Rainer Werner Fassbinder on the set with actress Hanna Schygulla
EIGHT HOURS DON’T
MAKE A DAY (Acht Stunden sind kein Tag)
– made for TV B-
Cologne (478 mi)
5 TV episodes (Episodes 1 and 2: 101 mi, Episode 3: 93 mi, Episode 4: 91
mi, and Episode 5: 90 mi) April – August
1972 d:
Rainer Werner Fassbinder
It is above all a matter of the cohesion and
solidarity of the workers. Since the
employer treats the worker as an isolated individual, it’s difficult for them
to show solidarity. We have tried to
say: unity means strength. And we’ve documented that in various
examples. We’ve shown that there exists
for workers the possibility of defending themselves, and that they can best do
this as a group.
—Rainer Werner
Fassbinder, 1973
A working class family
melodrama, designated “A Family Series” at each chapter installation, a soap
opera in the worse sense, with elevated orchestral music, plenty of close-ups
and highly stylized still shots, that is cheesy, lightweight, exaggerated to
the point of being ridiculous, yet highly entertaining, despite feeling
preposterous, as the idea of implementing socialist critique into a popular TV
melodrama was simply unthinkable at the time.
In what might be described as anarchistic romanticism, this is
Fassbinder’s second television production, released at a time when few in
Germany had television sets, completed a week ahead of schedule, and the last
of his major works to be restored, premiering at the Berlin Film Festival in
February of 2017, an extended 5-part mini-series showing an unprecedented
euphoria with a possible utopian existence, where all things are still
possible, and nothing can be ruled out.
In that sense, much of this feels like a working class fairy tale,
though in typical Fassbinder fashion, serious issues are introduced throughout,
with characters having to grapple with relevant, modern era problems, though
the solutions may seem all too simplistic.
One of the few Fassbinder films that is not a cynical critique of German
politics, as he throws all that out the window in this comical romp examining
life at a local factory. What’s missing
is the influence of trade unions, as this particular factory has no union
presence, so there’s no history of the company targeting leaders or organizers
with fascist era repressive attacks, like calling in the police and making
arrests, which are fairly typical occurrences at many factories, as evidenced
by Mario Monicelli’s THE ORGANIZER (1963), John Sayles’ MATEWAN (1987), or
Pudovkin’s MOTHER (1926), though each is set in much earlier times. Ken Loach’s contemporary Bread
and Roses (2000), however, his only venture to America, examining the
treatment of non-unionized janitors cleaning high-rise professional buildings,
suggests more of the same. While there
are references to a work council, they seem entirely ineffectual, where workers
must take matters into their own hands if they expect results. According to German television producer
Martin Wiebel, “Every series in those days played in middle-class, bourgeois
family circles. A worker series was
something—it was almost unimaginable.”
Made between THE BITTER TEARS OF PETRA VAN KANT (1972) and World
on a Wire (Welt am Draht) (1973), while presumably set in the cultural hub
of Cologne, much of the factory shots took place in the western industrial
regions of Mönchengladbach, using longtime cinematographer Dietrich Lohman, who
shot Fassbinder’s early films on 16mm.
Eight episodes were planned and written, but only five were shown, as
trade unions objected to the Fassbinder technique of resolving labor issues
without a labor union, suggesting it was highly unrealistic, and the television
production company wasn’t happy with some of the story developments,
particularly a suicide from one of the women, despite having found a devoted
partner. As a result, the film ends
prematurely, with plenty of unresolved business.
Certainly brighter
and sunnier than other Fassbinder films, featuring many of his familiar cast
members, the film stars Gottfried John as Jochen Epp, a machinist in a tool
factory, where it remains impossible seeing John as a romantic lead, or a
trustworthy, nice guy, as his ruthless portrayal of the unscrupulous Reinhardt
in BERLIN ALEXANDERPLATZ (1980), including the brilliantly choreographed murder
sequence of Miezi in the woods, remains chilling even after nearly forty years. Nonetheless, here he is as a decent sort,
kindhearted throughout, and the link between two differing storylines, one
taking place at the factory where he works, with Jochen designing a more useful
machine tool that can lower their estimated complete time of their project,
saving money for the company, which reneges on their agreement to pay out a
bonus to each worker if they finish ahead of time, claiming the tool made it
too easy. While there is plenty of work
solidarity in their team, including naked group shower sequences, an amusing
Fassbinder touch that is simply unimaginable for American TV, it does establish
the power dynamic between skilled laborers and their employer, which is at odds
throughout the entire film. The other
storyline follows what’s happening with Jochen’s near dysfunctional family,
opening with an explosion from a champagne cork signaling cheers and
salutations celebrating the 60th birthday of Oma Krüger, otherwise known as
Grandma, Luise Ullrich from Max Ophuls’ LEIBELEI (1933), an UFA star between
both world wars, the spunky matriarch of the family (gleefully seen watching
the film on TV at one point). This is a
typical European family gathering with various friends and relatives crowded around
a table for a raucous family dinner, leading to plenty of drunken laughter and
family squabbles that serve as an introduction to many of the characters
followed throughout the film, including Jochen’s father Wolf (Wolfried Lier),
who instantly flies off the handle, growing testy, arguing and complaining
about every little comment that he finds irritating, always seen drinking
heavily, commanding no respect from the rest of his family, his agreeable and
docile wife Käthe (Anita Bucher), his younger sister Monika (Renate Roland,
whose career surprisingly never blossomed), her rigidly uptight husband Harald
(Kurt Raab), and their young daughter Sylvia, Andrea Schober from Chinese
Roulette (Chinesisches Roulette) (1976).
Rounding out the table are Aunt Klara (Christine Oesterlein), Grandma’s
incredibly odd and cantankerously disagreeable daughter, and Jochen’s best
friend, Manfred (Wolfgang Zerlett).
Running low on champagne, they send Jochen out for more, but he gets
sidetracked by the radiant appearance of Marion (Hanna Schygulla) stuck at a
vending machine, offering his assistance before inviting her home to meet the
family, forgetting all about the champagne.
One can see how she might have that kind of effect on a man. They become smitten lovers, drowning in each
other’s eyes, where she doesn’t presume judgment about a “worker,” or his lowly
station in life, unlike her coworker at a newspaper advertising office, Irmgard
(Irm Hermann), who looks down upon the working class with a haughty attitude,
as if they are the dregs if the earth, claiming “Your father was a civil
servant…you’re worlds apart.” That
doesn’t matter to Marion, though she has a younger brother, Manni (Thorsten
Massinger), who feels more like a son than a brother, forever jumping into bed
with her at night, claiming he can’t sleep, interrupting any possible sexual
developments between Jochen and Marion, adding an element of serious commitment
to their relationship.
Opening and closing
each episode is music composed under the pseudonym of Jean Gepoint, otherwise
known as Fuzzy, who happens to be Danish musician Jens Wilhelm Pedersen,
creating bombastic theme music that sounds like French circus music,
surprisingly upbeat, like something played for outdoor sunny occasions. What might have kept this film out of print
and unseen in decades are the extensive musical rights, something Fassbinder
probably didn’t even consider at the time, though the series is replete with
50’s and 60’s American songs, like Leonard Cohen’s “Joan of Arc,” Janis
Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee,” Neil Young’s “After the Gold Rush,” The
Rolling Stones’ “I Am Waiting,” works by Elvis Presley and Paul Anka, but also
the Drifters, “Save the Last Dance for Me” and “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,”
Little Richard’s “Lucille,” the Velvet Underground’s “Candy Says,” while there
were even a few recognizable refrains from “Memories Are Made of This,” Veronika Voss Memories are
made of this - YouTube (2:32), a foreshadowing of Veronika
Voss (Die Sehnsucht der Veronika Voss) (1982) a decade later. This scattering of American music has an
influence on the overall mood and tone, particularly when heard during party
sequences, becoming universal statements of freedom with a dark undertone. The second episode entitled Oma and Gregor introduces the family
elders, Grandma in her flowered hat and her new pushover boyfriend, featuring
those whose generation was around to see the rise of the Third Reich,
withholding comments, as politics are thrown aside for easy laughs, making it
all too easy to laugh “at” Grandma while laughing along “with” her as
well. Finding a new beau, Werner Finck
as Gregor, constantly befuddled by her aggressive plotting and scheming,
instantly combining their collective pension benefits (his twice as much as hers),
then dividing it up equally, thoroughly bossing him around with ease (though
she’s a master manipulator who bosses everyone around, always with a leading
smile hiding her genuine intent), with their shared love of sipping shots of
schnapps, they go through a comical routine searching for a new apartment
together, devising various strategies of approach, all of which fail miserably,
insisting upon a rock bottom price, not a penny more than 25% of their combined
income, meeting at a familiar café which features the loud squawking of wild
birds, with bodies hidden behind tableside flower arrangements, almost blotting
them out entirely. This playful Grandma
humor, pointing fun at a lovable old couple and their sheer eccentricities,
where a shot of schnapps is their cure for everything, is astonishingly
conventional, like a throwback to an earlier pre-war era of Burlesque and
Vaudeville, and is noticeably absent in the Fassbinder repertoire, reminding
some of the worst Nazi war comedies, which was too much for Fassbinder regular
Harry Baer, who was one of his closest assistants, working as an actor and
assistant director, often collaborating on art design and production
management, but split with Fassbinder on this film, finding it politically tame
and opportunist, “It wasn’t radical enough for me. I found it trivial. That’s when I took my leave, at any rate
until FOX AND HIS FRIENDS (1975)…Many people found EIGHT HOURS DON’T MAKE A DAY
really great, but these grandma characters were too calculating and
ingratiating for me.” Criticized on the
left and the right, the television series was surprisingly popular, aiming for
a middle ground from the normally uncondescending director, which certainly
wasn’t the case for his later television efforts, some of which remain among
Fassbinder’s best work ever.
It’s the
inordinately hopeful depiction of working life in the factories that sets this
film apart, as there are barely any scenes of the men actually working. Instead, they stand around and talk endlessly
about their lives, their broken hopes and dreams, and how they’re being taken
advantage of by the employer, followed by evenings in a bar where they drink
heavily and all end up inebriated, only to show up at work again the next day
to do it all over again. The excessive
drinking is reminiscent of THE MERCHANT OF FOUR SEASONS (1972), where
disillusions turn self-destructive when one world weary character actually
drinks himself to death (sharing the same last name of Epp, by the way). This choreography of the workers is staged
almost as if it’s a Brechtian musical, only instead of breaking out into song,
they collectively air their grievances, first among themselves, and finally in
a remedying proposal to their employer, which, surprisingly, is actually taken
seriously. One of the driving forces behind
the worker’s strategy are heart-to-heart talks at home by Jochen and Marion,
where she surprisingly channels their outrage in a positive manner, often
feeling more righteous anger and moral indignation than they do, refusing to
allow them to be taken advantage of, as they work so hard. Her social consciousness is on display
throughout the film, which is what makes her character so intriguing, as she
seems to have her pulse on the heart of the issue, and is able to verbalize
rationally exactly what needs to be done.
Fassbinder’s strategy to humanize the work force, allowing precious
input into how they organize the work orders, deciding for themselves the best
way to get their work done, as the men on the floor understand their work
better than any outside managers, is a utopian working class view not at all
reflective of the drudgery of factory work, where part of the crushing
dehumanization is just how demoralizing it is to have absolutely no say in the
matter, forced to constantly follow someone else’s orders, whether it makes
sense or not. Disinvested from taking
any real interest in the work is the actual employer strategy to divide workers
from one another, where it’s easier to suppress the wages and spend less on
upgrading working conditions, treating workers like interchangeable parts,
repeatedly informed they are easily replaceable. That hard line attitude is nonexistent here,
as all things remain possible, where it’s Voltaire’s “best of all possible worlds,”
where the idealistic hopes of 60’s have not died, and the bombs have not yet
been thrown by the German far-leftist militant Baader-Meinhof group (Red Army
Faction) that terrorized Germany throughout the 70’s, where they believed the
West German government was populated by holdovers from the Third Reich,
declaring war on banks and German capitalism in a spree of guns and
violence. None of that seething
discontent is present here, creating instead a picture postcard world of sunny
tomorrows, where openly racist neo-Nazi workers coexist with the rest,
including Rüdiger (Herb Andress), who has it out for a Greek coworker,
undermining him at every turn, continuously trying to get him fired, ostracized
and not really a part of the social fabric from an ideas standpoint, yet he
shows up for all the drinking binges and parties, and remains part of the
working collective. In this way, racists
and neo-Nazis are thoroughly integrated into society, but their hate-filled,
inflammatory anti-immigrant rhetoric is minimized, ultimately rendered harmless
and ineffective. The idea that this
noxiously undermining sentiment can be managed properly is simply
foolhardy.
The most remarkable
sequence in the entire film takes place at the Krüger residence in episode
four, which shows the wedding reception for Jochen and Marion, merging the two
separate storylines into one, all coming together in a bravura display of
extraordinary filmmaking. All the
principal characters are present, including the workers and their wives, along
with the entire Krüger family, Marion’s mother (Brigitte Mira), as well as an
assortment of friends, all drinking heavily to a montage of American music,
with Wolf cutting a rug on the dance floor with a variety of partners, with the
elusive camera moving in and out of rooms with ease, like a silent observer,
capturing what’s happening just around the corner. In this way, it’s reminiscent of Cristi
Puiu’s Sieranevada
(2016), a highly complex choreography of tightly enclosed space, capturing
small groups chatting in hallways, while around the corner the Greek worker,
Giuseppe (Grigorios Karipidis), is tantalizing the women in the kitchen with
his own recipes, veering into the next room where people are bickering vociferously,
creating a mass of confusion, yet the music has a calming effect, adding a
touch of tranquility to the enveloping madness, with the unbending stubbornness
of an insufferable Harold finally agreeing to grant Monika the divorce she
craves, suffering unbearably under his abusive tyrannical rule, where oddly
matched couples take heart in each other’s arms, including Irmgard who quickly
rids herself of all preconceived aversion to workers, finding one in particular
that she likes, with people sprawled around throughout the rooms, many asleep,
some just in a drunken stupor, creating a panorama of chaos finally coming
under control, including the presence of Fassbinder regular Eva Mattes laughing
uncontrollably to herself all evening long, while alcohol slows the tempo down
to a late night crawl, with people finally leaving as Marion sleeps in a chair
and Jochen slumps to the floor of a doorway, preserving a picture of
content. While there is an elegiac tone
of harmony, with people finally drained of every ounce of energy, the world has
not changed, as all the existing problems have not gone away, yet the artistic
mastery on display is uniquely that of Fassbinder, who, in essence, provides
his own portrait of humanity in all its glorified dysfunction. For a moment anyway people set aside their
petty differences to celebrate the lives of others, who begin a daunting task
together in marriage, starting a new life.
Nothing else in the film holds the dramatic power of this extended
scene, which is beautifully realized and deeply touching. Generous to a fault, Fassbinder adores all
his characters, who become intimately familiar over time, withholding judgment,
where only the bureaucratic hardliners are skewered in this film, city workers
who sit in their offices all day refusing every idea that comes their way to
actually improve living conditions in the neighborhoods, forcing people to take
matters into their own hands and militantly force them to get off their asses
and earn a day’s pay. This thread of anarchistic
activism has fairy tale overtones, as it simply doesn’t resemble real
life. According to actor Gottfried John,
“Workers who were interviewed [about the series] said, ‘Bullshit. There’s
nothing like that in our shop.’” The
overall tone of the film suggests a pragmatism that’s conducive to civil
discourse, which has all but fallen off the rails of late. Hardly prescient in its insights, suggesting
lives are getting better, but real power and control remain thoroughly out of
reach, this is an old-fashioned melodrama that delights in small
accomplishments, saving the big picture for later endeavors.
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