Effi Briest (1974)

          Watching this black-and-white period drama from iconoclastic German director Rainer Werner Fassbinder, I found myself getting pushed out of the story almost from the very first scenes. Since he usually shot his films in vibrant color, the choice to film Effi Briest in artsy monochromatic textures removed one of the tools Fassbinder customarily employed to create vivid realism. And while Fassbinder wasn’t averse to stylized compositions, many shots in Effi Briest put deliberate obstacles between the viewer and the subject, whether that means hiding actors behind gauzy curtains or peering at actors through mirrors and windows. Then there’s the peculiar rhythm of the picture’s storytelling. Quite frequently, Fassbinder halts scenes mid-conversation in order to fade to the next scene, interject a title card, or weave in narration. Seeing as how Effi Briest was adapted from a celebrated 19th-century German novel, Fassbinder may have felt obliged to include as much of the source material as possible. Furthermore, perhaps he wanted the style of Effi Briest to reflect a key tenet the original novel—the way social rules suppress emotion. Whatever his reasons, Fassbinder made a cold movie. It’s a respectable piece of work, no question, but it’s more of an intellectual exercise than a visceral experience.

          Based on Theodore Fontane’s 1894 novel, the picture tracks the life of an affluent young woman named Effi Briest (Hanna Schygulla) as she moves from her family’s home to her husband’s home. In clinical vignettes at the beginning of the picture, we learn about Effi’s various contradictions; for instance, she has little use for material things but demands only the best once she finds something she actually wants. Though only 17, the beautiful Effi accepts a marriage proposal from Baron Instetten (Wolfgang Schenck). Life with the Baron renders Effi into something of an art object, because he values propriety more than intimacy. So when Effi meets the charming Major Crampas (Ulli Lommel), she begins a friendship that leads inevitably to an affair. For the Baron, the shakeup in his marriage is a social inconvenience with minimal lasting repercussions, but for Effi, cuckolding her husband proves immeasurably damaging. Informing the storyline is the theme of repression causing misery among the ruling class. Also present is a component of modern-day feminism. Alas, the inherent irony of Effi Briest—a repressed film about repression—ensures that some viewers will have difficulty finding a way into the piece. Even appraising the acting is tricky. Fassbinder clearly asked his performers to underplay every moment, so the attractive visuals created by cinematographers Jürgen Jürges and Dietrick Lohmann sometimes carry more feeling than the portrayals.

Effi Briest: FUNKY

Fox and His Friends (1975)

          Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s Fox and His Friends offers the sad parable of a simple man who realizes his dreams, only to suffer unexpected consequences. The director plays the starring role, and he occupies an effective performance space blending unaffected looseness with subtle strains of pathos. As the protagonist falls deeper and deeper into a humiliating abyss, with those around him forever preying on his naïveté, we, the viewers, aren’t asked to weep for the character but rather to empathize. This distinction is key, for while Fox and His Friends follows a somewhat conventional narrative path, Fassbinder strives for docudrama realism instead of manipulative melodrama. One could argue the film suffers for this choice, since the ending could have had greater impact, but one could also argue that restraint is what makes the familiar storyline palatable. That is, for viewers who aren’t put off by the story’s gay themes and copious amounts of male full-frontal nudity.

          In modern Germany, Fox (Fassbinder) works as a sideshow attraction in a carnival run by his boyfriend. When the boyfriend is arrested, Fox casts about for his next situation. First he seeks shelter with his alcoholic sister, and then he turns prostitute for men prowling public bathrooms. Optimistic to an almost delusional degree, Fox buys a lottery ticket one day, certain he’ll win. He does, scoring a prize of 500,000 deutsche marks. Most of the film explores how acquaintances react to Fox’s newfound wealth, and because many people behave in predatory ways, a maudlin theme emerges. Fox represents those who believe financial windfalls can fix every problem, but never take the time to learn how money works. Fox’s fortune begins to slip from his hands virtually the moment he takes possession. Also woven into Fassbiner’s depressing story are issues of class. Fox’s first rich patron, Max (Karlheinz Böhm), treats Fox as a sexual plaything barely worth contempt until Fox becomes rich. The protagonist’s second patron, Eugen (Peter Chatel), behaves even more callously, convincing Fox to make a huge business investment. Desperate to find a place among the sophisticated set, Fox plays along until he realizes he’s being used, but by that point, his self-image has suffered irreparable harm.

          In the merciless way of his best stories, Fassbiner takes Fox’s decline to a logical conclusion, so viewers shouldn’t look for the glimmers of hope a Hollywood version of similar material would surely provide. The aforementioned homoerotic content provides more than titillation, because the othering of gays in West German society circa the mid-’70s is an important component of the storytelling. Fox discovers how those above his social station mask themselves in the name of assimilation, and he also discovers what happens when straight society sees through those masks. Additionally, a sequence set in Morocco reinforces the trope of sex workers desperate to escape, or at least survive, poverty by any means possible.

Fox and His Friends: GROOVY

The Marriage of Maria Braun (1979)

          Plaintive, tragic, and wise, The Marriage of Maria Braun is a titanic achievement in the extensive filmmography of provocative German auteur Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Setting a peculiar love story against the backdrop of World War II’s final years, the picture says profound things about the damnable cost of pride, the degradation of national identity during times of war, the interpersonal issues that arise whenever women become breadwinners in patriarchal societies, and the mysteries of the female soul. Yet for all the philosophical and sociopolitical weight of the subject matter, The Marriage of Maria Braun unfolds with something that could almost be described as lightness of touch. The leading character is so self-assured and the storytelling is so witty that hints of playful satire sparkle amid the drama.

          Things get off to an amazing start with the frenetic opening scene—beautiful young Maria (Hanna Schygulla) marries German soldier Hermann (Klaus Löwitsch) while the city around them is shelled with enemy bombs. Soon after this perfect metaphor, Hermann and Maria are separated for the duration of the war, forcing Maria to fend for herself without any sure knowledge of whether her husband will return home or even whether he’s alive. Resourceful, smart, and tough, Maria sees everyone else around her fighting for scraps, so she decides to try for something better. Maria takes a job as a dancehall girl. While working at the dancehall, Maria bewitches a stocky black GI named Bill (George Boyd), who supplies her with imported goods, impregnates her, and offers to marry her. Then, fate being what it is, Hermann returns from a long and soul-crushing incarceration in a Russian POW camp. Plot twist follows plot twist until the story expands to include Karl Oswald (Ivan Desny), a wealthy industrialist who hires Maria as a secretary and later assumes an even more important role in her life. Giving away much more would diminish the experience of watching the picture, which is unmistakably arthouse fare but which also has enough pulpy content for a Harold Robbins novel.

          While Fassbinder executes The Marriage of Maria Braun with his usual clinical style, guiding actors to underplay scenes, the movie has a more vivacious editing scheme than other Fassbinder ’70s efforts. Cinematographer Michael Ballhaus, who later became Martin Scorsese’s go-to DP for a period of time, captures actions with inventive angles and nimble camera movements, allowing co-editors Fassbinder and Juliane Lorenz to create brisk pacing. The performances are generally strong, with some actors serving as puppets in Fassbinder’s scheme while others incarnate fully realized individuals. Naturally, Schygulla dominates. Enigmatic and luminous, she makes her character’s contradictions believable and fascinating. (As the heroine says to Karl at one point: “I am who I am. Last night I was Maria Braun who wanted to sleep with you. Today I’m Maria Braun who wants to work for you.”)

          Screenwriters Pea Frölich and Peter Märthesheimer enrich The Marriage of Maria Braun by including dialogue that succinctly encapsulates themes, although it’s likely Fassbinder had an invisible hand in the writing. In one scene, the idealistic Maria says to a fellow dancehall girl, “A great love is a great truth.” The dancehall girl’s response: “The truth is what you have in your belly when you’re hungry.” In a different scene, Maria delivers one of the finest character-defining lines ever spoken: “It’s not a good time for feelings, but it suits me.” In addition to winning numerous international awards, such as a Golden Globe nomination for Best Foreign Film, The Marriage of Maria Braun was the first movie in Fassbinder’s so-called “BRD Trilogy,” which continued with Lola (1981) and Veronika Voss (1982).

The Marriage of Maria Braun: RIGHT ON

The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972)

          The prolific but short-lived German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder enjoys such an enviable reputation that nearly all of his films are considered milestones of international cinema. To some degree, Fassbinder’s demigod status is justified because he consistently explored nature themes in an idiosyncratic but intelligent manner. Nonetheless, not all films are created equal, so some of Fassbinder’s projects invite more divisive reactions than others. The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, which the director adapted from his play of the same name, is a good example. Admirers characterize the project as a probing investigation of the female psyche because the story depicts the complex relationships that the title character has with other women.

          Yet The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant is, by any estimation, a challenging viewing experience. Intentionally artificial and stylized, the movie takes place entirely on one set, with actors delivering their lines in monotones while barely ever moving. As photographed by Michael Ballhaus, who later became Martin Scorsese’s go-to cinematographer for an important period in the ’80s and ’90s (Goodfellas, etc.), The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant possesses inarguable pictorial beauty, but watching the picture is a bit like regarding a series of still images. As such, Fassbinder’s refusal to exploit the full cinematic possibilities of his own narrative can be interpreted as either remarkably disciplined or remarkably perverse.

          The title character is a fashion designer who became a lesbian following the dissipation of her marriage to a man. At first, her only companion is an ever-present assistant, whom Petra treats like a slave. But then a friend arrives—provoking a long conversation about the arc of Petra’s marriage—and then Petra meets a beautiful young woman whom she decides to mold into a fashion model. The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant is simultaneously about Petra’s manipulation of the women around her (with many relationships involving aspects of sadomasochism) and about Petra’s articulation of her grim worldview. Fassbinder’s script is full of grandiose declarations: “If you understand someone, there’s no need for pity”; “If there were no compulsion, I’d be totally lost at times”; “I’ve always been suspicious of hard women.” At one point, a character even articulates her “constant fear of existence.”

          Meanwhile, Fassbinder juxtaposes the ugliness of his words with the beauty of his images—during the film’s most opulent passage, leading ladies Margit Carstensen (as Petra) and Hanna Schygulla (as the would-be model) wear ornately skimpy costumes reminiscent of Theda Bara’s provocative outfits in the silent-cinema classic Cleopatra (1917). Some viewers will feel more inclined than others to parse all of this philosophizing and symbolism for deeper meanings, and, indeed, The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant has enjoyed a long life, as evidenced by an opera adaption that premiered in 2005. So, even though the picture’s entertainment value is dubious, what can’t be denied is the peculiar integrity of the piece. This is about as anti-commercial as movie storytelling gets.

The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant: FUNKY

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974)

          Exquisitely simple and memorably sad, this culture-clash melodrama was an international breakthrough for prolific and provocative German writer-director Rainer Werner Fassbinder. One of two significant films inspired by the classic Hollywood tearjerker All That Heaven Allows (1955)—the other being Todd Haynes’ beautiful Far from Heaven (2002)—this picture explores the relationship between a middle-aged German woman and a young Moroccan laborer. Exploring themes of duplicity, hypocrisy, ignorance, loneliness, prejudice, and sexuality, Fassbinder’s movie offers a stark vision of desperate souls searching for connection in an unkind world. As the epigraph that appears at the beginning of the movie says, with typical Teutonic flair, “Happiness Is Not Always Fun.”

          In a bar one night, Ali (El Hedi ben Salem) hangs out with fellow Moroccan immigrants, as well as slatternly German barmaids, because getting drunk and having sex are his only reprieves from a life of hard work and incessant racism. He lives in Germany because he can’t find employment in Morocco, but he’s either exploited or resented by nearly everyone he meets in Germany. That is, until he encounters Emmi (Brigitte Mira), a middle-aged and overweight cleaning lady who enters the bar one evening. Sensing a kindred lost soul, Ali asks Emmi to dance, striking up a long conversation that eventually continues in Emmi’s home—and Emmi’s bed. Surprised but delighted by her new romance, Emmi slowly breaks the news to her coworkers, neighbors, and relatives, all of whom shun her like she’s caught a disease. Meanwhile, Ali moves into Emmi’s apartment and the two become engaged. Although Ali harbors traces of his old melancholy personality, he brightens when he sees how happy he makes Emmi. Yet Emmi realizes she can’t live without all the people who’ve abandoned her, so domestic friction emerges—notwithstanding Ali’s wise admonition that fear is cancerous.

          Quickly paced and shot in a minimalistic style, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul presents its offbeat story without adornment. (For instance, there’s virtually no music except for tunes playing on jukeboxes and radios.) Fassbinder also gets in and out of scenes without ceremony, often relying on fade-outs and fade-ins. The pared-down style suits the material perfectly, keeping the focus on subtleties of performance. Mira and ben Salem are heartbreaking in different ways, because she plays a woman trapped by her worldliness and he plays a man inhibited by his naïveté. (Fassbinder’s affection for ben Salem is evident in lingering nude shots of the actor.) Supporting players incarnate various shades of intolerance effectively, with Fassbinder playing Emmi’s thuggish son-in-law. A deeply humane film that respects its audience too much to provide the release of a completely happy ending, Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is poetic without being pretentious, and tragic without being treacly.

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul: GROOVY