film history had so many films directly showed problems of the actual times. These films focus on the ‘war experience and especially the destruction that stemmed from the war, the situation of returning war veterans, and economic conditions.’61 Consequently, these films accentuated the experience of war and Nazism rather than investigating past reasons for the present problems. In fact, the latter topic occurred in only 20 percent of all early post-war films. Additionally, the situation of refugees only appeared in 17.5 percent of all films under investigation. Pleyer counted 40 films that were produced from 1945 to 1948, of which 35 deal with the post-war period. All these films can be divided into four groups: 18 that thematise destinies and problems in the aftermath of war, of which eight evoke questions about past problems and guilt through the narrative device of flashback. Five films propagandise the impact of the communist worldview in order to contribute to the ideals of socialism. Four films reflect the actual postwar situation through a perspective of satire.62 Similarly, in the fine arts and in rubble literature, political or social issues beyond those aspects earlier mentioned were not addressed. Peter Pleyer argues that filmmakers possibly feared problems with Allied censorship.63 As previously mentioned, the German audience only appreciated rubble films insofar as they avoided a too-serious undertone. Pleyer writes that ‘cinema owners preferred if possible to play not only German entertainment films that had been produced before the end of war and were extremely popular, but also foreign films, which enjoyed a predominantly better reputation than the new German rubble films.’64 On the whole, the recent National Socialist past and the

60 ‘ganz oder teilweise in der Gegenwart der Nachkriegszeit.’ Pleyer (1965), p. 150. 61 ‘das Kriegserlebnis und spezielle die durch den Krieg entstandenen Zerstörungen, die Heimkehrersituation und die wirtschaftlichen Verhältnisse.’ Ibid. 62 Ibid., p. 158. 63 ‘Es war verboten, Kritik an den Besatzungsmächten und ihren Einrichtungen zu üben, und die Darstellung aktueller politischer und sozialer Gegenheiten konnte leicht indirekt als Kritik aufgefaßt werden und zu Zensurschwierigkeiten führen.’ Ibid. 64 ‘die Kinobesitzer spielten nach Möglichkeit vor Kriegsende gedrehte deutsche Unterhaltungsfilme, die besonders beliebt waren, oder aber ausländische Filme, die zum überwiegenden Teil immer noch mehr Ansehen genossen als die neuen deutschen Trümmerfilme.’ Ibid. p. 155.


110 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM war was not a central subject. Although authentic post-war conditions frequently appeared in these films productions, they only served as an insignificant backdrop for timeless stories, thus lacking a platform for deeper discussion. According to Pleyer, many filmmakers felt an urgent need to discuss the past and present, which did not match the desires and expectations of the German audience. Pleyer asserts that never before in German film history had the topics discussed by directors and the viewing expectations of the German audience diverged so much from one another than in the early post-war years up until 1948.65 Filmmakers confronted their spectators with problems that the average German did not want to face. Only in 1949, in the aftermath of the currency reform (1948), did most film directors slowly adapt to their audience’s desires.66 Finally, they had no other choice, since the already limited interest of the German audience in rubble representations in films completely ceased after the return of wealth and the economic boom. Given this information, the predominant negativity towards rubble films indicates a general rejection of the German population of this kind of filmic memory because it required Germans to recall a past they wished to dismiss instead. Although only a few rubble films touched on explosive topics, such as the Holocaust, war crimes, or atrocities, the depiction of the ruins of destroyed cities and people suffering were totally unaligned with the viewing habits of German audiences, trained during twelve years of classical cinema under Nazism. Using reviews about Staudte’s first rubble film, we will see that not only the choice of subject matter of some rubble filmmakers irritated the German audience, but also the visual and narrative patterns of fragmentation, decline, and crisis that contradicted the reassurance of an illusory wholeness so common in the classical cinema style.

65 ‘Es hat in der Geschichte des deutschen Films keinen Zeitabschnitt gegeben, in dem auch nur annährend eine solche Diskrepanz zwischen den Filminhalten und den Wünschen des Publikums im Hinblick auf diese Inhalte bestanden hat wie in den Jahren von Kriegsende bis Ende 1948. Die meisten Filmschöpfer registierten oder behandelten in den Inhalten ihrer Filme bestimmte in der Nachkriegsgesellschaft vorhandene Bewußtseinsinhalte, das heißt sie drehten Filme, die entweder im Umraum oder im Thema in beidem gegenwartsbezogen und zeitnah waren. Das Publikum dagegen verlangte, im Kino gerade von diesen Bewußtseinsinhalten abgelenkt zu werden. Erst 1949 gingen die meisten deutschen Filmschöpfer dazu über diesen Wunsch des Publikums zu berücksichtigen.’ Ibid., p. 156. 66 Ibid.

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Rubble films do not have a unifying set of narratives or visual features.67 Their makeup is quite diverse, oscillating between earnest discussion and pure entertainment. If we lengthen Pleyer’s and Shandley’s research period to include 1951, in order to incorporate important later rubble films (such as The Lost, Second Hand Destiny and The Last Illusion, which are often left out of studies on rubble films), then we can count around 50 rubble films. Given the stylistic patterns of these films in relation to genre conventions and subject matters, we may distinguish among three main categories: •

•

First, more or less commercial entertainment films that were mainly produced in the Western zones, such as Hans Müller’s And Should We Ever Meet Again (Und finden dereinst wir uns wieder, 1947), People in the Hand of God (Menschen in Gottes Hand, 1948), The Sons of Mr. Gaspary (Die Söhne des Herren Gaspary, 1948), by Rolf Meyer, Paths in Twilight (Wege im Zwielicht, 1948) by Gustave Fröhlich, And Above Us The Sky (1947) by Josef von Baky, Between Yesterday and Tomorrow and The Keepers of the Night (1947 and 1949) by Harald Braun, Harbour Melody (Hafenmelodie, 1949) by Hans Müller, and The King’s Children (Königskinder, 1949) by Helmut Käunter. All of these films largely depend on patterns of classical film style and have as their goal to reconcile the audience with and divert them from past and present trouble. Critical insight about past and present problems is mainly ignored, and the post-war reality of rubble and ruins appear only as a decorative element in these cheerful, funny, or dramatic films. The second category includes films produced in the eastern and western occupation zones that employ filmic realism in order to reflect the past and present events in a serious manner. Due to the different ideological undertones (socialism versus capitalism) already marking early East and West German film productions, this group includes two different realist approaches: first, films made in a style that would later be called socialist realism. This style made its mark on the two great cinematographic categories in GDR cinema of present-day or anti-fascist historical films (Gegenwartsfilm and antifaschistischer Vergangenheitsfilm). Films with stronger formalist tendencies, such as The Blum Affair and Street Acquaintance, rep-

67 Robert Shandley outlines that rubble films ‘range from romances and family melodramas to gangster films and detective stories, and constitute a cycle of films insofar as they are all problem films whose problem is the long shadow cast by the legacy of the Third Reich.’ Shandley (2001), p. 3.


112 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM resent exceptions to the rule of the period. Produced in the DEFA-studios, these films discussed the present or past, often with strong educational indications that aimed at promoting a model socialist character struggling against Nazism or in the post-war period aiming towards a better world, such as in Slatan Dudow’s Our Daily Bread (Unser Täglich Brot, East 1949), Maetzig’s Marriage in the Shadows (East 1947), Rotation (Rotation, East 1948/49) by Wolfgang Staudte, The Bridge (Die Brücke, East 1948/49) by Arthur Pohl, Council of the Gods (Rat der Götter, 1949/50) by Maetzig, Street Acquaintance (East, 1947/48) by Peter Pewas, Razzia (East 1947/48) by Werner Klingler, The Blum Affair (East, 1948) by Erich Engel, 1-2-3 Corona (1-2-3 Corona, East 1947/48) by Hans Müller, ’48 All Over again (Und wieder ’48, East 1948) by Gustav von Wagenheim. Secondly, this category corresponds to films mostly exposing a realist style, sometimes close to neorealism (thus the term pseudo neorealist style). These films address problematic topics of the past and present period. They appear rather as a pretext for rendering the audience an accomplice in reviewing from a certain distance the past troubles. The distance serves here to suggest that the filmmaker and the audience had not been involved in these past problems. The spectator is put into the position of distant observer who finds himself on the ‘right side’; thus, such a representation more or less provides positive patterns of identification for the audience by depicting them as innocent bystanders in a national catastrophe and its aftermath. The most important films of this subgroup are In Those Days (1947) by Käutner, Love 47 (1948/49) by Wolfgang Liebeneiner (the latter also shows formalist tendencies), as well as, to some extent, Film Without a Name (1948), Somewhere in Berlin (East 1946) by Gerhard Lamprecht. The subgroup of films that focus on the Holocaust, mainly using the realist style, are Those Who Are Bound to Die (Morituri, 1948) by Eugen York and Artur Brauner, as well as Long is the Road (Lang ist der Weg, 1947/48) by Fredersdorf and 68 Goldstein. Berlin Ballades (Berliner Balladen, 1948) by Robert A. Stem-

68 ‘A satirical parable of post-war German reality, presented as a “flashback” from the year 2048: Gert Fröbe plays the common German man on the street named “Otto Normalverbraucher”, who, once released from captivity in 1949, returns in roundabout ways to Berlin, where he must come to terms with post-war reality. He meets black-marketeers and reactionaries, looks for work and food, and finally he even finds his “dream woman”.’ Cited from: http://www.filmportal.de/df/24/Uebersicht,,,,,,,,EA43D4A69AA35006E03053D50B3 7753D,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 March 2007).

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mle represents yet another subcategory of these realist films, since it mirrors post-war German reality in terms of a satirical parable, such as Käutner’s The Apple Fell (Der Apfel ist ab!, 1948). The last category consists of films that also rely on a realist style that is often shaped by formalist tendencies in combination with a stylish and narrative Romantic discourse of decline, fragmentation, and crisis. The Romantic patterns in these films function as a device to question past and present events. Often artistically challenging, these films demand serious introspection from the audience due to their lack of patterns typical of the classical style and their lack of cheerful entertainment value. Stylistically, these films revert more completely than many other rubble films back to formalist tendencies previously seen in Weimar cinema and its successor, film noir. The most important films of this category are The Murderers Are Among Us (1946) and Second Hand Destiny (1949), Man of Straw (Der Untertan, 1951) by Wolfgang Staudte, The Blum Affair (Affaire Blum, 1948) by Erich Engel, The Last Illusion (1949) by Josef von Baky and Fritz Kortner, The Lost (1951) by Peter Lorre, and to a certain extent Film Without a Name by Rudolf Jugert and Epilogue (Epilog, 1951) by Helmut Käutner, as well as Street Acquaintance by Pewas, which is foremost in terms of style. Käutner’s The Apple Fell! represents a special category within these formalist films, since it is a cabaret-like film with grotesque and surrealistic stylistic tendencies. These elements satirise the problems of the post-war German male to accept and cope with given circumstances by using the example of a man who is unable to decide between two women.

T HE R OMANTIC D ISCOURSE The following analyses will demonstrate how a reversion to patterns of Weimar cinema, film noir, and Romanticism evolve a Romantic discourse in some rubble films. When one looks at the sum of these aspects, an aesthetic pattern of decline, fragmentation, and crisis appears in our selection of formalist rubble films. In combination with typical Romantic literary motifs such as doubles, split or fragmented identities, wanderers, and demonic citizens, these visual and narrative features create the Romantic discourse that—similarly to socio-critical Expressionist art and literature—functions to dismantle concealed and taboo aspects of German society in the aftermath of war and Nazism. The closeness to typical film noir features—such as anti-heroes in a world without reliable values and order, feelings of alienation, loss, and destruction, visually represented through expressive and chiaroscuro light design, sinister settings, and dense psy-


114 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM chological plots—support an atmosphere of existential forlornness and ambiguity. We will find that these aspects contradict and challenge classical style, such as employed in cinema during Nazism, on a narrative and visual level because they break with the traditional construction of illusory and idealising wholeness in classical cinema style. Finally, I will argue that these features also recall aesthetic arrangement of an emphatic visual style, such as in the works by Romantic painters such as Caspar David Friedrich or the forerunner of Expressionism, Edward Munch. In Friedrich’s paintings in particular, the representation of fragmentation and decline was meant to criticise the socio-political context of the occupation by Napoleon Bonaparte and religious debates. Although one may not agree with Friedrich’s strongly nationalistic and religious statements, as suspiciously observed by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who strongly disliked Friedrich’s art, one cannot deny the socio-political function of the formalist stylistic patterns and Romantic motifs that overtake some paintings. Friedrich unsettles the viewer by dissolving classical motifs and principles of perspective in order to question the impact of occupation and religious institutions on German national identity. Especially in the first decade of the nineteenth century, Friedrich provocatively represents these influences as an overall threat, responsible for the decline of German national identity.69 As previously mentioned, due to the CenturyExhibition of Art (Jahrhundertausstellung) in 1906 in Berlin, Friedrich’s paintings experienced an enthusiastic revival. Without any doubt, we may conclude that this positive perception led to a strong influence of Friedrich’s Romantic features on Expressionist artists as well as on cinema. Beyond the various Romantic themes and motifs, the formalist visual style represents an important aspect that distinguishes the following six films from other rubble films: The Murderers Are Among Us, Film Without a Name, The Blum Affair, The Last Illusion, Second Hand Destiny, and The Lost. These films provoked a visual irritation in that they conflict with the harmonising principles of classical style. An ironic and/or critical distance sometimes evolves due to this artificial style. This combination challenged and reduced the post-war viewer’s ability to identify and empathise because the artistic properties of the film medium were emphasised too strongly. In films such as The Last Illusion and Film Without a Name, these features are combined with a complex and intellectualised meta-reflection. In others films, the topography of authentic ruins of the destroyed cities or overwhelming and hostile natural landscapes serves as an al-

69 This break with classical patterns irritated the art public and can be observed through incidents such as the Ramdor Debate (around 1808).

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legory for feelings of deep alienation. All of these patterns belonging to a style that evokes the impression of fragmentation work together as predominant narrative and visual Romantic devices that function to transfer the extreme experiences of loss, trauma, alienation, forlornness, and despair into the film medium—themes the average German spectator only wished to escape and to forget. We defined these patterns in rubble cinema as features that do not conform to classical film style. They also recall dialectic strategies that were developed into the distancing effect (Verfremdungseffekt) in literature and theatre by Bertolt Brecht. As previously mentioned, Peter Pewas, a filmmaker of the aesthetic of opposition during National Socialism and later a rubble director, directly refers 70 to Brecht’s distancing effect when he produced The Enchanted Day (1943/44). Beyond Pewas’s statement, this study argues that Brecht’s distancing effect possibly influenced those rubble films made by Brecht's emigrant friends, such as the Hollywood actors Peter Lorre and Fritz Kortner, or his theatre colleague and friend Erich Engel. The primary impact of Brecht’s distancing effect is to reduce or even to break with mechanisms of identification and empathy in order to dissolve the classical illusory form and thereby to guide and encourage the audience to think independently about and act according to their present socio-political situation. It has previously been mentioned that in some rubble films discussed here, one can observe similar mechanisms, though in a less radical form than in Brecht’s theatre works. Their intended function is to allow the spectator to actively gain insight into the following fact: that a decisive inner and outer change based upon sincere introspection about one’s own entanglement within the National Socialist past and war is a necessary condition for a new departure. Rubble films certainly do not make the same radical claim of completely converting bourgeois and capitalist art and society as Brecht sought to achieve through his plays and literature. Nevertheless, some rubble directors vehemently attacked the general reconciliatory attitude towards the past period. This attack was set in opposition to the German audience’s demand for cheerful illusions in cinema, which was the main reason for the quick decline of rubble films. Eisner showed that, in relation to Weimar cinema and its Romantic impact, formalist cinematographic techniques became a vehicle for Romantic motifs and

70 Pewas outlines the aim to create a new cinematographic realism that should actively enable the audience to draw their own conclusion and thereby opposes the impact of imitation in theatre such as represented in dramatic theatre by Aristotle.


116 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM features.71 Formalist techniques take over the same function in our rubble films discussed here. Contrary to many films of Weimar cinema (and earlier), such as The Student of Prague (1913) or The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (1920), the Romantic discourse in our selection of rubble films did not create a suspenseful story in order to escape the socio-political context. The Romantic patterns of fragmentation, ruins, and decline in rubble films create a critical attitude towards the time context of the post-war era. They provoke a break with principles of classical film style in order to criticise its dazzling illusory features and thereby to question norms and values in the given contextual society. Film noir, as a derivative of the formalist tradition in Weimar cinema, fulfils a similar non-conforming function within the dominant classical Hollywood style in the 1940s. Employed to represent and criticise contextual socio-political conditions of war crisis, film noir patterns of non-conformity strongly resemble not only devices in our rubble film selection, but also in the aesthetic of opposition during National Socialism. A central similarity between the two film styles is that film noir does not represent a coherent genre or style; yet its ‘particular patterns of non-conformity within Hollywood’ must be located ‘in several American films as a challenge to 72 dominant values.’ Thus, the challenge of values dominant at the time refers not only to cinematographic norms and conventions, but also to dominant beliefs, convictions, and ideologies in a given society. To oppose or to conflict with classical cinema style also means in part to reject or question the classical values of the Enlightenment and humanism. Given the experience of Nazism and war, such a rejection serves to reassess and to readjust values in life and cinema that are associated with classical principles. This criticism of classical principles prepared the foundation for a possible reorientation and reconstruction of national identity in German society. The following analysis of our selection of rubble films will show how the Romantic discourse provokes a serious examination of national identity in relation to the problematic events of the present and past. The Romantic motif of the double is particularly significant for the analysis of identity patterns in these films. Related to another Romantic motif, the demonic citizen, these identity configurations recall aspects of Goethe’s character of Faust and his pact with the devil. Just as in literary works by emigrant writers, such as Thomas and Klaus Mann (Doctor Faustus and Mephisto), these Faustian character traits function to approach those identity patterns that went along with the goals and methods of the National Socialist regime. Like in these novels, rubble directors employed

71 Eisner (1973), p. 113. 72 Bordwell (1985), p. 75.

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these Romantic motifs in order to criticise concepts of reason and rationality (as represented by the Enlightenment) as well as capitalist corruption. The representation of the externalised double as a traumatised doomed wanderer (who agonizes about past crimes and events) functions to shape the unscrupulous, cold-blooded, and greedy character traits of his counterpart, the corrupted and demonic alter ego (of the demonic citizen). As in the Romantic literary context, where the motif of the demonic citizen first appeared (for example, in The Cold Heart by Wilhelm Hauff, 1827) and served to reveal materialist and immoral greediness, rubble films aim to criticise the effects of economic structures of anti-humanist exploitation in capitalist society and rationalist forms of progress. Therefore, the double configuration denounces how capitalist structures and idealisation of war were entangled how during the National Socialist regime. Furthermore, it unveils destructive tendencies in post-war West German society in order to provoke a serious discussion about the part that the average German played in Nazism. Thus we can assume that the Romantic motifs aimed at revealing and preventing the general tendency of forgiving, forgetting, and dismissing, which was eventually espoused by conservative politics and the new boom of material wealth during the economic boom of the 1950s. Based upon the findings of our sample analysis, it can be concluded that given the strong impact of motifs, narratives, icons, and stylistic devices from Romantic art and literature, in particular by Caspar David Friedrich, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Heinrich Heine, and Friedrich Schlegel, a Romantic discourse is created in each film sample. This discourse shapes the particular patterns of an aesthetic of opposition in each film. Aesthetic of opposition refers here to the portrayal of decline, which critically mirrors post-war German identity as an ambiguous and fragmented one that is still haunted by Nazism and war. Most importantly, the function of this aesthetic of opposition in the selection of rubble films contradicts the general negative opinion of the public and critics about rubble films. Since the features of decline and fragmentation refuse to reaffirm and reassure the German citizen of having been a ‘good German’ who privately resisted or was an innocent bystander during National Socialism.

The Murderers Are Among Us (1946): A Break with Nazi Cinema?

As the first rubble film, Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us is in many ways the most important one. The film presents a unique aesthetic: visual and narrative patterns of fragmentation, decline, and crisis invoke a Romantic discourse. These patterns went on to dominate many later rubble films. The film can therefore be defined as a trendsetter. As the following analysis will show, the Romantic discourse in this film serves to critically assess post-war German society with a particular focus on male identity: settings of city ruin landscapes and contrasting chiaroscuro light and darkness, in combination with extreme camera techniques, create a shot space of fragmentation. This spatial fragmentation functions to depict the emotional world of the male protagonist Mertens. As a traumatised war veteran and social outsider he struggles with his identity troubles and wanders restlessly around the ruins and rubble of National Socialism, the war, and the defeat. These patterns render Staudte’s film into a document of the age; The Murderers Are Among Us mirrors the early post-war period as a world in crisis and out of order, haunted by past guilt, painful memories, existential despair, and moral corruption. In order to transfer this emotional landscape into cinematographic properties, the film returns to traditions of the German silent and early sound films of the Weimar Republic and combines traditions of realism with formalist techniques (also employed in film noir at the same time). As the later analyses of the film samples will show, these visual and narrative devices, although combined and worked out in different ways, characterise a small selection of later rubble films. By creating a Romantic discourse, which partly functions to challenge and oppose the illusionary nature of classical film style, these films plead for a serious discussion of the past and present problems in the post-war period. Beyond the already mentioned patterns of a challenging formalist visual style that is placed in the forefront and overtakes central narrative functions, I will in particular explore Romantic motifs such as the double, the demonic citizen, and doomed wanderers. These motifs fulfil an important function in creating the Romantic discourse. They appear in combination with narrative forms that evoke the impression of fragmentation, just as open-ended narration.


120 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM All of these elements work together in order to reveal problematic aspects of post-war German reality and concern, especially the representation of the postwar male identity. Consequently, visual and narrative patterns of fragmentation, decline, and crisis are central patterns of the Romantic discourse. These patterns establish the most important criteria for selecting specific films because, as it has been shown in the second chapter, visual forms and narrative patterns that give an impression of fragmentation challenge the construction of illusionary wholeness in classical cinema style. Staudte introduces the Romantic motifs of the double and the demonic citizen through the main characters of the traumatised anti-hero Mertens and his alter ego, the selfish war criminal Brückner. This combination of two Romantic motifs becomes typical in all later rubble films discussed here (except in Film Without a Name). Staudte underscores two different attitudes towards past events in order to present dominant tendencies in the German post-war population. The former surgeon, Dr. Mertens, longs for revenge because he cannot live with his past, in which he was guilty of committing war crimes that were ordered by his captain, Brückner. Mertens considers himself responsible for failing to prevent a mass killing of innocent civilians in Poland. Whilst witnessing Brückner’s persistence in idealising the heroic nature of the war without serious reflection or a sense of responsibility for war crimes under the National Socialist regime, Mertens suffers enormous guilt. This narrative structure focuses on two core questions: how can the German population of opportunists and victims of the prior regime live together again and come to terms with the atrocities of the National Socialists? Which human character traits served to support the goals of the National Socialist regime? By focusing on these questions, Staudte’s film is rendered into an antiwar film that promotes pacifism. It challenges the taboo of criticizing returning war veterans and thereby deconstructs idealistic views on war and the National Socialist past. The film’s dramatic visual style (produced through frequent extreme camera angles, settings among the ruins, symbolic shadows, chiaroscuro lighting, Romantic dark narrative themes and motifs) creates partly a break from the tradition of kitschy melodramas, cheerful comedies, and heroic war films of classical cinema during National Socialism, as these visual and narrative patterns highlight painful and taboo aspects of contextual reality. As a result of these features, Staudte’s film provoked controversial reactions from critics and audiences while also initiating a discussion about earnest introspection focusing on guilt and conscience in relation to the past events. By coincidence, reviews following its premiere on October 15, 1946 appeared in Ger-

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man newspapers alongside accounts of the executions of top National Socialist officials that were condemned during the Nuremberg trials.1 This coincidence and the early release of the film in the post-war era strengthened its impact: as the first German fictional post-war film, The Murderers Are Among Us hit its public much harder than later rubble films. Yet Staudte had to overcome many obstacles before being able to produce the film. After first being refused by all officials in the Western occupation sectors,2 he was finally granted permission from the Soviet cultural office to produce the film in the newly founded DEFA studios of Soviet occupied East Germany.3 Permission was only granted on condition that he changed the ending of the film. The film was first titled The Man I Will Kill; accordingly, the protagonist Mertens, the traumatised war veteran, would finally kill his alter ego Brückner, the war criminal. As opposed to the film’s original bleak ending, in the modified version the traumatised wanderer Mertens is eventually saved, thanks to the love of a faithful woman. This ending adds a dimension of hope and reconciliation to the film that Staudte did not originally intend to present. The modifications essentially changed the film’s overall conception and affected its visual and narrative construction. Staudte’s personal traumatic experiences4 during the National Socialist regime left a much more pronounced mark on the original conception of the film than other post-war constraints, such as shortage of materials, studios, and workforce. In 1933, Staudte was banned from performing on stage because of ‘his as-

1

Mückenberger (1999), p. 61.

2

‘Ich wollte den Film machen, egal bei wem. Die Engländer waren nicht interessiert. [...] Die Franzosen waren auch nicht interessiert. Und bei den Amerikanern traf ich auf einen Filmoffizier, der hieß Peter van Eyck. Der guckte mich von oben herab an und sagte: “Wie war der Name? Staudte? In den nächsten fünf Jahren wird in diesem Land überhaupt kein Film gedreht außer von uns.” Später wurde der van Eyck ziemlich angegriffen, weil er meinen Film abgelehnt hatte.’ Netenjakob / Orban / Prinzler (1991), p.133.

3

Staudte was the sixth member of the newly founded film association (Filmaktiv) that aimed to reestablish German film production in the Eastern sector. He received a licence and money only from the Soviet occupation force despite initially attempting to get support for his project in Western sectors, which claimed no interest in his script.

4

Staudte’s passionate anti-fascism, his technical experience, and his apolitical film career under National Socialist rule met the expectations of the Soviet occupation force.


122 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM sociation with progressive political theater circles.’5 Ironically, his career was limited to minor roles in propaganda films, just as Veit Harlan’s Jew Suss (1940). During the last year of the war, Staudte had to hide 6 in the destroyed city of Berlin because he refused to serve as a soldier in German Army (Wehrmacht). Without any valid papers, he only just managed to escape an SS man who attempted to kill him with luck. He later described that this traumatic confrontation gave birth to the idea of the film and his aim to use art to express his own perspective on the hypocrisy of many Germans during and after the National Socialist regime.7 Yet if drafts of The Murderers Are Among Us had been discovered while the National Socialists were still in power, the script could have cost him his life.8 The Soviet cultural affairs office responsible for censorship required Staudte to modify the ending. The Soviets were afraid that if the film were a success, it would encourage people leaving the cinema to kill each other in wild outbreaks of rage.9 Therefore, in the final modified version Mertens gains insight into the fact that personal revenge is not the way to achieve justice, due to the intervention of the female protagonist Susanne. This ending corresponds to the Soviet cultural policies and to those of the Western Allies. Both defined ‘law and order’ to be the right force to rebuild justice for the crimes committed during National Socialist rule. Keeping in line with the educational program of the Soviet occupation force, the film’s final version encouraged a democratic reconstruction of Germany, as Colonel Sergei Tulpanow, the political adviser to the Soviet Military Administration (SMA), underscored in a speech to celebrate the licensing by the DEFA studios.10 Thus, the ambiguous aspects of the film’s overall form

5

Silberman (1995), p. 101.

6

Interview with Margit Voss, Berliner Rundfunk, (DDR), 1966. Cited from: www.filmportal.de/def/1a/Artikel,,,,,,,EC3AC70C79137156E03053D50B37100D,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 March 2007).

7

Ibid.

8

Meyers (1997), p. 74.

9

‘Eins ist natürlich unmöglich, das ist der Schluß. Wenn der Film ein Erfolg ist, und die Leute kommen aus dem Kino, dann gibt es Geknalle auf der Straße, und das kommt natürlich nicht infrage. Den Wunsch nach Rache, den können wir verstehen, aber es muß gesagt werden, daß das genau der falsche Weg ist.’ Netenjakob / Orban / Prinzler (1991), p.133.

10 Tulpanow pointed out the major aims of the future DEFA film production company. The first one he mentions is the democratic reconstruction of Germany. Quoted from: Pleyer, (1965), p.33.

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had to be softened because the film was being used to demonstrate the exemplary attitude that Germans should take towards their National Socialist past. Yet contrary to the wish of the SMA, the original exposé11 clearly indicates Staudte’s intention to force the German population to confront and reflect on their own guilt. This introspection should evolve from judging the entanglement and responsibility for National Socialist war crimes. However, in terms of narration and visual style, the censorship meant a main divergence from the overall form of the film. Tim Bergfelder argues that the originally planned ending would have made the film ‘bleaker and far more noir’ by providing ‘a morally more ambiguous slant to the narrative, whereas the emphasis in the existing version is focused on redemption.’12 Staudte’s first rubble film has been broadly analysed by film scholars. Yet the original script version, which was published in 1991,13 has mainly been ignored. In particular, aspects indicated in this script version of the development of style and narration in The Murderers Are Among Us have not been examined beyond a surface analysis.14 Importantly, this first script version presents an ambiguous perspective on German population by critically questioning its behaviour during and after the National Socialist regime. This critical attitude towards German population in Staudte’s film conflicts with the earlier-mentioned simplifying judgement on rubble films.15 According to Staudte’s exposé, the film was planned to end with a trial sequence: Mertens is accused of having killed Brückner, and the public prosecutor’s speech draws an idealised image of an honourable Brückner, who was killed by a cowardly murderer (Mertens) on Christmas Eve of 1945.16 This viewpoint of Brückner is presented as an ironic provocation in order to force reflection on the double identity of an honourable bourgeois man and a coldblooded war captain. Moreover, this identity construction points to the average individual and his inadvertent involvement in National Socialist crimes. Staudte builds the character of a hypocritical but well-respected citizen whose real ambition is to increase his personal wealth, even if this means playing a role in the

11 Staudte in Netenjakob / Orbanz / Prinzler (1991), p. 155-157. 12 Bergfelder (2007), p. 146. 13 Staudte in Netenjakob / Orbanz / Prinzler (1991), p. 155-157 14 Compare: Shandley (2001) or Fisher (2007); except for the brief remark by Bergfelder (2007). 15 For example, Shandley (2001). 16 ‘Der Staatsanwalt spricht und preist die hohen Tugenden des Mannes, der durch feige Mörderhand am Heiligen Abend des Jahres 1945 dahingerafft wurde...’ Ibid., p. 157.


124 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM exploitation and death of others. Such materialistic drive for personal gain excludes any ability or desire for serious self-reflection or sense of justice. These are exactly the character traits that Mertens’ plea of defence seeks to unmask in the double identity of Brückner: ‘Under the mask of the simple citizen—as a cheerful talker who decries war and chauvinism, as a simple employee working for a peaceful future—today they wear the civil cloth with hypocritical manners. But for those, the only real suitable cloth is the military uniform! Their element is war, and their highest ideal is robbery and murder.’17

Staudte’s view serves to accuse not only the leading National Socialist representatives of being ‘solely responsible’ for the atrocities of the past, but also the German population. He expands on this accusation by studying the type of coldblooded National Socialist opportunist who was often a well-respected citizen in the post-war period. In consequence, it is impossible to read Staudte’s original script attempt to excuse or reconcile such a figure. The open ending explicitly forces the audience to judge both characters. The following description of Staudte’s original final scene in the script indicates this intention: ‘While the jury vanishes into another room to discuss the final judgement, the camera focuses on the wall, behind the desk of the judge, where there used to be a picture of the person running the bloodiest event in history [Hitler], and now stands the Goddess of Justice, carrying scales and observing with blindfolded eyes.’18

This initial film script provided no sense of release or final judgement, but instead presented two men both guilty of murder: Brückner, who gave orders to kill many innocent civilians, and Mertens, who is not only guilty of mass murder by association, but also for having killed Brückner in an act of revenge. This focus on guilt places German society in an ambiguous position in the aftermath of the war.

17 ‘In der Maske des biederen? Bürger – als muntere Schwätzer gegen Krieg und Chauvinismus, als betriebsame Mitarbeiter an einer friedvollen Zukunft – tragen sie heute wieder mit heulerischem Anstand den zivilen Rock. Aber wirklich passen wird ihnen immer nur - die Uniform! Ihr Element ist der Krieg und ihre höchsten Ideale – Raub und Mord.’ Ibid. 18 ‘An der Wand, hinter dem Richtertisch, dort wo das Bild des blutigsten Amokläufers der Geschichte hing, steht heute die Göttin der Gerechtigkeit abwartend und wägend mit verbunden Augen.’ Ibid.

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Other late rubble films, such as The Last Illusion (1949) by Josef von Baky and Fritz Kortner, Epilogue (1950) by Helmut Käutner, and The Lost (1951) by Peter Lorre, present comparable perspectives on the past guilt. In these films, guilt and trauma are the omnipresent shadows of the past, which haunt the male in German post-war society in particular. Similar to Staudte’s first rubble film, the later films also employ Romantic motifs such as doubles, haunted or traumatised wanderers, and demonic citizens. These motifs serve to create a conflicting double perspective or alter ego constellation. While the wanderers suffer from a past trauma or guilt, honourable citizens are later revealed to be ‘demonic citizens’ and National Socialist opportunists. These motifs represent the two conflicting mentalities towards the past and present events. One of the last rubble films, Lorre’s The Lost, presents these motifs through such a sinister story that the German audiences quickly rejected the film. A similar rejection could have happened to Staudte’s film too, if produced as originally intended. Various film reviews19 indicate that even the watered down ending provoked great controversy and discussion. Providing no satisfying happy end, the final version of the film instead stresses a certain ambiguity: although Susanne prevents Mertens from killing his nemesis Brückner and they appear as a united happy couple, their reconciliation is not the final image. The film does not close with a shot of the metaphorically imprisoned war criminal Brückner. In the last scene, the desolate victims of the war and the National Socialist regime fade in and out of shot, until the camera travels towards a snow-covered field of black crosses and finally turns to a closeup of a single black cross. This last shot, underscored by dramatic music, focuses on the nameless, voiceless victims and their suffering, thus highlighting past guilt. There is no attempt at reconciliation, but rather a focus on the crimes of the National Socialist past. The unreconciled ending highlights a strong desire for justice; in particular, the use of the cross as a dominant figurative element throughout the whole film implies guilt, death, suffering. As such, this ending marks a central difference from the approach taken by fine arts in the aftermath of the war, which employed mythical and religious aspects in order to portray the Nazism and war as a result of destiny. Staudte never proclaimed himself to be religious. It seems more probable that the cross functions as a reminder of guilt and suffering, appealing to the audience to face the past openly and honestly without oppressing or idealising the past events. This sequence raises questions about German society in the

19 See for example: Kersten (1977), p. 97-105.


126 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM aftermath of the war and the National Socialist regime, and dissolves simplistic reaffirmations of pre-existing values and traditions. It demands the reestablishment of justice through law and order and emphasises the individual process of self-critical introspection as the only way forward. In combination with the open-ended narrative form, these shots provoke unease by foregrounding the psychological condition of the main character. The highlighting of such problematic aspects without insinuating any release to come denies the final reassurance of a happy end, as in classical cinema style. The open-end narration in particular reminds the audience of the necessity of dealing with their own past for the sake of the present and future. After having identified first traces of the Romantic discourse in The Murderers Are Among Us, we will now investigate how these elements deconstruct 20 and oppose traditional conventions of classical cinema style (as predominantly used in the previous era of National Socialist cinema). The following section will extend this discussion by focusing on visual representations of fragmentation and landscape. Visual Forms of Fragmentation and Landscapes of Trauma The first sequence of The Murderers Are Among Us introduces visual forms evoking the impression of fragmentation, which later became typical for rubble films: after the text insert announcing the unconditional surrender of Berlin in 1945, a canted, low-angle, close-up shot focuses on two improvised soldiers tombs and then moves up to a canted long shot. It shows a canyon of ruins and rubble on a destroyed street, while in the distance, the small figure of Mertens wanders waveringly towards the camera. Some children run around Mertens, playing, and we hear fast-paced joyful non-diegetic music ironically contradicting the overwhelming impression of defeat, destruction, and depression.21 When Mertens comes closer, the camera travels up to a canted, high-angle, medium shot. It focuses on his face, so as to emphasise his neglected outer ap-

20 The term ‘deconstruction’ refers here to patterns of ‘non-conformity’ that, according to Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson, challenge classical film style in Hollywood cinema. Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75. In this study, we will explore how similar patterns of non-conformity in some rubble films serve to deconstruct and challenge a ‘comparable’ classical style in the entertainment films under the National Socialist regime. 21 Non-diegetic sound is represented as coming from a source outside story space. The term may refer to music, voices, or all other kinds of sound.

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pearance. In turn, his head moves from the left to the right, and these movements avoid a direct frontal view. The high-angle perspective conveys a sense of his being lost and out of emotional balance. This impression is underscored by Mertens’ position within the shot space. Throughout the whole sequence, he stands slightly left or right of the central axis so that his body hardly ever appears in the centre of the picture (thus, he is placed outside the classical position). Then, very suddenly, he turns around, and the audience observes him walking towards the entrance of a bar from the rear. The exposition of Mertens’ character shows how film technique can take on narrative functions. An aesthetic of fragmentation, decline, and crisis emanates from the mise-en-scene of the landscape of ruins and rubble, and is underscored by chiaroscuro lighting and extreme camera angles. This sinister atmosphere appears as a visual leitmotif in the characterisation of Mertens. Together with Mertens’ neglected outer appearance, the ruins function as a metaphor for his private conflict and psychological condition of ruin. The setting of ruins, which seems to imprison the protagonist, also serves as an allegorical reference to the past National Socialist era and war and indicates the reason for Mertens’ inner turmoil. The setting evokes an impression of fragmentation by highlighting the ruins and shunning a classical perspective. This framing introduces Mertens as a doomed wanderer in a world that is falling apart. The landscape of ruin and the ex-soldier Mertens are simultaneously rendered icons of defeat and fragmentation. Furthermore, the lack of dialogue strengthens the visual impact in this sequence. Meaning is only generated through mise-en-scene and editing that transcendentally abstracts feelings of alienation, trauma, and cynical despair. We may presume that the landscape of ruins establishes a topographic and historical orientation. It paints an inner landscape of the problematic psychological condition of the German population, which in the early post-war time appears to remain haunted by the National Socialist past. A similar backdrop of ruins appears in many later shots. Comparatively small protagonists and other visual elements (see figure 1) appear within the chaos of ruins in a non-classical position (outside the central axis of the image) in order to emphasise feelings of existential crisis. These spatial elements permit us to classify the ruins of the destroyed city of Berlin, in combination with a shot space that suggests fragmentation due to an expressive lighting and canted shots, to be the most striking visual elements in The Murderers Are Among Us. Meanwhile, the setting of the female protagonist Susanne is set in contrast to the fragmentation of the shot space of Mertens. Susanne’s face is intensely illuminated, giving her an unnatural and affected look, while her blond hair and pale


128 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM face make her look angelic. Thanks to this classical mise-en scène, Susanne seems to resist and to be untouched by the external destruction of ruins and rubble. It turns her into an idealised symbol for hope, new beginning, and purity. The rubble director Kurt Maetzig writes that Staudte’s experienced cameraman, Friedl Behn-Grund,22 was famous for his talent in rendering women beautiful through intense lighting techniques, a skill he developed whilst working for the UFA studios under the National Socialist regime. Behn-Grund also utilised the artificial style and pathos of the UFA tradition in the aftermath of the war. However, he does not use it to aestheticise characters into sublime ‘male’ heroes (such as in National Socialist propaganda films), but rather to depict the setting of ruins and rubble in an artificial, sublime, and unnatural way. The classical mise-en-scene of the Susanne’s character creates a strong contrast to the non-classical one of Mertens’; when she arrives in Berlin in the introductory sequence, her face is illuminated and framed by extreme camera angles and canted shots against the backdrop of destroyed houses. Finally, the camera focuses on a miraculously intact statue of a classical Venus figure, which serves as a visual allegory for the stereotyping of Susanne as a redeeming angel of love, an image that is further underscored by soft music to accompany Susanne’s presence. All these elements work together to create a character that is intensely sublime and untouchable by the outer chaos and destruction. This opening sequence combines ‘non-conforming’23 shots (framing Mertens) with more traditional, classical compositions. These oppositional elements of visual style take on explicit leitmotif functions representing important but conflicting narrative aspects of these two protagonists (f.g. see figure 11). These scenes of The Murderers Are Among Us indicate the extent to which the effect of the ruins and characters depended on their visual representation through particular film techniques, such as extreme camera angles, canted shots, accompanying music, and lighting. Salt defines extreme low angles in Staudte’s film as ‘Dutch tilts or off-angles – shots with the sides of the frame skewed to

22 Maetzig (1992): Cited from: http://www.filmportal.de/df/e6/Artikel,,,,,,,,ED1401853DAD4F3CE03053D50B374E B5,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (28 January in 2009). 23 As previously mentioned, the term ‘non-conforming’ refers to ‘particular patterns of non-conformity within Hollywood’ of film noir that have ‘functioned not to define a coherent genre or style but to locate in several American films a challenge to dominant values.’ Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75. In this study, the term ‘non-conforming’ will be used to define visual patterns of non-conformity within the classical film style in the entertainment films during the Third Reich.

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the vertical.’24 He writes that these extreme techniques seems to have appeared for the first time in The Murderers Are Among Us and were mainly employed in relation to the dramatic events situated in the ruins of post-war Germany.

Figure 11: Hildegard Knef as Susanne and Borchert as Mertens.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Figure 12: In Brückner’s home with Mertens as a guest.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Interestingly, shots of ruins only once frame the war criminal Brückner: during a walk in the fields of rubble, when Mertens attempts to kill him (figure 2). In Brückner’s private space, ruins and rubble, as an allegorical representation of the

24 Salt (1983), p. 298.


130 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM past, are carefully separated behind new glass windows that correspond to his penchant for oppressing or idealising the events of the past (see figure 12). The use of low-key lighting for Mertens and the typical three-point lighting for Brückner also visually differentiates the two male characters, as well as Susanne and Mertens. The ‘neutral’ visual depiction of Brückner hints that he represents the common citizen who is hiding a demonic character under a surface of normality. As opposed to this, low-key and chiaroscuro lighting metaphorically depict the troubled identity of the war veteran Mertens, who is set in contrast to the other characters in the narrative (see figure 13).

Figure 13: Stylised setting and lighting indicate Mertens’s trauma.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Film researchers and critics25 have usually argued that the visual aesthetic in The Murderers Are Among Us strongly reverts to Expressionist films of the early 1920s, as described by the East-German film director Maetzig: ‘It is no coincidence that his [Staudte’s] research for suitable forms reverted to Expressionist forms: the plunged and tilted perspective, the individual framing of camera shots and the Expressionist lighting, for example, non-naturalistic illumination of nocturnal ruins, and the acting that partly reverted to the Expressionist highly developed and artistic silent film school...’26

25 Siclier (1956), pp. 50-54; Marker (1954), pp. 66-70. 26 ‘Es ist kein Zufall, daß er [Staudte] bei der Suche nach den geeigneten Formen auf expressionistische Formen zurückgriff, daß die gestürzte und gekippte Perspektive,

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Although Damus points out that the ‘calling on formerly Expressionist painting’ and the general reversion to Expressionist style in the fine arts meant an act of recompensation,27 it would be too one-dimensional to only claim an Expressionist inheritance for rubble films. A closer look at a genuine Expressionist film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, indicates that there are far more differences 28 than similarities concerning visual style between Expressionist films and The Murderers Are Among Us.29

die eigenwillige Kameraeinstellung und expressionistische Lichtführung, zum Beispiel die unnaturalistische Ausleuchtung der nächtlichen Ruinen zum Teil sogar die Schauspielerführung direkt bei der expressionistischen künstlerisch hochentwickelten deutschen Stummfilmschule anknüpfte....’ Maetzig (1950). Cited from: http://www.filmportal.de/df/c6/Artikel,,,,,,,,EB7211F956A554FFE03053D50B375CA F,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html;(3 January 2007). 27 ‘Die Berufung ehemals expressionistischer Maler galt als Akt der Wiedergutmachung.’ Damus argues that West German artists took up the Expressionist tradition because it had been attacked and banned by National Socialist art politics. Damus (1995), p. 29-30. 28 In The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, shadows are mostly painted on the Cubist sets. Extreme camera angles or canted shots do not exist, and lighting plays no major role in producing visual effects. The painted decor represents the only genuine Expressionist visual element and evidences almost the total effect of bizarre, non-naturalistic distortion. Compare: Scheunemann (2003), p. 137. 29 Salt argues that neither looming shadows nor extreme camera angles are the most typical devices in Expressionist films. On the whole, he concludes that Expressionism in film had only a marginal influence on later visual styles. Salt points out: ‘for it was mostly the other famous German films of the early twenties, which used looming shadows, and extreme camera angles which are usually thought of as “Expressionist.” For instance, Die Strasse (1923) and Schatten, which respectively feature extreme angles and looming shadows, both have perfectly conventional sets, and the acting in the first of these films is quite normal for the place and time it was made.’ Salt (1983), p. 199. Salt furthermore argues that ‘extreme angles had already appeared in Danish and American films before 1920, and they continued to appear in films which had no connection with the genuinely Expressionist films.’ Ibid. In line with Salt’s conclusions, this study will employ the term ‘expressivist’ for non-naturalist distortions, which are evoked through film techniques.


132 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM A Romantic discourse is also used in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, which could be interpreted as a reflection on the instability present in the Weimar Republic. 30 Yet this Romantic discourse and its visually abstracted representation of fears and anxieties are not obviously linked to the contextual reality of life, and they lack a sociocritical potential. The Romantic aspects serve only to create a fearful atmosphere in the form of the uncanny, which increases the film’s suspense. The uncanny also returns as a central element of the Romantic discourse in some rubble films. Yet here it functions to establish direct references to the historical context and does not appear as an abstracted, diffuse, or fantastic device.31 As opposed to the transformation of reality in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari that depends on a fantastic mode of artistic expression, Staudte uses formalist film techniques in order to transcend a realist modus of representation— nevertheless referring, in part, to the neorealist tradition. Style and narration in The Murderers Are Among Us aim at representing the psychological condition of post-war reality on a metaphorical level, yet without mystifying it. Besides filmic Expressionism, there are other important stylistic similarities to cinema of the Weimar republic. Some visual devices link the ‘chamber film’ genre (Kammerspielfilm)32 of the German silent film period to The Murderers Are Among Us. In an interview, Staudte states his particular wish to express the mentality of the average German in the aftermath of the war through the film form.33 Like directors of the genre film, he explicitly transfers emotions and psychological motivations of middle-class characters into the properties of the film medium through a highly stylistic realism, closely linked to the theatrical techniques of the chamber play. Apart from film techniques, objects in the outside world, little gestures, and the mimicry of the actors also supported this style. In

30 The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is narratively and visually constructed as a fantastic nightmare predominantly unconnected to its contemporaneous historical context. Thus, this film does not create a critical discourse in order to reveal problematic aspects of actual social reality, but evolves into a nightmare without release. However, in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari there exists one dominant parallel to some rubble films: a non-naturalistic and formalist visual style, which partly influences the creation of meaning more than narrative aspects. Compare: Scheunemann (2003), p. 137138. 31 See for example the analysis of The Blum Affair, The Last Illusion, and The Lost. 32 Vossen (2002), p. 286. 33 ‘Die Beziehung des Menschens zu seiner jetzigen Umwelt, seine Gefühlswelt innerhalb der politischen Kulisse - das ist das Grundthema dieses Films, der kein politischer, sondern ein ganz und gar psychologischer Film ist.’ Kersten (1977), p. 16.

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the chamber film, visual style depends on a frequent use of close-up and medium close-up shots that function to foreground these aspects of setting and acting. In The Murderers Are Among Us, all of these aspects return frequently: for example, when the male anti-hero expresses his feelings through mimicry and gestures related to his traumatic past (see figure 14). Additionally, the particular post-war conditions of film production played a role in the visual style used in The Murderers Are Among Us. According to Pleyer,34 material shortages and insufficient production studios meant technical imperfections.35 Moreover, he argues that the film consisted of multiple shots in outdoor locations because the DEFA studios were not yet prepared for filming, following the damage incurred during the war. It has been shown that the location shots of landscapes of ruins fulfil important narrative functions in terms of style; they serve as an allegory for the traumatized collective psychological condition of the German people in the aftermath of the war. Other shots of ruins against a background of changing skies work as associative links between two film sequences. These two examples underscore the leitmotif function of ruins and determine them to be one of the most striking visual elements of the film’s overall form. Therefore, we may conclude that Staudte’s frequent use of outdoor ruins in the film is intentional, which contradicts Pleyer’s argument. In an interview with the critic Heinz Kersten, Staudte explicitly notes that he did not attempt only to ‘photograph the outer reality,’ but made an effort ‘to give his view on problems that bother thousands of people today,’ such as the ‘relationship of man to his actual environment, his emotional world within the political coulisse—that is the subject of the film, which is not a political one,36 but a completely psychological one.’ 37 This citation demonstrates that outdoor location shots were meant to function as an allegorical representation of the mentality of the German population, linked to the social and political tensions in the aftermath of the war.

34 Pleyer (1965), p. 34. 35 Pleyer mentions the poor quality of the film, due to the inadequate crude film material and the unsatisfactory lighting of some scenes because of the lack of well-functioning studios. 36 However, Staudte was wrong about denying the political impact of his film; the overall form of fragment provoked a critical discourse on German national identity in the aftermath of the National Socialist period. 37 Kersten (1977), p. 16.


134 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Figure 14: Robert Forch as Mondschein with Borchert as Mertens.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

As a result of post-war production conditions, film style was also impacted by insufficient raw material, poor lighting facilities, and the problems of recording correctly. These challenges rendered the film’s final form a more authentic one because of transferring into the cinematographic form the difficulties of life in the aftermath of the war. There is no proof as to whether or not Staudte intentionally used technical imperfections in order to distance himself from the aesthetic perfection and the sense of wholeness present in National Socialist cinema. Yet the technical imperfections of Staudte’s film contribute to its form of fragmentation, since the lack of well-balanced sound or sufficient lighting in many sequences goes against the previous classical style of National Socialist cinema and its perfectly composed filmic illusions achieved through technical perfection. The reactions to Staudte’s visual style show that these cinematographic features rather annoyed and irritated the film critics in the post-war period. The film critic Friedrich Luft, writing directly after the 1946 premiere of Staudte’s film, stated that it ‘gets stuck in the high symbolism of the images’ and its effect is ‘in the end [...] only half achieved.’38 In addition, he complained about the ‘hollow atmosphere of forlornness’ that provides no ‘lucidity and drive,’ but rather the ‘darkness of the symbolic images.’39 Werner Fiedler40 complained about the lack

38 ‘verhakt er sich so sehr in die Symbolträchtigkeit der Bilder’; ‘schließlich [...] nur halb erreicht wird.’ Luft in Orbanz / Prinzler (1991), p. 175. 39 ‘dumpfe Stimmung des Verlorenseins’; ‘Klarheit und Schwung’; ‘Dunkel der Bildsymbole.’ Ibid.

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of a happy end that should clearly show Mertens’ complete return to the normality of life, while Wolfdietrich Schnurre stated that: ‘at the end of the film a heavily burdened question mark appeared, instead of a precisely formulated answer.’41 Furthermore, he commented that the film presents ‘artistic, top-quality images, whose overabundance the editor was not able to cope with.’42 Luft argues that the ‘artistic efforts of the optical abandon the dramaturgic strand.’43 In particular, the symbolic directness of Staudte’s criticism annoyed Luft: ‘Glaring pictorial extremes have been incorporated which have a detrimental effect on the work as a whole. Some things are developed so viciously that in the end it unavoidably smacks of something like film as art, a side effect, which is particularly disturbing in this case and even insulting. To give an example, why do the soldiers have to hang their weapons (of all things) casually and maliciously on a crucifix? Why does the avenger go into the church before deciding to kill the murderer from Poland? Why does the goodnatured character who makes spectacles and lives in hope have to die?’44

These reviews reveal how much the visual and narrative forms irritated the German audience and critics, who longed for cheerful entertainment films with hopeful, happy endings. Luft’s criticism of Staudte’s visual and narrative forms strongly recalls categories of art, such as objectivity and naturalness, which were celebrated as the means of classical film style in cinema during the National Socialist period, while formalist patterns, such as Expressionism, were denigrated as decadent and destructive. However, the artistic portrayal of a trauma-

40 Fiedler in Ibid., p. 176-177. 41 ‘So aber stand am Schluß dieses Films statt einer präzise formulierten Antwort ein schwerlastendes Fragezeichen.’ Schnurre in Kersten (1977), p. 104-105. 42 ‘künstlerisch durchaus hochwertige Bilder, deren Überfülle jedoch der Cutter nicht gewachsen war.’ Ibid., p. 105. 43 ‘künsterlischen Bemühungen am Optischen den dramaturgischen Faden fallenlassen.’ Luft in Orbanz / Prinzler (1991), p. 174-175. 44 ‘Es sind bildliche Kraßheiten aufgenommen, durch die die Wirkung Ganzen eher leidet. Manches wird so bissig herausgearbeitet, daß schließlich ein Beigeschmack des Filmisch-Artistischen nicht zu verwinden ist, eine Nebenwirkung, die gerade hier störend ist und zuweilen beleidigt. Warum müssen, um ein Beispiel zu geben, die Soldaten ausgerechnet ihre Waffen lässig und bösartig auf einem Kruzifix abhängen? Warum geht der Rächer, bevor er den Mörder aus Polen töten will, in die Kirche? Warum muß die gutmütige Figur des hoffenden Brillenmachers sterben?’ Cited from: Ibid., p. 175.


136 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM tised, suffering, and corrupt German post-war society was not appreciated because it contradicted the traditional reconciliatory and affirming structure of the happy ending present in classical style films. Apparently, Staudte’s strong criticism, and his demand for introspection, present in the film’s formalist forms, overtaxed his audience. Nevertheless, some years later in 1950, the East German rubble film director Kurt Maetzig was able to fully appreciate Staudte’s stylistic achievements as a break with the norms and conventions of the classical style that had been abused by cinema under National Socialism. Maetzig argues that Staudte’s style differs from ‘the academic smoothness of the former film period [cinema under National Socialism]’ because the film’s ‘stirring appeal’ indicates Staudte’s ‘search for new forms.’45 What Maetzig described as ‘stirring appeal’ refers to the film’s use of expressive visual techniques such as ‘distorted camera angles, strong silhouettes, [and] slanting lines’46 that, according to Kaes, symbolise the ‘inner conflicts and stirrings of the protagonists.’47 The inner conflict of the traumatised war veteran is transferred onto the medium of film through a visual style of fragmentation, and techniques that highlight and aestheticise his turmoil as the inner psychological landscape of German people in the post-war era. Further evidence of the break with the classical norms of National Socialist cinema is partially the result of coincidence. Hildgard Knef (Susanne), Ernst Wilhelm Borchert (Mertens), and Arno Paulsen (Brückner)48 were all relatively unknown actors49 when cast in this film. Interestingly, Staudte’s original choice for the role of Mertens was Carl Raddatz. As a well-known male star in cinema

45 Maetzig (1950). Cited from: http://www.filmportal.de/df/c6/Artikel,,,,,,,,EB7211F956A554FFE03053D50B375CA F,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html;( 3 January 2007). 46 ‘symbolisieren verzerrte Kamerawinkel, starke Silhouetten, schräge Linien.’ Kaes (1987), p.19. 47 ‘innere Zerrissenheit und Aufgewühltheit des Protagonisten.’ Ibid. 48 Ibid., p. 16. 49 For example, Staudte’s original choice for the role of Mertens was Carl Raddatz. Raddatz declined the role because he did want to be involved in a film that, in his opinion, was critical of German soldiers. Meyers (1997), p. 75. However, this contradicts the idea that Staudte only wished to work with newcomers such as Knef.

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under National Socialism, Raddatz declined the role because he did not want to be involved in a film that, in his opinion, was critical of German soldiers. 50 The actor Ernst Wilhelm Borchert, who instead played the part of Mertens, had been arrested by the American occupied forces prior to the film’s premiere for making false statements regarding his past on an official questionnaire.51 As a result, Hildegard Knef, who played Susanne Wallner, was the only person to appear on the promotional posters for The Murderers Are Among Us. Borchert was released in time to attend the film’s premiere.52 This incident renders the film even more of an authentic document of the post-war era because it closely links the real events in Borchert’s life to his ambiguous post-war film roles, such as in Second Hand Destiny and ’48 All Over Again. Meanwhile, Knef had only played minor roles in films during National Socialism and began a great career in cinema with Staudte’s film. As Susanne Wallner, Knef is the symbol of a defrauded yet not defeated youth—a product of her own time.53 Having analysed how visual forms create an artistic expression of inner conflict and existential crisis in The Murderers Are Among Us, we can assume that these aesthetics of fragmentation function to visualise the dysfunctional aspect of the contextual social reality of crisis. The visual style54 in The Murderers Are

50 In 1937, Raddatz made his debut as an actor in Karl Ritter’s propagandist soldier film Furlough on Word of Honor (Urlaub auf Ehrenwort), which was followed by Dead Melody (Verklungene Melodie) made together with Willy Birgel. In 1940, he played a central male part in Request Concert (Wunschkonzert) by Eduard von Borsody, and in 1941 he appeared in Ritter’s Stukas. Another of Raddatz’ roles that helped to sell the National Socialist ideology and goals was in Gustav Ucicky’s Homecoming (Heimkehr); a film that dishonestly justifies the German attack on Poland. His bleakest roles are possibly beside Veit Harlan’s wife Kristina Söderbaum in Immensee (Immensee, 1942-43) and Rite of Sacrifice (1942-44). Ibid., p. 75. 51 Mückenberger (1997), p. 16. 52 Ibid. 53 Her image of innocent youth stands in strong contrast to the war- and the post-war landscape available on the screen: night-time bombings, ruined cities, hunger, cold, chaos, the black market, and prostitution. Compare: Meyers (1997), p. 80. 54 The Expressionist and new objectivity movements in art and literature also employed abstract fragmentary forms in order to highlight inner tensions and outer conflicts, such as in the caricature laden paintings by George Grosz or Otto Dix. The pioneer of Expressionism, Edward Munch, transformed people and landscapes into abstract representations of dramatic tensions arising from areas of the psyche that had hitherto been taboo in the fine arts (such as The Scream, 1893 and Despair, 1893/94, see the


138 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Among Us offers two parallels to the art movements of Expressionism and Romanticism: first, the visual forms of fragmentation highlight taboo topics, such as the psychological tension of trauma and crisis in the aftermath of war; second, this style rejects a beautiful and sublime aesthetic of classical style. This rejection is also evident on the level of narration: the male protagonist Mertens, as a traumatized war veteran, is unable to reintegrate into normal life; consequently, he accuses his prior army captain Brückner of being a war criminal guilty of mass murder. To present war veterans as anti-heroes or even murderers not only contradicts the depiction of ‘sublime and powerful heroes’ of National Socialist cinema, but ironises, provokes, and challenges the previous discourse on National Socialist ideology, which was still very much alive in people’s minds in the post-war period. The Challenge of Classical Style: Non-conforming Patterns Now that we have outlined Romantic visual and narrative devices in The Murderers Are Among Us, the following section will discuss their similarities in structure and function to film noir, as well as how these features conflict with the construction of illusive wholeness in the classical style. As discussed in chapter one, film noir conventions, in opposition to the classical cinema style, function to mobilise a subversive potential that challenges the preset opinions and convictions of the audience. This challenges also appears on the level of visual style: the above discussed reviews of film critics showed how much Staudte’s visual style challenged the viewing habits of the German post-war audiences. In this respect, Staudte’s first rubble film strongly resembles features of film noir because they also refuse reaffirming, reassuring, and reconciliatory effects on the audience. Films of the aesthetic of opposition that were created during the Third Reich (The Enchanted Day and Romance in Minor Key) also employed similar devices in order to evoke ambiguity and critical reflection of German society under National Socialism.55 This cinematographic inheritance from Weimar cinema re-

analysis of Lorre’s film). In order to criticise the social reality of the time, Expressionist artists chose to represent usually hidden or taboo topics such as madness, poverty, prostitution, illness, etc. The common aim of such representations was to challenge traditional values and norms in art and life and to contradict traditional art concepts that depicted only idealised beauty and the sublime. This formalist visual mode of representation and its sociocritical impact represents an inheritance from Romanticism. 55 Compare: Lowry (1991), p. 218.

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turned in The Murderers Are Among Us, though partly modified, as a visual and narrative style evocative of fragmentation.56 By subversively portraying the crisis of the post-war male identity in terms of a weak, unviable, and emotionally wounded war veteran, Staudte demystifies the complex image of the ‘soldier hero’ that had been constructed by National Socialist ideology. Mertens’ existential conflict does not function as a pretext to construct a suspense story that—when all problems are resolved—eventually ends by reaffirming the given values and norms of society through the usual happy ending. On the contrary, they serve to confront the audience with the taboo problems of daily life in post-war German society. The end of The Murderers Are Among Us, though softened by Soviet censorship, focuses on the millions of victims of twelve years of fascist rule and war and appeals for the reestablishment of justice. In this respect, Staudte employs similar patterns of non-conformity, such as in film noir, to represent the events and guilt of the past as an individual and/or collective unease. The film’s nonconforming devices create a personal statement from the director’s viewpoint on German society in the crisis in the aftermath of the defeat and National Socialist regime. Finally, due to the lack of a reaffirming and reconciliatory overall form, a discourse is generated that confronts the audience with difficult questions about the past and its role in the present and the future. The representation of women as a ‘challenge to the prominence of heterosexual romance’57 through a film noir heroine who is sexually alluring, but potentially

56 It has already been shown in the earlier analysis that the problematic male identity of the anti-hero Mertens strongly resembles film noir male character patterns. They serve to deconstruct the classical sublime hero, capable of overcoming any obstacle, and thereby challenge classical style cinema. We will quickly recall the four major aspects of how film noir challenges classical style, according to Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson, and show how they reappear in a modified form in The Murderers Are Among Us: firstly, through the ‘assault on psychological causality.’ The hero in ‘film noir often suffers internal conflicts with an existential awareness of his or her situation.’ This challenges ‘the classical conventions of logical action, defined characters, and [the] psychologically stable hero’ because they ‘are subverted by film noir’s attractive killers, repellent cops, confused actions, gratuitous violence, and weary or disoriented heroes.’ Secondly, there is an attack on the usual happy ending, which in the classical style functions to reconcile the audience with whatever given problems exist in society by providing a cheerful solution. Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 73-75. 57 Ibid., p. 73.


140 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM treacherous, is another way in which rubble films do not conform to classical Hollywood cinema. Women in rubble films58 are in general less sexually exciting or dangerous as their film noir counterparts. In many rubble films, directors use contradicting stereotypes of women, such as professional women in their late-thirties who are relatively sexually independent. Sooner or later, these women lose their lover or partner because of the introduction of a young, innocent, beautiful, self-sacrificing, nurse-like stereotype of a woman, who wins the love of the ‘suffering’ male protagonist. These gender patterns are closely related to female stereotypes commonplace in National Socialist ideology, which were frequently employed in National Socialist cinema such as Rite of Sacrifice (1943/44) by the prominent National Socialist director Veith Harlan or Kora Terry (Kora Terry, 1940) by Georg Jacoby.59 Film noir establishes a ‘criticism of classical technique’ through the ‘use of night lighting, location shooting, the creation of a restless and unstable space, and a narration focused on the tense composition of middle-class themes.’60 Many of these visual and narrative devices reappear in Staudte’s film. We have already outlined how the rubble and ruins of the destroyed city of Berlin are foregrounded as a metaphorical representation of the historical moment of defeat and crisis through techniques such as low-key lighting and extreme camera angles combined with canted shots and location shooting. Here, the topographic setting in particular differs from film noir. While film noir puts stress on settings of narrow, dark, and foggy streets, claustrophobic places, and shabby offices of

58 In The Murderers Are Among Us, the character of Susanne, a self-sacrificing, young, and innocent woman, follows typical simplistic patterns of female character depictions, even though she has no rival. The only real exception to this pattern is the East German rubble film ’48 All Over Again (1948) by Gustav von Wagenheim. The only ‘desirable’ female character in the film is an independent and intellectual one. Although she is not particularly pretty or seductive, she finally triumphs over her ‘beautiful’ (well-dressed with heavy make-up) bourgeois rival. However, such a depiction of emancipation results from the image of women under East German socialism, which favoured non-bourgeois working women in order to increase the state’s productivity. 59 Interestingly, Peter Lorre’s late rubble film The Lost (1951) refers to similar female stereotypes, even though he worked as an émigré actor in Hollywood during the National Socialist regime. When it comes to female stereotypes, rubble films do not critically reflect on or differentiate themselves from the usual gender stereotypes, upon which the gender ideology in National Socialism is also built. 60 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75.

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private investigators, Staudte focuses on the iconic element of the ruin and creates spatial disorientation through the particular use of canted shots that create an effect of fragmentation. Staudte employs the typical film noir motif of rainy streets to indicate when trouble is coming, as suggested in the scene where Mertens returns through a rainy canyon of rubble, ruins, and broken guns after having passed the night dancing in a club. Stylistic and narrative similarities between The Murderers Are Among Us and film noir are primarily rooted in the effects they achieve, such as unsettling the viewer in order to express the hero’s disorientation, rather than in similar visual properties.61 Both employ ‘voice-over-narration, flashbacks, and subjective point-of-view’62 shots to express the mental state of the protagonist, such as Mertens’ trauma over past events. In The Murderers Are Among Us, voice-over narration is only sporadically employed.63 However, it represents a dominant formalist device often utilised in later rubble films.64 The late rubble films (after 1948) are more intensely marked by film noir patterns, as many of their makers were more familiar with the film noir style because of their emigration to Hollywood. Despite some differences between film noir and the previously examined rubble films, the dominant narrative functions of visual style in The Murderers Are Among Us are largely generated by means of artistic devices that do not conform to the classical cinema style. As previously mentioned, the central aspect of these non-conforming elements is to challenge ‘the neutrality and invisibility’65 and the reaffirming functions of classical style. In this way, the non-conforming elements enable the spectator to see representations of the social reality and identity patterns in the given film in a critical light. Another striking parallel between film noir and The Murderers Are Among Us is the way in which the narrative focuses on what Edward Dimendberg defined as ‘the traumas of unrecoverable time and space’ and ‘the inability to dwell comfortably either in the present or the past.’66 In The Murderers Are Among Us,

61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 Voice-over narration is employed in an important scene when Susanne finds out about the past by reading Mertens’ diary, which then enables her to prevent him from killing Brückner. 64 Such as In Those Days, Film Without a Title, Second Hand Destiny, The Last Illusion, and The Lost. 65 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75. 66 Dimendberg (2004), p. 1.


142 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM these elements are depicted by the use of non-conforming film techniques. Tim Bergfelder writes that there are too many ‘differences between Weimar cinema, Hollywood noir and post-war German film to suggest any straightforward stylistic or thematic continuity.’67 Nevertheless, one can conclude that all three display a preferred use of narrative and stylistic devices that can be defined as nonconforming to the classical style. However, Bergfelder’s argument fails to recognise that films of the aesthetic of opposition, such as Romance in Minor Key, also prefer the use of non-conforming visual and narrative patterns; these patterns are closely related to film noir properties, and provide a carefully encoded portrayal that can be decoded as a critical discourse on life under the constraints of National Socialism. Film noir, the aesthetic of opposition, and rubble films were produced within different studio systems and different social-political and cultural contexts. It does not seem very likely that directors working in the UFA studios were familiar with film noir, since the National Socialist ministry of propaganda carefully restricted and censored the distribution of foreign films. Yet interestingly, all of these directors chose relatively similar techniques to bring about a critical discourse on social reality. In the early years following the war, film advertisements and reviews in various film journals demonstrate that many film noirs were distributed in the American and British occupation zone in Berlin. Since Staudte68 lived in the British zone and worked for the Soviet occupation force, it is quite possible that he was familiar with the generic conventions of film noir. The crossing of the zoned borders was not at all problematic at this time. Yet the general perception and reaction of the German population to American film noir and other Hollywood productions was very controversial. According to Bergfelder, the German audience showed a partially ambiguous attitude towards the popular genres of Hollywood cinema (thus also film noir), because they were ‘perceived as a prime instance of an unwanted American colonisation and debasing of German high

67 Bergfelder (2007), p. 142. 68 As it has already been mentioned, in comparison to later rubble directors such as Peter Lorre and indirectly Fritz Kortner, Staudte was not a returning émigré. He grew up in an actor family in Berlin and began acting at 24 in minor film roles, such as the role of a pupil in Joseph Sternberg’s The Blue Angel (Der blaue Engel) in 1930. Besides these first jobs in the Berlin film industry, Staudte played roles at the Berlin Volksbühne, which was then, as it remains today, a center for left-wing theatre production. He associated with German theatre pioneers such as Erwin Piscator (who worked at the Volksbühne) and Max Reinhardt. Ibid., p. 16.

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culture.’69 Therefore, it seems more likely that the visual and narrative patterns occurring in Staudte’s film exhibit a return to the cinematographic traditions before Nazism.70 Staudte and his cameraman Friedl Behn-Grund developed the script of The Murderers Are Among Us during a period in which they surely would have had no access to Hollywood film noir. How much of the visual style of the film had already been conceived is not known, and in fact, Staudte later testified in an interview that he had no particular style in mind when making this film.71 Nonetheless, his work in the early aftermath of the war as a synchronisation-director72 for the Soviet Forces on the first part of Sergei Eisenstein’s Ivan the Terrible (1944) may have considerably influenced the visual style of the first rubble film. Eisenstein’s film employs static shots (instead of camera movements) and foregrounds a style of formalist abstraction to convey meaning metaphorically. One of the film’s most outstanding visual features is the camera angles and deep focus that Eisenstein uses in order to mirror the tsar’s disturbed relationship to reality.73 This extreme perspective abstracts and alienates the viewer; in his mo-

69 Ibid., p. 139. 70 In spite of ‘a history of rejecting or seemingly failing to engage with the very concept of noir,’ we can define a number of German films made in the 1940s and the 1950s ‘that show traces of what one could retrospectively term a noir style, mood or that articulate similar themes.’ Bergfelder names a selection of genres in which one is most likely to find film noir elements: the ‘early post-war ‘rubble’ films, the women’s melodrama, the social-problem film, and the sporadic examples of domestic crime films’ and he argues that ‘only in rare instances’ do these films display the same generic consistency as classic noir ‘in conforming simultaneously to specific aesthetic conventions, thematic preoccupations, and socio-political perspectives.’ According to Bergfelder, the purest example of an indigenous German noir tradition can be found in films made during the post-war period ‘by returning émigrés, thus by filmmakers who were familiar with both Weimar cinema aesthetics and the conventions of Hollywood.’ Ibid., p. 140. 71 In an interview with Heinz Kersten, Egon Netenjakob, Eva Orbanz and Katrin Seybold, Staudte claims that he had no formal film models, only political guidelines. Compare: Kersten / Netenjakob / Orbanz et al. , in ibid., p. 135. 72 Staudte directed the German language version of Eisenstein’s film. 73 The tsar appears as the victim of isolation due to his powerful position, which renders him a (nearly mad) tyrant. In one of the most famous scenes, Eisenstein emphasises the social disintegration of the tsar through visual style: at the moment of his greatest


144 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM ment of triumph, the tsar appears as a very ambiguous figure. His expressive mimicry, costume, and the shot space framing him (constructed through the architecture and stage decor) are underscored by the expressive black and white contrasts of the highly stylised setting, focusing on the tsar’s position as an outsider who is alienated from reality. These stylistic choices are in keeping with Eisenstein’s style, which often accentuates the sense of static, stage-like, and stylistic filmic compositions instead of camera movements. Staudte uses both camera movements and static shots, combining them with cross-cutting narratives, which are typical Hollywood devices that can be used to increase suspense. Furthermore, he depends on travellings and other camera movements, as well as editing, in order to create emotional tension and suspense. By combining many different shots (mainly close-ups and medium close-ups), the expressive and playful facial expression of Mertens, the outsider character, is emphasised.74 Finally, decor and architecture also play a major role in Staudte’s film; together, they work to convey meaning by metaphor, which recalls the visual style of Lang’s films before the rise of Nazism. Thus, it may be concluded that Eisenstein’s formalist style greatly influenced the acting, construction of shot space, camera framing, and editing of the first rubble film. Surely, Staudte’s intentions and capabilities as a filmmaker cannot be compared to those of Eisenstein or Orson Wells, the other great formalist filmmaker at this time. Yet his modified revival to the artistic high style, stemming from Romantic literature and art, Weimar cinema, and the aesthetic of opposition, also unsettles and irritates the audience in a manner similar to Eisenstein’s and Wells’ masterpieces.

success, when his people arrive, we see them together with the isolated tsar in a highangle long shot with a deep focus. 74 Such as in the scene of his traumatic outburst in the hospital or when helping a child.

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Ruins, Fragmentation and Troubled Identities It has been demonstrated that the stylistic patterns of fragmentation and ruins as main aesthetic devices introduce important symptomatic and referential aspects of meaning in The Murderers Are Among Us—especially in relation to the identity construction of the central male protagonist Mertens. As previously mentioned in chapter two, in the literature and fine arts of German Romanticism, the (visual) representations of ruins is a leading aesthetic device. The Romantic writer Friedrich Schlegel differentiates ruins from the form of the fragment; he defines ruins as broken objects related to semantic fields of (past) history, a nostalgic moment of reflection, opposition to progress (French Revolution, Enlightenment, and Industrial Revolution), whereas the fragment is something unfinished that awaits future completion.75 Interestingly, in The Murderers Are Among Us, the visual style employed for the setting of rubble and ruins combines two of these definitions by Schlegel. The particular mise-en-scene produced through canted shots, extreme camera angles and perspectives, chiaroscuro lighting, and editing style evokes the impression of a fragmented shot space. This visual style turns the landscape of ruins into an iconic representation of the past and underscores the sense of fragmentary nature and incompleteness of the ruins. In this respect, the visual forms of fragment and the icon of ruins transfer the post-war crisis into an aesthetic of fragmentation. Yet the visual forms of fragmentation make a reference not only to the post-war condition of crisis, but also mirrors the ‘troubled identity’ of the war veteran Mertens. This representation provokes uneasy questions about the heritage of the National Socialist past and the effect it has on the reconstruction of the country and its national identity. It has been shown that the form of ruins has its own function,76 since the fragmentary nature of ruins provides a ‘critical message’ 77 against all forms of wholeness and totality. In Staudte’s film, this type of critical message appears on

75 Assmann / Gomille /and Rippl (2002), p. 9-10. 76 Lacroix writes that ruins ‘reduced to a fragmentary condition are often incoherent and uncertain’ (réduites à un état de fragments souvent incohérents, aléatoires). The fragmentary form of ruins focuses ‘towards the absent’ (vers ce qui est absent) so as to deconstruct the ‘defined and substantial’ (à la chose défine et substantielle) and eventually to criticize all forms of totality. Lacroix (2008), p. 29; ibid., p. 31; ibid., p. 81. 77 ‘message critique.’ Ibid., p. 86.


146 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM several levels.78 On the level of narration, forms of fragmentation are also employed, such as in open-ended narration and problematic identity construction of the main characters in terms of Romantic motifs (the double and the demonic citizen). These aspects serve to discuss the opposing identity constructions of the two male protagonists, Mertens and Brückner: Brückner, the cold-blooded war criminal, continues to idealise the past without the slightest critical reflection or sense of guilt. On the other hand, Mertens, who wanders between the ruins, suffers as a traumatised war veteran from the guilt of not having prevented a mass killing. The conflict that arises from their coincidental encounter symbolises and criticises psychological tendencies of the German population in dealing with the past. In this respect, Staudte discusses the concept of middle-class identity, which was developed during the period of German Idealism of Weimar classicism 79 and still existed during and after the Third Reich.80 Like some Romantic writ-

78 Firstly, the iconic representation of ruins, which indicates something absent or incomplete and can be read as the taboo, oppressed, or idealized National Socialist past. Secondly, the fragmented style of framing portrays the traumatised male protagonist within a setting of ruins from such an ambiguous viewpoint that questions are raised. And finally, the style and the setting of ruins foregrounds the dominant visual forms of the fragment and fragmentation. By deconstructing the illusory wholeness and escapist fantasies, the pre-existing views in society presented by classical cinema under the National Socialist regime are undermined and thus function to frustrate the audience’s viewing habits and narrative expectations—especially since the film centres on the ruined world outside the cinema without offering a cheerful reconciliation. Thus, the setting of ruins, framed by the fragmentary visual style, serves a critical function to evoke a critical reflection of the prior National Socialist period and its effects on German national identity in the aftermath of Nazism. 79 As demonstrated earlier, in the aftermath of the French Revolution and the Enlight-

enment, and with the beginning of bourgeois capitalism due to the Industrial Revolution, the previous feudal class system began to vanish. Aristocracy lost its powerful influence, and these major changes gave birth to a new social class – the bourgeoisie. 80 As discussed earlier, classicist writers such as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller attempted to increase the value of the identity of this new middle class and redefined education and cultural refinement as its means of formation. This provoked a new literary genre, the education or development novel (Bildungs- and/or Entwicklungsromanen), such as Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship (1794/1796) and Wilhelm Meister’s Years of Travel or Journeyman (1821). Friedrich

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ers,81 Staudte investigates this concept through the portrayal of two opposing archetypes of the citizen. Due to the fact that both became murderers under the National Socialist regime, Staudte questions the value of classical and humanist ideals against the background of Nazism and war. Using the opposing identity construction of the two main male protagonists, Staudte ironises the classical ideal of a respectable citizen of education and culture. Both characters represent the dismissed alter ego of the other, which partly hinders their ability to reconstruct a well-balanced identity. In this case, identity conflict thus stresses the past as the dominant influence on the present: Mertens’ trauma keeps the past events alive and represents a refusal to forget the past guilt. Frank defines a similar will to keep memory alive as the true Romantic impulse,82 which rejects dismissal as a means of resolving problems; since the process of repression induces havoc that is, according to Frank, only visible in art.83 As an identity pattern of fragmentation, the motif of the double functions to bring to the surface this kind of havoc; elements that are usually hidden or repressed by culture or society: the ‘destructive potential of desire, the prevalence of the unknowable, and the corruptible conditions of subjective identity.’84 By focussing on the usually oppressed and unwanted depths of subjective identity through the double motif, Staudte’s film has the same goal as Gothic literature. Both employ Romantic patterns in order to challenge and question the definition of man as a harmonious subject thanks to the progress of mankind through education and cultural refinement.85

Schiller discussed this subject in his programmatic text Letters Upon The Aesthetic Education of Man (1794/1795). 81 For example, E.T.A. Hoffmann’s novel Kater Murr (1820/1822) functioned as a late answer to Goethe’s conception of the ideal citizen’s identity. The novel parodies the classical idea of the development of a successful educated person and underscores its philistine aspects through the example of the protagonist Murr, a Romantic artist. Through the fragmentary nature of the biography of Murr, Hoffman foregrounds his failure to bring into balance the contradictions between the ideal and his life. 82 Frank (1995), p. 129. 83 Ibid. 84 Webber (1996), p. 148. 85 Scheunemann (2003), p. 131.


148 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Goethe’s and Schiller’s conception of a harmonious subject reverts back to ideas from classical antiquity.86 Goethe defines this kind of idealism as ‘applied to classical art and as a special concept of ‘naturalness.’87 Classical art does not ‘repudiate but reveals her innermost intentions,’88 and the style of classical antiquity may be defined as a ‘naturalistic idealism’89 that opposes the terms of the real and reality. If these ideas are combined with the definition of style and naturalism presented by Worringer,90 one may conclude with Panofsky that naturalism represents a transformation of reality that depends upon a generalised and objective point of view, while realism is generated by a subjective and particularising point of view.91 Thus, we may conclude that Staudte’s forms of narration and style deconstruct the objective and idealising nature of naturalistic representation. Through a highly stylistic (thus formalist), realist mode of depiction, he focuses on tabooed, dismissed, and repressed aspects of social reality in order to critically reflect on and remember them. Therefore the visual style of the setting of ruins, forms of fragmentation, and narratives of troubled identities function as a symbol of a past that challenges belief in classical concepts of humanism. Chapter two explored the parallels in style between Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us and Romantic paintings, such as those by Caspar David Friedrich, which were created during the occupation of Prussia and Saxony by Napoleon Bonaparte’s troops (1806/10). We have seen that Friedrich’s subjective visual style differs from the objective mode of representation in the domi-

86 Panofsky writes that Goethe criticised the Romantic realists who attacked the classical art ideal of Antiquity by arguing: ‘Classical art is a part of nature and, indeed, when it moves us, as natural nature; are we expected not to study this noble nature but only the common?’ (Die Antike gehört zur Natur, und zwar, wenn sie anspricht, zur natürlichen Natur und diese edle Natur sollen wir nicht studiere, aber die Gemeine?) Cited from: Panofsky (1955), p. 266-272. 87 Ibid., p. 266. 88 Ibid. 89 Ibid. 90 Worringer distinguishes between naturalism and style; for him, naturalist forms in the fine arts are an approximation of the organic truth in life, based on an illusion of the living. For him, style is ‘something that transfers the imitation of nature to a higher level, since it is only through this transformation that nature can be elevated into the language of art.’ Finally, Worringer links these views of modes of artistic expression to two basic principles: empathy (naturalism) and abstraction (style). Worringer (1948), p. 39. 91 Cited from: Panofsky (1955), p. 267.

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nant classicism, just as Staudte’s film style breaks with the classical style of National Socialist cinema. The central aspects of this break are artistic devices and techniques that do not conform with classicism. Both refuse classical conventions of the objective imitation of nature and employ the landscape as an individualist, transcendental abstraction that reflects the artist’s subjective feelings about social and political contemporary reality (see figure 6). As previously mentioned, beyond challenging classical concepts and conventions, Friedrich’s representation of decline and fragmentation functions as a warning against the ‘Faustian vanity of human arrogance’ that could be interpreted as a result of the Enlightenment’s replacement of God with human rationality (see figure 6).92 Therefore, we can assert that the meaning in Friedrich’s painting follows the tradition of German Romanticism, which criticises the scientific and technological ideas of the Enlightenment because of its discrediting of a ‘Superior’ God in favour of progress and autonomy in the name of human reason.93 In a comparatively similar way, Staudte’s anti-hero Mertens also functions to warn off the destructive forces of vanity and arrogance and to criticise the inhuman abuse of technological progress, rationality, and reason, as present under the National Socialist regime and in war. Yet Staudte’s traumatised war veteran does not appear as an innocent victim of the prior regime, but suffers a deep sense of guilt at not having prevented the mass killing of civilians in Poland. These feelings of guilt correspond to Staudte’s own conscience; his having survived the National Socialist regime without taking an active role in political resistance 94 troubled him for the rest of his life.95

92 With regard to the painting Monk by the Sea, Busch writes that although the monk may have a Faustian impulse towards arrogance, the painting reveals its foolish consequences. Thus, Busch concludes that Friedrich shows an anti-Faustian point of view. Busch (2003), p. 64. 93 ‘Der Mönch, so können wir schließen, mag faustische Anwandlungen der Selbstüberhebung haben, doch das Bild will uns zeigen, wie eitel und töricht ein solches Unterfangen ist; [...] Sie scheint für die Tradition der deutschen Romantik in Johann Georg Hamann vorgebildet, der entgegen der Aufklärung den wissenschaftlich-technischen Fortschritt als Selbstermächtigung des Subjekts, als Superia gegenüber Gott diskrediert.’ Ibid. 94 ‘Die Tatsache meiner Existenz, meines Überlebens war Verpflichtung, und ich hatte so etwas wie ein Schuldgefühl, das ich eigentlich heute noch habe und das mich auch heute noch beschäftigt.’ Wilkening (1966), p. 115. However, Staudte also worked ‘in der Filmindustrie des Dritten Reichs’ and could ‘nicht ohne ein Minimum an Mitläuf-


150 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Friedrich and Staudte (as well as other rubble film directors) use landscapes (with or of ruins) as highly symbolic metaphorical representations of a psychological condition in extreme external constraints, such as occupation, war, and (in Staudte’s case) a fascist regime.96 The setting of the destroyed city of Berlin in Staudte’s film also serves as a topographical reference to his ruined hometown and his destroyed country. For example, in the last sequence, before the final encounter with Brückner, Staudte utilises the Gothic ruins of a partially destroyed church in which an improvised service is taking place. Mertens witnesses the event from a distance, and seeing the sorrow and pain of the pitiful people gathered in the roofless church, decorated by fallen snow, seems to provide him with the moral justification to confront Brückner in an act of revenge. Whilst referring to German national identity in the shadow of catastrophic National Socialism, these Gothic ruins do not function to revive patriotic tendencies, as does the painting by Friedrich (see figure 6). This representation of Gothic ruins as a symbol of national identity lacks any kind of national pride. These ruins, in combination with the wretched people attending the improvised service, only evoke feelings of existential alienation, suffering, and shame. In this respect, Staudte is the first to use this unique iconography of a broken national identity in times of post-war crisis in rubble films. It is not by coincidence that Staudte has chosen the Gothic ruins, as they also decorated the background of the poster for the film (see figure 15). 97 Without offering relief from past guilt, these Gothic ruins are an allegorical representation of the iconography of national identity and a country’s decline into crisis, and they confront the audience with the difficult question of how to rebuild. The subject of reconstruction, as well as the setting of ruins, is underlined through the existential identity conflict of the war veteran Mertens. As previously men-

erschaft überleben’ played as an extra (Statist) ‘in Jud Süss als Schauspieler.’ Brandlmeier in Hoffmann (1989), p. 40. 95 For this reason, National Socialist Germany and war and war crimes became Staudte’s preferred subject for films. The Murderers Are Among Us represents the first attempt to deal with feelings of guilt and rendered Staudte a political director who wanted to contribute to a critical reflection of the past period in post-war Germany. Kersten (1977), p. 9. 96 In Friedrich’s case, the Gothic style in ruins symbolised home and national identity, and testified to an emerging new national consciousness, provoked by the context of French occupation and frequent wars. Siegmund (2002), p. 141. 97 The German DVD of The Murderers Are Among Us contains, among other supplementary materials, the original film poster. www.icestorm.de.

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tioned, he can be understood as an artistic externalization of Staudte’s own internal conflicts in the early aftermath of the war, which are related to his guilt at having survived without suffering. Yet Staudte’s representation explicitly investigates Mertens’ internal crisis stemming from his National Socialist past, as if to propose a serious and honest introspection and discussion of the past events and their significance in the present and the future. Thus, introspection refers here not to an act of escapism, since Mertens and the setting of ruins appear as a visual monument to the ruin, which must be remembered in order not to be repeated; as Staudte’s favourite citation by Arthur Schopenhauer states: ‘Forgiving and forgetting means throwing past experiences out the window.’98

Figure 15: Film poster The Murderers Are Among Us.99

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

It has been shown that the aesthetic of fragmentation and crisis renders the ruins and Mertens into primary signifiers of the ruined identity and country that the

98 ‘Vergeben und vergessen heißt gemachte Erfahrung aus dem Fenster zu schmeißen.’ Cited from: Ungureit in Netenjakob / Orbanz / Prinzler (1991), p. 243. 99 www.filmportal.de/df/28/Artikel,,,,,,,,EA579BF206AF125FE03053D50B3768D3,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 march 2007).


152 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM National Socialist regime left behind. These artistic devices deconstruct the glorification of the classical style and narration used in National Socialist cinema, and instead focus on an anti-heroic representation of lost human values and inner disorientation present in the German population after the catastrophic past. In terms of visual style, Staudte’s aesthetic devices resemble Romantic paintings such as those by Friedrich, which depicted the decline of German national identity during the period of occupation by Napoleon Bonaparte’s troops. There is no proof that Staudte was even acquainted with the work of Friedrich or other Romantic painters such as Carus; but since Staudte was well acquainted with Weimar cinema, the leading narrative and visual devices of which revert to the literature and art of German Romanticism, the connection between the visual style in rubble films and Romanticism via Weimar cinema seems evident. The major similarity between Staudte’s film and Friedrich’s painting is the function that these visual devices play in them. In both cases, they generate a serious discussion about events of the time against the background of a social, cultural, and political crisis with a profound impact on national identity. This discourse develops due to a break with the norms and conventions of the classical style and narration (in painting and cinema) through the use of non-conforming and visual devices that evoke the impression of fragmentation. In this respect, we may define the non-conforming style and its effects on the visual representation as an aesthetic of opposition to the dominant means of artistic expression. The potential of opposition of such a Romantic discourse results from its focus on the incomplete, dysfunctional, and dismissed aspects of society that are brought back to attention. Staudte’s (possibly unintended) reversion to such elements of Romantic discourse in cinema opens up a discourse on post-war society. In particular, Staudte aims at revealing and opposing the still vivid National Socialist ideology, not only through a unique visual style, but also through the figure of Brückner. This is why the aesthetic and narrative patterns of the film can be defined as an aesthetic of opposition against the ideological propaganda of National Socialist cinema and society.

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Aesthetic of Opposition The narrative and visual patterns in Staudte’s film show strong similarities to cinematographic devices which, according to Witte, create an ‘aesthetic of opposition,’100 a term first used to describe a small selection of films produced during the Third Reich. In these films, social disintegration, visual forms, and identity construction of fragmentation function as leading narrative and visual devices that conflict with the ideological imagery of National Socialist ideals.101 The two examples of The Enchanted Day (1943-44) by Pewas and Romance in Minor Key (1942) by Käutner show that their opposition to National Socialism develops mainly as a result of the films’ specific visual style. Their artistically sophisticated visual composition provoked a critical view on social structures in National Socialist society and is narratively represented as the destiny of women. The visual and narrative elements in these films accentuate difficult aspects of contextual reality due the films ability to capture the spirit of time and to leave the viewer with haunting images of unfulfilled passions, senseless brutality, and dissatisfaction with the status quo. These sober reflections of a critical view on society, though less explicitly employed in Käutner’s film, underscored serious calls for change.102

100

See: Witte (1995).

101

Romanze in Moll stands out against mainstream National Socialist cinema due to its sophisticated camera work, complex and somewhat confused narration, and a darker melancholic sub-tone. Its realist visual style suggests similarities with the poetic realism of the 1930s, which appeared in France along with neorealism in Italy around 1940, as well as films of the late Weimar Republic. Italian neorealism in particular depended on authentic cinematic representation that aimed to reveal and criticise the contradictions in society. Although none of these films openly criticised the National Socialist regime, their depiction of individuality, subjectivity, and difficult social conditions caused them to be considered threatening enough to be mostly banned by the National Socialist authorities. Lowry argues that Käutner’s Romance in Minor Key only reached the public because it fulfilled an apologetic function within National Socialist censorship, which suggests liberalism outside of Germany. Compare: Lowry (1991), p. 215.

102

In particular, representation of individuals confronting ‘social contradictions (class difference, moral conventions, poverty) beyond his or her control and comprehension’ had to be avoided. Elsaesser (1990), p. 120.


154 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Yet the National Socialist regime did not wish to show this sort of disenchanting depiction of reality to the German audience during wartime. 103 The propaganda ministry specifically required that movies should ‘demonstrate optimism and conflict-resolution at any price, a prescription contrary to the very definition of the type of problem film.’104 As in these films of the aesthetic of opposition,105 Staudte’s original film ending forced the audience to critically reflect on the characters and to develop their own alternative ending; because the original version lacked a happy ending and a consequent sense of fulfilment, the audience was left to exit the cinema on a negative note. In both of these examples of the aesthetic of opposition, we have seen that visual style interacts with narration to create a discourse about social reality. In particular, Käutner’s artistic use of camera techniques closely corresponds to Staudte’s explicitly stylistic composition. Käutner’s film consists of many camera movements, unusual perspectives, quick changes of shot sizes, staccato shots, and a prolific use of close-ups: ‘Frequent and liquid camera movements, extreme changes of shot sizes, many extreme close up shots, and quickly changing and unusual shot sizes, not only at the beginning, but

103

Ironically, Pewas’ film exactly corresponded exactly to the longings of the audience: a complex film that seriously discusses the social ills during the time of National Socialism. O’Brien (2006) p. 207.

104

Ibid.

105

In Käutner’s film the artistic use of frequent camera movements, the dramatic change in frame angles, the many close-ups and quickly changing and unusual perspectives evokes fragmentary visual forms and strongly emphasises the process of narration. Thus, visual style is explicitly employed for narrative aims and functions to reduce identification, while also emphasising a critical view on the story. The most obvious element of opposition is possibly the film’s fragmentary and ambiguous open end, which refuses any reconciliatory or reaffirming position on society, and which can be read as an explicit contradiction of the aims of the National Socialist authorities. At the end of the film, the female character lies unconscious in a hospital, and the audience is left in the dark as to whether or not she will survive. Pewas employed a relatively similar end, although he hints more strongly at the possibility of a later happy ending. O’Brien writes that ‘the propaganda ministry required that these movies demonstrate optimism and conflict resolution at any price.’ Ibid.

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also during the whole film, set the act of narration into the foreground much more than usual.’106

By highlighting the visual style, it overtakes the dominant narrative functions as well, drawing attention to the film medium itself, as well as its artistic properties, so that the audience becomes aware of watching a film.107 Finally, such a focus on techniques reduces the spectator’s processes of identification and creates a critical distance between the spectator and the narrative’s impact. In addition, Käutner’s film shows a dominant use of low-key and chiaroscuro lighting as well as minor key sounds to depict, as the title indicates, the low-key atmosphere of a romance that is anticipated to fail from its very beginning. This dark atmosphere underscores the spatial, nearly claustrophobic narrowness of Madeleine’s home, the narrow-mindedness of her lower middle-class husband,

106

‘Häufige und flüssige Kamerabewegungen, extreme Wechsel der Einstellungsgrößen, viele Detailaufnahmen sowie rasch wechselnde und ungewohnte Perspektiven, nicht nur am Anfang, sondern während des ganzen Films, stellen den Akt des Erzählens viel stärker in den Vordergrund als gewohnt.’ Lowry (1991), p. 218.

107

Such techniques produce an artistic visual style that is more visible than the usual classic style. The observer is required to take a more analytical position in order to recompose the filmic clues of the story rather than engage with a mode of storytelling that is based on identification and total absorption through the production of a seamless filmic illusion of wholeness, assumed to be real. Käutner’s use of montage, however, foregrounds the film’s stylisation as the creation of its meaning. Lowry describes the ‘long alternating edition’ (lange alternierende Montage, ibid.) when the husband is on a business trip and Madeleine going to the countryside with Michael; that they both appear to be in the same train compartment ‘is not only suspenseful, but also consciously created as a work of art’ (ist nicht nur spannend, sondern auch bewusst als Kunststück inszeniert, ibid.) because the camera movements and editing are active in creating meaning and associations. Thus Lowry concludes that the narrative function of the camera as a narrator is less hidden than usual. Moreover, Käutner also implements unrealistic or impossible camera persepectives (for example, from the perspective of the pearl necklace, which sits in the shop window, or through the glass of sweets in the shop, compare: ibid.). Whilst the camera movements and editing techniques are employed in such a conspicuous way, the narration becomes unusually artifical. Lowry notes certain examples: ‘sometimes the camera perceives figures and objects which do not fulfill a narrative function; sudden inserts foreground certain objects; often the camera jumps at a new scene.’ Ibid.


156 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM and the social influence of the gossiping doorwoman. All of these pictorial and narrative elements can be interpreted as the representation of the uneasiness of living under a fascist regime that favoured narrow-mindedness and mechanisms of social control. Käutner cleverly sets his story in the nineteenth century in order to create distance, thus providing a greater space for critical and artistic reflection on the contemporary National Socialist society. By analysing the rubble film Second Hand Destiny, we will see that Staudte employs a similar technique. He transfers the cinematographic representation of post-war problems onto an earlier epoch so as to decontextualise them. Finally, the use of low-key lighting, chiaroscuro effects, and suggestive or decorative shadows also function as a dominant element of visual style in many rubble films, creating corresponding aspects of meaning, such as in Käutner’s film. The foregrounded artistic visual style in the two film samples of the aesthetic of opposition (by Käutner and Pewas) indicates a turn away from the classical naturalist-idealist style (as was employed in National Socialist cinema) to a realist abstract-subjective mode of representation. As previously discussed, subjective abstraction was a leading stylistic element in Weimar cinema, Expressionism (literature, film, and art), and strongly marked film noir as well as the more artistically sophisticated rubble films. Worringer makes a distinction between two artistic principles that form two modes of expression: emphasis on naturalism and abstraction on style.108 Abstraction, according to the film director and cinema theoretician Paul Schrader, permits one ‘to get outside the fence with which naturalism has surrounded’ the film medium.109 Schrader thereby draws upon the principles of immanence and transcendence. Abstraction permits a representation that transcends the immanence of the naturalist mimicry of classicism, thus provoking implicit and symptomatic meaning. Käutner sophisticatedly employs abstraction in Romance in Minor Key to smuggle in ambiguous meaning that permit the audience to draw several interpretations of the film, as seen with the example of the unresolved ending.110 Thus, the audience leaves the cinema with many questions and no re-

108

See: Worringer (1948), p. 39.

109

Schrader (1972), p. 118.

110

Goebbels, for example, interpreted the film’s ending as an indication of Madeleine’s death; yet one can also imagine that she might get better and live with her lover, due to the fact that her lover appears briefly at her bed. However, as she lies in the hospital without any particular diagnosis of her condition this gives no clear indication of what will happen to her next.

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affirming or comforting sense of the world; this technique of abstraction forms the subversive meaning of the film’s narrative and visual construction. In a similar way, Staudte employs film techniques to create visual abstraction evoking spatial fragmentation and the aesthetic disorder of a world falling apart in order to convey a sense of the zeitgeist into the film medium. This visual abstraction emphasises the artistic visual style of the film, creating distance and artificiality;111 this artificiality then serves to irritate the audience’s processes of identification, on which classical cinema largely depends. Given these similarities, one may presume that Staudte’s visual style and narratives achieve a similar effect as the films of the aesthetics of opposition, in order to distinguish them from the visual forms and narrative impacts employed for propagandist aims under Nazism. In The Murderers Are Among Us, visual and narrative forms of fragmentation reveal the reaffirming functions of the classical style, which serve to mediate an ideological impact and to confirm the status quo in a society while avoiding critical reflection. As indicated in chapter two, these patterns of fragmentation in the aesthetic of opposition and in a selection of rubble films stem from Romantic art and literature. In German cinema, they return in the guise of a formalist style, which serves to represent situations of crisis. Therefore, we may presume that this formalist style indicates a visual and narrative tradition in German cinema, which returns to German Romanticism, and takes part in creating a Romantic discourse in our selection of rubble films: visual and narrative aspects, such as shots, evoking the impression of fragmentation, ruins and the motifs of doubles, demonic citizens and doomed wanderers, as well as the use of (rubble) landscape as an allegoric representation of psychological condition of decline and despair, can be defined as the major aspects of a Romantic discourse in this rubble film. All of these elements fulfil the oppositional aim of challenging the dominant values in society.112 This aim is mainly achieved through patterns that depict ambiguous and conflicting elements of social reality in a critical and provocative

111

Lowry describes such effects through the example of Romance in Minor Key. See:

112

‘As a result, ‘film noir’ has functioned not to define a coherent genre or style but to

Lowry (1991), p. 218. locate in several American films a challenge to dominant values. It is not a trivial description of film noir to say that it simply indicates particular patterns of nonconformity within Hollywood. This is why films of many different sorts can be considered to belong to film noir. What are these patterns of non-conformity? In general, film noir has been considered to challenge the classical Hollywood cinema in four ways.’ Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75.


158 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM way. In this way, they differ from the classical film style, which uses conflicts in order to reaffirm the given situation in society. Thus, we may presume that an aesthetic of fragmentation is used to depict and emphasise dysfunctional and dismissed aspects within German post-war society in The Murderers Are Among Us. Staudte’s first rubble film reverts to typical Romantic visual and narrative devices that were once considered by Kracauer and Eisner as a typical expression of German mentality.113 Yet Staudte employs these Romantic devices in order to launch a critical debate on national identity. This use of Romantic elements renders The Murderers Are Among Us a trendsetter, as the film introduces visual and narrative patterns of an aesthetic of opposition, which heavily influenced some later rubble films. However, this does not mean that all rubble films employed the same aesthetic patterns of decline and fragmentation such as those used by Staudte. The next film to be analysed, Film Without a Name by Rudolf Jugert will show how this rather commercial rubble film, employed Romantic patterns in a slightly different way in order to create a more moderate discourse about post-war German cinema and the population of the time.

113

Current critical opinions on The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari generally still accept Kracauer's assessment of the film in his study From Caligari to Hitler (1947). Kracauer defines Caligari as the archetype of all post-war films, which as it expresses the macabre, sinister, and morbid aspects of the German mentality. Kracauer furthermore argues that the collective mode of cinematographic production provoked these specific properties of Weimar cinema and their reflection of the national mentality. It is assumed that Kracauer refers here in particular to Romantic motifs and elements, all of which, in his opinion, function collectively as a visual and narrative expression of the Germanic mentality. By contrast, this study argues that Kracauer’s conclusions are somewhat misleading. Firstly, Weimar cinema does not consist of a pure ‘Germanic’ impact created within a fixed and closed national enclave, untouched by international cultural transfers. National Socialism, on the other hand, produced this type of cinema. Within the context of Weimar cinema production, Kracauer considers German national mentality as an element that is fixed and unchanging, inevitably determining the later terror of National Socialism. However, Kracauer’s conclusions sit oddly with the history of the Weimar Republic and, more importantly, are difficult to reconcile with the blooming and highly successful international film productions that took place at the Berlin studios. Indeed, the partnership of film teams from England, France, Austria, and East European countries, suggests a cultural transfer and exchange of people and ideas rather than a closed site of national mentality.

Film Without a Name (1947/48): Irony Shall Help Us!

In 1948, the film critic Gerhard Sanden wrote a review about Rudolf Jugert’s Film Without a Name: ‘In short: Käutner’s films are gradually becoming their own genre.’1 Although this statement may sound strange to the attentive reader, Sanden is right. Film Without a Name comes from the tradition of films made by Helmut Käutner. The following short overview on film styles and subject matters employed in Käutner’s and others’ films (before, during, and after National Socialism) will help to classify Jugert’s work and identify Käutner’s marks on the film. As previously discussed, the formalist film style used in Käutner’s Romance in Minor Key opposes the classical style partly, as used in entertainment films of the National Socialist cinema. Because of these oppositional patterns, the film has been defined as an aesthetic of opposition in German cinema during Nazism. Käutner’s following and final film made under the National Socialist regime, Under the Bridges (Unter den Brücken, 1944), utilises a less stylistic realism. As opposed to most films made under National Socialism (which mainly relied on a studio-based classical film style of genre film productions), Under the Bridges follows earlier stylistic tendencies of realism. They had appeared in Italy, France, and Germany prior to the war (for example, new objectivity in Weimar cinema, French poetic realism, etc.) and were banned under Nazism due to their social-critical message. Robert Rossellini’s Italian neorealist film style has also been classified as an aesthetic of opposition because it sought to reveal the usually hidden sociopolitical conditions in a society, such as Italy under fascism and occupation in Roma Open City (Roma Villa Ouverta, 1945) and then later post-war Germany in Germany Year Zero (1947). Rossellini’s cinematographic style employed authentic outdoor shots and indoor settings, non-professional actors, and stories set in the present time in order to create an ‘authentic’ and critical depiction of historical situations. Although Käutner’s realism never went as far, he also in-

1

‘Kurzum: Käutners Filme werden allmählich eine eigene Gattung.’ Sanden (1948). Cited from : www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/film-ohnetitel/zeitgenoessische-kritik-3.html; (3 May 2007).


160 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM tended to discuss contextual reality in his post-war films—albeit without the critical and distant regard of the foreigner, as employed by Rossellini. Käutner’s view of Germany during and after National Socialism cannot be compared to Rossellini’s viewpoint for two major reasons: first, during the Third Reich Käutner had been a successful filmmaker, though he considered himself neither an opportunist nor a hero of resistance. As the analysis of Romance in Minor Key has demonstrated, he was able to smuggle themes of opposition into his films without encountering too much censorship. In this respect, one may assume that Käutner considered his behaviour during the National Socialist rule as that of a ‘good German in bad times.’2 It seems that Käutner adapted relatively easy to conditions within the studio system of National Socialism. He is not to be considered an artistic rebel or avant-garde talent. From this point of view, his behaviour resembles that of average German people somehow coping, oscillating between opportunism and a possible unease with the conditions during Nazism. Secondly, given the example of Staudte’s first rubble film and the controversy it provoked, Käutner possibly intended to reflect post-war reality more carefully and less provocative in his first rubble film. He surely wanted his film to reach the German public without too soon being discredited by confronting the spectators too intensely with harsh reality.3 Indeed, a film review of Käutner’s In Those Days shows that as early as March 1948, the subject matter of the recent past already failed to attract the broader public: ‘Hardly a week has gone by since the film by Käutner and Schnabel was distributed in the cinemas.4 At first, nobody went to watch it. People did not wish to hear stories of the past. Especially the youth; everything that touches on politics annoys them.’5

Whereas Staudte reveals and penetrates the topics people longed to forget, Käutner chooses another strategy to tackle the problem of how to treat past events on

2

This means he did ‘his best’ without irritating the fascist regime too much and endangering his life or career.

3

In his study on German post-war cinema, Peter Pleyer writes that in the aftermath of the war, the public quickly turned away from the demanding rubble films and asked for cheerful comedies. Pleyer (1965), p. 156.

4

Ernst Schnabel was the co-scriptwriter.

5

‘Hier lief kaum eine Woche lag der Film von Käutner und Schnabel. Zuerst ging niemand hin. Die Leute wollten keine Geschichten von damals hören. Die Jugend schon gar nicht; die kann man mit allem, was nur von ferne an Politik erinnert, jagen.’ An anonymous correspondent (1948). Cited from: Jacobsen / Prinzler (1992), p. 197.

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screen. In his first rubble film In Those Days (1947), he offers the German audience positive patterns of identification by presenting ‘good Germans in bad times.’ In Those Days is an episodic film held together by a background story that introduces two young but downtrodden men stripping an old car against the backdrop of rubble and ruins. The two men discuss their difficulty to find the strength to reconstruct their lives due to the destruction, corruption, and general depression in the aftermath of war. Although young, they appear hopeless and lifeless, discouraged by past events and lacking any hope for the future. Then the car itself appears as the narrator, who speaks as a distant and objective observer, trying to persuade these two pessimists (thus the public) that the past was not altogether bad. The car also appeals to the German audience to look ahead with optimism and to build a better future. This point of view corresponds to Käutner’s personal opinion about the post-war period. He described the early postwar years as his most creative ones, suggesting that the period of crisis gave rise to a high level of creativity. In an interview with Edmund Luft, he stated: ‘In my opinion, the years between the end of the war and the currency reform were the “best years of our lives,” [...], of my life, when we all were in such bad shape. We were all so full of hope and possibilities, although we had no material. This [condition] gave rise to the production of new elements of style, new films and new narrative patterns, because the old ways of great spectacles were over. Unfortunately, we returned to the old UFA times of spectacle pictures and splendid films in order to recapture the audience.’6

As the following analyses will clearly identify, traces of this search for new forms and narratives mark all rubble films discussed here. Yet the German population lost interest too quickly in this kind of renewal and its impact, just as the quotation by Käutner suggests. Therefore, most rubble filmmakers returned to former UFA traditions in order to satisfy and hold on to their audience. But let us return to the story line of In Those Days: the car begins to tell seven stories of ‘those days’ during the National Socialist rule (in flashback

6

‘Ich finde ja, die “besten Jahre unseres Lebens”, [...], auch meines Lebens, waren die Jahre zwischen dem Ende des Krieges und der Währungsreform, wo es uns allen furchtbar schlecht ging. Aber wir waren alle so voller Hoffnung und so voller Möglichkeiten, obwohl wir an Material nichts hatten. Aber das hat dazu geführt, neue Stilelemente zu bringen, neue Arten, Filme aufzubereiten, neue Erzählweisen, weil die alten Wege der großen Ausstattung ein bisschen vorbei waren. Wir kehrten leider, um das Publikum wieder einzufangen, zurück zu den alten Ufa-Zeiten, der großen Ausstattung, der prächtigen Filme.’ Ibid., p. 143.


162 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM form) as support for its arguments for a positive outlook on the future. Thanks to the narrative focus on the ‘good Germans,’ the audience is not forced to question their own behaviour, but are released from the cinema with the assurance that even though atrocities occurred, some people courageously helped others and minimised the suffering. On the whole, Käutner’s film became a success; the anonymous critic earlier quoted enthusiastically writes that, after the film, the audience shared the same opinion: ‘Yes, it was like this.’7 This agreement refers to the redeeming effect the film had on German public.8 Käutner seemed to know that if he wanted to fill the cinema, he needed to provide stories the German audience could not only accept, but also enjoy with the feeling of having a ‘more or less’ clean record concerning the past events. On a stylistic level, he chose a kind of pseudo neorealist style for this film, just as in Under the Bridges. How, one may ask, is this connected to Film Without a Name? First, the film’s director Rudolf Jugert had been Käutner’s long-term assistant (also for a time during Nazism). As opposed to most rubble film directors who had already been active filmmakers during the Third Reich, Jugert was considered a young talent. He celebrated his debut as a director with Film Without a Name in the post-war period. Secondly, Käutner produced the film and wrote the script. These two central facts demonstrate how Jugert’s first fiction film followed in the footsteps of Käutner’s film tradition. In contrast with In Those Days, Film Without a Name is based on a selfironic, funny, parodist, and distant way of addressing how one can reconstruct identity and life in the aftermath of war. Apparently, this attitude satisfied the need of German spectators for cheerful entertainment. Yet it would be wrong to define Film Without a Name only as cheerful entertainment, since it also considers post-war society in a critical light. Coming from the tradition of entertainment comedy, Film Without a Name tells the story of a couple with very different social backgrounds: Martin, a bourgeois aesthete, and Christine, the country girl and maid of Martin’s longterm girlfriend and business partner Angelika. Like in Käutner’s In those Days, this story is framed by a background story. A film team, consisting of a scriptwriter (who appears as the narrator, guiding the audience throughout the whole film) a director, and an actor, discusses how to make a film in the aftermath of National Socialism. The film itself and its love story of Martin and Christine serve as a sample of how films should develop in the post-war period. Yet be-

7

‘Ja, so war das.’ Ibid., p. 197.

8

Ibid.

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yond the entertaining story aspects, Film Without a Name also deals critically with new models of national identity and cinema in post-war Germany. This time, Käutner’s script does not highlight ‘good Germans’ under the National Socialist regime, but aims at contributing to the research on the concept of the ‘good Germans’ in the post-war time. The central symbol of this research is a (possible) medieval wooden statue of Saint Martin. Interwoven into the film, it functions to represent traditions and values left untouched by the National Socialist past. The legend around the figure defines the notion of morally wellintentioned behaviour. For example, one should share with a poor person even what is urgently needed for oneself. The concept of ‘being good’ forms the core of the love story between the two protagonists Christine and Martin. Although possibly not very convincing within the film’s story, this parable is supposed to provide model patterns for a new German national identity in the aftermath of National Socialism, which supports building up a ‘better future’ without repeating prior errors. The Trouble with Serious Entertainment Yet beyond this parable, other patterns that do not fit with the first impression of a ‘light’ comedy aim at a deeper reflection about the post-war period. On various levels one can perceive a process of new orientation; not only concerning everyday life and national identity, but also opening up a debate about the form and function of art —thereby film—in the aftermath of National Socialism. In this respect, Film Without a Name begins with an ironic discussion on German post-war cinema. The film’s first sequence jumps directly into the controversy: it begins with Käutner’s voice-over that ironically announces ‘a cheer9 ful film without a name,’ while a camera turns towards the public on the screen. Then a little vignette mask consistently opens from a very tiny little white point to the first establishing shot that underscores some important details: the camera focuses on a hand-written draft paper, on which is written: Film? (very often) and war, anti-Nazi, Propaganda, politics. Obviously, a film project is about to be discussed. The camera travels back and brings three men within a holiday-like ‘impressionistic’ countryside setting into view: they are the director (Peter Hamel), the scriptwriter (Fritz Odemar), and the actor (Willy Fritsch plays himself, since he was a very well-known comedy actor before and during the National Socialist period). When the camera pulls back into an establishing shot, the scriptwriter is

9

The German text reads ‘einen heiteren Film ohne Titel.’


164 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM lying in a hammock, the movie star on the grass, and the director sits on a chair and writes the draft paper of an opening shot.10 From the radio installed on the tree in the middle of the shot, entertaining swing jazz background music11 anticipates the ironic tone of their discussion. In suite of this plan, the camera pans to the right side on a single cow and then on some children walking in a line. On the right side the happy and laughing couple, the main film characters, appear: Martin (played by Hans Söhnker, a well-know star during the National Socialist period) and Christine (Hildegard Knef).12 This ambience establishes a contradicting atmosphere to the audience’s contemporary everyday experiences: the idyllic, perfect, and sunny nature scene ironically opposes the reality of the sinister atmosphere of the destroyed cities. Interestingly, this countryside opening sequence was filmed without a single cut. It consists of several travelling camera movements and pans. This construction corresponds to what would be later called a ‘continuous shot or a plan sequence’ and became fashionable in the cinema from the 1950s to the 1960s.13 More importantly, the sequence introduces a dominant stylistic device in the film’s overall form: fluid camera movements. This camera style of consistent motion works together with narrator voice-overs in many sequences. Spoken primarily at the beginning by the scriptwriter, and later by different film characters, these narrator voice-overs introduce different and sometimes even conflicting perspectives on the film’s story. These fluid camera movements fulfil two main functions: first, they consistently shape and guide the spectator’s attention. Secondly, in combination with the commentary provided by the film music and the voice-overs, they add an ironic sub-tone to the representation of the present and past events. This kind of irony, as we will see later in this analysis, is a Romantic device that functions between the narrator and the film text. The film’s particular visual style stresses techniques that overtake narrative functions. They create ironic comments (together with other aspects of the film’s overall form) in order to question the film’s whole story and characters. It has previously been demonstrated that such a foregrounded visual style was also an

10 Within this place of perfect beauty, on a sunny summer day, they are surrounded by objects associated with holiday, such as a caravan, a hammock, a chair, and a table. 11 Swing music was forbidden by the National Socialist regime on the basis of its connection to African and Jewish musicians. Compare: Painter (2007). 12 As already discussed, Knef was the new female post-war star who became famous after starring in Staudte’s first rubble film. 13 For example, in films by Michelangelo Antonioni and others.

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important stylistic device in Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us: although produced by different film techniques and without the intention to provoke irony, these techniques also evoke a critical view of the film’s story. Judgert’s cameraman, Igor Oberberg, created a critical and ironic distance that parodies earlier rubble films through the exaggerated use of camera techniques such as movements, voice-overs, extreme camera angles, fadings, etc. Some of these techniques correspond to devices introduced by Staudte’s first rubble film, which are considered as typical rubble film patterns. Irony importantly marks the film team’s discussion on how to distinguish their planned film from earlier cinema productions. Their aim is not only to differ from cinema under the National Socialist rule, but also to distinguish their film from styles and narratives of the other post-war rubble films. While discussing their future film project, they make reference to the audience’s longing for cheerful entertainment—but the director outlines his wish to address serious subjects. Finally, the common conclusion drawn from the discussion is that people need some ‘serious’ entertainment to cheer them up in difficult times. However, this conclusion is an antagonism in itself. Not knowing what kind of film is really wanted, they continue to argue: they refuse to make rubble films, homecoming films, fraternizing films, and eventually anti-Nazi films. Upon the last remark, the scriptwriter reacts ironically. He suggests that it would be tactless to produce an anti-Nazi film. Shandley was very irritated at this remark. Without understanding, he suggests it ‘reveals the filmmaker’s and the moviegoer’s desire for a fantasy film.’14 Although Shandley is possibly right about the expectations of post-war German moviegoers, he is mistaken about the intentions of the rubble directors, as seen with the example of Pleyer’s post-war cinema study.15 Shandley fails to identify the remark as part of the central device of Romantic irony used in Jugert’s film, which leaves an indelible mark on the meta-discussion about cinema and life in the alternating levels of the story. We will later see that irony functions in this film as a means for addressing the past and to deal with the present period. Irony introduces a double view of the scriptwriter and main narrator Fritz Odemar and actor Willy Fritsch’s character towards the internal story (the love story of Martin and Christine). This double view represents a critical consideration of the main characters that functions to question the audience. This critical consideration refers less to the character of the film director, played by Peter Hamel. He began his career as an actor, scriptwriter, and co-

14 Shandley (2001), p. 154. 15 Pleyer (1965), p. 156.


166 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM director with Film Without a Name in post-war West-German film production. Hamel is much younger than Fritsch and Odemar, and he did not have a flourishing career in cinema under the National Socialist regime, as did the other two actors. Fritsch and Odemar16 both appeared frequently as entertaining and charming lovers in cheerful comedies in the earlier cinema period. They began their careers in the 1920s and continued to work successfully during National Socialist rule, as well as later. In the case of Fritsch,17 the films he made together with the German-English actress Lilian Harvey (a well-loved star of several National Socialist leaders) marked the zenith of his career. Although neither of them acted in hard-boiled propaganda films, they managed to easily come to terms with the National Socialist regime. Given this background information, it does not seem astonishing that Fritsch and Odemar would address the idea of making an anti-Nazi film as tactless. Indeed, such a film would have been tactless in light of their past, since they more or less represented the type of ‘average opportunist’ who just ‘went with the flow’ in order to maintain their personal wealth, comfort, and success. These implicit and explicit references provoke an ambiguity upon which the ironic discourse in this sequence is constructed. This study argues that the ambiguity itself is part of a critical attitude towards the National Socialist rule and its inheritance in the post-war society of West Germany because it indicates the true nature of the problem: we have seen that nearly all members of the film team (more or less) worked18 within the propagandist cinema machine and therefore knew National Socialist Germany from the inside. They must have been aware of the fact that parts of the German population still somehow referred with nostalgia to the ‘good times’ under National Socialism, though they were possibly

16 Odemar had worked earlier with Helmut Käutner in Goodbye, Franzisca! (Auf Wiedersehen, Franziska!, 1940/41). 17 Fritsch became very famous in the early 1930s because of the comedies in which he played together with the German-English actress Lilian Harvey, such as in The Blond Dream (Der blonde Traum, 1932) or The Three from the Filling Station (Die Drei von der Tankstelle, 1930) and The Congress Dances (Der Kongress tanzt, 1931). Besides Zarah Leander, Harvey was one of the great female stars, approved by the National Socialist regime. 18 Even the new female post-war German cinema star had an earlier career within National Socialism. She played a minor role in Under the Bridges and had an affair during the last years of the Reich with the (married) SS officer Ewald von Demandowsky who was first a Reich Film Supervisor (Reichsfilmdramaturg) and later one of the directors of Tobis Film Production Company.

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simultaneously shocked about the atrocities. Thus we may agree that this ambiguous remark in Film Without a Name uses an ironic attitude of self-parody to point at the problematic tendency in parts of post-war German society to idealise life under the National Socialist rule. In his sociological study on West German post-war cinema, Pleyer writes that because of difficult everyday circumstances, people felt ‘an extensive need for distraction and particularly for a distraction from the daily experienced reality.’19 As a cheap pleasure—a cinema ticket was available for 1 RM, while a piece of butter on the black market was 250 RM—cinema was a very popular form of entertainment. Most cinemas were occupied each evening until the last show.20 The unpleasant housing conditions in shared apartments, refugee camps, and in-between ruin fields surely supported the attraction of cinema as a financially possible distraction until the currency reform in 1949. Given these facts, it seems evident that people longed for cheerful films in cinema and wished not to be confronted with their own past and present everyday circumstances. Yet, as already demonstrated in the introduction, some German cinema directors did not wish to satisfy this demand for light distraction by repressing difficult questions of actuality.21 Against the background of Pleyer’s results, the debate of the scriptwriter, the director, and the movie star takes on a new significance: the film can be interpreted as part of Käutner’s strategy to disguise serious, actual questions under the guise of light entertainment, since disguising serious matters may have been the only way of reaching the public in 1948. Although ‘a certain’ openness for discussing the recent past in German society did exist in the early aftermath of war, this changed with the currency reform of 1948. The returning wealth quickly led to a new materialism that excluded any need for a serious discussion

19 ‘entstand ein umfassendes Bedürfnis nach Zerstreuung und insbesondere nach Ablenkung von der tagtäglich erfahrenen Wirklichkeit.’ Pleyer (1965), p. 154. 20 Ibid. p. 154. 21 ‘Es hat in der Geschichte des deutschen Films keinen Zeitabschnitt gegeben, in dem auch nur annähernd eine solche Diskrepanz zwischen den Filminhalten und den Wünschen des Publikums im Hinblick auf diese Inhalte bestanden hat wie in den Jahren von Kriegsende bis 1948. Die meisten Filmschöpfer registierten oder behandelten in den Inhalten ihrer Filme bestimmte in der Nachkriegsgesellschaft vorhandene Bewußtseinsinhalte, das heißt sie drehten Filme, die entweder im Umraum oder im Thema oder in beidem gegenwartsbezogen und zeitnah waren. Das Publikum hingegen verlangte, im Kino gerade von diesen Bewußtseinsinhalten abgelenkt zu werden.’ Ibid., p. 156.


168 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM of neither the National Socialist period, nor the early post-war years. Thus, German cinema directors found themselves caught in a dilemma: they felt the need to address serious problems, but the support from the public did not exist. Therefore, it may be assumed that ambiguity and irony, foregrounded by visual and narrative devices, functioned as a way to bring discussions in cinema about values and traditions into society. As the following analysis demonstrates, in Film Without a Name the meta-discourse (background story) and the internal story demand a change of paradigm. The fact that the director repeatedly demands a comedy that seriously deals with the problems of the post-war period supports this hypothesis. He wants to combine entertainment with the serious problems of everyday life amongst the rubble so that, far away from self-pitying nostalgia, cinema should neither repress, nor idealise the past times, but integrate them in the present in order to open a discussion on new models for the here and now. It is evident that Film Without a Name does not attempt to tackle serious questions of the presumed ‘collective guilt’ for the National Socialist rule and atrocities, nor how to deal with the past in terms of providing justice for its victims. These aspects are totally set aside, and like most other rubble films (minus a few exceptions), Film Without a Name only focuses on the German national identity in the post-war period, thus on the psychological condition of the German population. However, the merit of Jugert’s film is that it nevertheless opens up a debate about the new orientation and identity construction in such ‘a light way’ so as to render it acceptable for an audience keen to avoid a discussion of the past. Research for New Models in Life and Cinema It has already been demonstrated that Film Without a Name consists of two narrative levels of storytelling: the first one is the background story, in which a young director, a famous movie star, and a film scriptwriter (as well as the main narrator) discuss how to make a film that is appropriate to cinema in the aftermath of the war and National Socialist rule. The second level corresponds to the internal story, which introduces the characters of Martin and Christine, who experienced a romantic love story set against the historical background of decline and new beginnings. At the film’s beginning, they meet the film team (see figure 16). After Martin and Christine have left, the scriptwriter begins to tell their story in several flashbacks. These flashbacks represent the internal story, which is further subordinated on two narrative levels. First, several flashbacks, and second, optional

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flash-forwards, all repeatedly interrupt the meta-discourse in the background story.

Figure 16: Martin (Söhnker), Christine (Knef), the scriptwriter (Odemar), the actor (Fritsch) and the director (Hamel).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

In the background story, the film team addresses the question of cinema and life in the aftermath of war. The focus of the internal story is based on the main male character Martin who has to undergo a development. As a representative of the average German male, he experiences a ‘sentimental education’ that makes him lose his cynical attitude towards life, that of a bourgeois art aesthete. As a result, he is rendered an active middle-class citizen, producing something useful for society (furniture). This development is the result of inner and outer changes, which lead to a successful model of reconstruction of (male) identity in the postwar period. In 1948, the film critic Gerhard Sanden described this narrative structure of changes between the meta-discourse, the internal and optional stories, which finally result in the right way of how to develop a new male identity in the postwar period, as having a surreal aspect: ‘The experimenting play of reality against fantasy is for example the basic element of surrealism. Already the titleless title corresponds to the tendency of our time, to take nothing as fixed and determined forever, to hold everything in an unreliable state of hovering. This


170 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM also requires that one offers various outcomes equally, and naturally the most ordinary of these outcomes will become reality.’22

Sanden’s review emphasises the formal openness and the fragmentary character of the narrative and visual construction through the interplay with the future fantasy (the optional flash-forwards in the internal story) and the pretend filmic reality (flashbacks: the story of Christine and Martin and the background story; the research of the three men for the perfect post-war film). This experimental form not only represents the dominant formal and narrative elements of the film, but also implicitly (humorously and ironically) reflects the ‘experimental and provisional condition’ of life among the ruins and rubble of National Socialism, in which former traditions and values did not count anymore. Yet as opposed to Sanden, this study argues that the ambiguous relationship between reality and fantasy is not only a primary indicator of surrealism, but also introduces the Romantic device of fragmentation as well as Romantic irony.23 As we will see later,

22 ‘Das experimentierende Gegeneinanderausspielen von Wirklichkeit und Phantasie ist z. B. eines der surrealistischen Grundelemente. Schon der titellose Titel entspricht der Neigung unserer Zeit, nichts als endgültig gelten zu lassen, alles im Unverbindlichen schwebend zu erhalten. Dahin gehört auch, daß man Schicksalsmöglichkeiten gleichsam zur Auswahl präsentiert und, natürlich, die alltäglichste, glimpflichste als echt erklärt.’ Sanden (1948). Cited from: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_-1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme3/film-ohnetitel/zeitgenoessische-kritik-3.html; (29 March 2008). 23 In his book on Romantic irony in the films of Alfred Hitchock, Richard Allen underscores the horizontal and vertical character of irony defined by Schlegel. Horizontal irony refers to the text and is manifest in the self-created interchanges of ‘opposite ideas’ to prompt contradictory meanings. The vertical impact refers to the irony of self-transcendence. According to Allen, the vertical aspect of Romantic irony is not situated between the narrator and the reader, but between the narrator and the narrative so that the ‘storyteller openly manipulates the elements of his story to reflect upon the nature of his tale and him as a writer.’ In Film Without a Name, the overall form is constructed by such patterns of a narrator-guided irony, which playfully and creatively confronts points of view, but which finally leads to a surprising outcome of celebrating the victory of life over fiction. The important aspect of Romantic irony is ‘the articulation of a double perspective’ that entails the insistent presence of ‘a self-conscious or commentative narrator.’ This narrator periodically manifests itself ‘in formal moments of self-reflexivity or metafiction’in order to evoke the relationship between the author, the reader, or the viewer. In rubble films the double perspective is not necessa-

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these frequent shifts from, or interplays of, the different story levels once more question the nature of cinema and life in the aftermath of National Socialism and the war. Therefore, these multiple narrative levels of flashbacks, background, and the optional story (flash-forwards) do not just provide cheerfully twisted comedy plot strands in order to entertain people in difficult times. In her book Entertaining the Third Reich: Illusions of Wholeness in Nazi Cinema, Schulte-Sasse shows how a perfect idealist filmic illusion in the classical film style became abused in order to transmit ideological issues. In Film Without a Name, narratives and visual style question the creation of a perfect film illusion through the interplay of the different story levels. First, the meta-discourse on the process of filmmaking itself (background story) reminds the audience that they are watching a film. Second, an interchange between identification and distinction evolves due to the ironic and critical view on the behaviour of the leading bourgeois class under the National Socialist rule. This effect is provoked and is foregrounded by exaggerated formal aspects such as camera work and optional episodes, introduced by the director and the actor (inserted through forward flashes). Third, the optional fragmentary flash-forward episodes (by the director and the actor) produce an ironic and critical view on cinematic conventions under National Socialism. The two flash-forwards, supposedly by the actor Fritsch, ironically represent exactly those kinds of cinema conventions that the director intended to avoid. In these two flashes Fritsch plays a stereotypical male ‘hero,’ typical for classical style, which surrounds conflicts that appear only to provide a certain entertaining suspense so that the audience stays interested until the glorious happy end. Yet this pattern also reveals ambiguity: in the first flash-forward, this conception is parodied because of the character of Christine, who asks too many ‘serious’ questions. Her questions reveal theses features and patterns of the classical style as ridiculous and lacking in reality, until Fritsch loses interest because of her objections and the flash-forward comes to an abrupt end. This unveiling of classical cinema patterns goes along with showing Fritsch as Martin’s double. In the film’s internal story, Martin appears as a weak male, unable to be a soldier; he is portrayed as an antihero, while the actor Fritsch plays the typical optimistic and successful National Socialist cinema hero in the

rily linked to a narrator figure. It appears more often in relation to the Romantic motif of the double. Here a double perspective allows for the illustration of two conflicting sides of a character, of which one side often evolves as a result of the experiences under the National Socialist regime or in the War. Compare: Allen (2007), p. 6-9.


172 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM role of Martin. Christine also contradicts the female stereotypes established in cinema under National Socialism. She has her own ideas and does not let herself just fall into her lover’s arms happily. Thus, she does not stay within the limits of the stereotypical character construction of a young, innocent, and naive girl from the country (such as Kristina Söderbaum in The Golden City, 1942). In the second flash-forward, Fritsch (as Martin’s double) attempts to be the heroic countryman. He even wins Christine, but then the flash-forward abruptly finishes. This sudden end trivializes and unveils Fritsch’s role patterns of the heroic male. The director’s flash-forward, which follows directly immediately after, once more ironically parodies Fritsch’s earlier illusory role patterns (in the earlier flash-forward) by an extremely ‘exaggerated’ (particularly in terms of film techniques) rubble film style. Thus, these two flash-forwards ironise the illusionary and idealising pathos of male representation, which made National Socialist gender ideology pass through classical style in cinema. We may read this critical intervention on illusory wholeness in classical cinema as a possible anticipation of the later avant-garde movement of the 1960s (or the forerunner Herbert Vesely in the 1950s or the filmmakers of the Oberhausener Manifest). It fulfils a similar function, which is to question the idealising pathos in the classical film style under the National Socialist rule by attacking its cinematographic conventions and norms. Yet Film Without a Name criticises classical conventions in a light and cheerful way without the radical attitude of the late 1960s. As such, it is possible to ignore this impact and to watch this film as simple entertainment. Therefore, the film cannot be considered a radical revolutionary break, but rather a decent research for new and different cinematographic forms and narratives. Ruins randomly appear in Film Without a Name in three different forms of representation: first, as a decorative landscape element outside Martin’s window or terrace door in the backyard of his bourgeois home in Grunewald (Berlin). These ruins are not authentic ones, such as in most of Staudte’s film scenes; rather, they seem to be painted on pasteboard like the decor in Expressionist films. Yet they are so far away and not much shown by the camera movements and focus; this distance renders them insignificant or even unreal. The main characters do not seem to be detracted from them or the development of the film story. The contextual reality (thus the ruins) is to be more or less metaphorically locked out behind the windows of the cultivated home of the Delius (see figure 17). These ruins function to depict an imagery of decline and defeat that does not frighten or bother the main characters. This is particular evident at the beginning in Martin’s bourgeois home, where the actor’s psychological condition remains untouched by the breakdown and irony that appears to be the answer to the last

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days of the old regime. One may argue that for them, the regime has already come to an end. Their talk during dinner corresponds to an attitude was called the ‘inner emigration’24 during Nazism. Yet this attitude is very much marked by irony: on screen, they seem to exist in a cocoon of cultivated manners and habits that save them from getting in touch with the real conditions outside.

Figure 17: Irene von Meyendorff, Hans Söhnker, Annemarie Holtz.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

The film fails to confront the real (psychological) conditions of decline and defeat because of this irony. The reason for avoiding representing a more authentic image of outer reality may be that this filmic view is guided more by questions of how to go on in the future than by looking back at the past. Thus the ‘pain of yesterday’ cannot be the main subject, since it would block the view of tomorrow. As already discussed, this focus on reconstruction also went along with the wishes of the German cinema audience The public did not wish to be reminded of the decline of national identity; it wished instead to reestablish it. The second sort of ruins represented in Film Without a Name also supports this thesis. Although the main male character Martin appears as an art-loving aesthete, alienated from real life, the destruction of his bourgeois home due to an air raid does not come as a disaster for him. When Martin returns from the air raid shelter with Christine, where they had spoken about her former life close to nature on her parent’s farm, she appears to be more in shock about the ruined

24 See the definition of ‘inner emigration’ in Schnell (2004), p. 38-41.


174 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM home than he is. Martin, along with his neighbour Klaus, seems to embrace the decline as a new beginning—something they have longed for.25 The decline of the Third Reich (only implicitly referred to in this film) and of its societal order (explicitly referred to by the love story of Martin and Christine) appears as a coup of liberation. Decline, breakdown, and loss represent the necessary and longed-for condition upon which something new can be built. Indeed, this use of mythical patterns reduces the gravity of the end of the war and Nazism. They correspond to patterns that were employed in the fine arts and in rubble literature in order to represent the breakdown of National Socialism as a kind of natural development, apparently out of human control. Yet since Film Without a Name uses these elements with a parodying subtone, even the attempt to elevate these events into a higher sphere is rendered into self-reflexive irony. The third mode of representation of ruins appears in an optional film vision (flash-forward) proposed by the director character. This flash-forward parodies film properties that were typical for rubble films of this period. In three short episodes, the optional flash-forward imagines what might happen if Martin joins Angelika, his girlfriend prior to Christine. A reunification with Angelika has a negative connotation. It is a metaphor for ‘going on with the old lifestyle’ and consequently represents a missed chance. The episode begins and ends with a series of over-exaggerated canted low-key shots of ruins and rubble, supported by soft dramatic non-diegetic music. After a short interruption by the background story, it changes into nightclub scene. Angelika and Martin (played by Fritsch with glasses) sit together at a bar table, and the whole environment is edited in a complex manner and shows distorting effects: the shot consists of extreme low angles and canted perspectives, frequent close ups on faces, or other details. All of these shots change rapidly, and the camera itself moves quickly. The director of the background story appears as a voice-over narrator and comments on the flash-forward. These visual devices clearly function to ironically parody the earlier style of rubble films such as The Murderers Are Among Us. Furthermore, the scene also parodies a general tendency in the post-war population to escape reality through amusement: two heavily drunken women kiss each other, young people witness

25 Klaus jokingly observes the destruction with ironic comments. Then he ironically advises them to enjoy war because peace will be terrible. None of them show any pathos of loss at all. Such as in the earlier sequence, in which Angelika returns from her bombed apartment: although weak, she instantaneously draws a connection between losing her apartment (and all her beautiful nightclothes) and mythic figure of Eneas who founded the city of Rome upon his own losses.

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the mad scene, which is explicitly linked to prostitution, alcoholism, forbidden jazz music, black market activities, and symbolises an escape into demimonde. The modus of representation results from such an exaggeration so that the whole scene is ironic rather than shocking. While people get drunk in order to lose control, only Angelika remains in control. According to the voice-over and the film shots, she undertakes a flourishing black market business while dressed in a sexy black evening dress. As earlier in the film, we observe Angelika as a strong and independent woman, while Martin appears dreamy and passive: he is drunk and stares blankly ahead while getting more and more drunk. All these aspects indicate the same message: Martin is not in control of the situation. He totally depends on Angelika financially and, which is possibly worse, emotionally. Then the voice-over narrator announces that sometimes during these crazy nights, Angelika gets up in order to sing a song. The following singing sequence renders her a real threat for the weak and identity-troubled male of the post-war years (as represented by Martin). She rules her life majestically, earns more money than needed, and determines her relationships, as evidenced by her song: Angelika sings of true love and the corrupt mentality in the post-war period. The song refrain goes: ‘On the black market you compensate everything except fidelity.’26 Thus, the dominant feminism in these sequences unfortunately does not have a positive connotation. It symbolises a loss of true love’s loyalty. The lack of loyalty towards the male partner results from the fact that active women do not hide their strong and practical sense of reality (such as Angelika and Martin’s sister Viktoria Luise), but openly govern the lives of these weak men in such a way that the men lose their self-respect. This independent female attitude seems to strengthen Martin’s weakness. Unfortunately, this image of an emancipated woman makes Angelika into a symbol of greediness, amusement, and materialism in the post-war period. However, all female or male stereotypes in Jugert’s film are coloured by ironic exaggeration. Nevertheless, Angelika and Viktoria Luise function in opposition to Christine to depict a vanishing worldview. Viktoria Luise represents the bourgeois lifestyle of the empire, while Angelika is the emancipated city woman of the Weimar Republic and a rubble woman. 27 In comparison with these two female characters, Christine is clearly being promoted in this film. She stands partly for a naive, sensitive, and inexperienced female stereotype, a role that un-

26 ‘Auf dem Schwarzmarkt kann man alles kaufen außer Treue.’ 27 This term refers to women who worked to rebuild Berlin (aged between 15 and 65). They were conscripted as rubble women (Trümmerfrauen).


176 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM fortunately recalls in some ways the attributes of women who were supposed to adhere to National Socialism. However, a proclaimed return to nature, modesty, and a simple life are central aspects of the film’s educational development. In a later flashback, when Martin has returned to Angelika and witnesses her black market activities in her office, these ideas cross Martin’s mind because of an old couple’s need for simple and functional furniture. This experience once again stresses Angelika’s materialism and her cynicism in the post-war period. Angelika only wants to survive in the most comfortable way. Marked by a fatalistic worldview, she has no intention to make the world a better place. This recognition makes Martin ready for a change. He returns to a concept of his youth, when he, possibly influenced by the new ideas of Bauhaus architecture and furniture of Weimar Republic, decides to produce practical modern furniture. The audience already knows this information from an early episode of the background story, in which the scriptwriter tells that Martin was trained as furniture maker. The fact that the landscape of ruins begins to vanish indicates a change in the paradigm that opposes a melancholic reflection about the lost past and demands a practical perspective towards the future. Ruins only appear as an allegorical background, signifying a stage of transition, a passage to something new. Martin’s bourgeois home becomes a ruin. Defeat of Nazism renders Martin, such as Mertens in Staudte’s film, into a Romantic wanderer within the rubble and ruins of post-war destruction, embarking on an odyssey on his way to Christine’s home. Martin is forced to undergo a transformation of identity. He must leave behind his beloved ‘classical antiquities,’ thus the old worldview (such as the director explains in the rubble film parody flash-forward) for which the décor of his home stands, and return to the ideas of modernism that were present before the National Socialist rule—thus modern furniture. This represents a return to the ‘democratic spirit’ of the Weimar Republic and a withdrawal from the ‘aristocrat dreams’ of the empire. Yet before proposing this return or revival of earlier ideas as the new orientation for the German male, one optional episode (flash-forward) reveals that the audience should not read this solution as a romanticised illusory escape. This episode, proposed by the actor Fritsch, shows in an exaggerated and ironic manner a hero without critical reflection towards himself—a concept that according to the film’s story must be denied. As previously mentioned, Fritsch’s flashforward does not work in the end because it consists of too much ‘kitsch and no substance’ of real life (such as revealed by Christine’s critical questions). The vanishing of ruins gives birth to Martin’s new male identity, which takes into account the need to build a better future as the answer to the past. In this respect,

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the film proposes the fall of the Third Reich as a ‘happy end’ for the German nation and as a chance to reconstruct the country under better conditions. More importantly, this version of the past, present, and future was acceptable for the German audience particularly because the discourse of guilt, entanglement, atrocities, etc. did not overshadow the questions about the future or even exclude a better future at all, as did Rossellini’s fatalistic rubble film Germany Year Zero (1947). Irony—The Only Way Out? Rubble filmmakers quickly found themselves in a dilemma in the post-war period; although they felt the need to seriously discuss the past and present events, such a discussion only reached a small part of the public during a short period of openness in the aftermath of the war. The German population quickly lost interest in being confronted too directly with difficult aspects of the recent past and therefore longed for cheerful entertainment.28 The film censorship by the occupation forces—after a short period of direct confrontations—favoured a kind of debate, which did not disturb the new allies, thus the German population.29 A peaceful reconstruction process was preferred to conflicting discussions in society and cinema on the National Socialist past. As previously discussed, Käutner’s film In Those Days efficiently bypassed problematic confrontation by creating narratives of positive patterns of identification, reminding acts of solidarity and private resistance. Thank to this strategy, Käutner was able at least to pique interest in and to gain approval for discussing the recent past through cinema. As a consequence, In Those Days, like most rubble films, has often been judged as reaffirming of the public’s role during the National Socialist regime as innocent bystanders of a national catastrophe (or as Shandley puts it: private innocence and public guilt).30 In Film Without a Name, Käutner and Jugert attempt to escape this dilemma through a rhetorical irony that mirrors the past events through a ‘parodist’ double view. To escape encounters of the desperate, or even the hopeless with irony is yet again a typical ‘Käutner’ device.31 Irony not only works in this film as a primarily narrative aspect, but also on the level of visual style as a formal one that

28 Pleyer (1965), p. 156. 29 Compare: Brandlmeier in Hoffmann (1989), p. 43-44. 30 Shandely (2001), p. 47-64. 31 Compare: Witte on Käutner in Jacobson / Prinzler (1992), p. 63.


178 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM establishes an ambiguous double, thus Romantic perspective on the film story.32 We have already seen that the use of the exaggerated film techniques is a principal formal, visual device that functions beyond the narrative ironic implications to critically parody the genre conventions of earlier rubble films as well as visual patterns, which were employed in the classical cinema style of films produced during Nazism. In this respect, it can be argued that irony is the most characteristic visual and narrative device in Film Without a Name. Film techniques and narrative devices work together in this film in order to mirror how the past was, the present is, and the future might be from an ambiguous, ironic point of view. As it has been discussed earlier, the first opening sequences introduce the audience to the film’s overall structure, which is the double perspective of irony: the complex overall narrative structure of a framing background story, which interweaves through ironic (partly voice-over) comments and exaggerated technical devices, frames the different episodes of the internal story. In addition, the film’s beginning insinuates that the audience itself is the real subject matter of the film and the object of the film’s ironic subtone. The fact that the camera turns towards the public indicates the audience as the target. The film’s plot also develops into a story that takes place in the contemporary time period; it very much resembles the daily lives of the spectators instead of a dream-like cinema story (such as cinema under National Socialism). In line with this resemblance, the lack of a title insinuates that the film shows a sequence of normal life, too ordinary to be labelled by a film title. Yet the ironic attitude of Käutner’s voiceover comments, in combination with the image of the camera, serve to keep a balance that maintains distance from this ordinary story so that it won’t intrude on the spectator’s personal painful memories of the past. Beyond the ironic narrator comments, the exaggerated use of film techniques and the complex story construction of a background story, an internal story, flashbacks, flash-forwards, and optional flashes are all important devices for producing irony because they create a meta-discourse between the narrator and his text. These foregrounded narrative and visual procedures might have partly defamiliarised the audience’s expectation of a classical film story, since they fragmentise the development of the story and sometimes even confuse the audience’s ability to make sense of the story. According to Sanden, to fragmentise the narrative structure in such a way means to mirror the real condition of troubled lives and identities, which were marked with a high degree of uncertainty. How better to treat such an explosive and difficult combination of unstable and ambiguous everyday life conditions than by making heavy use of irony? The

32 Compare: Allen (2007), p. 164-178.

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subject of the film team’s discussion is: how to treat the serious topic of the immediate present in such a way that people do not leave the cinema depressed or avoid watching the film altogether—and irony seems to be their answer. The main purpose of irony in Film Without a Name is to reflect critically on the behaviour of the German population in the post-war period and earlier. Just as Romantic irony, irony in this film is situated between a narrator and a text.33 As evinced by the episodes of background story and internal plots in Film Without a Name, irony emanates from the conflicting relation between the idea and discussion of the ‘ideal’ film story (demanded by the film team and investigated through the optional episodes) and the possibilities of a ‘real’ one (represented by the internal story episodes). Otherwise we may speak of ‘appearance’ and ‘existence,’ which gives the ironic discourse an ontological philosophical turn. Appearance and existence are the two viewpoints that interweave the different stories levels in order to create ambiguity, since these two terms always insinuate the possibility of illusion, idealisation, or of being dazzled. These two aspects are inherent to film and cinematographic narration, and as the propagandist cinema under National Socialism proved, they can easily be abused for ideological purposes. Cinema produces illusion and an imaginary appearance instead of a real existence. Yet this tendency towards illusion affects not only the film medium. In Film Without a Name, the representation of cinematographic illusion in terms of narration and style also aims at critically reflecting human nature and its tendency to be dazzled by illusion. The analysis of the philosophical rubble film essay The Last Illusion will show that illusion, dazzlement, and mistaken perception represent central aspects of a Romantic discourse, attempting to understand and explain the past and present events in the post-war period. The conflicting relationship between the real and ideal refers to another aspect of everyday life in the aftermath of war, which we might read as an unconscious strategy of avoiding the true challenges of the post-war period. As previously mentioned, many people experienced the post-war living conditions of

33 In his book on Romantic irony in the films of Alfred Hitchock, Richard Allen underscores the horizontal and vertical character of irony defined by Schlegel. Horizontal irony refers to the text and is manifest in the self-created interchanges of ‘opposite ideas’ to prompt contradictory meanings. The vertical impact refers to the irony of self-transcendence. According to Allen, the vertical aspect of Romantic irony is not situated between the narrator and the reader, but between the narrator and the narrative so that the ‘storyteller openly manipulates the elements of his story to reflect upon the nature of his tale and him as a writer.’ Allen (2007), p. 6.


180 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM hunger, renunciation, and despair as a great humiliation.34 They longed for transcendental moments of high, pure classical culture and of religious salvation, which provided a short escape from depressing everyday life. The critical representation of socio-political actuality did not correspond with the average spectator’s desire for cheerful and entertaining distraction.35 Therefore, we may argue that the discrepancy between the ‘real and ideal’ in Film Without a Name—as produced by the film’s overall structure—functions to ironically mirror the gap between the actual conditions in post-war society and the overwhelming desire of most people to escape this reality. The possible lack of acceptance of the present conditions might have produced an escape into idealising the prior times. In his film In Those Days, Käutner approaches this topic through the example of the two young and discouraged men in the background story. One could argue that a majority of German people wished to transcend the real and to intensely focus on the (possible lost) ‘ideal’ so that this overshadowed their creative chances within the post-war crisis for a critical introspection and a new beginning. The real problem is that a majority of German people understand themselves as innocent victims and bystanders of the past and present disasters. This attitude includes the idealisation of the past in order to escape the present period. This problem is demonstrated in an even more ironic and surrealistic way in Käutner’s next rubble film, The Apple Fell (1948). In this film the main character is incapable of deciding between two women. Ironically, his psychoanalyst labels him and his condition as ‘OdZ’—a ‘victim of the time period’ (Opfer der Zeit)—which this study reads as another representation of the general mawkishness towards the post-war challenges.36 Therefore, the Romantic device of irony in Film Without a Name highlights a central problem of the attitude in the German population during the post-war period. Based upon the conflicting relationship between the real and ideal, the film’s overall structure creates an ellipsis that links the opening sequence and the last sequence. Just as in the opening background story scene (the film team, Martin and Christine), the most important characters of the background story and the

34 ‘Viele Menschen lebten in der Trümmerzeit unter Bedingungen, die sie als erniedrigend empfanden. Dabei ging es nicht nur um die sozusagen meßbaren, die konkret benennbaren Nöte wie mangelnden Wohnraum oder Hunger, sondern um die Lebensumstände insgesamt. Davon waren insbesonders Menschen aus bürgerlichen Schichten und Intellektuelle betroffen. Sie waren erniedrigende Umstände und Zwangssituationen nicht gewohnt.’ Damus (1995), p. 71. 35 Ibid., p. 67. 36 Compare: Witte in Jacobson / Prinzler (1992), p. 92-93.

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internal (and optional) story once again come together in the last scene, at the marriage of Christine’s brother Jochen and the refugee girl Inge. The film team learns then how the ‘real story’ came to its happy end. While the couples are happily reunited, the film team is nevertheless quite disappointed. Life seems to triumph over art, illusion, and idealisation, and insists on writing its own script. In this way, the happy ending also functions as a criticism of classical film illusion, since life is chosen over idealisation, and might therefore, as Witte argues in respect to other post-war rubble films by Käutner, represent a tendency towards neorealism in terms of revealing reality and not producing illusion. Witte writes that Käutner formulated a ‘neorealist programme’ that demanded the ‘dismantling of the dream factory.’37 Interestingly, Witte reads Käutner’s The Apple Fell as a ‘revocation’ of this programme.38 Apparently, Witte missed the ironic discourse of the interplay of the real and ideal in this film. In Film Without a Name, the gap between the real and ideal also indicates the disturbed relation to, or perception of reality. As a reaction to the actual historical circumstances, this produced the identity troubles of the principal male character Martin. His story represents a sample of a post-war (male) identity crisis (such as the protagonist in The Apple Fell by Käutner). Incapable of bringing together the ‘real conditions’ and the ‘ideal imaginary,’ Martin escapes the demands of life by sinking into the aestheticised but lifeless existence of an art collector and specialist of antiquities during and after National Socialism. Yet the circumstances in the post-war period force him to undergo a decisive change. This change is nothing other than a process of approximation, in which the real and ideal are more or less to be reconciled. Interestingly, in Käutner’s film The Apple Fell all problems are finally resolved when the protagonist, who has just undergone failed psychotherapy, ironically meets a woman who is a combination of the two women that he could not choose between. Thus, he finally succeeds in coming to terms with the real. In a similar vein, this study argues that the narrative construction of the metadiscourse implements irony as a kind of philosophical-existential fundamental figure in Film Without a Name. This kind of irony only works because it depends on the double perspective of the background story told by the film team and the internal story characters. Irony functions as an intertextual go-between, interweaving the different narrative levels in order to produce a metadiscourse upon the film characters and their attitudes towards the National Socialists, the war, and its aftermath. This double perspective avoids any moral judgment about

37 ‘neo-realistische Programm’; ‘Demontage der Traumfabrik.’ Ibid., p. 88. 38 ‘Widerruf.’ Ibid.


182 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM the behaviour of the main character although it is evident that they did not represent the ‘desirable model’ of how one should have acted under National Socialism. Therefore, the double perspective lacks a fixed moral position. This lack permits the audience to adjudicate upon the film characters without feeling attacked for their own, possibly ambiguous pasts. However, irony is not the only device that aims to effect a critical selfreflection in the audience. The first flashback to the last days under the National Socialist rule in Martin’s bourgeois home introduces the primarily visual and narrative devices that create the ironic metadiscourse on the main film characters and the historical background. Before introducing the inhabitants, a long travelling camera, accompanied by ironic voice-over off-screen comments by the scriptwriter shows the exquisite interior of Martin’s study. Among the valuable objects in Martin’s study, a wooden statue of Saint Martin is accentuated by the narrator and the camera. This religious figure functions as a visual and personified allegory of charity and represents the underlying parable of the film. The legend describes Saint Martin as an example of modesty, charity, and patience who helped the poor and shared his only cape with a destitute beggar. 39 In a double and alter ego configuration, which is related to the film character Martin, the statue of Saint Martin represents the model of a ‘good’ post-war German; just as the kind of post-war identity Martin will adapt to after a series of changes at the end of the film. The statue represents traditional values left untouched by the past period, which therefore serve as a point of orientation. Yet, this allegory seems to suggest rather naively that past errors can be wiped clean. The statue also introduces aspects of a surrealist meta-reflection on the film story. Indeed, the wooden statue even begins to speak and convinces Christine in a surrealistic dream sequence that she should join Martin in Hannover. In this respect, Saint Martin not only allegorically represents the ‘good,’ but also does ‘something good,’ which is to reconcile the couple. On the whole, the parable of Saint Martin is not very convincingly introduced into the story construction, and it mainly works as a reference to Martin’s change in identity from an aesthete, detached from the real world, to an active person, wanting to support the reconstruction of a better Germany. At the beginning of the film, after having passed through Martin’s study and by the statue of Saint Martin, the camera travels into the dining room, where it introduces the audience to the main characters: Martin Delius, his older sister Viktoria Luise, and his ex-girlfriend and efficient business partner Angelika

39 Compare: www.heiligenlexikon.de/BiographienM/Martin_von_Tours.htm; (2 March 2007).

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Rösch, as well as their permanent refugee house guests, Mrs. Major Brandt and her daughter. At a baronial dinner table, the inhabitants of this museum-like finde-siècle home carry on their high bourgeois lifestyle, though the real conditions of the home front permit them to enjoy only a very limited meal. While the camera pans around the table from character to character, the voice of the narrator introduces them with ironic commentary, partly interrupted by a discussion about the conditions of the German people and the state that is very much detached from the actual circumstances. The aristocratic style of both Viktoria Luise40 and Martin’s speech about the interplay of ‘form and content’ ironises the ‘weak’ German bourgeoisie, which avoids outer realities by escaping into attitudes of nobility. In particular, the comments by Viktoria Luise and Martin demonstrate their disapproval of the National Socialist regime as a kind of barbarism, destroying the values and achievements of modern civilisations. Viktoria Luise even refers implicitly to the Holocaust and National Socialist terror when she complains about ‘the conditions of humanity under the National Socialist regime,’ which ‘kicks the creatures of God.’ These well-expressed statements represent nothing more than a complaining attitude of ‘inner emigration’ and do not consist of any intention to undertake ‘real’ acts of resistance. They underscore the ironic regard of the metadiscourse (the film team) on the German bourgeoisie during the National Socialist period. This exposition presents several character models, of whom most belong to the German upper class, of typical reactions to National Socialist rule, which are then ironically dismantled by the scriptwriter narrator: first, the bourgeois and minimally handicapped Martin41 and his ‘aristocratic’ sister Viktoria Luise who live in an aesthetised enclave, detached from the social-political reality of declining National Socialism and the war. These characters serve as a critical representation of parts of the German bourgeoisie, which chose to retire from reality although they disliked the National Socialist rule. In opposition to such escapism, Angelika represents a practical, modern, and educated woman without any political interest. She explains that she has decided to survive the war and to handle the future breakdown with her own interests in mind. The next character represents a common kind of opportunism, as exhibited by Mrs. Major Brandt, a bomb refugee who lives in the Delius’ home with her

40 The name of Martin’s sister could be an ironic reference to the German princess Victoria Luise of Prussia, Duchess of Brunswick (German: Viktoria Luise Adelheid Mathilde Charlotte, 1892 –1980) who was the only daughter and the seventh child of William II, German Emperor and Empress Augusta Victoria. 41 Martin’s right arm is slightly disabled due to an accident in his youth.


184 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM adolescent daughter. With irony, the narrator informs the viewer that after 1933, Mrs. Brandt always agreed because it suited her best. Only Emma, the lower middle-class servant, seems truly scared and emotionally unsettled by the outer reality of war and air raid announcements. This sequence seems to suggest that social class and the ability or inability to correctly perceive reality are connected to the common assumption that the working class did not support Hitler’s regime and its rise to power.42 Another example of ironic critical regard towards members of the upper class in Film Without a Name is the mocking representation of the bourgeois refugee couple that lives on the Fleming’s farm (see figure 18). They still openly agree with the National Socialist doctrine and are not ashamed about it. Only the refugees daughter Inge is able to overcome this negative identification due to her love of Christine’s brother Jochen. Yet as in Martin’s case, she too must undergo decisive changes before they finally can marry at the film’s end.

Figure 18: The refugee couple (Carsta Löck and Erich Ponto).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

The visual style of this scene indicates many ironic and critical references to the conventions of film production during the National Socialist period. Furthermore, the aim of this visual style is to differ from classical conventions, just as employed in cinema during Nazism: the frequent medium close-ups and the fluent camera travellings from one person to another, in combination with the

42 Tim Mason argued that the German working class remained largely resistant to the National Socialist regime and its ideology. Compare: Caplan (1995), p. 1-30.

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non-diegetic music and the ironic voice-over comments, cast an ambiguous and contradictory light on the whole scene. The intense use of exaggerated film techniques and narrative irony creates critical distance. This reminds the spectator that he is watching a film and reduces emotional identification in favour of critical observation. Thus, these various narrative and visual devices underscore the ironic and parodist self-referential subtone that is ridiculing the German upper class under the National Socialist regime. Besides the exaggerated use of travellings and typical properties in rubble films, another dominant technical device in Film Without a Name is frequent fadings that often introduce transitions between different story levels (background, internal, and optional episodes). The film technique of fading is typical for the classical film style and was frequently employed in cinema under National Socialism, such as in the propaganda film Jew Süss by Veith Harlan in 1940.43 According to Hans Wulff,44 the frequent use of the technique of fading can be uniquely assigned to the cinema of the 1930s and 1940s. Such as in Film Without a Name, they primarily functioned to create a transition between different time levels45 and to prepare the viewer for subjective images such as flashbacks, dream sequences, or flash-forwards. Fadings into subjective images often follow medium close-ups or a close-up on an actor’s face. Together with other techniques such as camera travellings and sequence shots, fadings are excessively employed so that the artistic possibilities of film technique are placed before the narrative continuity. As a result, fadings work as a transition connecting the meta-level (background story) to the internal story and to the fantasies of the meta-level (optional episodes); they create a reflective distance towards the film action within the different story levels.46 The excessive use of irony as a critical reference in Film Without a Name distinguishes the film from visual and narrative conventions in comedies pro-

43 Here fadings introduce cross-cuttings, which connect different side stories, such as in Film Without a Name. 44 Wulff in Koebner (2002), p. 635. 45 Flashback and flash-forwards. 46 In some sequences, the fading itself functions as an ironic joke distinguishing the past and present. In the first flashback, the sound of an air raid alarm comes from a radio in Martin’s living room. The camera travels into a close-up of the radio and then fades into a close-up of the mouth of a cow, making a similar sound as the alarm. By linking these two sounds within an ambiguous contradiction—the prior dangers of war and the present return to ‘good’ nature (reminiscent of the French Enlightenment philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau)—this transition creates an ironic distance to both.


186 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM duced during National Socialism. Comedies and cheerful musicals represented the biggest part of film production in this period.47 Witte (1995) argues that comedies such as Fire Tongue Bowl (Die Feuerzangenbowle, 1944) by Helmut Weiss functioned to distract people from the everyday reality on the home and war front. Although self-referential criticism48 usually represents a central aspect of the genre of comedy, these films avoid such critical intentions and importantly contributed to the pathos of holding out (Durchhalte-Pathos) during the last years of war by providing cheerful escapism (for example, into earlier time periods). Yet where cinema under National Socialism sought to emotionally absorb the audience in order to make them accept an ideologically correct fantasy, the particular visual and narrative forms in Film Without a Name create a selfreferential ironic discourse on the research for new patterns of identity, social values, and cinema. In particular, the background story with the film team suggests ‘authenticity’ instead of the old patterns of ‘illusory’ cinema. In the discussion of the film team, the three men emphasise several times the importance that this story should be a ‘contemporary comedy, close to reality, that stands against the sinister background of the age.’49 From Irony to Existentialist Identity We may assume that the ironic discourse is mainly aimed at critically portraying the middle-aged, bourgeois German male in the form of Martin. As a masculine film character, Martin contradicts all patterns of male identity belonging to the prior National Socialist ideology. More or less ruled by his sister and his former girlfriend and business partner, the dreamy aesthete Martin is incapable of being a soldier, as indicated by his handicapped arm and his unsuccessful experience in the citizen army (Volkssturm), and incapable of fulfilling his role as a ‘leading, fighting, and protecting’ male. In contrast, Viktoria Luise and Angelika are much more marked by male characteristics than Martin.50 Compared to these two strong women, Martin appears like a boy playing in a wonderland of beautiful antiquities, completely out of time and space.

47 Albrecht (1969), p. 97-123. 48 Marschall in Koebner (2002), p. 309. 49 ‘zeitnahe Komödie, die mit beiden Beinen auf der Erde steht, vor dem düsteren Hintergrund der Zeit.’ 50 They act instantly without hesitation (unlike Martin) and always seem to know what they want to achieve and how to get it.

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In a way, these attributes can also be seen in the character of Christine. As a somewhat naïve and ‘innocent’ young woman from a rural background, she works first as a housemaid for Angelika and then also for Martin and his sister Viktoria Luise. Having no idea of the world of antiquities, she destroys the valuable patina that protects the statue of Saint Martin. This act symbolises that she has freed Martin from his hermit retirement (well-cultivated by Viktoria Luise and Angelika), which may also be interpreted as a kind of protecting patina. Christine destroys the patina and Martin falls in love with her. Their love story and the resulting social implications foreground the problems inherent in the traditional class system in Germany. After their first night in the living room and before the end of the war, Viktoria Luise, the rescuer of etiquette, reminds Martin and Christine of the impossibility of their marrying each other because of their different social backgrounds. In the aftermath of the war, when Martin has lost everything and works as a peasant at Christine’s family’s farm, her father, a traditional farmer overtakes the role of Viktoria Luise (as the rescuer of etiquette). In a very ironic, surrealistic, and fragmented sequence, Martin asks Christine’s parents for permission to marry their daughter. While the mother seems pleased (she knows her daughter’s feelings), her father refuses because Martin is not a farmer. Interestingly, this sequence is fragmented by a kind of surreal irony. Among other aspects, the most important is that when Martin has finished his proposal, the father keeps silent a moment. His face reveals that he doesn’t agree, but each time he or Martin tries to say something, they are hindered by a selection of clocks in the room, which one after another begin to ring in different sounds and always unexpectedly. The discussion is finished after this moment of interruption, which is shot in a quick series of close-ups and medium close–ups, in combination with high and low angles. This scene makes us recognise that war completely changed the prior order and values of society. Visually, this change is indicated by Martin’s position in a comparatively low armchair, so that the parents appear on a higher level. A high angle camera perspective on Martin and low angle ones on the father and the mother underscore this effect. On the whole, the message is evident: the rural class has gained a new social acceptance because they have natural resources, while the bourgeoisie has (partly) lost its power and wealth. Thus, this ironic or surrealistic mise en scene indicates the intention to reflect class issues. The director in the background story picks up this subject before giving his optional version of Martin’s future in a flash-forward. He points out that the planned film should be named ‘Antiquities,’ which simultaneously refers to the antiquities in Martin’s and Angelika’s shop and to the ‘antiquated’ attitude in the German population during the decline of National Socialist rule and later. Al-


188 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM though presented moderately, the director’s remark implicitly defines the aftermath of the war and of National Socialism as a ‘unique chance’ and ‘pestering necessity’ to restructure German society in a better way; however, the population must undergo decisive changes (such as Martin). However, Film Without a Name is to a great extent a cheerful comedy, which might be one reason why other more painful and problematic aspects of post-war society are left out. The film’s focuses on discussing new patterns of national identity, from which a base for a different future might emerge, but avoids problematic topics such as the National Socialist atrocities, the Holocaust, war crimes, etc. Yet the model characters that the film presents, Martin and Christine, are also considered through an ironic point of view. While Christine associates her lover with Saint Martin, Martin links her to a Madonna statue. This becomes particularly clear when the two are washing the dishes in Martin’s kitchen and he shows her pictures of the different Madonna figures she resembles. These references to the stereotypes of the ‘good person’ (Saint Martin) and the ‘innocent young woman’ (the Madonna-like Christine) are decoded by the love scene’s ironic subtone (supported by extremely romantic music from the radio) and by Christine’s deeper insight into the nature of Martin’s idealising Romantic nineteenth-century reverie. She instantly wipes off Martin’s daydream of her as Madonna-like and returns him to reality (which is to wash dishes). When Martin finds himself alone in his study, he wanders around nervously. Eventually he looks at his face in a mirror so as to reassure his own identity because be is embarking on a serious inner process of identity change.51 With the example of The Murderers Are Among Us, we have seen that the question of national identity appeared foremost as a male problem. Mertens’s female counterpart, the ex-concentration camp inmate Susanne, shows hardly any signs of inner problems due to her past. However, in later rubble films women sometimes also suffered (identity) problems.52 The nature of these troubles was closely linked to the prior conditions of life on the home front and only referred to mature women in their early thirties onward, such as Angelika in Film Without a Name. In films like Harbour Melody (1949) by Hans Müller,

51 This shot possibly functions as a visual intertextual reference to Lang’s famous ‘M’ (a reference that appears in other rubble films such as The Lost and The Last Illusion). In M, Lorre, the murderer, observes his face in a mirror, which symbolises his deep inner conflicts of identity. Yet, in Film Without a Name, Martin is not a mentally deranged serial killer. 52 See also Sieglohr (2000).

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Street Acquaintance (1948) by Peter Pewas, The Bridge53 (1949) by Arthur Pohl, and The Lost, the mature and emancipated type of woman learns how to handle loneliness and develops strategies of survival on the home front, but bears a loss in exchange for the independent life they gain. In Harbour Melody and The Bridge, both female characters lose their younger lover to naïve, innocent, younger women, leaving the mature women with broken illusions or to die (such as in The Bridge). In Street Acquaintance, the woman is punished even more harshly. She contracts syphilis as a result of her activities in the demimonde of prostitution, the black market, and bars. In Film Without a Name, the character of Angelika corresponds to the mature woman and functions as an opposite to Christine’s character.54 The character of Angelika does not completely correspond to the abovedescribed pattern. When Angelika discusses with Viktoria Luise the fact that Martin and Christine are attracted to each other, the audience learns that the romantic relationship between Martin and Angelika ended long ago. Instead, their alliance resembles a close friendship, so that Angelika is neither shocked nor depressed by Martin’s new love. Throughout the whole film she appears as too active and too independent for the rather slow and comfortable Martin. Moreover, Christine does not always correspond to the image of a helpless innocent girl in need of a strong man. During their love sequence in Martin’s partly destroyed home during the bomb raid and in later scenes at her father’s country home, she is decisive in clearly announcing her wishes and is not afraid to ask serious questions about how their relationship will develop. She even decides to leave Martin after the bomb raid, when he avoids taking a firm stand against Viktoria Luise and Angelika regarding their engagement. On the whole, it can be presumed that these female figures do not suffer the same ‘identity problems’ as the post-war male, but their troubles are related to how their lives changed due to the war.

53 This is not Bernhard Wicki's film The Bridge (West-Germany, 1956), but a DEFA production. 54 Irene von Meyendorff, who also worked in cinema during the National Socialist rule, plays Angelika. She notably appeared in the Rite of Sacrifice (1943/44) under the direction of Veith Harlan and his Swedish actress wife Kristina Söderbaum. In this socalled ‘non-political entertainment film,’ which nevertheless transfers National Socialist ideology into the film, von Meyendorff embodies the incarnation of the loving and self-sacrificing ‘Germanic’ wife. Like many others actors in Film Without a Name (for example, the actor Hans Söhnker) von Meyendorff had had a rather dubious career under National Socialism. O’Brien (2006), p. 168-179.


190 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM According to the reflections in the earlier part of this chapter, the character of Martin serves as a ‘sample’ representative of male identity troubles in the postwar period. He undergoes changes in order to leave behind what the narrator calls an ‘antiquated attitude to life,’ which refers to Martin’s unworldly existence of an aesthete who ignores the reality outside. In his book Romanticism (2007), Safranski writes that this kind of retirement from the worldly affairs of politics was a long-standing characteristic of German intellectual life,55 often closely related to a Romantic attitude of mind, such as Thomas Mann’s Reflections of a Non-Political Man (Betrachtungen eines Unpolitischen, 1918). The final breakdown of National Socialist Germany forces Martin to leave his protective shell and catalyses his identity change. Thus, the historical context of decline and new beginnings raises existential questions about the past period and a possible future in the aftermath of a national catastrophe. The story of Martin serves as an example of how to reconstruct values and concepts of identity in German post-war society, which the scriptwriter Odemar critically comments from his ironic viewpoint. Following these reflections, we may argue that the question of what kinds of values are needed to recreate identity in the postwar period (in West Germany) constitutes the central ‘existential’ aspect of the film. The reflections of the French philosophers Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus (among others) served as a mirror of the existentialist problems the individual had to surmount in the post-war period. Existentialism became a kind of life56 style attitude and was closely linked to a certain style of clothing, which primarily involved the wearing of black polo-necked jumpers. The scriptwriter narrator of the background story wears just such a pullover. Even the director’s black glasses are reminiscent of Jean-Paul Sartre’s black glasses and provide a certain intellectual attitude that might be seen as a further reference to the Existentialist movement and its impact on male identity in post war West-Germany. The term ‘Existentialism’ refers to the philosophy of existence (Existenzphilosophie).57 Its origins can be traced back to the subjective and irrational phi-

55 Safranski (2007), p. 358. 56 In particular during the crisis of the capitalistic system (world economic crisis) in the 1930s and in the post-war period, Existentialism developed into a kind of fashionable worldview within the bourgeois and middle class of West European capitalist countries (mainly West Germany, France and Italy). 57 Otto Friedrich Bollnow coined the term ‘philosophy of existence’ in 1970. ‘Existentialism’ is used as a synonym of the term defined by Bollnow and usually refers to the

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losophy of Arthur Schopenhauer (1788/1860) and Sören Kierkegard (1813/55).58 In these early beginnings, one might read the philosophy of existence—just as in Romantic literature and art—as a reaction against the concept of rationalism59 manifested by the philosophical and literary representatives of the Enlightenment. As its primary aim, the philosophy of existence reflects the individual’s experiences of absurdity, anxiety, despair, emptiness, and loneliness, which explains the relevance of this philosophical branch in times of historical crisis.60 Therefore, the existentialist philosophy functioned as a last vanishing point in a world experiencing the senseless and absurd and served to fill the ideological deficit generated by the decline of the National Socialist period and war, which many Germans experienced as a total historical collapse of their previous ‘intellectual’ world. According to Heinz Ludwig Arnold,61 the Existentialism of Sartre and Camus mirrored what rubble writers such as Wolfgang Borchert or Heinrich Böll expressed in their short stories: the existential despair of an ‘impotent, beaten, lost generation’62 suffering the condition of being ‘thrown back’ on their ‘naked, suffering, accidental existence’63 in the aftermath of war and National Socialism. While Camus defined existence as a condition of the ‘absurd’ (see the essay The Myth of Sisyphus, published in 1942), Sartre’s concept of the littérature engagée

French branch of the philosophy of existence (thus Sartre, Camus and others). Compare: Bollnow (1984), p. 350. 58 Kierkegaard and Schopenhauer are usually seen as the forerunners of existentialist philosophy in the nineteenth century. Later, representatives of this philosophical branch are Friedrich Nietzsche and Martin Heidegger. While Nietzsche’s philosophical reflections became abused by the National Socialist regime, Heidegger welcomed the rise to power of this movement as a unique chance for the German nation. Compare: Beutin, Ehlert and Emmerich et al. (2001), p. 603. 59 The philosophical dictionary by Manfred Buhr defines existentialism as an ‘einflußreiche subjektividealistische und irrationalistische Strömung der gegenwärtigen bürgerlichen Philosophie.’ Buhr (1970), p. 350. 60 The world economic crisis in the 1930s and the two world wars. 61 Arnold is a profound connoisseur of West German post-war literature due to his activities as an editor. In 1963, he founded journal for literature Text+Kritik and of the Kritischen Lexikons zur deutschsprachigen Gegenwartsliteratur - KLG (appeared first in 1978). Moreover, from 1983 to 2008 he edited the Kritische Lexikon zur fremdsprachigen Gegenwartsliteratur - KLfG. 62 ‘ohnmächtigen, geschlagenen, verlorenen Generation.’ Arnold (1993), p. 28-29 63 ‘zurückgeworfen [...] nackte, leidende, zufällige Existenz.’ Ibid.


192 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM offered an inner and outer orientation for those suffering the inner blankness of the up and coming economic boom and successful reconstruction years. An important aspect of Sartre’s existentialist philosophy in the aftermath of National Socialism was that it provided patterns of identity construction that avoid social conformity; since the human existence appears as a ‘concept,’ each individual must define her- or himself. In this respect, the individual is in full charge of his life, actions, and behaviour. Sartre’s and Camus’s reflections on the individual’s charge to define a justifiable self concept64—thus identity—offered a philosophical code to address the responsibility of the prior generations in light of the catastrophe of the National Socialist regime. In this sense, Film Without a Name formulates an aesthetic and narrative resistance by demanding a personal and cinematographic development away from the old mentalities, structures, and convictions. Against the background of the conservative Christian politics by the first post-war political party and long-term Chancellor Adenauer (CDU, Christian Democratic Union), the existentialist impact in German society must have worked as a healing opposition to the general tendency to repress past events and responsibilities by oscillating between new materialist consumerism and oldfashioned codes of behaviour.65 Film Without a Name shows another variation of the Romantic discourse, based upon foregrounded patterns of irony, fragmentary visual forms, and identity, as well as references to legends and myths. In comparison to the first rubble film by Staudte, Jugert’s critical regard towards the German population is less expressive and accusatory. Although strongly informed by entertainment patterns of the comedy film genre, in Film Without a Name the Romantic discourse nevertheless provokes a serious discussion of German male identity and cinema in post-war (West) Germany, which follows patterns of opposition against the prior ideological impact in cinema under National Socialism. The following analysis of The Blum Affair by Erich Engel, a film made in the DEFA-studios, shows how the Romantic discourse appears by discussing Ger-

64 The existence is not only given to humanity but represents an opportunity to be realised or not. The individual creates, according to Sartre, its existence. The existence is the result of the individual’s ‘outline’ (Entwurf). 65 Adenauer’s party and the CDU employed the slogan ‘no experiments’ (Keine Experimente) for the election posters of the election in 1949. The rubble director Wolfgang Staudte shows one of these election posters in his film The Fair (Kirmes) of 1960, in order to reveal how much Adenauer’s reconciliatory politics towards the past helped former National Socialists to resettle into an average life. Compare also: Arnold (1993), p. 28-32.

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man national identity shortly before the rise of National Socialism in the late Weimar Republic. Like Staudte’s first rubble film, Engel’s adaption of an authentic story reverts, strongly to the narratives and style of Weimar cinema, film noir, and the Romantic aesthetic of decline. As a crime film, it much stronger than The Murderers Are Among Us because the film underscores the methods and ideology of Nazism as crime, and it employs the Romantic uncanny as a leading pattern in order to metaphorically warn of the dangers of National Socialism in German society.

The Blum Affair (1948): Engel’s Critical View on the Past

The East German rubble film director Kurt Maetzig wrote in an article (1950) on the UFA cinema that besides Wolfgang Staudte, other rubble directors such as Erich Engel and Slatan Dudow made a strong effort to surmount the stylistic and narrative traditions of former National Socialist cinema.1 With the example of Staudte’s first rubble film, we have already discussed how these efforts are related to a Romantic discourse that is generated by reverting to Weimar cinema as well as to literary and visual devices in Romantic literature and painting. As we will see in the following analysis of Erich Engel’s first rubble film, The Blum Affair (produced in the DEFA studios in 1948) also contains such visual and narrative references. Though differently combined and less extreme in terms of visual style than in Staudte’s film, they provoke a Romantic discourse whose function is to critically mirror a socio-political atmosphere in Germany that supported the rise of the National Socialist regime. Therefore we can define Engel’s film as standing in line with the visual and narrative rubble film tradition begun by Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us. Engel’s return to styles and traditions from before the period of National Socialist cinema is surely the result of his early theatre and cinema experiences during the mid 1920s. From 1926 to 1930, Engel was a successful theatre director. From 1925 onward he worked with Max Reinhardt, whose artistic lighting, mise-en-scene, and style of directing—according to Eisner2—had a dominant influence upon Weimar cinema.3 In theatre, his greatest success was the play The Three Penny Opera (Die Dreigroschenoper) by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weil, which Engel produced in August 1928 at the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm in Berlin. In cinema, he his first experiences are also closely linked to Brecht. Together with the well-known German comedians Karl Valentin, Blandine Ebinger,

1

Maetzig (1992). Cited from: http://www.filmportal.de/df/e6/Artikel,,,,,,,,ED1401853DAD4F3CE03053D50B374E B5,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (28 January in 2009).

2

Eisner (1973), p. 39-56.

3

During this time Engel produced plays by Shakespeare, Büchner, Wedekind, Shaw, and above all, Bertolt Brecht. Moreover, he worked with actors such as Fritz Kortner, the later émigré and rubble film director Eugen Klöpfer, and Gustaf Gründgens.


196 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM and Liesl Karlstadt they produced the short film Mysteries of a Hairdresser’s Salon (Mysterien eines Friseursalons, 1923/1924). This first joint film production of Engel and Brecht began a lifelong friendship and working relationship. After another film venture with the director and producer Georg Blum and the movie star Fern Andrea, Engel temporarily retired from the film business. Yet in 1930 he left the theatre and returned to directing films. Engel is well known for his entertaining comedies with thought-provoking satire and personal insinuations that critiqued the social and political climate during the rise of Nazism. Together with his favourite female star Jenny Jugo,4 he produced many ‘light’ comedies for the UFA with a deeper feeling for the problems of the time. Although Engel was forced to contribute to the National Socialist regime and its censorship in film and theatre productions,5 he nevertheless managed to produce popular entertainment films with critical insinuations about the actual socio-

4

The reputation of the UFA star Jenny Jugo is still discussed today in Germany with much controversy. Babette Kaiserkern writes about the recent exposition about Jugo that she not only protected opposers of the regime such as Erich Engel, but also benefited from her success as an UFA star during the Nazi period: ‘Interessanter ist wohl die Frage nach den Filmen, in denen die Jugo spielte. Aufschluss geben schon Titel, wie “Wer nimmt die Liebe ernst?” (1931), “Ich bleib bei dir” (1931), “Fräulein Frau” (1934), “Herz ist Trumpf” (1934), “Pechmarie” (1934), “Allotria” (1936), “Es leuchten die Sterne” (1938), “Unser Fräulein Doktor” (1940), “Viel Lärm um Nixi” (1940), “Die Gattin” (1940). Durchwegs Massenware, leichte Unterhaltungsfilme, die die Stimmung heben und ablenken sollen.’ [...] ‘Vielmehr setzt man auf oberflächliche, einseitige Darstellung und man bekommt den Eindruck einer nachträglichen Glorifizierung. Dabei gelangt eine Schauspielerin zu Ehren, die eine große Nutznießerin der Nazi-Diktatur gewesen ist und mit ihren Filmen wesentlich zur Verbreitung der Durchhalteparolen beigetragen hat. Die Geschichte der Jenny Jugo führt außerdem exemplarisch vor, wie sich ein Einzelner mit der Diktatur nicht nur arrangieren kann, sondern sogar noch von ihr persönlich profitiert. Materiell und als “erklärter Liebling Hitlers,” “als Gottbegnadete auf Goebbels Liste,” wie man in Ausstellung und Begleitheft lesen kann. Dort steht auch, dass Jugo das Haus des jüdischen Regisseurs Eric Charell “zu treuen Händen” übernahm, nachdem diesem 1933 von der Ufa gekündigt worden war.’ Kaiserkern (2007). Cited from: http://archiv.tagesspiegel.de/archiv/13.10.2007/3583003.pnn; (5 Mai 2009).

5

Following Hitler’s rise to power and the removal of the Jewish personnel from film production, Engel was forced to leave the UFA – mainly because of his ties to the communists. He continued his work in small production companies such as the Klagemann-Film GmbH (LTD.) and others.

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political conditions, such as for example in Hotel Sacher (Hotel Sacher, 1938/1939).6 Engel is often defined as one of the most productive and successful film directors of the National Socialist period. His film characters display many individualistic traits and demonstrate freedom of choice and independent decisionmaking at a time when such values were suppressed by the National Socialist system.7 In the aftermath of World War II, Engel was first employed as the artistic director of the Munich Kammerspiele and later returned to Berlin in order to work with Brecht at the German Theatre. In 1949, together with Brecht, Helene Weigel, Erwin Geschonneck, and Ernst Busch, he produced Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children (Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder), which was a great success. Yet after another production the cooperation ended and Engel left the team due to conflicts with Brecht related to a planned film version of Mother Courage (Mutter Courage). This brief overview on Engel’s life and work points out the important influences upon his work. He began his artistic career during the Weimar Republic and remained active as a filmmaker and theatre director throughout National Socialism. Then, as in the case of Staudte or Käutner, he resumed his work during the aftermath of the war in the Soviet occupied zone. Engel, who was himself of German-Jewish descent, was chosen by the DEFA to direct The Blum Affair. The film’s story is based on the real life case of the spectacular KöllingHaas robbery and murder trial in 1925/26. The whole project was generated because of R.A. Stemmle’s own interest in the proceedings of the Haas-Kölling trial. Stemmle wrote the script and proposed the film, then titled Murder Trial Haas (Mordprozeß Haas), to DEFA executives in 1947.8 The studio proved enthusiastic about the film, first and foremost because of its factual basis. Although the production was not without controversy because of political discussions,9 it became a great success.

6

Compare: www.filmportal.de/df/58/Credits,,,,,,,,B3373DA4CAC64E53B2BF8A8830D6F097cre dits,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (15 May 2007).

7

Compare: www.film-zeit.de/Person/11452/Erich-Engel/Biographie; (27 March 2009).

8

Shandley (2001), p. 105.

9

The script originally called for the depiction of an anti-Jewish pogrom following Dr Blum’s release, but the scene was cut. A wild discussion followed over the topic of an appropriate ending to the film, in which Major Simowski, the film censor for the Soviet Occupation Authority (SMAD), suggested that any depictions of Nazi riots should also depict their opponents, such as those in the Reichsbanner (a paramilitary


198 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Under the headline Justice in Magdeburg During the Weimar Republic (Magdeburger Justiz in der Weimarer Republik), the forum on the Judicial History of Magdeburg (Justizgeschichte of Magdeburg)10 website provides the following information about the real case events, upon which the script was based: ‘Accompanied by a heated public prejudgment produced by the right-wing conservative press, the examining magistrate, the Magdeburg court councillor Johannes Kölling, focused with fanatical eagerness on investigating the Jewish factory owner Rudolf Haas, who was closely associated with the social democratic movement. Kölling suppressed substantial proof of the guilt of the right-wing radical commerce student Richard Schröder, in whose home the weapon was found along with other material evidence of the crime. He refused to issue a warrant to search Schröder’s home. Even when the real murderer Schröder confessed to the crime and the dead body was found in his cellar, Kölling and the regional court director Richard Hoffmann (representative of the court president) insisted on Haas being the culprit in a public announcement. They refused all outside help for the chief inspection team working on the case and eagerly protested against the involvement of the particularly well qualified criminal commissary Otto Busdorf, who had been summoned from Berlin by the social democratic province president Otto Hörsing. Even when Schröder repeated his confession in detail, Kölling refused to dismiss the arrest warrant against Haas issued by the district attorney [regional court councillor]. In the meantime, the Magdeburg conflict had developed into a controversy in throughout the entire Reich, which made it the focus of a judicial debate in the Weimar republic. Under the motto “Crisis of trust in Justice System” the topic was debated for three days in the Prussian Parliament.’11

organization of social democrats). Major Simowksi revoked his suggestion following criticism from DEFA Studio director, Hans Klering, and the rubble film director Kurt Maetzig (Marriage in the Shadows, 1946 and Council of the Gods, 1950). The directing was permitted to begin under Simowski's suggestion that the filmmakers should ‘take care that Dr Blum is not overly depicted as an entrepreneur’ for it would ‘cloud his character as a soldier in the [socialist] class war.’ Ibid, p. 102. The filmmakers suggested inserting a line to make clear the opposing ‘political fronts’ of the time, into the scene in which the judges association gathers. Compare: Kannapin (1997), p. 101. 10 Compare: www.forumjustizgeschichte.de/Magdeburger-Jus.212.0.htm; (2 January 2007). 11 ‘Begleitet von einer von der rechtskonservativen Presse angeheizten öffentlichen Vorverurteilung, konzentrierte der Magdeburger country court councillor Johannes Kölling als Untersuchungsrichter die Ermittlungen mit fanatischem Eifer allein auf den jüdischen und der Sozialdemokratie nahestehenden Fabrikanten Rudolf Haas. Massive

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This short description of the actual case shows that the later film story changed very little and was adapted to the real events: Karl Heinz Gabler, a thief and black market profiteer, lures a man (W. Platzer) into his home and then kills him for money. When Gabler is arrested for passing the victim’s stolen checks, he invents a story. Gabler accuses Dr Jacob Blum, a wealthy Jewish company owner and the victim’s employer, of the murder. The criminal inspector and regional court councillor tend to believe Gabler’s story because it goes along with their nationalist agenda. Meanwhile, Blum sits in prison awaiting trial, having been denied bail, visitation rights, and access to his case file. His non-Jewish wife is shocked by the anti-Semitic attacks following her husband’s arrest, and she asks a friend in politics for help. This friend, the president of the region, demands that a special investigator be sent from Berlin. Inspector Bonte works independent of the official investigation and soon uncovers the victim’s body buried in Gabler’s cellar. As Gabler’s story unravels around him, Bonte surprises the judiciary with testimony from Gabler’s ex-fiancée who witnessed the murder. Blum is subsequently released from prison, and the embarrassed prosecutors are openly blamed for their erratic behaviour. In the end, Blum makes an indirect, solemn, and foreboding remark to his wife concerning future troubles to come. The most important difference between real events and the script is that the murderer does not confess his crime voluntarily. After the culprit’s fiancée confesses the truth about the murder in the last sequence of the internal flashback

Hinweise auf die Täterschaft des rechtsradikalen Handelsschülers Richard Schröder, bei dem man die Tatwaffe und anderes Belastungsmaterial gefunden hatte, ließ Kölling unterdrücken. Die Genehmigung zu einer Hausdurchsuchung bei Schröder verweigerte er. Nachdem der wirkliche Mörder Schröder ein Geständnis abgelegt und man in seinem Hauskeller die Leiche des Mordopfers gefunden hatte, hielten Kölling und der Landgerichtsdirektor Richard Hoffmann (Stellvertreter des Landgerichtspräsidenten) in einer Presseerklärung an der Täterschaft von Haas fest. Irgendeinen Wechsel oder auch nur eine Verstärkung der mit dem Fall befassten Kriminalbeamten lehnten sie ab und protestierten energisch gegen die Hinzuziehung des als besonders qualifiziert geltenden Kriminalkommissars Otto Busdorf, den der sozialdemokratische Provinzoberpräsident Otto Hörsing aus Berlin hatte kommen lassen. Selbst nachdem Schröder sein Geständnis detailliert wiederholt hatte, lehnte Kölling die von der Staatsanwaltschaft beantragte Aufhebung des Haftbefehls gegen Haas ab. Inzwischen hatte sich der Magdeburger Konflikt zu einer reichsweiten Kontroverse ausgeweitet, der zentralen Justizdebatte der Weimarer Republik. Unter dem Stichwort “Vertrauenskrise der Justiz” kam es zu einer dreitägigen Diskussion im Preußischen Landtag.’ Ibid.


200 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM story, Gabler finally gives in under the pressure of being confronted by his former girlfriend Christina in the presence of the whole group of investigators. This change may be explained as a means of creating more suspense in order to save the dissolution until the end so as to heighten the dramatic tension of the film. In Engel’s film, visual characteristics in terms of speech, style of acting, costumes, and set design are foregrounded with the goal of recreating the contemporaneous atmosphere of controversial political conflicts in German society between dominant left- and right-wing groups in the aftermath of World War I (mentioned in the description of the real justice scandal). Traditional conservative clothes, facial scars (a mark of the right-wing student’s unions), their grim mimic, stiff postures, and the preconceived facial expressions identify the extreme right-wing members. Moreover, the interior of the court councillor’s home (who supports the right-wing inspector Schertfeger) is decorated with props associated with the conservative style of the regime—beer mugs and heavy dark oak furniture. The scene depicts a housewife in the traditional role of seamstress. Taken together, the decor, style of acting, and the clothes express the narrowmindedness and fanatical tendencies of a stereotypical right-wing group helping the National Socialist party to prepare for Hitler’s rise to power, even at the cost of submitting to the prevailing judicial institutions under the dictatorship of the National Socialist regime. This minute study of members of the bourgeois milieu, supporting right-wing political tendencies, is indeed closely linked to the film’s Romantic discourse that functions to express anxieties and fears. The corrupt methods of the National Socialist regime (and earlier movements with similar intentions) evoke an uncanny atmosphere. In contrast to the conservative decor, acting, clothes, and ambience surrounding the Blum couple, the provincial president and the chief inspector Bonte (in short, the left-wing people) are portrayed in a more modern style and architectural setting. While the setting of the right-wing characters evokes the impression of narrowness, the sets linked to the provincial president and the other leftwing characters appears spacious, open, and wide. Their clothes are lighter and more modern; their facial expressions suggest openness, goodwill, interest, and a genuine search for ‘the truth’ beyond a more subjective viewpoint. In sum, the behaviour of the chief inspector Bonte12 represents a neutral point of view on the

12 Yet, Bonte also violated the law when illegally entering the house of the culprit Gabler in order to find evidence against him and to release the innocent victim, Blum. Whether or not this part of the film story also follows the real events is not indicated in the short description on the internet. However, the narrative construction justifies this illegal action through Bonte’s honourable desire to seek the truth.

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crime that is based on facts and marked by a critical distance. This ‘objective manner’ attacks and reveals the irrational tendencies of the rise of the National Socialist regime and its followers as a result of their eagerness and willingness to cross the law in order to gain political and judicial power. However, because the film presents the socio-political atmosphere and its opposing left- and right-wing objectives so directly, the characters behavior is perhaps too predictable. As a result, the audience knows with whom they are meant to identify. In this way, the right-wing characters are strongly linked to stereotypes of the bourgeois capitalist enemy that the DEFA studio leaders possibly wanted to see in cinema. The Blum Affair also contains many aspects of film noir. On a visual level, the film uses many devices that evoke the dark and suspicious atmosphere typical of film noir; on a deeper level, the lack of a sublime superhero is reminiscent of the way narrative patterns are closely linked to character representations in film noir and crime films. Although the characters of Bonte and the provincial president function as the key male figures in the film (much more than the victim Blum, or his wife), and neither their visual representation nor the narrative construction of the film elevates them to the status and stereotype of classical heroes. The provincial president is quickly entangled in the conspiracy of the right-wing judges13 like a helpless victim, though he originally has plans to conduct a legal investigation. As a consequence, in the later meeting of the regional parliament, the provincial president appears dignified but powerless. He is unable to calm the crowd and to demonstrate that he is mistakenly under suspicion. The character who is clearly supposed to be the hero of the film is Bonte, the left-wing chief inspector from Berlin and a member of the Freemason secret society.14 Extreme modesty and understatement form the sole make-up of

13 Because of his advice to Bonte to investigate secretly after being expelled from the official investigation by the right-wing court councillor. 14 The German Freemasons were persecuted by the Nazi regime, and in 1935, the Nazi government eventually closed all German Freemason lodges. The website of the German Freemasons states the major aims of this international secret society, as follows: ‘Über alle weltanschaulichen, politischen, nationalen und sozialen Grenzen hinweg wollen die Logen Menschen miteinander verbinden, die sich nach Herkunft und Interessenlage sonst nicht begegnen würden. Die Freimaurerlogen folgen damit ihrer alten Tradition, Trennendes zu überwinden, Gegensätze abzubauen, Verständigung, Verständnis und Freundschaft zu fördern sowie der Gefahr einer Isolierung der einzelnen Menschen in der modernen Arbeits- und Freizeitwelt entgegenzuwirken. Durch Offenheit für den Mitmenschen und seine Probleme will der Freimaurerbund nicht nur der Lebensgestaltung seiner Mitglieder dienen, sondern auch ein Modell für


202 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Bonte’s character, his style of acting, and his criminal investigation. These characteristics underscore his objective manner toward everybody and everything; he only aims to do his duty in order to reveal the truth. In comparison to the regional president, Bonte is not an astoundingly attractive man, which can be read as a statement against blind glorification, admiration, or defining him as the film’s classical hero. This lack of heroic attributes supports the authentic character conception of this left-wing protagonist. Bonte and all the other adversaries of the right-wing group serve the dramaturgical function of underscoring the prejudiced and narrow-minded attitude of the right-wing investigators. In doing so, Bonte’s character establishes a (nearly stereotyped) model of the left-wing citizen who contradicts the ‘negative’ connotation associated with right-wing character traits. The direct representation of all these suggestive visual effects highlights the film’s propagandist aim, which is to send the ‘right’ ideological message. Yet, the real case had even stronger traces of these political implications than the film, which suggests that they may not only have been the result of Engel’s leftwing convictions. The controversial stereotype close depiction of right and leftwing film characters recalls a ‘didactic index’ that expresses a particular viewpoint rather than allowing the audience to form their own conclusions about the story’s meaning. Thus, we may presume that Engel’s film represents a combination of conformity to the earlier classical film style and nonconformity in terms of visual patterns -- the latter stemming from his choice to produce a crime film that employs the intertextual filmic devices of Weimar cinema. The stereotypical characters might result from the previously mentioned controversies concerning the film’s political impact during its production. Whether or not Engel selected the above-mentioned technical devices in order to be sure the film and its message would reach its public can be only guessed (such as in the case of Helmut Käutner’s rubble film In Those Days; see the analysis of Film Without a Name). Engel’s earlier career as an entertainment film director during National Socialism might have also favoured this particular choice. However, the contemporary audience and film critics15 in the East and West zones cele-

Partnerschaft in der Gesellschaft außerhalb der Logen bieten.’ Further information on the website of the German Freemasons Lodge on: http://www.freimaurerei.de/index.php?id=5; (20 June 2006). Links to the English Freemasons Lodge there are also to be found. 15 Compare reviews on: http://www.hist.unihannover.de/kulturarchiv/index.php?mact=Pri…7,printpage,1&m7 showbutton=1&m7script=1&m7returnid=679&page=679; (15 March 2007).

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brated the film as the best post-war film so far, and praised its realist and documentary style. In the next section, we will investigate how Engel’s film employs a Romantic discourse on the level of style and narration. This discourse questions national identity in the aftermath of both wars and highlights some reasons why the National Socialist regime gained power. The Mysterious Uncanny: Style and Narrative Patterns in The Blum Affair A particular element of the Romantic discourse in Engel’s film pertains to his visual and narrative references to the uncanny. In the earlier chapter on German Gothic literature and Romantic paintings, it has been discussed how the uncanny was considered as a literary code that expressed the ambiguous anxieties and uncertainties that arose during Napoleon Bonaparte’s occupation of parts of Germany, as well as the structural changes due to the rise of modernisation in the eighteenth century stemming from the Enlightenment, the French Revolution, and industrialisation. Thus, we concluded that the uncanny fulfilled a seismographic function of not mystifying or opposing the socio-historical context, but transposing this atmosphere of crisis into aesthetic patterns.16 Assuming that the historical context, which was one of crisis, affected the individual in a overwhelming and uncontrollable way, this development must have deeply shaken the traditional norms in German society—a process that may have provoked ‘strange and uncanny’ feelings. Chapter two discussed how Friedrich’s painting Winter—Eldena Ruin (180810) transferred the social political context into aesthetic pictorial patterns. Friedrich broke with the dominant classical style in fine arts with his subjectivist and transcendental style, abstracting the actual atmosphere into a nonconforming composition, in which an uncanny landscape expresses the artist’s own feelings of unease and alienation. The uncanny landscape thus symbolizes Friedrich’s own anxieties and uncertainties, which are rendered into an allegory representing the fear of decline of German national identity. To transfer this threat of the contextual socio-political changes into a landscape creates an uncanny atmosphere that elevates the worldly menace to a supernatural or spiritual

16 Interestingly, Gerhardt Hoffmeister defines German Gothic novels as an ‘aesthetic revolution’ (ästhetische Revolution). Thus, Gothic Romantic literature appears as a direct reaction to the socio-historical context. He writes that France’s revolution was attempted in Germany though an aesthetic revolution, which found its first expression in the Gothic novel with fairy tale features. In: Hoffmeister in Schanze (2003), p. 231.


204 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM sphere that irrationally rises above the everyday. It has been shown in chapter two that these aspects of Friedrich’s aesthetic also aimed at criticising the impact of the Enlightenment, defining man as the rational and all-powerful superior being of the earth and universe. Thus, the uncanny rises above the historical context so as to express something alienating and strange, which may be the result of ‘higher forces’ no longer rooted in purely rational concepts. In The Blum Affair, the uncanny returns in similar aesthetic features, though not by means of landscape representation. Using a kind of anti-humanist menace and foreboding unease, Engel uncannily portrays the socio-political atmosphere of right-wing tendencies in German society of the late Weimar Republic. Technical devices, along with Romantic motifs and themes stemming from Weimar cinema and Romantic art, produce this Romantic device. In Engel’s film, Romantic motifs such as the double, demonic citizens, and pacts with the devil (metaphorically read as the implied consent to cross the law between Gabler and Schwertfeger as a pact with the devil) appear and represent the ‘disturbed and anti-humanist relation of individuals to society’ (in terms of crossing juridical law and ethical taboos and for achieving political goals and power). This narrative impact is transferred into cinema through film techniques such as chiaroscuro lighting, uncanny shadow effects, atmospheres, extreme camera angles, double narrative perspectives (two opposing perspectives of the left and rightwing groups), voice-over comments, subjective points of view, and camera perspectives. All of these devices function to create a visual and narrative ambiguity that generates the uncanny. These motifs and techniques transfer into the cinema, feelings of crisis and unease. They question traditions, norms, and structures in a society, which had been reliable and then began to fall apart. A central aspect of this decline is the motif of ‘losing control and being abused’ for fulfilling the goals of demonic leaders such as in The Cabinet of Dr 17 Caligari by Wiene or in Lang’s early Dr Mabuse films. In the following analysis, we will see that besides aesthetic patterns of an uncanny Romantic atmosphere, this motif plays an important role in The Blum Affair in the form of the characters of the right-wing inspectors (Schwertfeger, the court councillor) who abuse the imprisoned culprit Gabler as a tool for their suspicious political aim. Therefore, we will focus now on the question of how the visual and narrative

17 Cesare in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari presents a kind of Frankenstein’s creature character totally dependent upon his master and incapable of individual decision-making or actions. His master Caligari appears as the cold-blooded and manipulative and nearly mad tyrant who attempts to achieve illegal aims either on his own, or with the support of his tool creature.

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construction in Engel’s rubble film reverts to certain Romantic visual devices and motifs in order to portray a ‘picture of the age’ (closely related to Fritz Lang’s picture of the time in Dr Mabuse, part one and two, 1921/22) of the rise of Nazism as an allegory for the uncanny. The most apparent reference to the mysterious uncanny can be seen in the director’s choice to produce a crime film about the judicial scandal surrounding a real Jewish company owner. The crime genre is directly linked to the mysterious and uncanny, since a crime usually refers to something hidden, secret, or something that represents a break with a taboo. To illustrate this fact, Knut Hickethier points out that a criminal case can function as a cinematographic metaphor that mirrors the atmosphere of a given society, and that this metaphor takes the form of a seismographic discourse on changes or developments with regard to issues such as security, law, crime, and justice.18 Depending upon its representation, such a discourse may contain a largely subversive element that may provoke critical thoughts about topics that might remain successfully oppressed or hidden in the classical style. Because of the risk that such films might be interpreted as critical and subversive commentary of a given socio-political context (hence making visible the ‘spirit of the time’—as we have seen in the discussion on The Murderers Are Among Us), the crime film was a nearly nonexistent genre during the National Socialist period.19 The underrepresentation of the crime genre in cinema under Nazism might be the reason why so many rubble directors, such as Engel, employed this genre. They used crime film genre conventions in order to depict the past events as an uncanny and demonic crime against humanity. These portrayals aim at a critical understanding of the socio-political tendencies and structures that made possible the National Socialist atrocities and crimes. Visual and narrative references to the uncanny link the film’s beginning and end, albeit elliptically. At the beginning, a typical film noir device20 introduces the uncanny: supported by newspaper articles a male voice-over reveals the true past events by evoking the impression that these events were sinister and un-

18 ‘Kriminalfall ist eine Metapher für die Befindlichkeit der Gesellschaft.’ Hickethier (2005), p. 28. 19 Criminal comedies and detective or courtroom dramas were favoured to avoid the danger of evoking critical reflections on life under the fascist dictatorship. According to Drexler, Nazi cinema indicates an obsession with courtroom films but rather neglects the criminal film genres. Drexler (2001), p. 71-72. 20 Interestingly, such narrative procedures were also employed in Romantic novels, such as The Sandman by E.T.A. Hoffmann and others. A narrator frequently reappears during the story and omnisciently guides the reader.


206 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM canny ones. While these newspaper articles create the impression of being an authentic account of the actual events, the voice-over prepares us for the ‘subjective nightmare’ that will unsettle the spectator. The newspaper articles work not as part of a Gothic novel nightmare, such as in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, but instead serve to show the real life drama of a socio-political conflict between members of the left and right-wing in the 1920s.21 This real life story produces a more suspenseful effect than any fantastic plot ever could. Moreover, mysterious music highlights this effect from the beginning. Thus, such an opening creates a dramatic tension that captivates the audience right away and foreshadows the sinister and uncanny events to come by combining entertainment with an educational purpose. The opening sequence and the last scene of the film are elliptically linked to one another in that they both show a similar kind of reference to the uncanny. In the last scene, Blum sits peacefully together with his wife celebrating his freedom. Mrs. Blum says that she was sure he would be declared innocent because they reside in the constitutional state of Germany. Then Blum takes her hand and brings it close to his lips in order to kiss it, but suddenly stops. He says that nothing is over and all is just beginning, because in the courtroom he felt that nearly all of the people wanted him to be the culprit. This scene is supported for a moment by military marching music and then suspenseful mysterious music, indicating that nothing has changed; the uncanny atmosphere, the menace and threat of the National Socialist party, stays the same. To end the film with this scene indirectly implies that the majority of German people, represented here by the majority in the courtroom, supported the persecution of the Jewish people—if only unconsciously. This ambiguous reference is what generates the uncanny unease of this sequence. Interestingly, this interpretation of the last sequence is similar to Daniel Jonah Goldhagen’s thesis (in Hitler’s Willing Executioners, 1996) that ordinary Germans not only knew of but also actually supported the Holocaust because of a virulent anti-Semitism in German society that had developed in the preceding centuries. Goldhagen concludes that in the twentieth century, with Hitler in power, conditions in Germany were primed for the goal of large-scale killing of Jews. While this argument provoked a national and international discussion (the 22 ‘Goldhagen Debate’) upon this topic, the ending of Engel’s film apparently did

21 The same political climate made possible the case of the real life Blum, Rudolf Haas. 22 Goldhagen was awarded the prestigious Democracy Prize in 1997 by the German Journal for German and International Politics. The laudatio was given by Jan Philipp Reemtsma and Jürgen Habermas.

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not have a similar effect on the audience. Two primary explanations may exist for this: first, the spectator may have perceived Engel’s metaphorical insinuation as an authentic one. In such a scenario, this would mean that the audience shared Engel’s opinion that the majority of people in Germany had anti-Semitic attitudes during National Socialism. The second possible explanation may be that the spectators interpreted the film’s ending in a different way (maybe as a reference to future times of persecution). However, the metaphorical insinuation of a supposed German national anti-Semitism clearly anticipates the destiny of the real Jewish company owner. Following the National Socialists rise to power in 1933, Haas and his wife found themselves once again persecuted and ended by committing suicide.23 Meanwhile, the real regional court councillor was declared a ‘Pioneer of National Socialism’ and promoted several times, until eventually he became the court president in Berlin.24 From the first scene of the flashback story in Wilhelm Platzer’s home, the film is marked by an artistic style of successive and ongoing movement, such as pans travelling from right to left and then in the reverse direction. According to Thomas Koebener, such horizontal movements create a certain curiosity due to the ‘persecutor’s view.’25 The camera shots also indicate frequent changes between the subjective point of view shots and objective ones. This combination creates a tension between the distant and the objective view of the narrator, such as that of many re-establishing shots, and the more subjective viewpoint making us empathize and identify with the film’s main character so that two main perspectives appear (the left- and right-wing ones). As asserted above in our discussion of The Murderers Are Among Us, the subjective point of view—favoured in some films of the Weimar cinema and later also with respect to film noir—can serve to translate feelings of anxiety, panic, and inner conflicts into the film medium. Since most of the characters in The Blum Affair find themselves in brief moments of disturbance, the subjective point of view shot therefore corresponds

23 ‘Nach 1933 nahmen der jüdische Fabrikant Rudolf Haas und seine Ehefrau sich angesichts massiver Verfolgung das Leben. Landgerichtsrat Kölling wurde unter dem NS-Regime erst zum Landgerichtsdirektor in Magdeburg, später zum Landgerichtspräsidenten in Aurich befördert, Landgerichtsdirektor Hoffmann zum Präsidenten des Landgerichts in Groß Berlin.’ Compare: www.forumjustizgeschichte.de/Magdeburger-Jus.212.0.htm; (2 January 2007). 24 Kannapin (1997), p. 101. 25 ‘Verfolgerblicks.’ Koebner (2002), p. 445.


208 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM to their emotions; the purpose of this technique is thus to unsettle the audience in order to transfer these feelings.26 The camera functions throughout the whole film as a narrator telling the story from the viewpoint of the film’s different characters. This device gives rise to two opposing perspectives while also avoiding giving too much importance to one key protagonist, with whom the audience is meant to identify; instead, the narrating camera emphasizes the changing viewpoints of many characters throughout the whole film. As in The Murderers Are Among Us, one can see that to create two opposing perspectives through narrative and technical devices (such as prominent camera work) achieves two primary objectives: first, it produces an uncanny and mysterious atmosphere due to the ambiguity that generates opposing perspectives. Second, it creates an artistic distance due to the many changing movements and perspectives, which underscores the artistic properties of the film medium. One such example occurs during the shots taken from outside the house and behind a tree while Gabler commits the crime. The camera travels down the outside of the house, following the movements of the characters inside the house, and the audience can only guess what is taking place behind the closed curtains. Later, the viewer is allowed a glance from a high angle camera position through the window from outside the house, during which he witnesses Gabler and his girlfriend Christine burying Platzer. As already mentioned in the analysis of The Murderers Are Among Us, many of these aspects are clearly reminiscent of the artistic camera style Käutner employed for his film of the aesthetics of opposition, Romance in Minor Key (1942), which was produced under National Socialist cen-

26 Another element of visual style in this film is the use of extreme camera angles. The camera work (also done by Staudte’s cameraman Friedl Behn-Grund in cooperation with Karl Plintzner) highlights to a lesser extent the artistic possibilities of the medium than was done previously in the first rubble film by Staudte. Behn-Grund reverts in a more modest way to many visual elements of Staudte’s style in The Murderers Are Among Us, such as when the chief inspector Bonte visits the regional court councillor for the first time at his home. The inspector waits at the entrance of the regional court councillor’s apartment, while the latter appears in the doorway. Both are filmed from an extremely low angle from the lower part of the staircase. This not only resembles the way in which Staudte filmed the first meeting between Susanne and Mertens in the porch in front of the apartment, but also functions to indicate by context that something is strange, hidden, secret, or taboo (e.g. Merten’s trauma or the regional court councillor’s abuse of power).

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sorship. Like Käutner, Engel used an expressive, though partly documentarystyle realism.

Figure 19: Kurt Ehrhardt (Dr Blum) in The Blum Affair.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

In particular, interiors, space, and architecture are employed to mirror the uncanny menace and methods resulting from National Socialism (see figure 19). As a personification of this uncanny menace, the characters such as Schwertfeger, the regional court councillor, and Gabler recall the Romantic motif of the demonic bourgeois. They strongly resemble another rubble film demonic bourgeois (or citizen)—the hypocrite Brückner in Staudte’s first rubble film (see figures 20 and 2). Therefore, it may be concluded that the uncanny refers to the general sinister atmosphere, events, and the character features of the narrowminded right-wing and upper-class judges and the chief inspector Schwertfeger, thus, the representatives of the up-and-coming National Socialist movement. As singled out in this analysis, the cinematographic techniques that produce the uncanny are visual devices related to Weimar cinema and its successor film noir. This visual device brought the uncanny to the forefront, and this study argues that Gabler’s crime of murder, committed at the film’s beginning, is not the ‘real crime’ on which the audience should focus. The real crime is National Socialism, represented by the film characters fanatically, blindly, and obediently serving the ‘higher goals’ of the rising National Socialist party. On the level of style and narration, the most dominant filmic indications of this are low key


210 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM lighting (employed in almost every scene), looming shadows,27 the accentuation of the shadows of prison bars in many scenes (see figure 21) and, finally, the use of chiaroscuro lighting effects, voice-over narration, subjective camera points of view, and double perspectives (the left-wing characters versus the right-wing ones), all of which contribute to the generally sinister and ambiguous atmosphere producing the uncanny.

Figure 20: Paul Bildt (councillor) and Hans Christian Blech (Gabler).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

The camera style of the scenes when Gabler commits the murder of Platzer suggests this uncanny impression as well. The camera techniques often establish too much distance. Instead of a crime-like suspense seeking to emotionally involve the audience the resulting effect is one of understatement. The latter serves to produce a critical distance or reflection of the audience responding to an uncanny, mysterious or shocking act of crime. The audience only hears the deadly shots (from the crime) while watching from outside the living room window of the house with closed curtains. This point of view from outside of the house, on the level of a tree, produces the objective perspective of a narrator (since no character is actually hiding outside in this tree). Finally, the absence of viewing the crime scene creates a visual ‘omission’ of the crime act so that the event itself is entirely transferred into the fantasy of the spectator, rendering it even more uncanny.

27 In particular used in relation to the regional court councillor and the court councillor director, embodying these characters with a light touch of evil.

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Figure 21: Gisela Trowe (Christine) and Hans C. Blech (Gabler).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

On top of what you just explained, here are more ways in which the film produces an uncanny atmosphere: mise-en-scene of the sequence produces through several film techniques and details an uncanny atmosphere. All of the events take place in the darkness of an early evening and are observed through several camera pans focusing on the windows of the kitchen, living room, and cellar to the left, right, and later up and down the house wall. Shortly after the crime is committed, the camera pans first to the left of the kitchen window with Christine inside, and then to a moderately long shot from behind a tree on the wall of the house and living room window. The film includes little outdoor shots, such as the garden shots, the shots that show Gabler and Platzer cycling to Gabler’s home on the countryside and their arrival in front of his house. Their aesthetic composition recalls the impression of a cold and hostile nature such as in Friedrich’s painting Oak in the Snow (1820, see figure 22). Through a meteorological wet rain and cloudy bleakness, the tree alley they come along on the cycling tour seems to uncannily anticipate the future dangers for Platzer. The arrival shot in front of Platzer’s house, along with the later garden shots, also leaves a similar impression of the uncanny by showing an evening atmosphere covered in a light fog with a lonely tree in front of Gablers house on the street (see figure 23); this shot implicitly warns us that something strange is about to happen.


212 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Figure 22: Oak in the Snow (1820) by C. D. Friedrich.

Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Cologne.

The intense shadow effects of the tree, the subdued lighting, and the barking dogs (reacting to the noise of the three deadly shots) function to underscore the uncanny atmosphere. Moreover, these images are references to Weimar cinema, in which city, nature, space, and interiors in combination with special light design and film techniques also function to anticipate danger or to mirror psychological condition in an uncanny way.28 Yet Engel’s view from the garden tree also serves to produces a certain spatial distance to the events within the house so that the focus is rather on the atmosphere than on the crime itself. Finally, due to these hints, the crime does not come as much of a surprise to the audience. Furthermore, on the level of character, the audience is clued in to the imminent crime by both Gabler’s strange behavior from the beginning and Platzer’s naiveté.

28 For example in Nosferatu, Nerves, The Golem, The Cabinet of Dr Caligari.

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Figure 23: Arno Paulsen (Platzer) and H. C. Blech (Gabler).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Then Gabler and Christine carry the dead body down to the cellar in order to bury it. Our view of them is still constrained to glimpses through the windows of the kitchen and cellar from outside of the house. All these camera travellings along and up and down the house wall toward the three windows (living room, kitchen, and cellar) function to create an emotional distance for the audience. The unusual and artistic camera style, which creates this distance, highlights the film medium’s artistic devices and brings technical devices to the forefront. In turn, this technique achieves two effects: first, the audience is reminded that they are watching a film. Second, the creation of the ‘usual’ illusionary wholeness in classical style is disrupted because of this reminder. Interestingly, Käutner employed relatively similar artistic camera movements along a house wall at the beginning of Romance in Minor Key (1943), the best-known film of the aesthetics of opposition produced during the Third Reich. Since the omniscient narrator of The Blum Affair has already informed the audience of the murder, it may be assumed that this narrative construction guides the public’s attention on how the whole case will develop. The usual ‘crime’ question – of who did it, why, and how it was done – appears to be without further interest. Moreover, the victim Blum no longer seems to be of great importance to the development of the story, nor does his character function as a central subject of identification or empathy in terms acting, costume, and speech. Blum, a rather effeminate bourgeois intellectual, appears in very few scenes and only


214 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM on very few occasions says something important.29 The film’s real protagonists are the left-wing characters, notably Bonte, the chief inspector who exhibits all the signs of a ‘good socialist.’ He behaves in an honest, objective, and critical way, his only desire being to uncover ‘the truth,’ as exemplified in the scene in Blum’s living room with the regional president Wormser, the advocate, and Blum’s wife. Furthermore, Bonte is identified here as someone from a nonbourgeois background and thus most likely working class, which is perfectly well-suited for left-wing propaganda. This becomes evident by the way he tastes the expensive alcoholic drink and the sweets, as his comments show that he does not usually eat such luxuries. Thus, Blum and the case function as a background story that serves to emphasise the ‘uncanny’ abuse of power by civil servants under National Socialism. One of the central figures of identification, the left-wing province president, insinuates this after driving in the car with the two judges in charge of the case. He points out: ‘What a kind of a danger those god-like beings represent to the innocent.’30 This aspect of the uncanny refers indeed to the omnipotent and uncontrollable methods procedures of the later National Socialist regime. Throughout the whole film, the irrational methods of the right-wing inspectors represent the uncanny, and thus the abusive, blind, and manipulative behaviour and power of the National Socialist members who long to declare the ‘Jew’ Blum guilty at whatever cost in order to serve ‘the cause.’31 Beyond the uncanny, the motif of the demonic bourgeois in The Blum Affair functions as a central narrative Romantic device, calling attention to the negative connotations associated with all those of the right-wing persuasion in the film.32 It has been shown that the motif of the demonic bourgeois or citizen, which has its roots in German Gothic literature, 33 also leaves an important and indelible

29 For example, Blum’s little speech on ‘the truth’ when Gabler identifies Blum as the culprit, when the country court councillor director visits Blum in the cell and Blum accuses him of being biased against him, and in the final scenes, when Blum announces to his wife that all has just begun. 30 ‘Welche Gefahr dem Unschuldigen durch diese gottgleichen Wesen droht.’ 31 The affair is translated from a German familiar expression, ‘der Sache,’ employed forby? the National Socialist movement. 32 Such as the two regional court councillors, Schwertfeger, the chief inspector and Gabler, the would-be bourgeois who faked the student union scar on his cheek. 33 In stories such as E.T.A Hoffmann’s The Sandman, The Devil’s Elixir, and others, and in Goethe’s late work Faust I.

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mark on the films of Weimar cinema (see for example Eisner).34 The figure of the hypocrite and demonic bourgeois, abusing his power for personal advantage or profit through the cold-blooded exploitation of others, reappeared as a dominant theme in Staudte’s post-war films. Staudte35 views this mentality as the result of prevailing social norms and conventions from the empire through the National Socialist period, such as that portrayed in Staudte’s best known film, Man of Straw (1951). The demonic bourgeois is a recurrent motif of many other Romantic rubble films. The DEFA production ’48 Over Again (1948) by Gustav von Wangenheim even draws on bourgeois mentality as a reason for the failed revolution in 1848 and interprets the situation during the occupied and divided Germany of 1948 as the repetition of a misguided bourgeois spirit. Thus, it is clear that the function of this narrative construction is first and foremost to promote the ‘superiority’ of the socialist system over the capitalist one in order to promote the unification of a divided country under the Soviet flag. On the other hand, it also aims at criticising and accusing those members of the German upper class bourgeoisie who supported the National Socialist regime, possibly for economic profit, while ignoring or even condoning the atrocities. According to Shandley, the film ‘insinuates that the failure of the revolution of 1848 is the failure that led to Nazism.’36 In West German rubble films a profound critique of the bourgeoisie, free from a socialist political subtone, is also to be found in two relatively wellknown and successful examples: Love 47 (1947) and Film Without a Name (1947). In Love 47, the war veteran Beckmann attacks his former, still wealthy and empire like behaving captain for having abused military power and having betrayed him during the war action. In Film Without a Name (1947), the criticism of the bourgeoisie takes a less harsh tone, as we have seen in the earlier analysis; nevertheless, the main characters—the antiquity lover, Martin Delius, his family members, and (former) girl friend—appear as caricatures of the upper-

34 Eisner (1973), p. 106-108. 35 Staudte investigated the development in and effect on society of this type, with the hypocritical teacher in Second Hand Destiny (1949) who sexually abuses one of his female students; the Wilhelminian ‘subject’ (Untertan) Heßling in Man of Straw (adaptation of the novel with the same title by Heinrich Mann); the public prosecutor in Roses for the Public Prosecutor (Rosen für den Staatsanwalt); and finally the Nazi regional group leader (NS-Ortsgruppenleiter) in The Fair (Kirmes) and Yesterday’s Tomorrow (Zwischengleis). 36 Shandley (2001), p. 148.


216 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM class German who despises Hitler and his regime but retires into the privacy of the ‘inner emigration’ without offering any real opposition. In many films by Staudte, the cold and rational behaviour of the characters is often linked to the socio-economic structures of the historical context, which is indicated by their occupation in a capitalist system: for example, Brückner, the company owner (The Murderers Are Among Us), Heßling, the company owner (Man of Straw) and Alfons Eichmayr, who is an ambitious employee (the name of this character might be a link to the National Socialist war criminal Adolf Eichmann in Staudte’s Yesterday’s Tomorrow,37 1978). Their loss of human empathy seems to result not only from capitalist structures and the National Socialist ideology, but also from a society deeply influenced by the Prussian spirit and the Wilhelminian mentality, which only grew during the twelve years of National Socialist dictatorship. Although the main culprits in The Blum Affair, the civil servants, do not act out of capitalist greed but of political power, their abuse of power in order to achieve goals also recalls the motif of the demonic citizen; in this way, we may read them as a variation of this motif and thus as part of the Romantic discourse. Another Romantic motif is the use in conjunction of the double and Frankenstein motif that recurs in The Blum Affair. For example, the relationship between the murderer Gabler and certain right-wing members is reminiscent of the way Wiene employed these motifs in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Just as Caligari’s Cesare, Gabler is maniplulated by a master, represented in this film by the two judges and the chief inspector Schwertfeger. Their manipulations render Gabler into a kind of tool for achieving their illegal goals. Surely the character of Gabler is not intended to represent a hypnotized somnambulist, but due to his guilt for having murdered Wilhelm Platzer, his only chance of escaping the death sentence is to cooperate and to submit to the wishes of Schwertfeger and the regional court councillor. In this respect, Gabler functions as a double (a tool of Schwertfeger, etc.). In all his relationships, he is able to change his identity like a cold-blooded gambler, adapting perfectly to what others expect from him. Gabler’s character is very much reminiscent of Lang’s criminal Mabuse in the first Dr Mabuse film. Mabuse appears as an exaggerated art figure: a gambler who leads ad absurdum the double motif because of his never-ending switching of identities. However, before discussing this in further detail, the next section will focus on another Romantic motif: the cold heart, which is related to Gabler and the right-wing group.

37 The German title is Zwischengleis.

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A Cold Heart In The Blum Affair, the motif of the cold heart focuses on the rigid and heartless fixation, which marks the right-wing characters and their aim of declaring the ‘Jew’ guilty. Originally related to capitalist greed, this fixation reminds us of the Romantic motif of the cold or stiff heart. According to Frank, many Romantic writers during the turn of the 19th century take up this topic in order to express the death of the occidental Christian heart: ‘its [the heart’s] freezing; blindness, invalidation, replacement through an inorganic thing or a machine.’38 We have already discussed that this theme appears as a leitmotif in many stories, such as the well-known fairy tales The Cold Heart (Das kalte Herz, 1828) by Wilhelm Hauff or The Stone Heart (Das steinerne Herz) by E.T.A Hoffmann.39 According to Frank,40 the cold heart refers to the developing economic structures of commerce and trade resulting from the rise of industrialisation and capitalism, which provokes changes in human behaviour and emotions. Hauff focuses on how the warm and generous heart of the story’s protagonist turns cold and greedy. This change underscores the character’s cold-blooded calculations about materialist gains and his lack of empathy and kindness. This motif might be read as a literary code for the impact of capitalist conditions that change and corrupt individuals and their values and ideals, making them become cold, rigid and greedy. This interpretation agrees with Marx’ theory about the impact of materialist conditions upon the collective conscience of society, which in turn implies that successful commercial transactions demand that one acts with a cold and rational mind (and heart) and without empathy or pity. In Engel’s film, the stone cold heart stands not so much for materialistic greed, but for the blind and fanatical readiness of the judges to support the rising National Socialist party. These right-wing film characters thus serve to mirror how conditions of unemployment, political instability, and the anti-Semitic National Socialist ideology created a framework favouring the politically motivated abuse of power. Interestingly, Engel had planned to adapt the late Romantic novel The Cold Heart (1828) by Wilhelm Hauff as a successive project to

38 ‘seine Erstarrung; seine Erblindung; seine Entwertung; seine Ersetzung durch das anorganische Ding oder die Maschine.’ Frank (1982), p. 9-10. 39 Interestingly, this text inspired the post-war novel Das steinerne Herz (The Stone Heart, 1956) by the German post-war writer Arno Schmidt. In the first edition politically explosive parts were shortened, and the original text was only fully published 30 years later. 40 Frank (1982), p. 330-332.


218 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM The Blum Affair, but he was unable to realise this plan; in 1950, however, Paul Verhoeven made it as a fairy tale production meant mainly for children (DEFA). In The Blum Affair, the two aspects of the cold heart come together in the character of Karl-Heinz Gabler: the cold-blooded and unscrupulous money hungry murderer who kills for material profit and expresses no feelings of remorse for his actions. Gabler’s character, as mentioned earlier, also draws on the Romantic motif of the double, which, according to Webber, reveals the destructive potential of desire and the corruptible conditions of a subjective identity by referring to these aspects, which are usually hidden or repressed by culture and society. In the film, Gabler appears throughout the film as an unscrupulous character who quickly changes his identity in order to save his neck or to make a profit. In this way, he represents the destructive potential of the economic and political conditions in the late Weimar republic, which favoured the popularity of the up-and-coming National Socialist movement. Finally, Gabler’s membership in the conservative and paramilitary right-wing society of the ‘Freicorp’ fighters links him to German nationalist movements from before National Socialism, to those groups that once evolved as a reaction to the occupation of Napoleon Bonaparte. As previously mentioned in the description of the real case published on the website of the Magdeburg Forum for Juridical History,41 Engel took liberties with Gabler’s character for his film adaptation. In the real case, the culprit confessed; however, the court councillors ignored this fact and went on accusing the innocent factory owner Blum. Meanwhile, Engel depicts the character of Gabler as refusing to confess, even when Bonte provides evidence against him. Only when his former girlfriend Christine appears is he willing to admit the truth. Interestingly, Gabler and his newly adapted identity, as the innocent bystander in the whole crime doesn’t seem to fit very well. The help of the judges and the chief inspector renders him also into Frankstein’s. ‘human tool,’ manipulated by others in order to achieve their goals. Thus, at a certain point, we may read Gabler not only as a culprit, but also as the abused and manipulated victim of the whole conspiracy of right-wing civil servants. This brings the film’s real crime into the light once more—that real crime being the fanatic abuse of power by the powerful in the name of the upcoming National Socialist movement. One scene directly indicates this: at the beginning of the investigation, Schwertfeger confronts Gabler with Blum and his driver through a secret window in order to make

41 Compare: www.forumjustizgeschichte.de/Magdeburger-Jus.212.0.htm; (2 January 2007).

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sure that Gabler will confess against the ‘right’ culprit (for propagandist purposes). Changing Identities Just as Staudte’s Brückner has parallels to Fritz Lang’s Dr Mabuse, so does Gabler. In his first two Dr Mabuse films, Lang uses Romantic motifs (such as the double) and a specific combination of different genre conventions and film techniques to paint a picture of the ambiguous period of crisis in the aftermath of World War I. Most of these aspects reappear in the rubble films and represented the leading types of feature films being made in Weimar cinema, whereas they had been mostly banned from genre cinema under National Socialism.42 It may be argued that this is closely linked to the fact that the canonical narrative and visual devices in genre productions permit one to control the viewer’s rate of comprehension. To combine genre aspects or only to employ the genre norms and conventions beyond the given viewing habits can therefore, under certain circumstances, favour a critical or subversive message. For example, the fact that Engel reverts to such sociocritical and documentary-like realism, which were for the most part banned during National Socialism, clearly indicates his goal: to overcome the norms and conventions of the ideologically corrupted classicism of National Socialist entertainment films. To this end, his films highlight the need for critical reflection on past events that made Hitler’s dictatorship possible. In this way, Engel’s film recalls Lang’s intention to combine entertainment43 with a critical discourse on contemporary society, which in Lang’s case can be found in the character of Mabuse, who functions as a metaphor for the ‘speculative operations and the greediness for money and property of the post-war years and the period of inflation.’44 Mabuse’s game of flexible identities mirrors a deeply confused and insecure society that has lost its orientation due to the lack

42 Albrecht (1969), p. 97-123. 43 The subtitles of the first and second Mabuse film—A Picture of Our Times (Ein Bild der Zeit) and A Game of People of Our Times (Ein Spiel um Menschen unserer Zeit) are indicative of the critical intentions of the director, which he stated in many interviews (see newly restored DVDs with interviews of Lang). Docteur Mabuse, le joueur (two DVDs) by Fritz Lang (Allemagne, 1921/1922) MK2, Paris 2005. 44 ‘Spekulantentums und der Geld- und Besitzgier der Nachkriegsjahre und Inflationszeit.’ Müller in Hickethier (2005), p. 49.


220 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM of reliable and meaningful values and structures.45 Finally, like Mabuse, Gabler is unable to further control this game of changing identities and, as a consequence, his real identity (the demonic citizen) wins. Like Staudte’s Brückner, the right-wing National Socialist supporters and Gabler lack any moral consciousness or feelings of guilt, even after the revelation of facts proving that they were in fact guilty. The court councillor director is only concerned with figuring out how to disguise the whole affair before the public. Thus, Engel’s portrayal aims at presenting a certain type of character that has already been introduced by Staudte’s depiction of the average former war criminal Brückner and later by Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich’s psychological study The Inability to Grieve (Die Unfähigkeit zu trauern, 1967). After the war, the Mitscherlichs worked in a psychosomatic clinic in Heidelberg and observed that only a fraction of patients suffered as a consequence of their experiences and actions during the National Socialist era. More importantly, declared National Socialists rarely appeared to have had any psychological problems related to their war crimes, but instead persisted in idealization and selfdenial.46 To disassociate oneself from one’s own acts with indifference through,

45 The significance of Mabuse’s identity construction in representing this context has already been discussed: to win or to lose money and/or private property symbolises the loss or substitution of Mabuse’s identity. On account of this game of changing identities, Mabuse himself becomes a victim due to losing control so that he is rendered a lunatic. Mabuse’s lack of values, morals, and his unlimited greed for money and power make him into the personification of the fear of decline at that time, the desire to belong to a higher class in a society that exposes the anarchy of unlimited organised crime. As the head of the secret organisation, Mabuse thus becomes the stereotypical embodiment of heartless, profit-driven, and partly senseless capitalism. 46 ‘the denial of guilt is an essential one of those mechanisms. The lack of feelings of remorse and regret for what happened under the rule of the Third Reich,shows us that a new phase of the neurotic process has begun, one in which not only does the »acting out« of destructive fantasies under a reversed conscience move to the forefront, but the dismissal of those negative impulses and lack of regard and indifference for their criminal acts.’ (die Verleugnung der Schuld ist ein wesentlicher dieser Mechanismen. Das Ausbleiben gefühlter, innerlich erlittener Reue für das, was unter der Herrschaft des Dritten Reichs sich zutrug, zeigt uns, dass ein neuer Abschnitt des neurotischen Prozesses eingesetzt hat, in dem nun nicht mehr das »acting out« destruktiver Phantasien unter einem »umgekehrten« Gewissen, sondern das Verleugnen dieser Triebimpulse und die anteilnahmslose Distanzierung von den verbrecherischen Handlungen im Vordergrund des Geschehens steht.) Mitscherlich (199021th), p. 45-46.

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for example, a change of identity, so as to adapt to the demands of a new sociopolitical context, appears to be the right solution for Gabler, Brückner, and others. Yet Lorre’s late rubble film The Lost returns to the impossibility of longterm success for the denial of past events and an earlier identity (see the last film analysis in chapter three). From this evidence, we can conclude that Engel combines educational and entertainment goals with his film interpretation of the real judicial case in 1920. This may possibly be linked to the fact that the interest of the German audience in discussing the past through cinema vanished relatively quickly, and the word ‘rubble’ film turned into an invective.47 Consequently, rubble and ruins in Engel’s film only appear metaphorically, insinuating the rubble and ruins of the past. Furthermore, they do not represent the breakdown of German society, but rather the problem that provoked it: a mentality in German society that decisively prepared the ground for the success and rise of Hitler’s party. Engel’s visual style is marked by many references to the period of Weimar cinema and the crime film genre. Together with narrative elements, themes, and motifs of German Romanticism, these references create a Romantic discourse. This discourse mainly serves to pose questions about German mentality and national identity before, during, and after the National Socialist regime. As the earlier analysis showed, the Romantic motif of the double and the film’s uncanny atmosphere particularly provoke a reflection on German mentality and national identity during Nazism. These features indicate narrative and aesthetic patterns of opposition against National Socialist ideology, which are/were still alive in the post-war German population. Moreover, the film’s intense criticism of capitalism does not only aim at propagandising socialism as the only cure, but also hints at the entanglement of the capitalist mentality and the atrocities committed under National Socialism. Yet the film’s story avoids a direct attack on the behaviour of the German population (as exemplified in Staudte’s first rubble film). The left-wing people propose positive patterns of identification (good Germans in bad times, though not in an uncritical way) and a model of how to reconstruct German national identity in the post-war period under the Socialist regime. In combination with the film’s suspenseful structure, this may have contributed to the outstanding success of Engel’s film, even during a time when rubble films were no longer so successful. One can read this kind of discussion of German national identity as a strategy for how to raise public awareness about the subject during the aftermath of war and Nazism (such as in Film Without a Name).

47 Schweinitz in Koebner (2002), p. 629.


222 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM The intention of Engel’s film is to explain from a historical perspective how National Socialism was possible; it also formulates a warning for future times. In this respect, the National Socialism as viewed through the Romantic discourse becomes something uncanny; yet without luring the audience into a fantastic suspense structure that fails to provide answers. The past is not disguised as the result of an uncontrollable higher force that has taken over the German nation. Once more, the Romantic discourse functions to reveal patterns of behaviour and political situations that favoured the success of the National Socialist regime. It therefore plays a central role in providing a critical review of the past events that represents the national catastrophe of Nazism as the result of a distinct sociopolitical historical situation, while also demonstrating why people went along with it. Therefore, The Blum Affair belongs to this genre of anti-fascist films— which includes other DEFA rubble film productions Marriage in the Shadows, Rotation, and Professor Mamlock—that intended to analyse Nazism from its beginnings using a historical perspective. In particular, the lack of a happy ending releases the audience from the cinema with an ambiguous feeling of unease that something terrible is to come. In this respect, the open ending provokes a critical reflection upon the meaning of national identity by implying that something similar could happen again in Germany. Finally, following the 1948 premiere of The Blum Affair, the Jewish businessman’s real life chauffeur, who had himself been wrongly accused of the murder, came to thank DEFA for ‘bringing the truth to light.’48 Ironically, Engel’s warning was highly accurate, since the film’s cinematic distribution coincided with the controversial rehabilitation of National Socialist judges in western zones of Germany.49 Until the end of the GDR in 1989, two central film categories dominated East German cinema: the anti-fascist past film and present day film. The latter promoted hopes for a better future under the Socialist regime, which was closely related to the model of communism in the Soviet Union under Stalin’s regime. In the western zone, however, a small group of rubble cinema directors were not willing to accept the increasing demand for cheerful entertainment by the German population, particularly after the currency reform. Even though the era of rubble films is usually defined as ending in 1948, many filmmakers produced provocative films that mirrored German society from a critical point of view and superimposed an image of decline. The aesthetic of decline in these films, directed by returning émigrés, is closely linked to the aesthetic devices in

48 Mückenberger / Jordan (1994), p. 105. 49 Ibid.

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Friedrich’s paintings; likewise, it functions to represent broken hopes and lost illusions. Beyond the criticism of ideological aspects, the power apparatus of National Socialism, and its illegal procedures, Engel’s film aims at a profound questioning of the concept of reason and rationality, as introduced by the Enlightenment. This not only recalls views of philosophers, writers, and painters close to German Romanticism, but also the position of Theodor W. Adorno and Max Horkheimer, two leading philosophers and sociologists of critical theory. In Dialectic of Enlightenment (Dialektik der Aufklärung. Philosophische Fragmente, 1947), Adorno and Horkheimer outlined a criticism towards the impact of the Enlightenment by writing: ‘In the most general sense of progressive thought, the Enlightenment has always aimed at liberating men from fear and establishing their sovereignty. Yet the fully enlightened earth radiates disaster triumphant.’50 By combining philosophical argument, sociological reflection, and literary and cultural remarks, their study posits that the Enlightenment transformed Western conceptions of reason into an irrational force, which developed a dynamic within civilization that tends towards self-destruction. Reason came to dominate not only nature, but humanity itself. This insight permitted Adorno and Horkheimer to claim that the Enlightenment itself was rendered into a myth: ‘Myth is already enlightenment, and enlightenment reverts to mythology.’51 Yet the aim of Adorno and Horkheimer is neither to completely reject the ideas of eighteenth-century Enlightenment, nor do they attempt to provide a negative ‘meta-narrative’ of universal historical decline of the Western world. They instead intend to construct a double dialectic perspective on the modern Western world as a historical formation to be employed as a discussion.52 Instrumentalised reason and rationalisation of humanity were identified as the primary cause of fascism and other totalitarian regimes. This profoundly questions whether or not rationalism could be considered as a path towards human emancipation in the aftermath of Nazism. Adorno asserts in Aesthetic Theory (Ästhetische Theorie, 1970, unfinished) that art is a means to further emancipate humanity. He defines art to be independent of society and its institutions and therefore capable of simultaneously

50 ‘Seit je hat Aufklärung im umfassendsten Sinn fortschreitenden Denkens das Ziel verfolgt, von den Menschen die Furcht zu nehmen und sie als Herren einzusetzen. Aber die vollends aufgeklärte Erde strahlt im Zeichen triumphalen Unheils.’ Adorno and Horkheimer (2002), p. 1 51 Ibid., p. xviii. 52 Jarvis (1998), p. 23.


224 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM reaffirming and criticising society. This function of art is, according to Adorno, inextricably linked to its autonomous status. The dialectical aspect of this consideration appears due to a double view, which reflects issues from two opposing perspectives. Adorno reflects the reconstruction of the modern art movement from the perspective of philosophical aesthetics. In reverse, he discusses the philosophical aesthetic, in particular that of Kant and Hegel, from the perspective of modern art. This method aims at underscoring the socio-historical significance of art. As previously seen through the rubble films analysed here, these films often created a double dialectic perspective, as represented by the Romantic double motif. This double perspective investigates the problematic past of the average German male in the post-war period. By contrasting two positions, the weak and traumatised war veteran with the coldblooded demonic citizen, the focus is on the Western conception of reason, rationality, and progress, as well as the effects of capitalist structures in society on human beings. This comparison permits the consideration of (self-) destructive aspects within the Western reality of the postwar period and Nazism from two opposing viewpoints, which confronts the public with a major contradiction in society. Furthermore, the fact that many of these films finish on an ambiguous open end asks the spectator to think about these problems, so that she or he might find a solution. In this respect, the films discussed here all pursued a didactic aim, which was to confront the audience with urgent problems in the post-war era that the filmmakers considered a great danger for a successful process of reconstruction. Adorno would rather have denied that commercial ‘entertainment’ had a high educative value. Like Lukàsz, he discredited formalist stylisation in cinema and art. Nevertheless, it can be assumed that in our selection of rubble films, the Romantic discourse of decline, fragmentation, and crisis function to represent the problematic and destructive consequences of Nazism and the war in German post-war society. This serves educational goals, such as to force a critical introspection towards the past events. In terms of an aesthetic of opposition, these rubble films claim not to repress the problematic aspects of post-war reality, but rather to face them without fear of breaking taboos and just dismissing them. The shot space, evoking the impression of fragmentation, ruins, double identities, demonic citizens, doomed wanderers, endless odysseys, gloomy uncanny atmospheres, and threatening ruins among landscapes, all focused on revealing the destructive potential of the suppressed, in terms of a returning past trauma or guilt.

The ‘Last’ Illusion (1948/49): Double Views and Mistaken Perception

Although Josef von Baky directed The Last Illusion, his influence on the film was only marginal. During National Socialism, the Hungarian Baky had been a productive entertainment film director.1 For his last film under Nazism, Baky made Via Mala (Via Mala, 1943/45, see figure 24). A bleak family melodrama, this film celebrates the mysterious vanishing of a tyrant father and can be read as an anticipation of, or wish for, Hitler’s downfall. The film was censored, only to be released in West Germany in 1950.2 However, Baky’s first post-war rubble film, And Above Us The Sky (1947), is a comedic commercial entertainment film in the classical style with Hans Albers in the leading role.

Figure 24: Carl Wery in Via Mala by Josef von Baky (1943/45).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

As opposed to this, The Last Illusion is a sinister portrayal of German post-war society in decline, defeat, and crisis, and is thoroughly shaped by the German-

1

For example, he directed the 25th UFA anniversary film The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen in 1943. The German film title is Münchhausen.

2

Thea von Harbou, Lang’s wife, had written the script for this partially impressive, but partially kitschy film.


226 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Jewish film and theatre actor Fritz Kortner. In addition to writing the film script, Kortner played the main character of the returning emigrant, Professor Mauthner. Mauthner’s story contains many similarities with Kortner’s own life. In 1933, Kortner and his wife, the German actress Johanna Hofer, emigrated through Switzerland to Great Britain before eventually ending up in the United States. By this time, Kortner was a celebrated actor in Germany and considered to be a forerunner of German Expressionist theatre.3 Before and after National Socialist rule, Kortner’s reputation in Germany was that of an inconvenient contemporary who did not adjust himself to dominant public opinions.4 After his return to Germany in 1948, he worked primarily as a theatre director, producing provocative plays that held a mirror up to German society in the post-war period. In 1960s, he functioned as a paternal role model for the new generation of young theatre directors such as Ivan Nagel, Peter Stein, and Peter Zadek.5 The Last Illusion was Kortner’s first artistic work following his return to post-war Germany. In the film, the director of the University of Göttingen begs the German-Jewish Professor Mauthner, who is in exile in California, to return to Germany in order to help them deal with the new uprising of neo-fascist tendencies in the German youth, who are still influenced by the ideological impact of the prior National Socialist rule. Mauthner returns to Germany with high hopes but is eventually left bitterly disappointed. His adversary, the former colleague Fechner, uses the previously prevalent National Socialist anti-Semitic ideology in order to win Mauthner’s job at the University. In this respect, The Last Illusion is the first ‘German’ rubble film6 to openly address the problems of

3

In the cinema, he played in various films, notably in the role of Dr Schön with Louise Brooks, in G.W. Pabst’s avant-garde silent film Pandora’s Box (Büchse der Pandora, 1929). Compare: www.filmportal.de/df/c7/Uebersicht,,,,,,,,B7A60DB8B98246C9B4538FDAFF7E00C 3,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 March 2007).

4

Compare: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/filmanalyse-und--kritik.html; (4 April 2007).

5

Ibid.

6

The Italian Neorealist film Germany Year Zero by Roberto Rossellini (1947) earlier addressed these problems.

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the continuity of National Socialist ideology and anti-Semitism7 in post-war (West) German society. The Last Illusion differs in many ways from most rubble films. Beyond revealing still existing National Socialist ideology in West German post-war society, the film addresses the identity troubles and conditions of German emigrants in the United States, as well as the controversial discussion regarding whether or not one could return to post-war Germany. Up until this point these subjects had not been discussed at length in German rubble films. However, the German public at the time and critics considered this film to be very controversial. The Last Illusion was first and foremost perceived as an attack,8 as it calls German population to responsibility for the past and its consequences. This call went along with the politics of the Allies to reeducate German people. However, the film’s German premiere took place in the Berlin Marmorhaus on April 19, 1949—only one year after the currency reform of June 20, 1948, which hailed the return of materialist wealth and economic progress in the western sectors. This development went along with playing down the problem of continuing National Socialist ideology in West German society 9 so that the critical view taken by the returning emigrant Kortner did not garner much appreciation by the German public. The conflicting relation between the two protagonists Mauthner and his colleague Fechner metaphorically embodies the Romantic figuration of the double as an alter ego. Mauthner appears as the alter ego double of Fechner because he represents Fechner’s suppressed past during Nazism. This constellation is reminiscent of the two male protagonists Mertens and Brückner in Staudte’s first rubble film, The Murderers Are Among Us. Their conflict brings attention to the question of responsibility for the past and present events. Moreover, these two characters in The Last Illusion link persisting National Socialist ideology and anti-Semitism in the West German population to the concept of a competing vic-

7

Werner Bergmann shows that anti-Semitism in Germany existed to a much greater extent after 1945 than earlier studies presumed and that the attitude toward Jews in East and West Germany did not differ much from one another. Bergmann in Schoeps (2002), p. 191-208.

8

Several film reviews are published on the website of the Hannover University: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/filmanalyse-und--kritik.html; (4 April 2007).

9

Ibid.


228 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM timisation10 between returning emigrants and those who stayed in National Socialist Germany. The competing victimisation between Mauthner and Fechner recalls a controversy between representatives of inner and outer emigration in the early postwar period. Alfred Döblin wrote in the emigrants paper Das Wort in 1937: ‘One can be an emigrant in one’s own country.’11 Walter A. Berendsohn denies this idea twenty years later and states: ‘A writer in the Third Reich could not “emigrate inwardly”.’12 Originally, the term of inner emigration signified an attitude of resistance.13 In 1945, the question of whether or not one could have emigrated inwardly came to a climax with the debates between Thomas Mann and representatives of inner emigration, mainly the writer Frank Thiess. Approved by many authors who had remained in National Socialist Germany, Thiess accused the émigrés who left the country of self-interest, while he and others had been faithful to Germany.14 However, Mann refused to return to Germany and declared all German literature written under National Socialism to be infiltrated by a National Socialist past.15 This agitated controversy strengthened the gap between the representatives of inner and outer emigration for a long time. This study argues that the conflicting relationship between the character of Mauthner and Fechner references the debates on the topic of inner emigration from the point of view of a returning emigrant (thus Kortner himself). Continuing in this vein, Fechner appears as an ironic parody of Thiess when he retroactively declares himself to be a hero of the ‘inner emigration.’ His self-pitying attitude combined with the disappointment of not being rewarded for his supposed sufferings during National Socialism renders him into an opportunist (Mitläufer) who takes advantage of his students and manipulates them in cold blood for his own goals.

10 The film characters compete for who has been suffering most under the National Socialist regime: those who left the country as emigrants or those who stayed under the difficult situation of the Nazi rule. 11 ‘Man kann Emigrant im eigenen Land sein.’ Döblin (1937), p. 70. 12 ‘Ein Schriftsteller im Dritten Reich konnte nicht ‘nach innen emigrieren.’ Berendsohn (1958), p. 336. 13 Compare for example: Berglund (1980), p. 213-244; and p. 68-112. 14 Compare: Thiess (1945). 15 ‘Es mag Aberglaube sein, aber in meinen Augen sind Bücher, die von 1933 bis 1945 in Deutschland überhaupt gedruckt werden konnten, weniger als wertlos und nicht gut in die Hand zu nehmen. Ein Geruch von Blut und Schande haftet ihnen an. Sie sollten alle eingestampft werden.’ Mann quoted from Grosser (1963), p. 31.

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The third central protagonist of the competing victimisation is Mauthner’s exwife Lina. Mauthner accuses Lina of having followed ‘racist instincts’ by marring a National Socialist party member (after Mauthner himself had to escape Nazism) and by falsely claiming that their common son was of Aryan descent. In return, Lina indirectly attacks Mauthner for having stayed away in beautiful California during the difficult years. Walter, their son, knows nothing about his true origins. He participates in Fechner’s group of young people who seek to destroy the ‘Jewish invader’ Mauthner (thus his father). These young students also appear as victims in a double sense: exploited by false leaders in the past, as well as in the post-war period, they suffer identity troubles due to the loss of reliable models of orientation in German post-war society. In this respect, the film anticipates the structures of the movement of 1968, although in a reverse way. Walter, Mauthner’s ‘lost son,’ is a representative of the fatherless generation (Mitscherlich). He indirectly and unknowingly kills his father because his mother has made the truth about his origins a taboo topic. In 1968, young people attacked their parent’s generation for having created a taboo around the past events of National Socialism and having missed the chance to build up a better country in favour of hypocrisy and materialist comforts. These narrative aspects function as a way to use film to discuss the requirements in German society for a new democratic departure against the background of the past events and the post-war moral condition of the population in the aftermath of the National Socialist era. Thus, one may conclude that The Last Illusion is largely based on Kortner’s autobiographical experiences as a returning emigrant to West Germany: In a similar way to Mauthner in the fictional story, Kortner was ‘called’ to the German Theater in Berlin by the General Director Wolfgang Langhoff and the Director Dramaturg Herbert Ihering to play King Philipp in Don Carlos.16 He had to surmount various obstacles before being able to find and execute artistic work in his former home country. According to Klaus Völker’s biography on Kortner, the American administration cancelled these plans but later offered the option of a film as a substitute.17 In the film, Kortner’s personal experiences with adminis-

16 Compare: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/filmanalyse-und--kritik.html; (4 April 2007). 17 ‘Am 21. Dezember 1947 traf Kortner, von Zürich über Frankfurt kommend, in Berlin ein. Als amerikanischer Staatsbürger mußte er sich hier nun unerwarteterweise an die OMGUS-Bestimmungen halten. Da das Deutsche Theater im Ostsektor der Stadt lag, kam ein Auftreten Kortners dort schon gar nicht in Betracht. Aber auch die Pläne mit


230 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM tration of the American occupation force are ironically transposed as Mauthner’s odyssey from one office to another, as he is confronted with endless queues, red tape, and forms to fill out. However, as the film was produced with American financial resources, The Last Illusion was intended to serve in the reeducation of the German population. Beyond the aspects already discussed, the film questions the subject of ‘collective guilt’ in the German population. Recalling the Holocaust atrocities, the emigrant groups around Mauthner in Florida intensely discussed whether or not it was possible to return to Germany as a Jewish emigrant. Kortner writes about these debates in his memoir: ‘There were persisting tensions. [...] Tensions evolved even between Brecht and I. He complained about the German inability to revolt and called them to be of a “submissive servant’s nature” [knechtselig]. We clashed about this. I was full of an excessive enthusiasm for the other, the so-called good Germany. Years after my return I learnt to tame my enthusiasm.’18

Kortner’s hopeful attitude towards Germany, as well as its decline, marks the character of Mauthner. In his first philosophical discourse at the university in Germany, Mauthner teaches that ‘virtue can be taught.’19 Here the fictional Mauthner expresses Kortner’s personal convictions, which are: first, the denial of a ‘collective guilt,’ and second, the idea that reasonable insight into the nature

dem Hebbel-Theater, wo er dann als Schauspieler und Regisseur eines amerikanischen Stückes in Erscheinung treten sollte, ließen sich 1948 nicht verwirklichen: Jede Art von `trading with the enemy´ wurde ihm untersagt. Warum die Amerikaner Kortner diese Schwierigkeiten machten, wer hier gegen ihn arbeitete, nachdem Eric Pommer und sogar der amerikanische Kulturoffizier Benno Frank zu seinen Gunsten interveniert hatten, blieb im Dunkeln. Kortner hätte damals seine amerikanische Staatsbürgerschaft aufgeben und in den Ostsektor “überlaufen” müssen, um spielen zu können. Die Amerikaner boten ihm als Ersatz schließlich einen Film an.’ Völker (1987), p. 170. 18 ‘Es gab auch länger anhaltende Spannungen. [...] Solche Spannungen ergaben sich sogar zwischen Brecht und mir. Er beklagte einmal die Unfähigkeit der Deutschen zu revoltieren und nannte sie “knechtselig.” Darüber gerieten wir aneinander. Ich war damals geradezu von einem exzessiven Enthusiasmus für das sogenannte andere, gute Deutschland erfaßt. Jahre später, nach meiner Rückkehr, lernte ich meinen Enthusiasmus zähmen.’ Kortner (2004), p. 501. 19 ‘Die Erlernbarkeit der Tugend,’ linked to Plato.

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of the former regime can fight tendencies of anti-Semitism and fascism in postwar West Germany. Concerning these aspects, the film pays particular attention to German youths who recognise the new beginning as a unique chance to be formed through the ‘freedom of the spirit,’ thus arts and sciences.20 The film is a ‘philosophical call or essay’ such as the literary translation of the German title The Call (Der Ruf) and Mauthner’s profession as a philosopher suggest. The German title surely had a double meaning: on the one hand, it refers to Mauthner’s ‘call’ from the German university for the post of a professor in philosophy, and on the other hand, to a moral call towards the German people to recognise that a better future can only be created by taking on the responsibility of past and present problems, and not by suppressing them. Dazzlement, Mistaken Perception and Philosophy of Language Kortner’s philosophical call to post-war West Germany marks the film’s overall structure in two primary ways: first, by an underplaying Romantic discourse, most importantly presented by the double motif, and second, through references to the philosophy of Plato. As discussed in chapter two using the example of Nathanael in Hoffmann’s The Sandman, the Romantic motif of the double also refers to the subject of a double perception of reality, which could be defined as double views or perspectives. Consequently, reality can no longer be captured adequately, and a mistaken perception about the nature of reality arises. In The Last Illusion, it is the character of the philosopher Mauthner who is most closely linked to the Romantic discourse on the human perception of reality. Yet, most researchers21 have neglected to investigate the meaning of the name Mauthner. That being said, the name Mauthner represents a reference to the theatre critic, writer, private academic, and language philosopher Fritz Mauthner (1849/1923).22 This reference signifies the film’s overall structure of a

20 ‘Freiheit des Geistes.’ Compare: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/filmanalyse-und--kritik.html; (19 November 2007). 21 Such as Shandley in 2003 and most recently Fisher in 2007. See Fisher’s book: Youth, Re-education, and Reconstruction after the Second World War or Fisher’s article in Davidson (2007), p. 16-27. 22 Interestingly, this anticipates the later destiny of the returning emigrant Theodor Adorno. Like Kortner’s protagonist Professor Mauthner, Adorno had successfully reestablished himself in California, though he remained homesick. Thanks to his connections with Horkheimer, the University of Frankfurt (Main) proposed a professor


232 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM philosophical appeal.23 Moreover, the lives of Kortner and Mauthner have many resemblances: both are German-speaking Jews (Mauthner from Horitz near Prague, where he spent his childhood and youth, and Kortner from Vienna) and began their careers in the theatre (Mauthner as a critic and writer of plays and Kortner as an actor). Finally, both influenced the theatre scene in Berlin (where Kortner worked as actor in avant-garde films of the 1920s). The second important parallel between Mauthner and Kortner is their mutual experience of a ‘double perspective’ that results from being torn between two (or even three) language and cultural backgrounds. In Mauthner’s case, this refers to his experience with an early language crisis24 stemming from his origins and the social-cultural situation of his childhood; this experience then set the stage for long lasting identity problems and self-doubt.25 In Kortner’s26 case, this refers to his personal experiences of emigration, which highly influenced the film script and the filmic representation of the fictional Professor Mauthner. In the film, Mauthner accentuates these identity troubles caused by emigration, double language/cultural frames, and the perspectives of both German-speaking Jewish emigrants in the USA and those who re-

post to Adorno, and he returned in 1949/50. At this time, The Last Illusion had already been released (April 19, 1949, in the Marmorhaus in Berlin) and Kortner was already living in Germany. Therefore, it does not seem likely that Kortner referred to Adorno as a model for the character of Mauthner. Yet Mauthner’s problems with a rebellious student youth reminds one—though in a politically reverse way—of Adorno’s confrontations with the uprising of left-wing youth that took place in the late 1960s. Adorno perceived the protests and attacks by the students personally, and one protest action is even said to have provoked his death. Although these similarities seem to have a more coincidental character, Kortner’s fictional film character of Mauthner nevertheless anticipates the problems Adorno faced following the student revolution of 1968. 23 Interestingly, Fritz Kortner and Fritz Mauthner share the same first name, and their last name ends on the same three letters ner. 24 See: Mauthner (1918), p. 32-36 and p. 49-53. 25 In his biography Memories (Erinnerung, 1818), Mauthner describes how deeply the plurality of three languages and cultures impinged on him as child: the Czech language of his geographical location, Hebrew as the language of his relatives and the Bible, as well as German, the language of the higher classes and the intellectual world. 26 Kortner was torn between several cultures (German and Jewish cultural identities, the cultural experience in England during his first stop in exile, and later the NorthAmerican culture in the USA).

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turned to Germany. Against different historical backdrops, the fictional (Professor) Mauthner and the real Mauthner suffer identification troubles, which in turn produce a double identity. This is a problem that Kortner surely understood due to his own experiences as an exile returning to his home country. The trouble of double perspectives and identities is indirectly linked to Fritz Mauthner’s philosophy of language. In 1892, he began his main work Criticism of Language,27 in which he defines the epistemological limits of the use of language for insight and experience of the world. In this study he anticipated the literary language crisis of the fin de siècle period as expressed by Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s Chandos-letter (Ein Brief, 1902). Hofmannsthal outlines the inability of language to adequately express the human experience. Today, the language crisis is considered as linguistic scepticism28 or the linguistic turn,29 and it indicates the incompatibility of the signifier (signifiant) and the signified (signifié).30 The language symbol creates an ‘abstract and metaphoric’ meaning so that reality lacks a decisive relation to it.31 In reference to Kortner and Fritz Mauthner, this means the inability of the symbol to represent the meaning attached to it, and refers to a central identity problem of being and considering oneself as German, while German society under National Socialism (and earlier in the case of Fritz Mauthner) refuses to recognise this identity and declares the Jewish people to be unworthy outsiders. Sander J. Gilman defined this in Jewish Self-Hatred (Jüdischer Selbsthaß, Anitsemitismus und die verborgene Sprache der Juden) as a ‘double-blindsituation’32 that refers to a ‘choice between two unachievable aims’:33 the hope

27 Beiträge zu einer Kritik der Sprache, in three volumes, first two volumes were published in 1901, the last one in 1902. 28 See for example Arens (1982), p. 145-155. 29 The term refers to ‘a series of different developments of Occidental thinking of the twentieth century. They all expose a fundamental scepticism against the idea that language is a transparent medium to capture and communicate reality.’ Stierstorfer (1998), p. 312 -313. 30 A signifier, an element of language, is a material representation of a linguistic sign. A signified is the idea or concept associated with a signifier, which together constitute the linguistic sign. These elements, which come from Ferdinand de Saussure’s linguistic theory, were introduced and problematised in the field of psychoanalysis by Jacques Lacan during his ‘return to Freud’ phase in early 1950s. Compare: Kuester in Nünning (1998), p. 489. 31 Compare: Hai in Walter (1988), p. 391. 32 Gilman (1993), p. 13.


234 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM of participating in the state as an equal member, and being accepted as a Jew without living in an outsider position. In Fritz Mauthner’s case this can be seen through his inner conflict of an identity that simultaneously consists of seeing himself as a language critic and suffering under the lack of recognition of the professional word.34 This trauma is repeated with the fictional Professor Mauthner’s case, too. A lack of professional appreciation could have also been a problem for Kortner, who had to fight with this after his return to Germany. These problems represent a troubled, double identity that provokes in the character a longing for being completed or unified again. Interestingly, Fritz Mauthner himself defined his scientific research as a linguist longing for unity by writing: ‘Looking backwards, criticism of language is an all-squelching scepticism, looking forward [...] is the longing for unity, it is mysticism.’35 This assumption links Mauthner to the Romantic movement that aimed to abandon language by transcending objects in order to overcome the split into object and subject through mysticism.36 Mauthner’s philosophical reflections regarding language offer two important subjects for Kortner’s film: first, the troubled, double identity of a Germanspeaking and assimilated Jew suffering because he is not appreciated as a full member of society owing to his Jewish origin. Second, the theoretical approach by Mauthner considers human recognition of the world through language as incomplete and insufficient: thus, a kind of mistaken perception of reality. Yet just as Mauthner, Kortner does not aim at the ability to express experiences through language. He focuses on a mistaken perception of the outer world due to the fictional Mauthner’s wishful thinking about the matter of the German nation as well as the German people’s mistaken perception in believing and following the wrong leader, thus Nazism. In this respect, Professor Mauthner refers to Plato in his first philosophical speech at the University of Göttingen in order to define the National Socialist period as a mistaken perception due to the submission to mysticism and superstition: ‘False thinking leads to false gods, and false gods make you into a heathen, and false gods demand false sacrifices. In 1933 superstition took reason’s place, but the denial of reason

33 ‘die Wahl zwischen zwei unerreichbaren Zielen.’ (2001), p. 142 34 Ibid., p. 142. 35 ‘Rückwärt blickend Sprachkritik alles zermalmende Skepsis, nach vorwärts blickend [...] ist sie eine Sehnsucht nach Einheit, ist sie Mystik.’ Mauthner (1923), p. 447. 36 Hai in Walter (1988), p. 392.

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led to unreasonableness; these years were guided by unreasonableness and were determined by irrational impulses.’

Through the content of this speech and its visual representation, Mauthner is rendered into an allegory for this problem. An establishing shot37 shows Mauthner within the hall of the university: for the biggest part of the hall low-key lighting is used and only a little light seems to enter through a window next to the ceiling. This light simultaneously highlights the figure of Mauthner and fragments him with dark shadows. The light design, the position of the figure in the shot space, and the content of his speech stylise him as a religious redeemer whose message is only accepted by a few students (see figure 25). Due to his Jewish origin, Mauthner seems to be held responsible for the ‘problem’ and who will finally be sacrificed at the film’s end in order to cure the neo-fascists of their mistaken perception.

Figure 25: Fritz Kortner as Professor Mauthner (1949).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

In the film, an antagonism evolves between Professor Mauthner and his colleague Fechner (who also functions as Mauthner’s dismissed alter ego) due to their mistaken perception of reality: Both succumb to a terrible ‘illusion’ and/or ‘failure.’ Mauthner over-idealises the condition of the German population, while Fechner’s ‘failure’ is to mobilise the students under the sign of National Socialist

37 At the beginning of the sequence, the audience perceives him from its own perspective as a viewer, due to the point of view of Mauthner’s American students, who follow the speech from a recording studio that is attached to the grand hall though a glass window. Through the students, the audience thus experiences, a reorchestration of the viewer's own gaze.


236 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM ideology out of a blind rage and jealousy to get rid of his rival, Mauthner. Somehow they are both ‘dazzled’ by their wishes and illusions, and this provokes their mistaken perception on the nature of reality. The antithetic confrontation of their mistaken perception of the situation marks the ‘reconciliatory subtone’ of the film’s philosophical call, seeking to understand and to provide an explanation as opposed to a simplifying excuse. Diaspora, Assimilation and Exile It has been previously demonstrated that the characters of Professor Mauthner and his adversary Fechner function as a figuration of the Romantic motif of the double. This motif introduces two opposing perspectives on the National Socialist past and the post-war period. In opposition to Fechner, Professor Mauthner struggles with a double identity due to his experiences of exile and diaspora as a German-Jewish émigré. This identity conflict decisively marks the film’s visual style in the form of a double point of view. At the beginning, the camera travels in a high angle long shot through a ruined German city by night.38 Melancholic non-diegetic music illustrates a gloomy night-lit shot while the credits fade in and out. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, a quickly alternating series of shots take place in Los Angeles, which is illuminated by bright morning sunlight. Gay and quick music emphasises the visual impact of these sequences; this change is a great contrast to the sad low-key impressions of the previous scene. This introduction embodies the two fragmentary branches of Mauthner’s emigrant life, which the film’s structure of two antithetic conditions, are visually linked to the semantic fields of night, destruction, loss and melancholy (the ruined city in Germany) and to the daylight atmosphere of dynamic and democratic happiness (in California). These two topographic references and their musical motifs are apparent throughout the whole film. Moreover, they correspond to Mauthner’s first speech on Plato, where he refers to the National Socialist past as ‘night’ and to the post-war period as ‘day’ in order to outline the special chance inherent to the moment of reconstruction. In this overall design narrow, dark, and uncannily sinister interior and cold, gloomy exterior spaces are used to represent German city topography during the second part of the film. Low-key lighting is used in several scenes, including the student bedroom of Mauthner’s son, the illegal bar and restaurant where Mauth-

38 Interestingly, on the DVD available in Germany, these shots appear under such lowkey lighting that the viewer has difficulty guessing what it represents.

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ner meets Lina, and the entrance of the front door where Mauthner waits for his ex-wife. The outdoor shots, such as when Walter walks along the pavement in order to visit the ill Professor Mauthner and the later funeral procession, are shot in a gloomy and cold realistic style that illustrates the bleakness of the early post-war years. Released in 1949, just shortly after the currency reform, the film’s stylistic patterns provoked controversial reactions inside39 and outside40 of Germany (further discussed at the end of this analysis). Furthermore, the opening shots function to highlight the achievements of American democracy and its positive outcome for United States citizens. The representation of the American way of life in such a glorifying way reveals the director’s goal of providing a model of a well-working democracy for the German spectator. The visual shift from the sinister and destroyed Germany by night to the peaceful and sunlit morning in California is metaphorically demonstrated through the use of language: nearly all of the characters shift from English to German and vice versa, symbolising the reiterating clash of conflicting double perspectives reminiscent of the troubled identity of the returning emigrant. The following sequences in Mauthner’s kitchen effectively introduce the theme of identity troubles that German emigrants faced in the USA. Mauthner’s faithful maid Emma prepares a party to celebrate the occasion of living fifteen years in their new homeland together. Emma explains to the other part-time kitchen help, Homer, that she is ‘happy’ in California, but that she could never be ‘lucky’ in the United States in the same way she was ‘lucky’ (glücklich in the sense of the German expression) in her home country.41 Then two of Mauthner’s emigrant friends, David Fränkl and Helfert, join them in the kitchen. Each of these characters represents another type of German emigrant, each having experienced a different side of the condition of diaspora. Fränkl represents the German-Jewish intellectual who is deeply and seriously entangled with German cultural matters, as indicated by their discussion about German national identity through the subject of Goethe’s Faust. The reason for Helfert’s emigration is not specified, but his strong German accent identifies him as a Southern German. Against the background of sunny California, the profound and passionate way in

39 For example, see Sabel (1949), p. 246. 40 Crowther, Bosley (1951). Quoted from: http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9805EFDF1638E43BBC4053DFB5668 38A649EDE; (2 March 2007). 41 In Emma’s case, lucky refers to the Germany before the difficult years of the democratic Weimar Republic, thus, the period of the empire (Kaiserreich) when she was young.


238 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM which Helfert and Fränkl discuss German culture immediately reveals the painful experience of being deprived of one’s original culture, community, and country. Although Los Angeles and Mauthner’s beautiful, spacious home appear as a paradise in comparison to the mise-en-scene of the narrow dark spaces and rooms in destroyed post-war Germany, the film also discusses the subjects of ethnicity, emigration and assimilation in the host country. In particular, the character of Homer, the black servant, introduces these problematic issues. Furthermore, the name ‘Homer’ is significant in that it distinguishes him as the offspring of Africans who were brought to North America as slaves and whose ‘forced emigration’ might also be read as an odyssey. Yet Homer’s identity troubles mainly result from being ‘black’ in a world dominated by ‘white’ people.42 Like Homer, the German-Jews in America also appear to be eternal wanders doomed to an endless odyssey because of their displacement, making it impossible for them to return to their home. Fisher (2005) showed that in other rubble films, traumatised male war veterans, such as Mertens in The Murderers Are Among Us, correspond to the motif of the flâneur or vagabond between ruins; they restlessly wander without ever finding inner peace or a place to stay. Against the background of Fisher’s findings, this study argues that the motif of the wanderer in The Last Illusion functions as a variation on the flâneur and moreover represents a further link to Romantic literature and paintings (in particular, Friedrich’s wanderers). Finally, we will see that this motif also introduces another important German-Jewish emigrant figure of the Romantic period: the writer Heinrich Heine. An Odyssey into Death As previously discussed, Frank argues in The Endless Journey. A Motif and its Text (Die unendliche Fahrt. Ein Motiv und sein Text, 1979) that in the legend of the Flying Dutchman, the restless wanderer is a Romantic motif. A central aspect of this motif (which occurs in rubble films) is that the wanderer broke a taboo in the past and is therefore doomed to sail around the sea in an endless odyssey. In

42 In a superficial way, Homer represents an ideal assimilation in comparison to the German emigrants. This becomes evident when Homer, accompanied by Mary on the piano, sings a song that praises the Unites States. However, considering the real situation of discrimination against blacks in the United States at this time, this image of the happily integrated black servant creates an ambiguous view on subject of integration.

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the analysis of The Murderers Are Among Us, the similarities of the Romantic wanderer and the haunted war veteran in rubble films have been outlined. They are unable to find peace because of a terrible past: the experience of war and the taboos that they have broken, such as killing as a soldier, etc. This past forces them to wander endlessly between the rubble and ruins. In 1834, the Romantic writer Heine referred to the legend of the Flying Dutchman in Memories by Mr. Schnabelewopski (Memoiren des Herren von Schnabelewopski),43 outlining that the Dutchman can only be redeemed from the devil’s condemnation through the love of an honest and faithful woman. In Kortner’s film, the character of Mauthner shows similarities to the Flying Dutchman. Mauthner is doomed to wander between two cultures and countries due to his ethnic origins. The narrative construction in The Last Illusion is strongly informed by Mauthner’s return voyage from the Unites States, the land of exile, to his home country. Yet several incidences on this voyage home show that a real return remains impossible. Therefore, the return voyage is rendered into an odyssey where his troubled and double identity can no longer be reconciled. Mauthner’s voyage is an odyssey into decline and death. This location shift towards his death consists of four important parts: first, Mauthner’s voyage by ship and train to France together with Emma and the students; second, his solitary train voyage from Paris to Berlin in order to find his lost wife and son; third, the train voyage from Berlin to Göttingen, together with the students; and finally, the mental voyage of his last distorted dream delirium when he imagines going back to his friends and home in California. It can be concluded that in The Last Illusion, the Romantic motifs of the wanderer and the odyssey into death accentuate the traumatic conditions of the ‘Jewish’ Mauthner (as a representative of the Jewish people), who is doomed to

43 ‘Die Fabel von dem Fliegenden Holländer ist euch gewiss bekannt. Es ist die Geschichte von dem verwünschten Schiffe, das nie in den Hafen gelangen kann, und jetzt schon seit undenklicher Zeit auf dem Meere herumfährt. [...] Jenes hölzerne Gespenst, jenes grauenhafte Schiff führt seinen Namen von seinem Kapitän, einem Holländer, der einst bei allen Teufel geschworen, dass er irgendein Vorgebirge, dessen Namen mir entfallen, trotz des heftigen Sturms, der eben wehte, umschiffen wollte, und sollte er auch bis zum Jüngsten Tag segeln müssen. Der Teufel hat ihn beim Wort gefasst, er muss bis zum Jüngsten Tage auf dem Meere herumirren, es sei denn, dass er durch die Treue eines Weibes erlöst werde.’ Quoted from: http://www.digbib.org/Heinrich_Heine_1797/Aus_den_Memoiren_des_Herren_von_ Schnabelewopski?k=Kapitel+VII; (16 April 2007).


240 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM endless wandering because he lacks a fixed geographical homeland. The various sequences of the journey differ in terms of visual style (with the exception of the journey from Berlin to Göttingen) from the rest of the film. They appear as dream-like sequences that strongly express the inner changes Mauthner goes through (thus his inner condition) on the level of visual style. Film techniques and intertextual references to art and literature represent Mauthner’s lost condition. On the ship from the United States to France, it is once again a landscape (the gloomy sun set against the sea) that, in combination with previously named aspects, illustrates Mauthner’s psychological condition. Like in the The Blum Affair, an atmosphere of uncanny strangeness anticipates future havoc. The intense use of voice-over narration, fog, low-key lighting, and non-diegetic music by the German-Jewish composer Felix Mendelssohn create a cold, nightmarish, and uncanny atmosphere of a gloomy evening light. This atmosphere surrounds Mauthner, who stands alone, in a medium close-up on the ship’s railing. He appears changed, lost, and alienated within his surroundings. Then an elderly man resembling an orthodox Jew approaches and asks him about the destination of his journey. As if he were in a dream, Mauthner tells him he is travelling to Germany. The elderly man, who is possibly a visual representation of the messenger of death, expresses irritation upon hearing the destination of Mauthner’s voyage and leaves him. The following long shot shows a grey and grim sunset on the horizon, which may be read as an allegorical anticipation of the ceasing light of Mauthner’s life. This seascape shot, which illustrates the quotation by Heine, strongly recalls the sky in another painting by Friedrich, Two Men by the Sea at Moonrise (Zwei Männer am Meer bei Mondaufgang, 1817, see figure 26), as well as the graphic structure of the sky in paintings by Munch (such as The Scream, 1893 or Despair, 1894—however, without the strong colours) which foreground feelings of alienation and confusion (see the analysis of The Lost). Mauthner’s voice-over then recites the first three lines of the travel essay 44 Germany. A Winter’s Tale (Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen, 1844) by Heine. Due to his Jewish origin, Heine immigrated to France to avoid severe persecution, which made an academic career in German universities impossible.

44 Heine left Germany for Paris due to the political situation, which discriminated against him as a Jew. Heine’s travel reports critically mirror German society through carefully veiled metaphors of landscape and meteorological descriptions, which prevented the work from being banned by the German censors.

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Figure 26: Two Men by the Sea at Moonrise (1817).

Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin. ‘[Caput 1] It was in the sad month of November, The days became duller, The wind ripped the leaves from the trees, As I travelled towards Germany.’45

Heine’s literary imagery of winter creates the impression of gloomy coldness that corresponds on an atmospheric level to the sequences of Mauthner’s voyage, as well as to the winter landscape previously discussed with the painting Winter by Friedrich. In Heine’s poetry, in Friedrich’s painting, and in Kortner’s film the winter landscape stands in for a hostile socio-political context in Germany and the inherent dangers. Yet the poem and the painting refer to the period of Romanticism, whereas the film requires the viewer to consider the background of the early post-war period, the National Socialist past, and the Holocaust. The fact that Mauthner’s return journey to post-war Germany is set in winter is a deliber-

45 ‘Caput 1. Im traurigen Monat November war’s, Die Tage wurden trüber, Der Wind riß von den Bäumen das Laub, Da reist’ ich nach Deutschland hinüber.’ Quoted from: http://projekt.gutenberg.de/?id=5&xid=1148&kapitel=2&cHash=d40dbdc7b4wintmr0 1#gb_found; 18 March 2007).


242 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM ate allusion to the mythical theme of the ‘last voyage over the Styx’ into the land of death. The next shot shows Mauthner again at the railing, still lost in the cold and grey weather. From far away Mary’s voice calls Mauthner’s name. The next shot shows her approaching through the fog with a winter cape for Mauthner. Mary helps him to dress and leads him away as if guiding him back to life. The ghostly atmosphere on the ship railing and Mary’s appearance recall the legend of the doomed Flying Dutchman. Mauthner seems to grow so stiff and lost that he cannot free himself from his position at the railing; like the Dutchman, he has to be redeemed by a faithful and loving woman. In this sequence Mary takes on the role of the saviour, which has been shown in The Murderers Are Among Us and other rubble films as a typical female character pattern. In the last dream voyage of the dying Mauthner, however, it is his ex-wife Lina who carries out the role of the saviour. The next significant sequence during the journey occurs during Mauthner’s train voyage from Paris to Berlin. Visually, these shots make an interesting visual reference to Weimar cinema, notably to Lang’s M (1931): Mauthner stands alone with his back to the viewer, in front of the window of his train cabin, lit with very low-key light. His blurred mirror image appears in the window glass, and his voice-over cites the next verse of Heine’s Winter Tale: ‘When I arrived at the border, I felt a stronger throbbing in my chest, I even believed Tears dripped from my eyes. And when I heard the German language [...].’46

The citation from Heine’s Winter tale links Heine’s experience of exile and being an unwanted outsider in one’s own home country to the identity troubles of the returning emigrant Mauthner (and indirectly to Kortner). They both suffer from being unwanted in Germany because of their Jewish origins. The last sentence of Mauthner’s voice-over seems to refer indirectly to the third verse of Heine’s Winter Tale, which is not cited in the film. This link associates the return to Germany with an anticipation of an impending death.

46 ‘Und als ich an die Grenze kam, Da fühlt ich ein stärkeres Klopfen In meiner Brust, ich glaube sogar, Die Augen begunnen zu tropfen. Und als ich die deutsche Sprache vernahm [...].’ Ibid.

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‘Suddenly I had a strange feeling; It appeared to me as if my heart would very comfortably bleed to death.’47

Heine’s Winter Tale expresses a metaphorical anticipation of death, which is related to his return to Germany. He indicates deep feelings for his home country while simultaneously expresses the impossibility to live there. In this sense, Mauthner’s return to Germany betrays a mistaken perception about German society in the post-war period—the correction of which renders him a victim of his own high expectations, which will be disappointed in such a way that he eventually dies. Yet just as in Heine’s text, Mauthner cannot help the desire to return.

Figure 27: Peter Lorre as the Hans Beckert in Fritz Lang’s M (1931).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

The visual mise en scene of the shot, in which Mauthner stands alone in front of a train window and stares into the dark night, only seeing the reflection of his own features, might represent an intertextual reference to a shot in Lang’s M. In Lang’s film, the mirror shot depicts the disturbed psychological condition of the serial child murderer Beckert (see figure 27). Though he intensely watches his face in the mirror, he does not seem to find what he is searching for. His identity remains blurred. However, Beckert appears in M as a victim of his own uncontrollable drives and impulses, even though they disturb and unsettle the rule and

47 ‘Da ward mir seltsam zu Muthe; Ich meinte nicht anders, als ob das Herz Recht angenehm verblute.’ Ibid.


244 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM order in society. This loss of control leaves him an unwanted ‘outsider’ who is harshly convicted and sentenced to death without any understanding of his psychological problem. In The Last Illusion this intertextual reference might refer to the identity crisis of Professor Mauthner (see figure 28), which is caused by his Jewish origin and the experience of exile as well as his strong impulse to return and his ensuing disappointment about a society that still defines him as the unwanted other.

Figure 28: Fritz Kortner as the returning Mauthner.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

In The Last Illusion, the low-key lighting and shadow design of the window shot with Mauthner once again recalls the visual aspects in Friedrich’s painting Winter with the frail monk. Although the spatial proportions and the arrangement of nature, objects, and figures in Friedrich’s painting do not resemble the film shot, the turned away position of Mauthner fulfils a similar function in both. The observer is invited to identify with the character and to perceive the character’s viewpoint and emotions. The view into the dark, sinister, and rainy outside world is unsettling and does not anticipate anything positive to come, as does the atmosphere expressed in Friedrich’s painting. In The Last Illusion, the clear light in the right upper shot corner seems to indicate a certain hope and a longing to overcome internal and external troubles (such as the little light in Friedrich’s painting in the left upper corner) in order to achieve internal and external unity. In Friedrich’s work, this refers to a longing to transcend the human condition in order to reunite with nature (and God) and to criticise the socio-historical context; likewise, Mauthner longs to transcend, or overcome, his identity troubles so as to reunite with his son, wife, and country. Yet the turned away position of Mauthner (such as the monk in Friedrich’s painting) accentuates the impression

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of insurmountable distance and of being torn into two identities, therefore nullifying this wish. Classical Humanism versus Romanticism: Fragmented Identity As already mentioned, the motif of the double is a central narrative device of the Romantic discourse in The Last Illusion. In relation to the main characters of Mauthner and Fechner, this motif represents an alter ego constellation. By introducing two opposing viewpoints or perspectives on past and present events, the narrative function of the double motif is reminiscent of the alter ego constellation of the main characters in The Murderers Are Among Us. A similar grouping of the double motif also returns in the last rubble film to be discussed in this study, The Lost (1951) by Peter Lorre. Beyond the exile subject, the topic of troubled identity appears as a central element of controversial discussion about German national identity in The Last Illusion. Two fellow émigrés of Mauthner, Fränkl and Helfert, debate German national identity and the National Socialist rule by using the literary example of Goethe’s protagonist Faust. Fränkl introduces this topic in Emma’s kitchen and later resumes it with Helfert during Mauthner’s party. By discussing Goethe’s Faust, Fränkl aims at exposing the dangers inherent in the model of the educated citizen (Bildungsbürger) in the literary period of classical idealism. Fränkl interprets Faust’s crisis48 as a shift from the principles of reason and rationality (such as represented by the classical ideal of the Enlightenment) to

48 Fränkl’s reflections on Goethe’s Faust interpret Faust’s dilemma as follows: Faust suffers two strong, but conflicting, impulses. The nature of these impulses can best be described in relation to the gods of Apollo and Dionysus in Greek mythology. The Apollonian one stands for the first half of Faust’s life: he is a rational and reasonable academic, devoted to research and science. But then, suddenly, he develops doubts concerning the ability of scientific methods to capture the word (such as the language philosopher Fritz Mauthner) and quickly drifts into a crisis of identity. Faust deeply questions the sense, meaning, and function of scientific findings, methods, and academic life—an inner process that might also be identified as a midlife crisis. Under the influence of the devil Mephisto, who functions as Faust’s externalised alter ego of Dionysian desires (thus his double in terms of repressed desires), Faust becomes interested in the Dionysian aspects of life (such as ecstasy, intoxication, materialism, and sexual desire), which contradict and challenge his prior Apollonian worldview. In order to satisfy the new desires, Faust sells his soul to the devil and becomes guiltily involved in a suicide (when seducing the innocent young woman Gretchen).


246 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM mysticism, irrationality, and superstition (such as employed by the National Socialist leaders in order to bedazzle and manipulate the masses). We can compare these principles to the conflicting relationship between two literary philosophical and artistic movements taking place at the time of Faust I (1808): Classicism and Romanticism. Fränkl’s interpretation indicates a shift from classical principles to ideas and themes that are often closely linked to Romanticism, since Romanticism focuses on the ‘so-called dark side of human nature’ and deals with phenomena that cannot be completely explained by the scientific, rational concepts inherent to the Enlightenment. In this respect, Fränkl’s discourse offers many suggestions regarding ‘German’ national identity. A central suggestion seems to be the inability to bring into balance these two impulses (the Apollonian/classical one and the Dionysian/romantic one) without provoking a dangerous domination of one over the other. If we want to define this conflict as a particular German dilemma, then we could link the Apollonian impulse to the rationality in terms of Lutheran (Protestant) purism, Prussian austerity, and the Wilhelminian tendency of unquestioning obedience to the powerful. The result may be that the rational side is dangerously overstated, and thus oppressive to the Dionysian impulses. Yet Fränkl’s discourse is not so clear about whether or not this imbalance is a particular ‘German’ problem. His remarks reveal another problem: the Rousseauian concept of human nature and the idea that classical ‘humanistic education’ inevitably produces ‘good’ and ‘responsible’ people. The classical model denies the ‘uncontrollable’ (Dionysian side) in human nature, which the Romantics identify as the ‘night side’ of humanity: the unconscious desires and the return of the repressed, thus the uncanny psychological aspects of human nature. What it means to return gains double importance in relation to male rubble film characters. As returning war veterans and émigrés, they are deeply affected by trauma and the return to a formerly well-known home, country, or family. These previously familiar elements are now the subject of alienation, which may express itself in an uncanny psychological condition. In this sense, the Romantic motif of the ‘double identity’ symbolises the problem of lost wholeness, as reflected in identity troubles, and simultaneously questions the worldview inherent to theories of classicism. In Kortner’s film, the protagonist Professor Mauthner embodies the concepts of German classical humanism; for example, he promotes that ‘virtue can be taught’ in his first speech at the University of Göttingen. (Incidentally, this cor-

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responds to Kortner’s own convictions.) Mauthner’s approach towards West Germany in the post-war period refuses the idea of ‘collective guilt’ for the German people. Because of these possibly too reconciliatory impulses, he fails to recognise the selfish, corrupt, and cold-blooded plans of his adversary Fechner. Having missed out on Fechner’s dubious intentions, Mauthner becomes a victim of his own idealism. Mauthner’s fierce longing to reconcile with his country and its people softens his rational scientific attitude with the result that he too excuses the German people as ‘potential’ victims of National Socialist rule. This aspect becomes evident when Mauthner asks Emma about her former boyfriend’s activities during the National Socialist regime. Emma is embarrassed and admits that he was not only in the National Socialist party, but did some ‘extra work’ for the party as well. While Emma appears disappointed about her former lover’s acts, Mauthner relativises these facts and assumes that he had no other choice. This comment is not convincing to Emma or to the audience, but it reveals Mauthner’s idealised point of view. However, whereas Mauthner is guilty of idealising human nature, as well as the effects of the National Socialist regime on the German people, his adversary Fechner excuses the manipulating and abusing students as the only way out of the conditions brought on him by the prior regime and its breakdown.

Figure 29: Fechner welcomes Mauthner.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Fechner is neither a National Socialist nor a declared adversary of the prior regime. When he first encounters Mauthner, he warmly welcomes his former colleague by embracing him (see figure 29). Yet shortly after this, he learns that Mauthner got the university post that he himself desired, and thereafter only cynicism towards the past and his determination to get a job guide his actions.


248 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Fechner sees himself as an ‘innocent bystander’ caught up in historical circumstances that render him into a victim of suffering and social degradation.49 During their first encounter in the American office building, Fechner’s behaviour clearly indicates his refusal to accept Mauthner as a victim of the prior regime. Similarly to Staudte’s Brückner in The Murderers Are Among Us, Fechner corresponds to the type of ‘demonic bourgeois citizen’ who is without any moral consciousness—who adapts himself to every condition and does not shrink from abusing others in order to achieve his personal aims. As an antagonist, this character challenges and denies Professor Mauthner’s humanistic and philosophical approach towards post-war German society. This conflicting relationship between Mauthner and Fechner is a clear reference to the motif of the double because it brings to the surface the contradictions and taboos in West German post-war society. Consequently, Fechner represents the part of human nature that the fictitious philosopher Mauthner (unconsciously) dismisses and vice versa. In comparison to Mauthner and other emigrants in the United States, Fechner and Mauthner’s ex-wife Lina appear to be more or less comfortably settled in their post-war ‘identity construction’ built up upon processes of repression. However, this only functions until Mauthner’s return. His return revives the past, which many, such as Lina and Fechner, wished to be a taboo. Mauthner is a sort of dismissed alter ego of theirs in that he incorporates the return of a past that negatively interferes with their current lives and already outlined future (career) plans. Just as at the film’s beginning, the double perspective appears not only as a visual device, but also as a narrative one. The main adversaries of the film, Mauthner and Fechner, embody the two antithetic positions: the viewpoint of those who stayed versus those who had to leave. The troubled, double identity of the main character in The Last Illusion presents the primary reason for the final downfall of nearly all the film characters and the open ending. Yet the reasons behind this impossibility of coming to terms with the past and present affect all of these characters differently. As already outlined in Käutner’s Romance in Minor Key, a film of the aesthetics of opposition, such a narrative construction functions to question German society at a given historical moment (such as in the next two film samples to be discussed Second Hand Destiny and The Lost). With Mauthner’s death at the film’s end, none of the central characters have really won. Walter learns the truth about his origins, but his father is dead. Lina

49 He cannot get a suitable position at the university and complains about teaching rich kids as a private scholar.

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loses her first husband for a second and last time. Mauthner’s students lose their mentor, and the university loses a professor. Only Fechner might stand to profit from Mauthner’s death, yet the film does not indicate this. All the central characters are left with a feeling of guilt at having been involved in Mauthner’s death. The insight in his guilt concerning Mauthner’s death is the reason why one of the fascist students follows the funeral procession at the film’s end. In this respect, the film’s message recalls Friedrich’s aesthetic representation of contextual socio-political tensions. Although presenting an image of nearly complete decline, the film nevertheless indicates a flicker of hope50 that appeals for resistance. In The Last Illusion, this appeal is a philosophical one that calls for resistance against the old mentalities and residue of the National Socialist period in post-war West German society. The website of the cultural archive of the German University of Applied Sciences and Arts (Fachhochschule) Hannover offers an overview and information about a selection of rubble films, including The Last Illusion. The archive’s analysis underscores the film’s high degree of ‘trepidation and consternation in the effect of the sinister images.’51 This aesthetic can be seen as the major reason why the German spectator in 1949 was unwilling to accept Kortner’s filmic portrayal of post-war West Germany. On the website it states: ‘These images lastingly destroy the regained future perspective; they relentlessly recall what has been repressed for four years, what has been nearly forgotten. People accepted the current state of affairs and did not take a stand to oppose a still existing fascist mentality, against anti-Semitism—the destiny of Mauthner in the film befalls the film itself.’52

These judgments express a generally negative view on the film’s subversive discourse and meaning; they fail to acknowledge its positive function of opening a

50 Hope is represented in the painting by the little light in the left-hand corner. 51 ‘Beklommenheit und Betroffenheit in der Wirkung der düsteren Bilder.’ Quoted from: http://www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossische -spielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/filmanalyse-und--kritik.html; (3 February 2007). 52 ‘Zerstörten diese Bilder doch zu nachhaltig die wiedergewonnenen Zukunftsperspektiven, erinnerten sie unnachgiebig an das nun schon seit vier Jahren Verdrängte, fast schon Vergessene. Man war dabei, sich einzurichten, nicht sich aufzurichten: gegen eine weiter existierende faschistische Geisteshaltung, gegen Antisemitismus – das Schicksal Mauthners im Film widerfährt dem Film selber.’ Ibid.


250 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM controversial debate. Ironically, this website advises the reader to compare 53 Kortner’s film to Braun’s early rubble film Between Yesterday and Tomorrow (1947). The film analysis of Braun’s rubble film (also available on this website) indicates a strong preference for its harmonising and reconciling style and classical narrative patterns because ‘the past-related criteria for the “reconstruction” indicates its restorative character: the memory of “better times” motivates to work for “better times”.’54 In comparison with Braun’s film and its appeal for a generous forgetting and forgiving, the spectator shall gain insight into ‘the radical criticism of Kortner’s [film].’55 These citations indicate a preference for treating post-war problems in a simplifying and excusing way. The central aim seems to be the avoidance of any critical introspection and self-reflection (on the part of the German population) about the past events. However, film experts at the time opposed this judgment. The critic Manfred Barthel, who attended the premier of Between Yesterday and Tomorrow, testifies a deep shock about Braun’s film: ‘With his first film after 1945, Between Yesterday and Tomorrow, he jointlessly ties with the dressed up appearance of the UFA-Style.’56 Barthel writes about Braun’s earlier career during National Socialism: ‘At the war’s end, he [Braun] had not only attended the production of

53 ‘Der Ruf sollte möglichst im Zusammenhang mit dem Film Zwischen gestern und morgen behandelt werden, thematisiert dieser doch ebenfalls ein “Emigrantenschicksal” – aber aus der Perspektive der Daheimgebliebenen und in der Form anknüpfend an den Gesellschaftsfilm der 30er Jahre. Dieser Vergleich ermöglicht, über die sehr unterschiedlichen Bewußtseinshaltungen und deren Konsequenzen zu reflektieren sowie die Radikalität der Kritik Kortners zu erkennen.’ Ibid. 54 ‘die vergangenheitsorientierten Maßstäbe dieses “Neuaufbaus” verweisen auf seinen restaurativen Charakter: Die Erinnerung an “bessere Zeiten” animiert zur Arbeit für “bessere Zeiten”.’ Quoted from: http://www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossische -spielfilme/die-filme-3/zwischen-gestern-und-morgen/filmanalyse-und--kritik-4.html; (3 March 2007). 55 ‘die Radikalität der Kritik Kortners zu erkennen’. Quoted from: http://www.hist.unihannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/didaktisch-methodische-hinweise.html; (2 March 2007). 56 ‘Mit seinem ersten Film nach 1945 Zwischen gestern und morgen knüpfte er allzu fugenlos an diesen gelackten Ufa-Stil.’ Barthel (1986), p. 122.

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all great Zarah Leander films in the film studio, but he had also shot three of the films...’57 Furthermore, Barthel expresses concern about the fact that all of the main characters show patterns of self-sacrificing, heroic pathos and other character features or mentalities that were abused for National Socialist ideological impact, such as at the film’s end when Willy Birgel (in the role of Alexander Corty) heroically commits suicide under the rubble of a bomb attack: ‘Heads shaking and speechless, we watched a typical well-directed star production (Willy Birgel, Viktor de Kowa, Sybille Schmitz) with old set pieces that inspired glamour, style and noblesse. [...] The only disconcerting element was that the dialogue consistently hinted that the film’s action was linked to the National Socialist period, race laws and spying. This made this cultivated entertainment film about people, no, about ladies and gentlemen in a hotel, into an upsetting film. For the first time, rubble and fear only appeared as a dramaturgical vehicle.’58

Yet Barthel knew from inside German film production during the Reich and later. Therefore, he naturally shows a more critical view than the ordinary German film spectator. This knowledge surely explains his clear-sighted judgment, which cannot be declared as representative for the majority of the German cinema audience at the time, though other post-war film critics also reacted sceptically.59 Between Yesterday and Tomorrow (see figure 30) doubtlessly falls in the category of Shandley’s definition of rubble films as ‘simplistic texts that re-

57 ‘Bei Kriegsende hatte er [Braun] nicht nur bei allen großen Zarah-Leander-Filmen im Atelier gestanden, sondern selbst drei Filme [Zwischen Himmel und Erde, Nora, Träumerei] inszeniert.’ Ibid. 58 ‘Kopfschüttelnd und sprachlos sahen wir einen routiniert gemachten Starfilm (Willy Birgel, Viktor de Kowa, Sybille Schmitz) mit den alten Versatzstücken von Glanz, Bügelfalten und Edelmut. [...] Störend war nur, daß in den Dialogen immer wieder behauptet wurde, die Handlung hätte irgendwas mit der Nazizeit, Rassengesetzen und Bespitzelung zu tun. Das machte diesen gepflegten Unterhaltungsfilm um Menschen, nein, um Damen und Herren in einem Hotel, zu einem ärgerlichen Film. Zum ersten Mal waren Trümmer und Angst nur noch dramaturgisches Vehikel.’ Ibid., p. 31. 59 Compare: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme3/zwischen-gestern-und-morgen/zeitgenoessische-kritik-4.html; (3 March 2007).


252 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM affirm the spectator’s image of his or herself as privately resisting a public injustice.’60 The film’s classical illusory patterns and ideological impact are still reminiscent of the so-called non-political National Socialist entertainment films. In this respect, Braun’s film contributes to what Harro Segeberg defines as the ‘final completion [of entertainment cinema produced under National Socialism] in German post-war cinema.’61 Segeberg’s remark focuses on the hidden ideological impact that implicitly lives on through the ongoing distribution and appreciation of these films, even today. As opposed to this, The Last Illusion represents a more ‘authentic point of view’ of an emigrant returning to his home country. The film directly mirrors pitiless West German society in the post-war period. In comparison to Braun’s film, this point of view provokes a controversial discussion about West German identity in the post-war period through the use of Romantic discourse. Moreover, it stresses the common excuse of the so-called inner emigration, just as a film review at the time shows: ‘“The Call [The Last Illusion]” shows human ruins, the rigorous destruction of human and social relations, uprooting and homelessness of émigrés, displaced persons, detainees, persecuted persons; it shows an “old mentality” that lingers on in (schools and) universities and the strained “pretext” of “inner emigration”—in differentiated delimitation to a believable inner emigration, such as the film shows using the example of the director of the University of Göttingen.’62

Finally, the film can be compared with the accounts of other returning émigrés, such as Adorno63 or Hannah Arendt,64 who pronounced similar judgments and

60 Shandley (2001), p. 62. 61 Segeberg (2004), p. 203. 62 ‘“Der Ruf” zeigt die menschlichen Trümmer, die rigorose Zerstörung menschlicher und sozialer Beziehungen, Entwurzelung und Heimatlosigkeit Emigrierter, Vertriebener, Inhaftierter, Verfolgter; er zeigt das Fortleben des “alten Geistes” in (Schulen und) Hochschulen und die strapazierte “Ausrede” der “inneren Emigration” – in differenzierter Abgrenzung zu einer glaubwürdigen inneren Emigration, wie es der Film am Beispiel des Präsidenten der Göttinger Universität aufzeigt.’ Quoted from: www.hist.uni-hannover.de/kulturarchiv/deutschland_nach_1945/zeitgenossischespielfilme/die-filme-3/der-ruf/filmanalyse-und--kritik.html; (3 March 2007). 63 Adorno (1980), p. 20-33. 64 Arendt (1986), p. 43-70.

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observations from similar points of view. The distance and alienation of the emigrant’s perspective creates a more honest and authentic, yet stirring, and controversial portrayal of the condition of the land and its people. The film’s message is shaped primarily by the various opposing positions of the double motif and perspectives (Mauthner/Fechner, Mauthner/Lina and Fechner/university president, etc.). Interestingly, these double positions—of the alienated returner (the outsider) and the position of those who stayed (the insider)—force the spectator to make his or her own judgement about these characters and their motivations. By maintaining a critical distance from the motives and actions of the two major adversaries Mauthner and Fechner, neither of them are represented as the ‘sympathetic hero’ the audience can identify with. This aspect possibly represents the most difficult element in Kortner’s film: the lack of a character who offers agreeable patterns of identification for the German spectator. A film review by Karl Sabel (1949) shows a similar argument, which denies the still existing fascist and anti-Semitic impact on the German population: ‘Is Kortner’s judgment a misjudgment? We believe that what he opposes does not exist anymore. [...] The impression is strong. Kortner intrigues us, even when controversy exists surrounding the problem. [...] In the subsequent discussion disagreement appears. The Essen newspaper (following the German premiere in the Kleinen Lichtburg) accuses Kortner of “resentment” and complains that the “connecting human universality in the film” is darkened through the “primitivism” of the antagonist.’65

In opposition to this statement, this study argues that Kortner’s film nevertheless introduces a model of identification for the German spectator—yet not a pleasant one that would flatter the German audience. Through the character of the student who at the end of the film decides to follow the funeral procession, a critical introspection on the past and contemporary period is highlighted as a model pattern. Yet this type of filmic appeal asks the ordinary spectator to confront himself with difficult questions. Moreover, the film’s intellectually challenging level of intertextual, intermedial, and intericonic references may have overtaxed the

65 ‘Ist Kortners Urteil nicht ein Fehlurteil? Wogegen er auftritt, das, so glauben wir, lebt nicht mehr. [...] Der Eindruck ist stark. Kortner fasziniert, selbst wo das Problem umstritten ist. [...] Nachher im Gespräch wird Widerspruch laut. In den Essener Zeitungen (nach der deutschen Erstaufführung in der Kleinen Lichtburg) wird Kortner “Ressentiment” vorgeworfen und beklagt, dass das “menschlich Verbindende, Allgemeingültige des Films” durch die “Primitivität des Gegenspielers verdunkelt” wird.’ Sabel (1949), p. 246.


254 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM average German spectator who was seeking light entertainment. This is surely why rubble films such as Braun’s Between Yesterday and Tomorrow or Käutner’s In Those Days garnered much more acceptance. On the other hand, Kortner’s film had a similar fate to another important rubble film: Rossellini’s neorealist film Germany Year Zero (1947). The film was barely received or even distributed in Germany under the pretext of ‘antiGerman tendencies,’66 until very recently (in 2003), when Rossellini's film gained the recognition it deserved. Now it is considered a film worthy to be discussed in schools in Germany, and it has thus been placed on the Filmkanon.67 This late approval demonstrates the extent to which those responsible in film production and politics must have hesitated to confront the German public with an authentic picture of the post-war epoch in cinema, even if this picture was meant as a philosophical appeal with a reconciliatory subtone. The next rubble film, also by Staudte, illustrates an even bleaker portrayal of German male identity in post-war West German society than in The Last Illusion. As opposed to the earlier rubble films discussed in this study, Staudte transfers his criticism of the German population onto the early epoch of World War II. Possibly hoping to avoid public dismissal of his film, he attempted to pass on his message through the disguise of decontextualisation. .

66 ‘deutschfeindliche Tendenzen.’ Compare the history of the reception of Germany Year Zero in Germany. Schrey in Böhm / Mielke (2007), p. 304-305. 67 A list of films that are recommended to be watched and discussed in schools by the German government.

Second Hand Destiny (1949): The Demonic Bourgeois

In the aftermath of World War II, Second Hand Destiny was Staudte’s third long feature film. His first film, The Murderers Are Among Us, was analysed at the beginning of chapter three. Although the story of Second Hand Destiny is not set in the post-war era, the film uses metaphor to refer to two opposing models of identity construction in the aftermath of Nazism: that of ‘the German male who idealizes and oppresses his past actions,’ and that of the traumatised ex-soldier. As already outlined in the analysis of Staudte’s first rubble film, these opposing identity constructions also function in Second Hand Destiny to attack the German population for oppressing or idealising past events and crimes—an attitude that Staudte perceived as an escapist answer to the demands of the post-war period. Not surprisingly, the stylistically expressive portrayal of traumatised German post-war male identity in Second Hand Destiny also provoked controversial reactions. The film experts Ulrich Gregor and Enno Patalas already accused Staudte’s first rubble film of avoiding political explanation or insight into ‘political failure and individual guilt’ for the National Socialist rule, focusing instead on introspection that gave way to forgiving and forgetting.1 Staudte’s following DEFAproduction Rotation (1948/49) can be read as a response to such attacks. With the example of an average worker family, the film investigates the reasons why the National Socialist regime had been possible. Regarding Rotation, Christiane Mückenberger2 writes that Staudte saw this film in terms of ‘aesthetics as an alternative draft’3 to his first rubble film. Staudte stated: ‘Rotation emerged from a different perspective and shows no stylistic similarities to The Murderers Are Among Us. [...] I intended to create a document with Rotation.’4 The film’s

1

‘politisches Versagen und individuelle Schuld.’ Gregor / Patalas (1982), p. 309.

2

Mückenberger in Schenk (1994). Quoted from: http://www.filmportal.de/df/b2/Artikel,,,,,,,,EC5F35CC42263CB2E03053D50B374EF 1,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 January 2007).

3

‘ästhetisch einen Gegenentwurf.’ Ibid.

4

‘Rotation entstand aus einer ganz anderen Perspektive und besitzt überhaupt keine stilistischen Ähnlichkeiten mit Die Mörder sind unter uns. [...] an und für sich wollte ich mit Rotation ein Dokument schaffen.’ Ibid.


256 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM visual style and Staudte’s choice of actors are a testimony to this intention. Its realism corresponds to that which was later called ‘socialist realism’ in DEFA productions and is reminiscent of Roberto Rossellini’s Italian neorealist film Germany Year Zero (1947). The (West) German left-wing intellectuals in particular retrospectively praised Staudte’s turn to the realist tradition and his move away from his earlier formalism, such as indicated by his choice of young actors from theaters in East Berlin: ‘Film critic Herbert Ihering saw in Staudte’s procedure of casting for this film an attempt to continue with an acting tradition which was marked by a group of young actors, who came from Erwin Piscator, the “Jungen Volksbühne” by Gustav von Wangenheim’s “Truppe 31”. Rotation is one of the few films in which “new faces could shape new characters.”’5

Rotation possibly functioned as an answer to those critics who had condemned The Murderers Are Among Us for its formalist tendencies and for not explaining the rise to power of the National Socialist regime. As already mentioned in the introduction, this study interprets the comments on Staudte’s formalism as a reaction to the debate on style, which first aimed at literature. According to George Lukácz’ Theory of the Novel (1920), modest realism, which dealt with the ‘new heroes’ of the working class, was favoured in literature over formalist styles. Lukácz criticised literary formalist traditions such as Expressionism for having paved the way for National Socialism. Important film critics and theoreticians, such as Kracauer and André Bazin, supported the theory of the superiority of filmic realism.6 Yet this study asserts that, as opposed to most realist German rubble films, it was the formalist tradition in post-war rubble films in particular that provided a more critical, though often metaphorical, reflection of the events, crimes, and attitudes before, during, and after the National Socialist era.

5

‘In Staudtes Vorgehen bei der Besetzung für diesen Film sah der Kritiker Herbert Ihering den Versuch, eine schauspielerische Tradition fortzusetzen, geprägt von der Gruppe Junger Schauspieler, die von Erwin Piscator kamen, der “Jungen Volksbühne” Gustav von Wangenheims “Truppe 31”. Rotation sei einer der wenigen Filme, in denen “neue Gesichter Typen prägen konnten.”’ Ibid.

6

As a result, endless debates upon the nature of realism appeared, which only lessened with a change in the paradigm in film studies that proposed focusing on the film medium’s properties and not to discuss it only in terms of theories, such as proposed by Bordwell and Carroll in Post-Theory: Reconstructing Film Studies (1996).

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Staudte writes that Rotation was the result of the following contextual tendencies: ‘When in 1948, only three years after the unconditional surrender, the first signs of an unscrupulous restoration appeared in the public and political life; when fascist leaders and their generals were rehabilitated at first tentatively and then with increasing ease; when the first soldier newspapers appeared at the kiosks; when the old national reactionary “Stahlhelm-Bund” [steel-helmet association] became sanctioned without protest by the Bonn government; when the German dishonour was addressed in public speeches which did not refer to their own fascist past, but to the trauma of the Wehrmacht, the lost territories in the East regions and the Saar –, in this time I wrote the script of the film Rotation.’7

In this respect, we may define the film as a warning about the dangers of returning tendencies, which in the post-World War I period had laid the groundwork for the next war. Moreover, the film focuses on how easily the average apolitical citizen can find himself within a political disaster (such as National Socialism) due to his political ignorance. Yet Staudte was aware that the reasons for the ‘success’ of the National Socialists could not merely be explained by a general laziness in politics on the part of the majority of the German population. There were other reasons why the regime so efficiently convinced the majority of the German people (and even impressed other countries in the beginning). This study interprets Staudte’s next rubble film, Second Hand Destiny as an attempt to trace the deeper reasons for the recent national catastrophe by examining other tendencies and mechanisms that helped to successfully support Nazism. Staudte may have transferred the story of Second Hand Destiny onto an earlier historical time period as a strategy to create distance between the film’s subversive meaning and the audience’s everyday life, just as Käutner did with Romance in Minor Key during National Socialism. This distance to the post-war

7

‘Als schon im Jahre 1948, also nur drei Jahre nach der bedingungslosen Kapitulation, im öffentlichen und politischen Leben die ersten Anzeichen einer hemmunglosen Restauration sichtbar wurden, als man erst zaghaft, dann immer unverhüllter die Rehabilitation der faschistischen Führer und Generäle betrieb, die ersten Soldatenzeitungen an den Kiosken auftauchten, der alte national-reaktionäre “Stahlhelm-Bund” protestlos von der Bonner Regierung sanktioniert wurde - als man in öffentlichen Kundgebungen von der deutschen Schmach sprach, womit man nicht etwa die eigene faschistische Vergangenheit, sondern das Trauma der Wehrmacht, der verlorenen Ostgebiete und die Saar meinte -, in dieser Zeit schrieb ich das Szenarium zu dem Film Rotation.’ Staudte in Kersten (1977), p. 85.


258 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM situation, strengthened by the narrative structure of a background story and flashbacks, transfers the film’s message into an investigation about human nature itself. This decontextualisation helped the audience to absorb the film’s message without being made to feel accused by too many references to the past and present (such as in The Murderers Are Among Us). The film’s story takes place in the late German empire. The prediction of a fortune teller becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy and destroys the life of a middle-class man. The charlatan fortune teller, the so-called Professor Sapis, predicts that the clerk Michael Scholz will soon lose his beloved wife Irene, who is of higher bourgeois, nearly aristocratic descent. Her family was always disappointed about her marriage to an ‘insignificant’ clerk—someone clearly beneath her. Due to his concern for Irene’s health, her disrespectful brother, and the prediction made by the fortune teller, Scholz maneuvers himself deeper and deeper into an emotional distress. He begins to live beyond his means in order to fulfil his wife’s needs. Fearing a health problem, yet not wanting to bother her husband with the truth until having a reliable confirmation of being ill, Irene secretly sees a doctor who unfortunately has his practice in the same house as her male friend and admirer, the solicitor Dr van Hooven. Scholz follows his wife secretly, finally killing her under false suspicion in a kind of trance. After having served his prison sentence, Scholz gets a job as a carnival fortune teller named Sylvio Sylvestro, who despises humanity and eventually drowns himself in alcohol. Released in Hamburg on October 6, 1949, Second Hand Destiny was produced under the legacy of the Western Allies in the English sector, and not in the DEFA studios like Staudte’s previous two rubble films that were made in Berlin. On the whole, the critics of the time only gave Second Hand Destiny modest reviews. Luft,8 who negatively reviewed the film’s artistic experimental style as well as the subject matter of Staudte’s first rubble film, generally approved of Staudte’s Second Hand Destiny, but advised him to produce the next script together with a ‘good craftsman.’9 Yet Luft fails to mention Staudte’s hints to the manipulative and seductive skills of National Socialist leaders such as Goebbels or Hitler, which are referentially addressed with the character of the fraudulent fortune teller Professor Sapies. As will be demonstrated in this analysis, this character and the effect of his predictions on ordinary people represent a central aspect of the film’s search for reasons why National Socialism swept the country with such alacrity.

8

Luft in Kerstens (1977), p. 101-102.

9

Luft in Netenjakob / Orbanz / Prinzler (1991), p. 182-183.

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Another critic, employing the initials K.W., totally fails to recognise the film’s qualities. He not only criticises Staudte’s film, but also the whole production company in charge of Second Hand Destiny: ‘[The] Real Film Production Company, based in Hamburg in a little provisory studio with primitive means and much enthusiastic motivation, started rapidly producing one film premiere after another. Although the company could certainly be proud of its (box office) success, a top film of outstanding artistic quality had not yet been released.’10

The contrasting voices of these two film critics give a good example of how this rubble film was perceived in Germany. Moreover, the history of the film’s reception shows that it quickly sank into oblivion. Neither Pleyer’s first study on German post-war cinema, nor Shandley’s more recent study even mentions this film. This omission is surprising, given that in 1989 the rubble film expert Brandlmeier emphasised the film’s main narrative and visual qualities: ‘belief in destiny and fatalism, alienation between man and woman, traumatic homecoming, and on the filmic level: expressive light, hectic flashback structures, and dynamic camera work (Willy Winterstein).’ Finally he concluded that this film was the ‘masterpiece of rubble films par excellence.’11 Staudte’s Second Hand Destiny combines visual patterns of Weimar cinema, film noir, and a narrative Romantic discourse that recalls the first rubble film The Murderers Are Among Us—though, as already mentioned, the story is transposed to the late German empire, before World War I. The central Romantic motifs and narratives are: the double, the demonic citizen, a conflicting relationship between rationality and irrationality in terms of superstition, and manipulative seduction by a visionary and demonic ‘leader’ who resembles Fritz Lang’s Mabuse, who represented organised crime and the diabolical side of humanity.

10 ‘Real-Filmgesellschaft, die in Hamburg mit einem Behelfsatelier von wenigen Quadratmetern mit primitiven Mitteln und viel begeistertem Arbeitswillen zielstrebig startete, ließ in kurzer Zeit eine Uraufführung nach der anderen folgen. Sie wird sicher auf ihre (Kassen) Erfolge stolz sein und kann es auch, obgleich bisher noch kein Spitzenfilm von überragender künstlerischer Qualität gelungen ist.’ K.W. (1949). Quoted from: http://www.zeit.de/1949/41/Schicksal-aus-zweiter-Hand; (3 May 2007). 11 ‘Schicksalsglaube und Fatalismus, Entfremdung von Mann und Frau, traumatische Heimkehr, Filmisch: expressives Licht, hektische Rückblendenstruktur und eine dynamische Kameraführung (Willy Winterstein).’; ‘Meisterwerk des Trümmerfilms.’ Quoted from: Hoffmann (1989), p. 51.


260 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Staudte’s story of an ordinary, lower middle-class clerk who marries a bourgeois woman criticises society by pointing out the class system present in the German Empire. High or low birth, (military) education, and a fixed and rigid class hierarchy determined a man’s life forever. In this case, class differences continue to exacerbate the alienation between the couple. The alienation between Michael and Irene is the result of a societal order in which traditional and conservative views force human feeling and actions into predetermined patterns. The crossing of these social boundaries, such as the Scholz’s marriage, demonstrates that the breaking of taboos cannot end happily. Society condemns these trespasses, and the consequences resulting such crossings lead to emotional and social decline. Thus, the marriage of Michael and Irene is declining because of the mechanisms of social control that destroy the couple’s confidence in one another. This portrayal of control mechanisms in German society and its traditionalist forms during the Empire stresses certain parallels to social control under National Socialism. Where Käutner already touched upon these issues with Romance in Minor Key (also using the Empire period), Staudte’s film returns to this theme to criticise German society and its structures, as well as its subsequent effects on the post-war period. Rationalism versus Irrationalism Second Hand Destiny is a film that considers the topic of Nazism on a metaphorical and symbolic level. This meaning has often been overlooked because of its indirect and referential representation. Just as in Engel’s The Blum Affair, this film’s real ‘protagonist’ is the conflict between rational and irrational impulses. The irrational is represented by the fraudulent fortune teller’s ‘mysterious and uncanny’ prediction that causes Scholz’s increasing delirium and loss of control. In opposition to Scholz’s increasingly deranged perception of reality, Staudte introduces a second discourse, which is constructed around Irene’s health problems. When she secretly visits a doctor, he lectures her about the achievements of modern medical science. The doctor personifies human reason and rationality, which serve humanistic goals without being corrupted by human greed and irrational beliefs. By demonstrating this power of reason from the perspective of ‘scientifically proven truth,’ Staudte presents the answer to Scholz’s delirium as being caused by mystic and irrational beliefs. The conflicting relationship between the principles of rationality and irrationality are main elements of the Romantic discourse, as discussed in chapter two. Staudte highlights this Romantic discourse by the use of crosscutting in his film. With the device of alternating parallel editing, Staudte shows the audience

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two scenes at once: first, Irene is being x-rayed in order to prove her health, and second, Scholz in front of the doctor’s surgery practice, where the admirer of Irene, Dr van Hooven, also happens to live. Scholz appears in a very low-key lit mise en scene, with fragmentary shadows and both close-up and medium closeup shots that symbolise his deranged condition: he is close to a psychological and emotional breakdown. Scholz blindly interprets the fact that Irene enters this house, where van Hooven also lives, as the fulfilment of the prophecy by the fortune teller (that he will lose his wife). Later, when he meets his wife at home and observes her dress buttoned-up wrong, Scholz kills his wife out of jealousy, as if in a kind of trance caused by his mental and emotional stress. This sequence is reminiscent of characters of German silent films and other rubble films, such as Caligari’s controlled Cesare, Lang’s child murderer in M, and Rothe’s murder of women in The Lost. Scholz’ character introduces a high level of ambiguous meaning. He simultaneously appears as a ‘victim’12 and as a ‘culprit’ because he is unable to extricate himself from the fortune teller’s influence and prophecy. Like Nathanael in Hoffmann’s text The Sandman, Scholz loses control over his acts and feelings. The encounter with a manipulator (a personification of evil)13 allows the irrational impulse to take over. Staudte’s portrait of an ordinary middle-class citizen shows an allegory of the self-understanding of many German people during the National Socialist regime and in the post-war period. National Socialism, war, and defeat were perceived as a sort of ‘destiny, as a disaster that had come over the world.’14 It has been shown earlier in this study, that in fine arts, literature, and some rubble films, such stylised representations showed the war as an apocalypse and demonized National Socialism in order to absolve the German population from responsibility.15 These escapist tendencies marked many film productions in the post-war period, such as Pleyer demonstrates in his early sociological study on German post-war cinema and with the example of the rubble film And Once We Meet Again (Und dereinst finden wir uns wieder, West Germany, 1947) by Hans Müller. Pleyer writes that most of these films narrate the National Socialist past

12 He appears as a victim because he was manipulated and abused in order to make the false visionary famous again. 13 Such as the salesman in The Sandman, Caligari in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari and the clairvoyance in Second Hand Destiny. 14 ‘Schicksal, als Unheil über die Welt gekommen.’ Damus (1995), p. 46-47 15 Compare: ‘so diente die Überhöhung des Kriegs als Apokalypse wie die Dämonisierung des Nationalsozialismus der Entlastung – sie sprechen frei von Verantwortung.’ Ibid., p. 47.


262 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM from the perspective of Germans as victims. The culprit, however, took the form of a rather impersonal, anonymous power, or as Hitler himself.16 To define the past as an uncanny destiny on the level of a natural catastrophe permitted a release from personal guilt.17 Yet Staudte’s portayal of the double Scholz/Sylvestro functions to reveal patterns of behaviour and convictions that lead to personal decline because of submitting to the wrong influences, as represented by the fortune teller Sapies (as a manipulator) and the school teacher Gärtner (as the selfish seducer). In this respect, Scholz is not released from his personal responsibility, but indirectly consents to his downfall by letting himself being dazzled by superstition and irrationality. Visual Style of Decline and Crisis In this respect, Second Hand Destiny is a filmic portrait of decline. Just like The Murderers Are Among Us, the aesthetic patterns in Second Hand Destiny are reminiscent of visual devices of decline as seen in Friedrich’s paintings, which we discussed in chapter two. The film’s overall design demonstrates these similarities in the sequences of the background story. Scholz appears in his new identity as the cynical and misanthropic fortune teller Sylvestro who turns to alcohol to forget his traumatic past. His black musketeer costume with a blindfold renders him a theatrical outsider whose job as a magician can be seen as a cynical reaction to how he once was betrayed and manipulated. This choice of profession makes him into a typical tragic film noir anti-hero who is deceived by and excluded from society. High or low angle camera perspectives often frame him, and the shot space appears fragmented by the canted shot framing and strong black and white contrasts. In combination with chiaroscuro lighting, these technical devices illustrate his destroyed life; for example, in the scene where he sits alone at a table before the show begins and the clown and the dancing woman question his state. These constructions of shot space metaphorically represent his

16 ‘In dieser Darstellung gewannen das Gefühl, als einzelner nicht schuld zu sein, und der Wunsch, die Verantwortung einer höheren Instanz zuzuschreiben wahrnehmbare Gestalt. Das Verlangen, die Schuldfrage mit dem Verweis auf die höchste Instanz zu beantworten, zeigt sich in dem Film Und finden dereinst wir uns wieder, in dem die These formuliert wird, daß Hitler allein am Krieg und an den damit verursachten Leiden der Menschen schuld sei.’ Pleyer (1965), p. 152. 17 Damus (1995), p. 62-63.

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fragmentary and alienated (inner and outer) condition; just as in Staudte’s first rubble films with the example of Mertens. As early as in the opening sequences, the audience anticipates that Sylvestro is a hopeless case through the ambiguity of his visual representation. This effect is strengthened by Sylvestro’s encounter with his former teacher, whose little speech at the carnival introduces him as the allegory of a man with a spotless record. In addition, the teacher’s nickname ‘penguin’ refers to the animal’s white fur front, which corresponds to the German expression ‘to wear a white vest’ (which means to have a clean record)18 and determines the teacher to be an honourable citizen. Although Sylvestro also wears a white shirt, the lighting, stage make-up, his gestures, facial expression, and acting evoke an impression of alienation and identity crisis (see figure 30).

Figure 30: Scholz/Sylvestro (W. Borchert) and the teacher.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Beyond the references to the Romantic paintings by Friedrich relevant to this study, the film shows other narrative and visual devices that recall Weimar cinema, as well as American and French film noir. Flashback narration, sinister and fatal atmospheres, past guilt, corruption, and an outcast anti-hero who fails to integrate into society are typical patterns of these film genres. On the whole, the film deals with the middle-class subject of the drama of an ordinary man whose life becomes a living ruin. On a visual level, this decline is represented by the camera techniques (mentioned above) that unsettle the audience in order to transfer feelings of inner conflict onto the film medium, though in a manner less

18 The German expression is: eine weiße Weste haben.


264 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM intense than the visual and narrative mise en scene of The Murderers Are Among Us. The would-be social climber Scholz is played by Wilhelm Borchert, who played the traumatised war veteran Mertens in Staudte’s first rubble film. In both films, the fictional characters astonishingly encounter experiences that are like the real life Borchert’s past. As previously mentioned in the analysis of The Murderers Are Among Us, Borchert was arrested by the American occupied forces before the film’s premiere for making false statements regarding his membership in the National Socialist party on an official questionnaire.19 The fact that the actor Borchert attempted to escape the de-nazification process by deceit renders him an even more authentic representation of the moral crisis and corrupt tendencies in post-war German society—which Second Hand Destiny metaphorically aims to depict. Many narrative and visual elements in this film, such as the class problem, the camera style, and the main female character of Irene recall Käutner’s Romance in Minor Key. Marianne Hoppe also played the female lead in Käutner’s film of the aesthetic of opposition. In the earlier analyses we have already seen that post-war directors did not need to hide subversive messages in the same way, just as they had to during the National Socialist regime (because of the censorship of this totalitarian system). Yet they had to fight against the German audience’s declining interest in rubble films. Even the term ‘rubble films,’ seen as a negative nickname, put off the spectators. As already mentioned, this refusal to watch rubble films might explain why Staudte transferred the rubble story of Second Hand Destiny into a time long before Nazism, therefore addressing the problems of the time in an allegorical way. As he does later in Man of Straw (1951), Staudte uses Second Hand Destiny to inquire about the socio-political German nationalist and militarist spirit, mentalities in the Empire (and implicitly also earlier) that contributed to National Socialism. These aspects mark the Wilhelminian-Prussian mentality, which Staudte blames in Man of Straw for the successful rise of the National Socialist terror regime and the war. Second Hand Destiny, like Man of Straw and Romance in Minor Key, tells the story of decline and moral crisis. At the film’s end, all of the characters are either destroyed or damaged. Scholz breaks down at the carnival, his old teacher Penguin realises his own guilt of having been blind and not having given a proper reaction to Scholz (when Scholz came to him for advice, his old teacher does not properly listen to Scholz). Irene, Scholz’s wife, is killed by her own

19 Mückenberger (1997), p. 16.

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husband. Only the fraudulent fortune teller is in a win-win situation. His clients see in Scholz’s story the proof of Sapies’ serious abilities as a seer. Those who had the most honest intentions (Scholz and his wife) lost everything, those who were already slightly corrupted (Gärtner) lost much less, and the completely corrupt fortune teller won out in the end. This portrayal of a corrupt society can easily be seen as a mirror image of society under National Socialism, during which real ‘honest’ citizens were exposed to great dangers, risks, and punishment—as Engel’s Blum Affair illustrated. Thus, one may conclude that like many American and French film noir films, Staudte’s Second Hand Destiny stylistically explores the hypocrisy of a corrupt world that offers no way out other than to sink or swim. With this film, Staudte was finally able to realise a bleak and sinister allegory of decline and crisis; just as he had intended, when shooting his first rubble film (see chapter three), but was held back by Soviet censorship, which prevented him from creating such a film. Although Staudte’s third rubble film shows no rubble or ruins, the ruin of humanist convictions within a corrupted world is the ‘uncanny element’ to which the film’s sinister visual style refers. As previously mentioned, the currency reform in 1948 represented a turning point that brought about the end of the German audience’s interest in and tolerance for serious films that dealt with the past, which is why rubble films began to diminish. While many rubble films up until 1948, such as The Murders Are Among Us, In Those Days, Film Without a Name, Love 47, or The Apple Fell indicate partly positive patterns of identification and a certain amount of hope for a better future, following the currency reform Second Hand Destiny (1949), Epilogue by Käutner (1950), and The Lost (1951) by Lorre attacked post-war West German society by referring to the moral decline and corruption at the time. In terms of style, this message meant a more dominant revival of distorting and sinister visual features reminiscent of Weimar cinema and film noir, but combined with narrative Romantic elements. This study considers this development as a change in paradigm that expressed filmmakers dissatisfaction with how German society developed after the return of material wealth. At the same time, Käutner, Staudte, and later Lorre criticized the moral decline in West German society, as evidenced by hypocrisy due to unchanged convictions, illegal black markets, the up-and-coming economic miracle, and doubtful de-nazification; the general tendency towards a ‘generous for20 giving, forgetting, and repressing’ celebrated a new triumph with the rubble film Keepers of the Night (1949) by Braun.

20 ‘vergeben, vergessen und verdrängen.’ Brandlmeier in Hoffmann (1989), p. 47.


266 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM As a religious film, Keepers of the Night tells the story of a Protestant priest who suffers incredible emotional pain after the loss of his beloved only child. Consequently, he questions his belief in the existence of God. The way the story is constructed mirrors quite closely the Biblical story of Christ’s final doubt in God. In this case, however, the priest’s crisis of belief, which is the result of loss, despair, and pain, serves as an example for the emotional state of the German population who had lost their belief and confidence in politics, religion, and the meaning of life. According to Martin Damus, in the post-war period most Germans felt ‘powerless and abandoned, and at the same time they sought protection and security.’21 They sought reassurance in those institutions such as the church or high art, which had traditionally been viewed as above doubt, appearing anchored in the transcendental.22 In this respect, Braun (the director of Keepers of the Night), as the son of a pastor, proposes to resolve the existential crisis in the post-war period by propagandising blind trust in God, who knows the deeper reasons for this suffering. Ironically, the only merit of the Keepers of the Night is that it authentically mirrors how the research for the sense and salvation of the German people turned into ‘fatal sentimentality.’23 Therefore, in a certain way Braun’s film also anticipates the later home films (Heimatfilme) of the 1950s. The film’s classic style and narration, which are strongly reminiscent of filmic patterns under National Socialism, met the audience’s need for irrational illusions that avoided any critical reflection of the past. Co-financed by the German Protestant church24 and approved by the Catholic church, Keepers of the Night received two Bambis in 194925 (best artistic German film award) for pro-

21 ‘ohnmächtig und ausgeliefert, und zur gleichen Zeit suchten sie Schutz und Geborgenheit (z.B. in den Religionen).’ Damus (1995), p. 67. 22 Compare: ‘Sicherheit und Geborgenheit wurden bei den über alle Zweifel erhabenen, im Transzendentalen verankert scheinenden Institutionen gesucht, in den Religionen bzw. in den Kirchen und in der Kunst, in der hohen Kunst.’ Ibid., p. 70. 23 ‘fatale Sentimentalität.’ Korn (1950). Quoted from: www.filmportal.de/df/ba/Artikel,,,,,,,,05876786662CA5CEE04053D50B3728DA,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (1 January 2007). 24 See: www.filmportal.de/df/f3/Credits,,,,,,,,C2C203CE98EF4CB6A9AB5B7C0BE88EBEcr edits,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 January 2007). 25 ‘Bambi 1950; Bambi 1951; Prädikat: kulturell wertvoll: FSK 20.09.1949; Prädikat: künstlerisch wertvoll: FSK 20.09.1949; Prädikat: wertvoll: FBW 08.09.1952.’ Quoted from:

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viding an example of how one could overcome post-war trauma through faith in the Christian religion and the church. This message met ‘a desire for identity and security’ beyond material satisfaction,’26 as the film researcher Kreimeier describes it. Yet this treatment of the existential post-war crisis corresponded to the political aims of the main party CDU (Christian Democratic Union) to reconcile ‘the people who had become faithless and without salvation’ with their terrible past by leading them back to the ‘source of Christianity.’27 This return to faith and to the Protestant and Catholic churches forced those two institutions, which were also guiltily involved in the National Socialist past, to find answers for the political and human catastrophe. All they could refer to were religious mystification, as Braun’s film shows. Interestingly, Siegfried Zieglinski interprets Staudte’s character of the fortune teller Timm (in The Murderers Are Among Us) as an ironic parody of the typical church dignitary (Kirchenfürsten), who quickly filled the ‘vacuum of guidance National Socialism left to the Germans, who were submissive to authority.’28 In Second Hand Destiny, Professor Sapies can be read as a further development of Timm (the fortune teller in The Murderers Are Among Us), though with much more demonic character traits. Superstition and Manipulation: The Return of the ‘Demonic’ Mabuse The topics of superstition, manipulation, and seduction play a central role in Staudte’s Second Hand Destiny. They are closely related to the Romantic motifs of the demonic citizen/bourgeois and the double, such as the protagonist Michael Scholz/Sylvio Sylvestro, the fortune teller Professor Sapies, and the high school teacher (Studienrat) Gärtner (a ‘Faustian’ figure who is a school friend of Scholz). Second Hand Destiny elliptically begins and ends with sequences at a carnival, and this topography introduces a demimonde of dreams, illusions, dazzlement and mistaken perception. As a space outside of and despised by the

www.filmportal.de/df/f3/Credits,,,,,,,,C2C203CE98EF4CB6A9AB5B7C0BE88EBEcr edits,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 January 2007). 26 ‘ein Verlangen nach Identität und „Geborgenheit” jenseits von materieller Befriedigung.’ Kreimeier in Hoffmann (1989) p. 19-20. 27 ‘die glaubens- und heillos gewordenen Menschen’ [...] ‘Quellen des Christentums.’ Ibid., p. 20. 28 ‘Führungsvakuum, das das Dritte Reich den autoritätsgläubigen hinterlässt.’ Zieglinski (1979) cited from Brandlmeier in Hoffmann (1989), p. 64.


268 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM middle-class and bourgeois society of the Empire, the carnival represents a social alcove in which all kinds of sharks, failures, and outsiders exist. Beyond the Romantic themes and motifs, the carnival topography represents a visual and narrative intertextual reference to the films of the silent era of Weimar cinema. The carnival provides the setting for uncanny supernatural crimes, such as those committed by Dr Caligari and his hypnotised human tool Cesare in The Cabinet of Dr Caligari. Against the background of unreliable socio-political structures and within a society deeply shaken by a lost war, economic and political disaster in the first German democracy, these elements metaphorically express the fear of losing control of one’s life and of being abused by an uncanny superman. These aspects were surely related to the intellectual context of the time, wherein Nietzsche’s superman (Übermensch) and the discovery of and impact of psychoanalysis were sometimes interpreted as anticipating the dictator characteristics of Hitler.29

Figure 31: R. Klein-Rogge, B. Goetzke in Dr Mabuse (part two).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

In Lang’s second Dr Mabuse film Inferno (1921/22), Mabuse, the leader of organised crime, takes on the identity of the self-named psychoanalyst and visionary prophet Sandor Weltmann. During a lecture intended to convince the public of his extraordinary capabilities, Weltmann attempts to manipulate his rival, the prosecutor von Wenck, by trying to hypnotise him and convince him to commit suicide (see figure 31). Weltmann’s presentation of his magic to the public

29 For example: Kracauer (1947).

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strongly resembles Sylvio Sylvestro’s performance as a clairvoyant magician at the carnival. Weltmann attempts to do away with his adversary, whereas Sylvestro reveals to the public the double face of his former schoolmate, the high school teacher Gärtner (see figure 32). As a variation of the demonic citizen motif, Gärtner is superficially considered an honourable citizen, just as Brückner in Staudte’s first rubble film. Yet he abused his position as a schoolteacher in order to seduce an ex-student who later commits suicide after having gotten pregnant by Gärtner. Like Mabuse/Weltmann, Scholz/Sylvestro, Gärtner exposes a double demonic side, which renders him into a Faustian figure and an allegory for crime committed out of greed.

Figure 32: In the right corner Ernst Waldow (Gärtner) in the arena before Sylvestro reveals his past.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

After the show, the former schoolteacher Penguin visits the drunken Sylvestro, who was once his best student; the scene takes place in the sinister and extremely low-key lit fun fair housing. Penguin inquires why Scholz lost control of his life, and then a long flashback (another typical film device from film noir and often employed in Weimar cinema, such as in Caligari) tells Scholz’s story. After being introduced to Scholz’s earlier life as a clerk happily married to Irene, the audience learns that Hermine Bruns, a female friend of theirs, shows an unhealthy dependence to the fortune teller Professor Sapies. In order to help Hermine, Scholz asks the police about the charlatan and then decides to visit the Professor himself, since even the police rely on supernatural abilities to solve crimes. In the fortune teller’s waiting room other visitors discuss Sapies reputation, and they all agree that he is a miraculous prophet.


270 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM While Scholz waits, the audience witnesses in a cross cutting the sad truth about Sapies: Sapies’ housekeeper receives orders so as to make happen the supernatural miracles he predicts to his clients. Then Scholz is asked to see the Professor. Through his worldly acting abilities and talent for exploiting the weakenesses of others, Sapies is able to convince Scholz. Sapies gives Scholz a speech that represents him as a swindler, yet not without a gift. Finally, Sapies predicts that thanks to Scholz’ visit, he will regain his reputation as a great visionary and their lives will be inextricably connected to one another. Although Scholz enters the room as a rational man guided by the principles of human reason, he cannot resist Sapies’ appealing and seductive powers. Sapies dramatically breaks the news to Scholz that he will lose his beloved wife. From this moment, the mechanism of self-fulfilling prophecy irreversibly marks Scholz’ life and determines his downfall. Thus, the character of Sapies introduces a conflicting discourse on rationality and irrationality, which is linked to superstition, seduction, manipulation, and human surrender (see figure 33).

Figure 33: Eric Ponto (Sapies) manipulates W. Borchert (Scholz).

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

This sequence also recalls the previously mentioned characters of Weltmann/Wenck and their visual representation in Lang’s Dr Mabuse (Inferno) (compare figures 31 and 33). Like in Lang’s Dr Mabuse, the storyline in Staudte’s film can be seen as an allusion to the methods of manipulation and seduction employed by National Socialist leaders such as Hitler or Goebbels in order to capture and win the masses. Moreover, the links to superstition and a prophetic visionary refer to the occultist-esoteric impact of the National Socialist ideology and Hitler’s mise en scene of himself as an exceptionally gifted and god-like prophet.

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Yet Staudte’s representation of the demonic Sapies does not aim at excusing the German population as innocent victims of an evil leader; instead, it seeks a deeper understanding of how the mechanisms of human need for irrational belief and self-fulfilling prophecies work—and can be easily abused. Therefore, this film allegorically investigates the manipulative mechanisms that supported the National Socialist regime. Sapies, Scholz, and Gärtner simultaneously represent the culprits and victims of a break with taboos, rendering them into demonic figures who destroy the lives of innocent people out of greed for material or sexual satisfaction. These characteristics make them blind to the impact of their acts, like the character of Nathanael in E.T.A. Hoffmann’s The Sandman (see chapter two). However, the critic K. W. did not draw a link between the topic of superstition and National Socialist rule. He indicated instead only that superstition was a general subject in the post-war period: ‘The film has the advantage that it responsibly and delicately treats the current sensitive topic of occultism, though it is simplified in the confines of its possibilities and chooses the comfortable way out to transfer the story into a past epoch.’30

As opposed to the critic’s statement, this study argues that Staudte intentionally transferred the story into another epoch in order to enable the audience to identify more easily with the different characters. To be reminded of the National Socialist rule’s relationship to superstition and mysticism might have had a negative impact on the process of gaining insight on the patterns described above. Several researchers, such as Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke31 or Claus-Ekkehard Bärsch,32 show that National Socialism relied largely on the impact of different occultist and esoteric movements as well as groups such as the Rosicrucians, whose symbols were employed in order to stylise and aestheticise Germanic traditions into an inheritance as a ‘mythical cult.’ Signs (runes, etc.) such as the

30 ‘Der Film hat den Vorzug, daß er ein heikles aktuelles Thema, den Okkultismus, verantwortungsbewußt und mit Delikatesse behandelt, wenn er auch im Rahmen seiner Möglichkeiten sehr simplifiziert und den bequemen Ausweg wählt, die Handlung in eine vergangene Epoche zu legen.’ W. (1949). Cited from: http://www.zeit.de/1949/41/Schicksal-aus-zweiter-Hand; (3 May 2007). 31 See: The Occult Roots of Nazism: Secret Aryan Cults and Their Influence on Nazi Ideology: Ariosophists of Austria and Germany, 1890-1935 (1985) or by the same author Black Sun: Aryan Cults, Esoteric Nazism and the Politics of Identity (2002). 32 Bärsch (1997).


272 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM swastika,33 were de-familarised from their earlier context and used as symbols of the party. Cultic celebrations served to strengthen the community feeling in National Socialist society, as if they were bound together by a mythical bloodline from the early beginnings of civilisation. Beyond this, the mythical impact served to aestheticise and mystify the whole National Socialist political ideology. The documentary Black Sun (Schwarze Sonne - Mythologische Hintergründe des Nationalsozialismus, 1997) by Rüdiger Sünner, as well as Erwin Leiser’s Germany Awake! (Deutschland erwache, 1968) demonstrate a deeper look into how the National Socialist movement abused the impact of mysticism. In particular, Sünner’s film34 investigates the influence of an esoteric worldview and the myths and ideology of National Socialism. He shows that around 1900, many occult and neo-Germanic groups were already appearing in Germany and Austria. Due to the mistaken interpretation of legends and symbols, they asserted the dominance of the Aryan race. Members of the SS celebrated bizarre rituals in the cult rooms of order castles35 in order to deepen the impact of the National Socialist mission, while mythical and archaic party day spectacles served to impress ordinary citizens. Staudte does not focus on the bizarre rituals of SS/SA fighters. Instead, he examines the impact of the mythic and esoteric within National Socialism and the way it possibly affected the everyday life of the ordinary citizen. Hitler and other leaders of the National Socialist party often referred to the destiny of the German community in order to mystify the National Socialist movement as being ‘the destiny’ of the German nation, which would lead to great achievements. The philosopher of the Reich, Alfred Rosenberg, intended to replace the Christian religion with a new religion founded on the ancient myths of the Germanic peoples and on the exaltation of this race. This argumentation, in combination with the stylistic arrangement in terms of light performances, neo-classical architecture and design of the mass performances of the National Socialist regime for official celebrations, such as the Reich Party Congress of Honour, in Nuremberg in 1936 (Reichstagung in Nürnberg 1936: Der Parteitag der Ehre) aestheticised an anti-humanist political ideology and provoked a kind of religious spiritualism. These spiritual performances must have evoked great fascination on those taking part in the events. However, all of these references in the portrayal of Michael Scholz’s destiny are not meant to excuse the average individual as ‘only’ being seduced by a demonic (political)

33 This cross is a variation of a cross the Rosicrucian’s employed. 34 http://www.agit-doc.org/schwarze_sonne.html; (20 March 2007). 35 Such as the Wewelsburg near Paderborn.

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leader, but rather aim to investigate the mechanism of how mysticism and superstition can draw an ordinary citizen into supporting a totalitarian system such as Nazism. The film’s title, which literally translated means ‘destiny from a second hand,’ warns of the dangers of leaving control to others. In this respect, Staudte’s filmic discourse on irrationalism and superstition strives to express a deeper meaning than just portraying the Empire before the outbreak of the First World War. Second Hand Destiny, like Rotation, represented a cinematographic investigation into the reasons that made possible Hitler’s rise to power. In this sense, the film also blames tendencies in German post-war society that explained the National Socialist past as a ‘destiny’ that overwhelmed the German nation. In opposition to these simplifying explanations, Staudte’s interpretation investigates the mechanisms of manipulation and seduction in order to gain a better understanding of how they work, as well as to show the individual’s responsibility and not his powerlessness. Thus, Second Hand Destiny can be seen as a critique of the German population because the film exemplifies Staudte’s aim to confront the German population with the impact of their acts and behaviour in relation to the catastrophe of National Socialism. In 1984, the film critic Peter Buchka wrote in Staudte’s obituary that the filmmaker tirelessly investigated character traits aimed at ‘revealing the uniformed supermen in their private sphere, to define their character, to exhibit them in their particular and 36 simultaneously universal meanness.’ Second Hand Destiny is a film that looks for answers to National Socialism in the Prussians, German Empire, and Weimar mentalities. This research made Staudte a great moralist of German post-war cinema, one who refused to resign himself to a past in which atrocities were committed in the name of the German nation. According to Buchka, Staudte’s work differed from other films that ‘aspire[d] to an only alibi-like dealing with the German collective guilt and then let the “matter” rest.’ 37 In this respect, Second Hand Destiny follows in the tradition of Staudte’s films, such as Roses for the Prosecutor (Rosen für den Staatsanwalt, 1955), Stag Party (Herrenpartie, 1964), The Fair (Kirmes, 1960) and Yester-

36 ‘die uniformierten Herrenmenschen in ihrer Privatsphäre zu entlarven, ihren Charakter zu definieren, sie in ihrer ureigensten und gleichzeitig allgemeingültigen Erbärmlichkeit bloßzustellen.’ Buchka (1984). Cited from: www.filmportal.de/df/30/Artikel,,,,,,,,1FF1F903FEE41BF6E04053D50B377075,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.htm; (20 March 2007). 37 ‘die eine bloß alibihafte Bewältigung der deutschen Kollektivschuld anstrebten - und dann “die Sache” auf sich beruhen lassen wollten.’ Ibid.


274 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM day’s Tomorrow (Zwischengleis, 1978), which were films he ‘had to make’ (machen mußte),38 fully understanding that neither the German film industry nor the majority of the public would appreciate his effort. Buchka sees Staudte as a tragic figure of German post-war cinema, whose grandeur was oppressed.39 The actor Curd Jürgens (cited by Buchka) stated: ‘“The others had Fellini, Buñuel, Bergman, we only had Wölfchen Staudte.” What a misunderstanding.’40 Through this mistaken perspective, Staudte’s aesthetic and artistic achievements in cinema were classified. In the 1960s, together with Käutner, he was discredited by the young filmmakers of the Oberhausener manifest as ‘Papa’s illusory cinema’—mainly because these young directors were not familiar with Staudte’s best films, given that television and media politics preferred the distribution of cheerful entertainment. The release of the socalled non-political entertainment films produced during National Socialism in the early post-war period in German cinema clearly shows the general intention of not disturbing the average German by discussing their shameful past. Segeberg sees this ongoing distribution of films produced during National Socialism even as their final triumph in German post-war cinema.41 Finally, in Second Hand Destiny, the double characters of Scholz and Gärtner once more function to reflect how post-war German national identity went into decline as a result of a general tendency to oppress or idealise past events. To portray German national identity in terms of decline thus creates an aesthetic of opposition that points out the real problems in post-war German society and insinuates that oppression only leads into a cul-de-sac. The next rubble film, The Lost by Lorre, even more intensely refers to the same aspects of crisis and decline in late post-war West German society.

38 Ibid. 39 Ibid. 40 ‘“Die andern”, sagte einmal, “haben ihren Fellini, ihren Bunuel, ihren Bergman, wir haben halt nur Wölfchen Staudte.” Welch ein Mißverständnis.’ Ibid. 41 Compare: Segeberg (2004), p. 203.

The Lost (1950/51): No Escape?

Lorre’s rubble film The Lost portrays personal downfall and suicide as the inevitable consequence of past guilt. Moving beyond the National Socialist past and post-war problems into the private sphere, Lorre’s first work as a director is a sinister portrayal of the psychological landscape of the German population at the time. The central theme revolves around double identities, which are represented by patterns of style and narration foregrounding fragmented forms in reference to Gothic motifs and subjects, Weimar cinema, film noir, and Italian neorealism. Beyond this, these visual and narrative aspects introduces and showcases Lorre’s orchestration as leading actor, scriptwriter, and director in a film that, like Kortner’s The Last Illusion, is built upon autobiographical elements. Lorre did not intend to settle his accounts with the German people by making this film. In comparison to many others who could not pursue their careers in exile, Lorre managed to survive successfully as an actor during his exile in England and Hollywood. In spite of his success, however, he was not completely satisfied with his life and work in the United States and had to cope with several serious personal problems, such as the deterioration of his second marriage, drug addiction, health problems, as well as financial trouble.1 In this regard, the film is also a self-portrait of Lorre’s outsider status as an emigrant artist haunted by personal problems, who possibly perceived himself as having a kind of fragmented identity; in this way, he is closely related to the double protagonists in The Lost. Using the example of the conflicting relationship between the scientist Dr Carl Rothe (Lorre), who represents a more or less average German, and Hösch (Karl John), the cold-blooded National Socialist follower, Lorre’s film debates whether or not one can escape from past guilt in the shadow of the National Socialist regime. In the post-war era, Rothe lives under a new identity as the camp doctor Dr Neumeister and encounters by accident his former assistant Hösch, who is also hiding under a new identity and using the name Nowack. This encounter revives Neumeister’s traumatic past: in a blackout during the National Socialist period, Rothe killed his girlfriend Inge because she betrayed him for Hösch. Following this, Rothe learns that Hösch abused Inge in order to

1

See Lorre’s biographer: Youngkin (2005), p. 311-324.


276 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM get information about her father, who was involved in a resistance circle that smuggled Rothe’s scientific findings outside of Germany. Since Rothe’s scientific work was of importance to the National Socialist regime, Hösch prevented Rothe from receiving atonement. In the post-war period, Nowack is ridden by fear of being discovered by the Allies given his activities under National Socialism and begs Neumeister for help. Yet Neumeister, who meanwhile has killed another woman during the war, shoots him as revenge for Nowack’s having spared him from being sentenced to death for killing the girl he loved. He then commits suicide. Artistically of the highest quality, The Lost is a challenging work that needs to be investigated in the context of Lorre’s own life and work in the post-war period. Therefore, Lorre’s artistic development in film and theatre will be briefly outlined to highlight the many intermedial, intertextual, and inter-iconic references to his prior career that help to shape Lorre’s first and only work as a film director. Born on June 26, 1904 in Rószahegy in the Carpathian mountains in Hungary, Lorre was the son of a Jewish merchant and was baptised under the name of Ladislav Loewenstein. Early in his life he lost his mother.2 He attended a private German school, and after having moved closer to Vienna, he joined Jacob Moreno’s impromptu theatre. The improvisational method of this director, who later founded the ‘psychodrama method,’ fundamentally influenced Lorre’s style of acting as well as his lifelong interest in psychoanalysis. It was also Moreno who gave Lorre his stage name. As a theatre actor Lorre played at many important theatres3 and also worked together with Brecht.4 In 1931, Lorre became a film star through the role of the murderer Beckert in Lang’s M. When he left National Socialist Germany on

2

Compare: www.filmportal.de/df/56/Credits,,,,,,,,167DD47A58B7400AB846CA10391437FBcre dits,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.html; (2 March 2007).

3

Lorre became a cast member of Leo Mittler’s Lobe-Theater and Thalia Theater in Breslau in 1924. In 1925, he performed at Zürich’s Schauspielhaus. He then played at the Vienna Kammerspiele, and in 1928, Lorre went to Vienna’s Carl-Theater. In the spring of 1929, Brecht gave him the role of Fabian in his production of Fleißer’s Pioneers in Ingolstadt (Pioniere in Ingolstadt) at Berlin’s Theater am Schiffbauerdamm. Subsequently, Lorre performed at Schiffbauerdamm and at the Volksbühne, for instance, as St. Just in Danton’s Death (Dantons Tod) and as Moritz Stiefel in Spring Awakening (Frühlingserwachen, 1929). Ibid.

4

In Brecht’s play A Man’s A Man (Mann ist Mann) in February of 1931, Lorre gave a very controversial performance as Galy Gay at the Staatstheater.

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March 4, 1933, Lorre travelled through Vienna and Paris and ended up in London, where he starred in Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much. Following this success, he was on his way to Hollywood to sign a contract with Columbia a year later. Yet his real talent was not fully appreciated in Hollywood, and he was primarily typecast as a mad murderer or in horror films. His career changed suddenly in 1941 with his role as Joel Cairo in The Maltese Falcon, which was followed by several other films in which he starred together with Humphrey Bogart. This period might be considered Lorre’s most successful in Hollywood, when he was permitted to play relatively interesting roles (for example, in Casablanca). Among his numerous film roles, he played in eleven film noirs: his close familiarity with this film genre already shows that the visual and narrative patterns of film noir greatly affected Lorre’s ideas about film style. Gothic Fiction and Post-War Trouble Lorre’s return to Europe in 1949 resulted from his desire to reconnect with his cinematographic past in Germany and to play more artistically demanding roles.5 At 45, he evidently wished for a new artistic beginning. However, Lorre’s plans took a slight detour when he sought treatment for his drug addiction in a private clinic in Southern Bavaria, called Wigger, where he remained for nearly a year.6 During this time, a real event at a refugee camp in West Germany became the major inspiration for his film: the 43-year-old camp doctor Carl N. threw himself in front of a train. His former assistant, a chemist called Hannes N., was found fatally wounded in the camp. Both had lived in the camp under false identities.7 A friend of Lorre’s investigated further and found out that the doctor’s real name was Dr Carl Rothe of Hamburg. Never fully resolved, the case represented yet another of the daily occurring problems of the post-war era. Lorre took an interest in the story. Benno Vigny, a scriptwriter, whom Lorre had also met at the clinic, suggested the film as a psychological study, which was to be largely informed by Guy de Maupassant’s Gothic novella Le Horla (The Monster).8 Vigny used Maupassant’s tale of obsession, isolation, and guilt,

5

See: Youngkin (2005), p. 320-321.

6

Ibid., p. 312-313.

7

Ibid.

8

The Monster by Maupassant is a fantastical novella written in 1887. As one of his first fantastical texts, The Monster is written as an unfinished diary, which raises doubts as to whether or nor its owner is going insane. The text also indicates the first signs of Maupassant’s own mental illness.


278 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM in which the protagonist (like the murderer Beckert in M) is driven and possessed by an unknown force that turns him into a double, committing criminal acts. In this respect, the dark side of human nature is once again closely associated with the Gothic uncanny and the motif of the double. Carl Otto Bartning, the assistant director of The Lost, remembers the film to be about a man who takes pleasure in killing and feels a strong compulsion to do so.9 This type of obsessive desire is not easily explained by human rationality and contradicts all humanist conceptions of the impact of education on mankind. Although the uncanny is foregrounded to a lesser degree than in the previously discussed films, such as The Blum Affair or The Last Illusion, it returns here as a central element regarding the depths of the human soul. In this respect, the role of the double Rothe/Neumeister is perfectly written for Lorre’s artistic talent. After leaving the clinic, Lorre toured in Great Britain and Germany reading from Poe’s A Tell-Tale Heart. He visited refugee camps and worked intensively on the script for The Lost. Yet Lorre’s talents as a scriptwriter were limited, and in 1950 he asked another rubble film director, Helmut Käutner, for help. During a two-week workshop in Munich, the script was worked over to the general satisfaction of everyone involved.10 Lorre took on another former émigré, the film production company director Arnold Pressburger from Hollywood, as producer. Then the casting of the actors began. For the part of Hösch, Lorre chose the theatre actor Karl John, who played the male war veteran in Liebeneiner’s rubble film Love 47 (1947). Renate Mannhardt, who had already played minor parts during National Socialism, was cast as Inge.11 The actress Gisela Trowe was recommended by Brecht and played the prostitute. In the rubble film The Blum Affair, she had played the part of Christine, the girlfriend of the right-wing extremist Gabler. Finally, the actress Johanna Hofer, Kortner’s wife, who had appeared in The Last Illusion as Lina, played the role of Inge’s mother Mrs. Hermann.12

9

See: Youngkin (2005), p. 319.

10 Ibid., p. 324. 11 Such as in Via Mala by Josef von Baky in 1943-1945. 12 The other two minor roles were played by the film actress Lotte Rausch (the mature woman looking for an adventure) and the theatre actress Eva-Ingeborg Scholz, who played the innocent lodger girl.

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Intermedial, Intertextual and Inter-iconic References On a narrative and visual level, Lorre’s film strongly depends on typical film noir techniques. First, the film’s visual and narrative construction is based on a framing device that embraces several long flashbacks. These flashbacks are often accompanied by voice-over commentaries by Dr Rothe (later Dr Neumeister), as well as by his assistant Hösch (later Nowack). Beyond these characteristic film noir devices,13 other elements that distinguish film noir from the classical style are clearly present in Lorre’s film. They include visual devices such as the frequently employed extreme high and low angle perspective, which illustrate the inner unsettlement and the existential loneliness as well as the troubled identity of the male protagonists (see figure 34).

Figure 34: Karl John, Peter Lorre, Josef Dahmen in The Lost.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

13 Film noir narrative represents an ‘assault on psychological causality’. The hero often suffers ‘internal conflicts with an existential awareness of his or her situation.’ The ‘classical conventions of logical action, defined characters, and [the] psychologically stable hero’ are challenged because they ‘are subverted by film noir’s attractive killers, repellent cops, confused actions, gratuitous violence, and weary or disoriented heroes.’ This includes an attack on the usual happy ending in the classical style, which functions to reconcile the audience with whatever problems may exist in society, since it provides a cheerful solution. Thus, the figure of the male anti-hero functions to deconstruct the classical sublime hero, who is capable of overcoming any obstacle. Compare: Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75.


280 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM In many of the scenes that take place in the canteen of the barracks, low-key lighting foregrounds the psychological tension between the two male characters. Symbolic shadows and chiaroscuro lighting, frequent medium close-up shots, extreme camera angles, and deep focus strengthened these effects. The flat landscape of the Lüneburg heath, exposed against the background of an immense sky, allegorically mirrors the traumatised and haunted psychological condition of the male protagonist Rothe. The low-key lighting with symbolic shadows appears in many flashbacks. These shadows often function to anticipate sinister events to come, such as when the shadows of Rothe and Inge/Ursula on the glass door (separating their rooms) trace their movements, thereby increasing the psychological tension. This typical dark atmosphere represents inescapable and irresolvable conflicts, thus foreshadowing the sinister ending of the film.

Figure 35: Lotte Rausch, Peter Lorre, Alexander Hunzinger.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Many indoor settings—such as in the canteen of the barracks, in the apartment of Mrs. Hermann, as well as in the train before the second woman is killed—strengthen the emotional tension through the narrowness of the space in combination with medium close-up and close-up shots, which are typical devices of the genre film (Kammerfilmspiel, for example figure 35). Thus, the setting as a visual device overtakes the narrative function. As a cameraman, Lorre employed Vaclav Vich, a Czech, who came from a strong neorealist background.14 Based on a

14 Ibid., p. 324.

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‘realistic’ modus of representation,15 most of the settings in the film show an unmistakable stylistic formalist construction (through the above-mentioned cinematographic techniques) that recalls the artificial visual style of many film noirs, a characteristic that was inherited from Weimar cinema. In an interview, Lorre spoke of attempting to create a new realism.16 Yet his realist patterns are strongly reminiscent of late Weimar new objectivity and neorealist patterns (see figure 36), which stand in contrast with the claustrophobic film noir interior and landscape shots serving as the allegorical imagery of the haunted soul landscapes (see figure 37).

Figure 36: H. Rudolph as Oberst Winckler and Lorre as Rothe.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

In this respect, Lorre’s film slightly resembles Kortner’s The Last Illusion. The outdoor shots in the latter film are also strongly informed by a cold and gloomy bleakness, which mirrors the desperate feelings of the early post-war years. In comparison with The Last Illusion, these techniques create extreme visual effects in Lorre’s film in order to foreground the dead end situation. Like Second Hand Destiny and The Last Illusion, Lorre’s rubble film seldom shows architectural ruins as a symbol of inner ruin. The film shows war ruins only during the car

15 The settings in Lorre’s film are mainly based on real locations, such as the landscape of Luneburg Heath, inside and outside of the refugee camp barracks, the bridges, streets, and other outdoor locations in Hamburg, while many of the indoor canteen shots might be studios shots. Finally, the scene where Dr Rothe finds his prior home in ashes and encounters a blind person, is also a studio shot. 16 Bordwell / Staiger / Thompson (1985), p. 75.


282 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM chase, when members of the resistance attempt to escape Hösch’s team, and during the tragic shooting of the resistance fighter (see figure 38).

Figure 37: Claustrophobic interiors. Nowack (Karl John) from behind and Neumeister (Lorre), in the canteen.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Other typical film noir devices in Lorre’s film include a lack of heroes (male or female), a fatalistic worldview upon that pervades the whole story, conflicts of traumatised male souls, and finally a suicide ending. In comparison with other rubble films (such as The Murderers Are Among Us, Somewhere in Berlin, Love 47, and The Last Illusion) these male traumas do not stem purely from a National Socialist past, war, or emigration. Lorre blames something more profound in human nature for these problems, rather than just the changing socio-political context. He is looking for the amoral sides in human nature, which potentially exist in everybody. This aspect of Lorre’s work is indeed the most difficult one for its viewers, who had great difficulties with the film. After a public screening of The Lost at the Delphi Theater in Berlin, the assistant director Carl Otto Bartining witnessed17 an embarrassed audience who left the cinema in silence. According to Bartining, they understood the film as a personal attack. The fictional protagonist of Rothe in Lorre’s film provides the subject for a philosophical discussion about the abyss of human nature. In this respect, Lorre’s The Lost, like Kortner’s The Last Illusion, seeks to initiate a discussion about the past through a filmic confrontation.18 Yet while Kortner’s The Last Illusion provides some hope in the form of the converted student joining the fu-

17 Youngkin (2005), p. 349-351. 18 Ibid., p. 320.

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neral march, which can be read as an appeal for resistance against the National Socialist ideology, Lorre’s film ends on a much bleaker note.

Figure 38: Nowack’s man kills the resistance fighter.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Even well-intentioned characters such as Winkler (Helmut Rudolph, who also played the left-wing president in The Blum Affair) and the new tenant girl Ursula are not going to be saved. Winkler, the head of a resistance group fighting against the National Socialist regime, dies a terrible death, while the ‘innocent’ girl is killed in an air raid. In opposition to this, Rothe and Nowack, who became guilty in past, are the only ones privileged enough to survive. In this way, Lorre’s film denies the comforting idea that in the aftermath of National Socialism, a ‘good person’ will finally be rewarded. Therefore, The Lost, just as the early films of Fritz Lang, challenges our comprehension of traditional worldviews and values. Good, evil, victory, and defeat do not correspond to morally accepted patterns, and all formerly valid definitions are blurred. As a mirror of the effects of war and Nazism on German society, the film paints an upside down world in which no reliable commitments exist anymore. Through the character Rothe, the film shows an extreme fatalism in that he is turned into a killer even without any intention to commit evil. As in many film noirs, no escape exists for the main character; in the end, suicide is the only solution. Although this ending results in one of the bleakest rubble films ever made, Rothe’s death also serves as a vicarious atonement, which symbolically relieves the German people of their guilt. Previously in this chapter it has been mentioned that Lorre’s acting reveals several references to his prior film roles. The most well-known intertextual scene


284 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM is when Rothe looks at himself in the mirror after having learned that his fiancée Inge was unfaithful (see figure 38). This shot clearly references Lorre’s role in Lang’s M. Like the murderer, Rothe kills under a psychological impulse he is incapable of controlling.

Figure 39: Lorre as Rothe in The Lost.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

These characters are closely linked to the famous figure of Cesare. The somnambulist in Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr Caligari commits murder under hypnosis. Beyond this resemblance, Lorre’s interpretation of Rothe, the murderer of women, is created by visual techniques typical of many German silent films. Little displays of mimicry, gestures, and other aspects of body language, as well as lighting, music, and camera techniques evoke meaning much more strongly than the spoken word. Furthermore, these techniques show the influence of Lorre’s acting in American film noir, where he often played characters from the criminal milieu (for example, in The Maltese Falcon or Casablanca). Both the background story and flashbacks are combined to create the film’s two dominant stylistic patterns: the formalism of the indoor sequences vs. the neorealism of the outdoor shots. The background story mainly takes place inside and outside the refugee camp on Luneburg Heath during winter. The first sequences of the film accentuate the flat, bleak, and bare landscape. A train crossing is emphasised (through a long shot) much more than the people in the frame. Melancholy non-diegetic music adds to the impression of an inner and outer bleakness. The aesthetic arrangements and spatial proportions in these first sequences of the film strongly recall the aesthetic bleakness and decline in the above discussed painting Winter – Eldena Ruin by Friedrich. Here nature func-

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tions once again, as in the painting by Friedrich, as an allegory that represents the traumatised psychological condition of the male protagonist. The refugee camp is framed with many scant and leafless trees, which, besides the barracks and the snowless winter landscape, serve as the central elements of the setting. In combination with frequent views of Dr Neumeister’s back, they anticipate the inevitable downfall yet to come. The later story shots that mainly take place in the claustrophobic interior of the canteen in the barracks create a strong contrast to these earlier outside scenes. The indoor settings produce a spatial opposition to the vast space of the outdoor shots, in which the little human figures appear lost and insignificant admist the overwhelming landscape (such as in Friedrich’s painting Two Men Looking at the Moon, 1819, see figure 40).

Figure 40: Two Men Looking at the Moon (1819).

Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin.

The settings of the canteen and Dr Neumeister’s treatment room create a particularly dense emotional atmosphere of imprisonment also seen in early ‘chamber films’ (Kammerspielfilme), in which the main characters cannot escape their destiny on a spatial level. These claustrophobic settings of cramped, low-key lit rooms, extreme camera angles and deep focus, as well as chiaroscuro light, function to transpose a psychological condition into the film medium. A similar atmosphere of an underlying threat marks Friedrich’s painting Winter in the shape of of an all-embracing and overwhelming shadow that frames the ruins and the frail old monk in a winter landscape. In terms of body language, Friedrich’s


286 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM monk and Lorre’s interpretation of Dr Neumeister show many similarities. His bent posture shows him seeking protection in his long winter jacket. The landscape shot with Neumeister renders him into something very little, lost and unsettled, within this huge and nearly violent framing. Finally, the perspective from behind increases the impression of alienation and underlines the impossibility of overcoming this crisis. Beyond these inter-iconic and intermedial references to Friedrich’s paintings, yet another potential reference exists. When Neumeister walks away from the camp towards the train tracks in order to commit suicide, the immense sky strongly recalls the composition of Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream, 1893.19 Stanislaw Przybyszewski, who edited the first monograph about Munch’s work in 1894, defined Munch’s visual style as a sort of psychological realism. The term refers to the visualisation of the inner psychological condition of the artist himself. He uses landscape to express emotion, which demonstrates how Munch’s style follows in the tradition of Romantic painting.20 In Munch’s work, emotions such as anxiety, sexual longing, destructive passion, and jealousy appear as a part of human nature that is closely linked to the conditions of the modern world. Inspired by a personal experience during one of Munch’s walks in nature, the painting The Scream transfers a psychological condition into a transcendent abstract and modern style. Sue Prideaux 21 reads The Scream as ‘a portrait of the soul,’22 representing the dilemma of man in a modern world who suffers the loss of prior certitudes. A variation of Munch’s The Scream is the painting Despair (see figure 41), which was painted shortly after the former in 1893-94. In this painting, a similar nature setting with a human figure in the foreground embodies the psychological condition of despair through the visual element of the bent body posture (as Lorre’s Neumeister), as well as the facial features and the black cloth (similar to Neumeister’s appearance). Interestingly, Munch employs a non-classical, high angle perspective on the figure. This type of framing emphasises how much the subject surrenders to the state of emotion. Lorre shows his character from an equally non-classical, yet low angle perspective from behind. He appears in the background of a long shot in the mo-

19 See also Bergfelder in Spicer (2007), p. 153. 20 Moreover, it is very probable that Munch knew Friedrich’s style because of Johan Christian Dahl, a Norwegian Romantic painter and friend of Friedrich’s, who was strongly influenced by Friedrich’s aesthetics. 21 Prideau (2005), p. 41-44. 22 Ibid., p. 43.

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ment of final despair. In this setting, the cloudy sky appears overwhelming and more significant than the distant little figure of Neumeister walking in front of it. In Munch’s painting the sky represents the psychological condition of the human figure and works much more as a background, since the focus lies on the cantered subject in the foreground. However, Lorre underscores the existential loneliness of the main character by stressing the overwhelming nature setting, into which the small figure of Neumeister nearly seems to disappear. This visual composition anticipates the future suicide as the only way out. The extremity of this visualisation may indicate the impossibility of overcoming the existential crisis of fear and guilt. In respect to Lorre’s film character, we may conclude that Neumeister experiences the return of the past (in terms of the return of Nowack) as an impossible situation to come to terms with. Figure 41: Despair (1893/94) by Edvard Munch.

Munch Museum, Oslo.

By shooting Nowack, Neumeister commits his first murder of his own volition and with full consciousness. In comparison to earlier rubble films such as Film Without a Name or In Those Days, and also to Friedrich’s painting Winter, this


288 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM late rubble film as well as Munch’s painting differ insofar as they do not indicate any hope of overcoming the existential crisis at hand. Thus, both Munch’s painting and Lorre’s film sequence function as a visualisation of extreme existential tension. Whereas Munch shows this tension through a combination of the natural environment and the distorted face and body posture of the central figure, Lorre relies on cinematographic techniques such as the extreme camera angle, the landscape setting of the cloudy sky (shot on a little hill), and the dramatic music. The overwhelming landscape seems to haunt the small and bent Neumeister, externalising his inner condition of tension. As discussed earlier, the practice of externalising emotion through a nature setting as a psychological landscape can easily be traced back to the tradition of landscape painting in Romanticism (such as in the case of Friedrich). Later art movements such as Expressionism attempted to distinguish themselves from Romantic techniques, but were nevertheless closely related to the principles of Romanticism. It is the internal vision of the artist himself that is transferred through a subjective and transcendental mode of visual representation as a metaphor or allegory. The representation often refers to a taboo subject, repressed or not wanted in society. Once again: the doppelgänger The Lost, like all the other films discussed in this study, depends on Romantic visual and narrative devices that function to question post-war (male) national identity. A motif that represents these problematic identity constructions is, once again, the double. Furthermore, the background story and several flashbacks introduce a visual and narrative distinction between two time levels (the past and the present time period), which itself creates a double perspective. Together with the motif of the double, the narrative strucutre of two time levels functions to confront the audience with the double lives of the protagonists, Dr Rothe/Dr Neumeister and Hösch/Nowack. Although motivated by different reasons, both attempt to escape their past lives through a change of identity. Unlike Hösch, Rothe slides into his new identity as Dr Neumeister by accident. When he returns home after having killed the woman on the train during the air raid, bombs have burned down his house. A blind man hints at Rothe his own death by writing down his name on the casualty list. On the other hand, Hösch’s identity change relies on other reasons. Hösch changes into Nowack because he is a calculating and ruthless character without any moral consciousness about the criminal acts that he committed during National Socialist rule. His lack of empathy and sensitivity for others, as well as his greediness, are strongly reminiscent of Brückner in The Murderers Are Among Us, Gärtner in Second

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Hand Destiny, and Fechner in The Last Illusion. Hösch is not a true National Socialist who commits crimes out of loyalty to the National Socialist movement. Instead, he represents the middle-class opportunist (thus demonic citizen) who carries out his ‘duty’ out of personal greed or a desire for recognition. Like other demonic rubble film characters, Hösch is guilty of idealising the past—for example, when he speaks of destroying the resistance circle around Winkler as his greatest success during the National Socialist period. Unlike Hösch, but similar to the other double characters of Mertens, Scholz, and Mauthner, Rothe suffers an insurmountable trauma. In Rothe’s case, his trauma has its roots in being betrayed by the woman he loved, leading him to kill her. Through the example of Rothe, the film blames the National Socialist regime for letting a potential mass murderer go because keeping secret the murder served their goals. Similar themes can be found in future films, such as in Robert Siodmak’s post-war film noir Nights, When the Devil Came (Nachts wenn der Teufel kam, 1957) and in It Happened in Broad Daylight (Es geschah am hellichten Tag, 1958) by Ladislao Vadja. In the late 1950s, these two films revived the stylistic traditions of Weimar cinema and film noir that left so indelible a mark on rubble films in the early post-war era and temporarily came to an end with the decline of rubble cinema (in the early 1950s). The female characters Ursula and Inge also represent a double figuration of women in The Lost. Inge suffers from being shut up with her mother in a tiny apartment as she yearns for life and sexual experience. Ursula is an upright, innocent, de-sexualised nurse with blond hair, while the dark-haired Inge expresses desires and impulses that were normally considered taboo for a woman at the time. The film’s visual style also foregrounds these aspects through light and shadow effects in the background, such as the prison bars behind Inge and Rothe that symbolise their mutual fatal entanglement (see Inge in figure 42). Ursula on the other hand is flooded in light, her clothes, hair and dress indicate her personality (see figure 43). These women represent the two typical stereotypes of female characters, which were often employed as a conflicting element in National Socialist cinema (for example in Rite of Sacrifice, Kora Terry or The Golden City and many other films). Typical to film noir are dangerous, attractive vixens such as Inge as well as male anti-heroes like Rothe. (For example, see Out of the Past by Jacques Tourneur, 1947.) Similar patterns of sexual stereotyping can be seen in Rothe’s next two victims: the prostitute and the war widow who attempts to seduce him.


290 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM Figure 42: Renate Mannhardt as Inge and Lorre as Rothe.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

Figure 43: Eva Scholz as Ursula with Lorre as Rothe.

Photo: Courtesy of the Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek Berlin.

The film traces the character development of Rothe from researcher to serial killer as a result of being unwillingly involved in the corrupt schemes of the National Socialist regime. Whereas evil characters introduce corruption in Gothic tales, stories, and novels of Romantic literature, in The Lost, corruption is identified as a basic element of National Socialist rule. In this respect, one can interpret the film’s end—the death of both main characters—as the impossibility of being released from past guilt; there is no way to return to naïveté and innocence. Lorre thus denies the idea of redemption that Goethe developed in Faust (parts one and two). Using the example of the anti-hero Faust, Goethe accepts moral misconduct as a natural condition of humanity, which cannot always be completely controlled by the force of reason and rationality.

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The ability to learn from one’s errors and to develop is not implied in Lorre’s portrayal of West-German post-war society. In this respect, Lorre attacks West German society for its lack of insight into how the National Socialist regime affected and changed national identity during its twelve years in power. On a visual and narrative level, Lorre’s film uses the tradition of Romantic motifs and visual devices and their modified variations in order to highlight the wounds of memory: the repressed, the taboos, and the unwanted past, and its impact on a problematic national identity in the post-war era. However, it is possible that this artistic portrait came too early for the majority of the German population. After the war, the German people were only focused on reconstructing the country and repressing the past—until the outcry of the younger generation in the late 1960s made it impossible to remain silent about the National Socialist past and war. Lorre: The Lost One Due to the suicide in the film’s final scenes, The Lost ends on an even bleaker note than Staudte’s original version of The Murderers Are Among Us. Although Neumeister kills Nowack in an act of revenge, this event solves nothing. There is no escape from the past, and the murder only seals Rothe in an existential loneliness within a world he appears no longer capable of coping with. The character of Rothe and his downfall show autobiographical elements: Hoping to revive his own career, Lorre was torn as a Jewish emigrant shuffling from the Unites States to England and Germany. In this respect, The Lost also resembles Kortner’s The Last Illusion. Lorre’s lost character also refers to the Romantic motifs of the eternal journey or the wanderer, who desperately attempts to escape from the past that traumatised his present identity. Additionally, Lorre’s own drug addiction and financial and personal troubles made the production conditions difficult. Finally, despite everyone’s hopes for success, the film was a great disappoint23 ment. During the shooting, Arnold Pressburger, the producer and friend of Lorre’s, suddenly died. In the end the film flopped at the box office.

23 Pressburger (1885/1951) was a Slavic immigrant about the same age as Alexander Korda. He spent many years as a producer in Europe before he arrived in Hollywood in 1941. At the Sascha Film studio in Vienna after World War I, Pressburger served as a production executive. While in Hollywood, Pressburger continued to ally himself with high-profile European expatriate directors. Among his films, which he released through United Artists, were Josef von Sternberg’s The Shanghai Gesture (1941),


292 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM As opposed to the broader public reactions, some film reviews,24 and the Film Evaluation Office of the States of the Federal Republic of Germany (FBL, Filmbewertungsstelle der Länder der Bundesrepublik Deutschland) praised the film’s aesthetic achievements and awarded it the rating ‘valuable’ (Prädikat wertvoll). After the relentless lobbying of German film journalists, the film was even shown at the 12th Venice Film Festival in 1951.25 Pressburger’s son remembers that official and semi-official sources showed much hostility towards the film. 26 Apparently, the festival director Antonio Petrucci and a representative of the Bonner Bundeshaus had agreed on no more than two German entries to the festival.27 Alluring Danger (Lockende Gefahr, 1950) and Little Lotty Time Two (Das doppelte Lottchen, 1950) were both commercial classical entertainment films without any controversial potential regarding the post-war era. Lorre finally managed to show the film one day before the official festival ending. It received some positive reactions but did not win a prize. Lorre’s intention to provoke a discussion on West German identity and society through the use of a Romantic discourse mainly gained disapproval. The film’s hopeless atmosphere seems to anticipate Lorre’s subsequent decline as well as the temporary disappearance of a particular formalist film style in German post-war cinema. Large portions of the German cinema public only wished to escape once again (just as under the National Socialist regime) into the illusory dreams of sentimental films (Heimatfilme) and cheerful comedies.

Fritz Lang’s Hangmen Also Die (1943), and René Clair’s It Happened Tomorrow (1944). 24 Youngkin (2005), p. 350-355. 25 Ibid., p. 348. 26 Ibid. 27 Ibid.

Conclusion

The aim of this study has been to add an alternative reading to the research available on rubble films. Earlier studies have focused on how rubble films ‘deal with the past,’1 mirror post-war reality from a sociological perspective, 2 or portray the image of children.3 As previously discussed, these readings usually investigate early rubble films from 1946 to 1948 and undervalue formalist films: attention is mainly paid to how the category of pseudo neorealist films creates an image of ‘good Germans in bad times.’ Therefore, they have all more or less come to the same conclusion: rubble films were primarily a continuation of earlier cinema patterns and personnel4 in the National Socialist dream factory.5 Aesthetic patterns are not a central aspect of these studies, since rubble films are generally discredited from an aesthetic and filmic historical point of view and branded a ‘kind of miscarriage.’6 Most researchers refer only marginally to the subject of aesthetics.7 In 1952, Eisner defined rubble films (and in general post-war German cinema) in The Haunted Screen to be a failed attempt to reestablish German cinema in the aftermath of war and Nazism. In order to demonstrate that formalist rubble films oppose these simplifying generalisations, the usual time frame for rubble films has been expanded by about two years to include films made up until 1951. This enlarged time frame permits the inclusion of important later films of the formalist tradition, such as The Last Illusion, Second Hand Destiny, and The Lost. Generally, earlier studies have only briefly mentioned these films. Second Hand Destiny, which has been completely ig1

Vergangenheitsbewältigung; compare: Shandley (2001); Brandlmeier (1989); Becker /

2

Greffrath (1995); Pleyer (1965).

Scholl (1995). 3

Fisher (2007)

4

The term of ‘personnel’ refers to people (scriptwriters, directors, assistants etc.) who

5

Shandley (2001), p. 181.

6

‘Art Mißgeburt.’ Brandlmeier (1989), p. 35.

7

Eisner (1952); Shandley (2001).

work in the cinema industry.


294 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM nored by most studies,8 is an extreme case. Brandlmeier (1989) is the only one who even briefly discussed Second Hand Destiny, emphasising the film’s central importance in terms of its aesthetics and narration within the plethora of postwar rubble films. It has been shown that the first rubble film, The Murderers Are Among Us, introduced particular aesthetic patterns, such as distorted settings of ruins represented by expressive lighting and formalist camera techniques. They are combined with central Romantic motifs – the double, doomed wanders, the demonic citizen—and themes (the uncanny, fatal atmospheres, etc.) and together create what is defined as the Romantic discourse in a selection of rubble films. However, this apparent Romantic discourse has mainly been interpreted in terms of a return to the earlier Weimar cinema tradition.9 It usually served as an indication for defining the Expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr Caligari as a central narrative and visual reference for rubble films. The debate surrounding Expressionism (Lukács 1920), which discredited the formalist style, hindered the development of alternative readings on the subject of style in formalist rubble films. Due to these preconceptions, scholars have not yet investigated the functions served and developed by the Romantic discourse. Therefore, this study closes a gap in the research, which overlooked a differential analysis of the formalist aesthetics in rubble films, as well as their intermedial, intertextual, inter-iconic references to other cinema traditions and art forms. As discussed in chapter two, this study is built upon the pioneering research by Lotte H. Eisner. 10 She explored how a Romantic discourse evolved in Weimar cinema through the use of avant-garde film techniques. Using the example of the early Dr Mabuse films by Fritz Lang, Eisner showed how the Romantic elements functioned to artistically mirror the unsettled society of the Weimar Republic against the context of the outer constraint of war, the aftermath of war, and the socio-economic instability of the Weimar years.11 In this respect, the Romantic

8

Eisner (1952); Pleyer (1965); Brandlmeier (1989); Becker / Scholl (1995), Greffrath (1995); Shandley (2001).

9

Maetzig (1950); Marker (1954); Gregor / Patalas (1982); Berghahn (2005).

10 In particular The Haunted Screen (1952). 11 In this study it has been shown that in Lang’s films, the functions and effects of the Romantic discourse differ from other Weimar films, such as The Cabinet of Dr Caligari or its forerunner The Student of Prague. In these films, the Romantic discourse appears as a decontextualised pattern that functions to increase the film’s structure of suspense and mystery without provoking a serious discussion of the contextual sociopolitical reality.

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discourse in the selection of rubble films discussed here is reminiscent of some films of Weimar cinema. The link between the two represents its function as a visual and narrative code that discusses post-war German national identity and society. Given these findings, one may conclude that rubble directors did not simply return to earlier forms of Romantic discourse in German cinema. It has been shown that they further developed the impact of Romantic aesthetics patterns from Weimar cinema. Post-war rubble directors used the Romantic discourse in order to reveal taboos and repressed aspects of actual reality and national identity. This use of Romantic patterns created an aesthetic of opposition, which references the tradition of Romantic painting by Caspar David Friedrich, Carl Gustav Carus, and others. Although an art historian, Eisner, like the majority of researchers who worked on rubble films, failed to notice these intermedial devices taken from Romantic paintings, instead focusing on Romantic literature and Expressionist art, literature, and cinema. Eisner only briefly mentions Romantic paintings, such as those by Friedrich, and then in relation to Weimar cinema. By referring to one particular painting by Friedrich, she nevertheless draws attention to a Romantic motif used in Weimar cinema that later takes on a central importance in our rubble films: the demonic citizen. And indeed, the demonic citizen returns to play a dominant role in the motif configuration of the double in our films. In combination with other Romantic aesthetic devices, these motifs serve the central function of discussing male national identity in the post-war era. However, it has been shown that these patterns of aesthetics of opposition not only appear in rubble films, but also in the aesthetics of opposition in cinema during Nazism. So far, research has mainly neglected to examine this tradition. The art historians Vaughan (2004) and Dalle Vacche (1996) have investigated the impact of Friedrich’s paintings on Weimar cinema and German culture in general (Vaughan). Dalle Vacche further develops Eisner’s approach and shows how Friedrich’s devices return in Weimar cinema, in particular in the film Nosferatu by Murnau. Finally, Bergfelder (2007) articulates stylistic similarities to the artwork of Edvard Munch. Yet none of these scholars draw a line connecting Romanticism, the aesthetics of opposition during National Socialism, and rubble films. This gap is filled by this study. In this respect, I have further developed the connection between traditions from Romanticism and Weimar cinema, which was initially outlined by Eisner, and have broadened the research to include the aesthetics of opposition and eventually post-war German rubble films. In opposition to this study, Kracauer and Eisner defined the Romantic discourse in Weimar cinema as a representation


296 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM of the unchangeable negative characteristics of German national identity in film. According to Kracauer, this representation could even be held responsible for the development of Nazism in Germany. Yet this study argues that the Romantic discourse can function to question characteristics of national identity in Weimar cinema and rubble films. Using examples from Weimar cinema, films of the aesthetics of opposition, and rubble films, it has been demonstrated here that Romantic themes and aesthetics served to discuss and mirror German society and national identity. Eisner confirms the German post-war spectators lack of interest in films that revived Weimar traditions by using two examples of films made by returning emigrants: The Lost, by Lorre, and Lang’s films, which were produced in postwar West German). However, her findings are based only on a small selection of rubble films. This research decision may have been caused by limited access to German cinema in the post-war period due to the fact that she lived (partly as an illegal émigré under a false identity) in France during and after the war. These circumstances may have distorted her perception of rubble films. Consequently, she fails to capture the meaning that evolves through the stylistic and narrative Romantic discourse utilised in Staudte’s first and later rubble films. She even discredits Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us as ‘anodyne’12 and favours instead his second rubble film Rotation and other (socialist) realist rubble films, such as the post-war film Stronger Than the Night (Stärker als die Nacht, GDR 1954) by Slatan Dudow. This study agrees with Eisner, who notes a tendency in the German film audience to prefer ‘the mediocre’ that ‘denigrate[s] any artistic ambition in advance.’13 Peter Pleyer has also argued that never before in German film history did the expectations of the German cinema audience and the intentions of most (rubble film) directors divert from one another so evidently as in the post-war era, up until 1948. Yet in the aftermath of the currency reform, West German distributors strengthened this tendency through commercial censorship. The Blum Affair and Film Without a Name might be defined as a reaction to these changes in post-war society. Presented as a kind of a warning that history could repeat itself under the right circumstances, the first film mirrors the events leading up to National Socialism in the late Weimar republic from a left-wing, antifascist perspective. This perspective surely places The Blum Affair as a forerunner of the late GDR cinema genre of anti-fascist films. Engel’s intention to explain what led to National Socialism by focusing on socio-political conditions

12 Eisner (1973), p. 338. 13 Ibid.

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strongly recalls Staudte’s second rubble film, Rotation, which was also produced in the DEFA-studios. Both films show how the economic and political instability of the late Weimar Republic not only favoured conservative circles and the upcoming movement of Nazism, but also of the average population (such as the example of the worker family in Rotation shows). These precise sample portraits reveal the main socio-political reasons behind the rise of Nazism. They therefore contradict complaints (Heinzelmeier 1988) that none of the rubble films even attempted to analyse the socio-political preconditions that led to Hitler and fascism.14 Beyond The Blum Affair and Rotation, Staudte’s Man on Straw, which this study also considers as a late rubble film, all oppose such simplifying judgments. Shandley concludes that the generally negative view of rubble films has mainly been provoked by the interpretation by the New German cinema generation of the 1960s and 1970s. In the Oberhausen Manifesto of February 28, 1962, young filmmakers such as Alexander Kluge, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Herbert Vesely, Volker Schlöndorff, Werner Herzog (and many others) accused early post-war cinema of being a simple continuation of the former styles and narratives employed during National Socialism. These young men called early postwar films ‘daddy’s cinema’ and announced its death as the rebirth of artistic and critical films. In opposition, this study argues that in a selection of rubble films a formalist style challenges or definitely breaks with those classical conventions that the Oberhausen group criticises. One may even presume that some rubble directors might have pursued this non-conforming, formalist tradition in a stronger manner, had the German audience and distributors appreciated these stylistic and narrative forms. However, Shandley did not define a Romantic discourse in rubble films. He argues that the films he investigated focus on a ‘culture of redemption,’15 which stems from ‘the wish’ of the German directors ‘to be told that they had been forgiven.’16 As opposed to these earlier considerations, this study has shown that a Romantic discourse evolved in a selection of formalist rubble films. Through its patterns of decline, crisis, and fragmentation, the Romantic discourse expresses existential alienation in order to critically discuss post-war identity. Similar patterns appeared in some films of the Weimar cinema tradition and in films of the

14 ‘keiner dieser Filme eine Analyse der gesellschaftlichen und politischen Voraussetzungen auch nur versucht hat, die zu Hitler und zum Faschismus führten.’ Heinzlmeier (1988), p. 52. 15 Shandley (2001), p. 182. 16 Ibid., p. 183.


298 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM aesthetics of opposition during National Socialism. In both cases, they function as an aesthetic of opposition that intends to criticise certain mentalities and worldviews within German society: Friedrich’s aesthetic patterns provoke opposition to French occupation and religious institutions. Some rubble directors simultaneously targeted National Socialist ideology and the tendencies of conservative and oppressive restoration in post-war West German society. Both uncover hidden and taboo aspects of post-war reality through artistic visual forms and Romantic motifs, which provoked controversial discussions among the audience. In the selection of rubble films discussed here, the effect of such controversial discussions should persuade the average spectator to look inside himself in order to gain insight into the past events. Visual and narrative patterns fulfil a central role in carrying out this effect. These patterns embody the identity troubles of the German post-war male17 as returning war veterans or emigrants. It has been shown that especially in those rubble films made after the currency reform of 1948, the formal and narrative devices of fragmentation, decline, and crisis are more readily visible than in the earlier ones. The last three films analysed here—The Last Illusion, Second Hand Destiny, and The Lost—demonstrate that in opposition to the earlier films, very few indications of hope for a better future in West Germany were expressed. In fact, the currency reform had an important effect on the development of German cinema and society. It ended a period that the rubble director Helmut Käutner praised as a blessing in disguise. Käutner argued that the harsh conditions and suffering in the early post-war years released an outpouring of hope, creativity, and interest in non-materialist, intellectual, and spiritual issues. It thereby created a unique openness in the German population. In cinema, some directors were able to bypass the lack of materials, the run-down studios, and other roadblocks through this extensive creativity. Accordingly, many films of this period experiment with narrative and visual devices. They indicate a research for new and untouched forms of cinematographic expression that would substantially differ from cinema under Nazism. It has been shown that Staudte’s The Murderers Are Among Us, through its use of forms that creates the impression of visual fragmentation, introduces such a distinction. Jugert’s Film Without a Name takes this even further. The film treats the research for new forms of life and cinema as the central narrative and stylistic topic by foregrounding a narrative and visual structure of meta-reflection.

17 German ‘rubble’ women appear to be less tormented by past events than their male counterparts.

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Yet the commercial failure of most rubble films on the German market following the currency reform created great difficulties for directors, as they needed to search for financial support for new film projects. Käutner defined the currency reform as a real slap in the face that suffocated people’s need for intellectual and non-materialistic content. Furthermore, he argued that the return of wealth to Germany increased arrogance and ignorance by undermining the prior openness of the German people.18 As previously mentioned, the currency reform caused a decline in quality in 1950s post-war cinema. It not only brought back wealth, but also intensified capitalist structures of commercial competition, which in cinema often fights artistic quality in favour of commercial profitability. Finally, distribution politics of the German film distributors aggravated this situation.19 The American film distribution monopoly on the West German market increased these difficulties in film production. Only in the late 1960s filmmakers were able to set up their own production companies in order to produce art films. Yet Staudte, Käutner, and Braun did not succeed with a similar strategy in the post-war period because the public did not sufficiently appreciate their films, and because there were not sufficient possibilities for long-term funding.20 As the analyses of the rubble films have shown, the currency reform permits the separation of rubble films into different periods. The first period begins in 1946 with The Murderers Are Among Us and shows two dominant tendencies in style: first, a realist style that is partly related to the principles of Italian neorealism, and second, a formalist-realist style that stems from German Romanticism. In the latter, formalist film techniques, Romantic motifs, and themes shape the realist forms. Yet neither the realist direction, nor formalism in German rubble films gained much appreciation. Most post-war critics defined realist rubble films, such as Käutner’s In Those Days, to be sentimental copies of the Italian neorealist model.21 Consequently, just as in rubble literature, a fundamental renewal of cinematographic forms in German post-war films did not take place. Even so, some rubble directors, such as those reviewed here, nevertheless challenged or even broke with the cinematographic forms employed under Nazism. The lasting in-

18 Käutner in Jacobson / Prinzler (1991), p. 143. 19 They were, according to Käutner, extremely suspicious of a film that was considered of artistic quality (in terms of international awards). Distributors took artistic quality as a clear indication that the film would fail on the German market. 20 Käutner in Jacobson / Prinzler (1991), p. 143. 21 Witte in Ibid., p. 88.


300 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM fluence of the debate surrounding Expressionism and the overblown expectations of a complete renewal of the cinematographic aesthetic in the post-war period weighed heavily on post-war cinema. These ideas and expectations may have blinded German critics from seeing the existing oppositional features in formalist rubble films. Interestingly, this ignorance recalls similar discussions about anti-fascist films in Hollywood cinema during the war. German-speaking emigrant filmmakers, such as Lang and Lubitsch, directed these films, in which many other exiles such as Brecht participated. Yet these cinematographic efforts to fight Nazism did not gain the appreciation that was wished for. For example, the exile writer Klaus Mann asserted that in anti-fascist films in Hollywood, there was a lack of creating ‘a new idiom,’22 which he considered necessary in order to express the experience of Nazism. Gerd Gemünden considers Brecht as a Hollywood film exile and identifies the impact of Brecht’s distancing effect (Verfremdungseffekt) on anti-fascist films. By using the example of films by Lang and Lubitsch, Gemünden uses three central aspects to underscore how distancing occurs: first, these films foreground ‘the artificiality of representation’ in order to encourage a distance to the film medium so as to provoke reflection and thinking in the audience.23 The second aspect can be seen in Brecht’s strategy of anti-realism, which builds upon antiillusionism. It does not only question realism as a cinematographic form, but aims at problematising questions of appearance and identification in these films. As a result, the nature of cinema as an art form of illusion and transformation of reality is set into question.24 The third aspect mainly concerns Brecht’s demand that the audience should be asked to find their own solutions to contradictions represented on stage by gaining the awareness of being confronted by art. 25 Furthermore, Gemünden argues that especially in Hangmen Also Die (1943) by Lang in cooperation with Brecht (film script) and To Be or Not To Be (1942) by Lubitsch, the effects of distancing are employed in order to question the illusory forms of the classical cinema style. These three aspects of the Brechtian distancing effect indicate narrative and visual strategies that are dominantly visible in the films discussed here, distinguishing them from other rubble films. First, visual style and narrative forms of fragmentation, decline, and crisis function to question illusory forms in cinema. Open-end narration and fragmentary visual and narrative forms in particular

22 Mann in Gemünden (1999), p. 71. 23 Ibid., p. 72. 24 Ibid., p. 73. 25 Ibid.

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foregrounded artificial styles and functioned to reveal dysfunctional aspects or contradictions in society at the time. These artificial styles reduced processes of identification and empathy, thereby encouraging the spectator to think critically and look for one’s own solution. Other central aspects of the Romantic discourse that perform such functions are the already mentioned configuration of several Romantic motifs.26 In combination with the previously mentioned narrative and visual features, they serve to question West German post-war identity and society. As in anti-fascist films, this interplay aims at questioning and redefining our understanding of traditional values and beliefs that have lost their validity due to the National Socialist regime. Beyond these similarities of an oppositional aesthetic and narrative patterns in exile, anti-fascist films in Hollywood and rubble films, which can also be found in films of the aesthetics of opposition during National Socialism. It has been shown that our selection of rubble films employs devices and patterns that are non-conforming to the classical style in Hollywood cinema, and highly resemble the formalist conventions in film noir. Some rubble films from shortly before the currency reform, such as Love 47 (1947) and The Apple Fell (1948), even show a strong tendency towards Surrealism and Expressionist distortion.27 They recall the development of style in the late film noir style in Hollywood cinema, such as in The Lady of Shanghai (1947) by Orson Wells. Contrary to these Expressionist and Surrealist tendencies, other rubble films produced following the currency reform revert to the stylistic beginnings of rubble cinema and the formalist style introduced by The Murderers Are Among Us. This artistic direction in these post-reform films shows stylistic parallels to Wells’ underground film production Macbeth (1948). Here Wells combined the formalist techniques of tableau style with avant-garde camera techniques and perspectives, as well as the narrative techniques of cross cutting. This combination strongly resembled Staudte’s formalist style, as well as Sergei Eisenstein’s filmmaking style in Ivan the Terrible (part one, 1944). It has been shown in the formalist rubble films discussed here that patterns of foregrounded artistic style, narratives of troubled identities, and Romantic motifs more directly and provocatively represented post-war problems than films of the

26 In particular the double, the demonic citizen, the doomed wanderer, landscapes, ruins, etc. 27 The experimental patterns of Expressionism and Surrealism once more indicate the search for a renewal of cinematographic forms in rubble films. Yet it has been shown that they neither completely overcame earlier cinematographic traditions, nor did they gain the appreciation of the audience.


302 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM ‘pseudo’ neorealist style. By addressing illusionism in life and in cinema, the formalist rubble films refer to problems that concern the illusive nature of cinema and therefore include the possibility of abuse and manipulation such as under National Socialism. These oppositional aesthetic patterns saw a particular increase in West German rubble films. They developed more and more into a criticism of the impact of the Enlightenment, capitalist structures, and its possible negative influence on human nature in the post-war period. Finally, these films functioned as a kind of warning that history could repeat itself under the right given circumstances. Yet even after 1948, East German rubble films continued to show an unbroken optimism towards the future (such as in ’48 All Over Again, Our Daily Bread, and The Bridge) due to the idea that socialism or communism might be the answer to all past and present (identity) problems in postwar society. Following the currency reform, however, optimism completely vanished from West German rubble films. This development went along with the German cinema audience’s increasing lack of interest and film distributors disdain for the presentation of controversial topics in film. Rubble, ruins, and the trauma of the past were out, while the classical style was in. The German audience’s already strong demand for amusing distraction and light entertainment in cinema increased. What was particularly appealing to the masses were the so-called apolitical, cheerful entertainment films produced during National Socialism, which fully satisfied the taste of the average filmgoer. With the foundation of the FRG in 1948 and the GDR in 1949, the classical style regained popularity in West German cinema (as can be seen in the many sentimental films, cheerful comedies, and musicals). Meanwhile, the East German government insisted that directors make films in the socialist realist style, touting it as the only valuable style in cinema. The demand for amusing distraction and light entertainment in cinema produced a turn in the paradigm that we can see in only a small selection of late West German rubble films. Ignoring the tastes and demands of the German people, these rubble directors focused more and more on provoking the audience through patterns of decline, fragment, and crisis, with the intention to criticise, oppose, and warn of destructive tendencies linked to conservative restoration in West German society. The hopeless bleakness of Lorre’s The Lost embodies the end of rubble films. While Käutner’s film Epilogue, produced a year earlier in 1950, literally shows a shipwreck as a metaphor for the socio-political climate in West Germany at the beginning of the 1950s, The Lost draws an allegorical image of a shipwreck. In essence, The Last Illusion and Second Hand Destiny send a mes-

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sage of decline and lost hope as a last opposition outcry. Literal ruins and rubble are shown sparingly or not at all in these late rubble films. Yet forms and narratives that evoke the impression of fragmentation transfer the meaning of ruin and decline metaphorically. These late rubble films do not focus on politics but on the sphere of private life. They show lives that were ruined and fragmented as a result of a loss of personal integrity during the circumstances of the time. Yet the aim of these films was not to formulate excuses for the post-war audience, but to reveal certain aspects of National Socialist ideology and convictions that still haunted post-war identities. In this respect, these films demand for introspection. This study argues that introspection does not mean an escape from taking responsibility for past events, but rather functions as a confrontation of past and present guilt, which might be overcome through an act of honest introspection. However, most Germans preferred a painful and shameful silence when it came to the past events that tortured many families—that is, until the first outcry against this repression from the youth movement in 1968. This young generation attacked their parents for not having realised the unique chance and hope for a real change in the post-war period. As an allegory of crisis, decline and fragmentation the Romantic discourse in some late rubble films recalls and references the painting The Sea of Ice (Das Eismeer, 1823/24, see figure 44) by Friedrich.

Figure 44: The Sea of Ice (1823/1824) by Caspar David Friedrich.

Kunsthalle Hamburg.


304 | R UBBLE , R UINS AND R OMANTICISM The shipwreck in this painting symbolises lost hope and the decline of important ideas. It allegorically mirrors German society following the Vienna congress of 1815, in which high hopes had been suffocated, and was linked to the victory over Napoléon Bonaparte’s occupying troops. This period, called ‘Biedermeier’ (1815/1848), was a time of conservative restoration. It led to the bourgeois revolutionary movement of the pre-March period (Vormärz). In the end, the revolution failed in 1848. The East German rubble film ’48 All Over Again by Gustav von Wagenheim alludes to this as a repetition in history by accusing the German bourgeoisie as being too weak for a real revolution; the solution to these problems, he proposes, is socialism. As an allegory of crisis, decline and fragmentation the Romantic discourse in some late rubble films recalls and references the painting The Sea of Ice (Das Eismeer, 1823/24, see figure 44) by Friedrich. The shipwreck in this painting symbolises lost hope and the decline of important ideas. It allegorically mirrors German society following the victory over Napoléon Bonaparte’s occupying troops and the Vienna congress of 1815, in which high hopes had been suffocated. This period, called ‘Biedermeier’ (1815/1848), was a time of conservative restoration. It led to the bourgeois revolutionary movement of the pre-March period (Vormärz). In the end, the revolution failed in 1848. The East German rubble film ’48 All Over Again by Gustav von Wagenheim alludes to this failed revolution in 1948. This film shows the post-war crisis as a repetition in history of the failed revolution in 1848 by accusing the German bourgeoisie as being too weak for a real revolution; the solution to the post-war problems, he proposes, is socialism. However, the restoration following the Vienna congress vilified earlier patriots who had fought against the foreign occupation, such as Friedrich, rendering them into demagogues in the public’s eyes. The masses experienced extreme poverty due to the beginning of industrialisation, while the rich bourgeoisie escaped from anti-progressive and restricting social structures into a private idyll of inwardness and the adoration of nature. This retreat into privacy also was a kind of a strategy to avoid political topics. Interestingly, the period after the Vienna congress shows striking similarities to the aftermath of World War II. The conservative restoration of West German society after 1948 also determined a retreat into the private sphere by suppressing controversial political topics and past traumas in favour of the comfort of material wealth. This restoration buried hopes for a change for the better. Especially in the late rubble films, the representation of crisis, decline and fragmentation embodies these failed hopes in the West German post-war society. Käutner’s film Epilogue even uses a shipwreck

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as an allegory to represent failed hopes. This allegory corresponds to Friedrich’s painting The Sea of Ice. Most of the selected rubble films combine their criticism of National Socialist ideology with capitalist structures in post-war society and earlier. This criticism is mainly represented by the Romantic motifs of the demonic citizen and the double. The focus is set on the loss of personal integrity because of a corrupted world, due to the destructive and repressive impact of National Socialist rule, and the capitalist behaviour of opportunists. Beyond Friedrich’s paintings, the motif of the shipwreck also appeared in Romantic literature. Frank defined its literary variation as a warning against venturing into the cold world of capitalism. In this respect, the motif of the shipwreck is to be distinguished from earlier literary variations, such as Robinson Crusoe or later depictions of breakdowns in Expressionist literature and art. In these later examples, the (apocalyptic) breakdown was interpreted as a hopeful promise, setting the conditions for a successful new departure. A new departure, based upon the ruins and rubble of the old world, is also indicated in Friedrich’s visual world. The piece of ice pointing towards the sky indicates a new beginning. Like an imaginary cathedral, the whole representation seems to evoke in the viewer a waiting for redemption by higher forces (such as God and religion), or the painting itself seems to be transformed into a promising new religion. The last rubble films, Second Hand Destiny and The Lost, deny the possibility of a successful reconstruction upon the ruins of the old world, such as once praised by early Expressionism. They also reject any religious interpretation of the post-war crisis, as often seen in post-war fine arts and occasionally in rubble literature. In these late rubble films the representation of crisis, fragmentation and decline represents is a warning. The old is not yet over, although the traces of this world (the ruins and rubble of the Third Reich) may have vanished. However, following the lack of success of these late West German rubble films in 1951, the formalist style and its patterns of fragmentation nearly vanished until the late 1950s. Comparatively abstract and formalist forms reemerged in the early 1960s in films by the Austrian director Herbert Vesely. Vesely’s innovative and experimental style breaks once more with classical conventions, such as his adaptation of Heinrich Böll’s The Bread of Those Early Years (Das Brot der frühen Jahre, 1961/62) clearly demonstrates. Vesely’s style relies heavily on fragmentation and repetitive patterns that anticipated the nonclassical and non-conforming narratives filmmakers of the new German cinema would later demand in their Oberhausener Manifesto.

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