The Stranger (L'étranger)

 

Director François Ozon

Writer/philosopher Albert Camus

THE STRANGER (L'étranger)                                  B                                                       France  (122 mi)  2025  d: François Ozon                        

Whatever I choose, it amounts to the same... absolutely nothing.                                               —Killing an Arab, by The Cure, 1978, The Cure - Killing An Arab (Live in Barcelona 1985) YouTube (2:40)

A film so overly detached that it’s hard for viewers to find an entry point, even if the 1942 Albert Camus novel is already known to us, where this is a faithful rendition, with a slight revisionist update, of what remains one of the three most widely read French books worldwide, alongside Saint-Exupéry’s Little Prince and Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, Best French Literature (873 books), with Paris newspaper Le Monde listing it #1 of their best 100 Books of the 20th Century.  One of the cornerstones of existential philosophy, it is inherently alienating, unfathomable and provocative, yet it continues to challenge us with the ethical and metaphysical questions it provokes, with Camus (born in Algeria) winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1957, remaining a political voice during the Cold War, rejecting both communism and capitalism.  Only at the end, in a prison sequence, bearing some minimalist resemblance to Bresson’s Pickpocket (1959), does this elevate substantially in a positively brilliant scene between the protagonist and a priest, which recalls an even more intense prison sequence in Steve McQueen’s HUNGER (2008) between Irish nationalist Bobby Sands and a Catholic priest, which is a 20-minute uninterrupted sequence arguing over moral principles.  A frequently controversial figure of French cinema since the 1990’s, François Ozon has continued to surprise and delight with his ever-stylish, daring, and genre-defying films, from erotic thrillers to queer coming-of-age dramas, his films include UNDER THE SAND (2000), 8 WOMEN (2002), SWIMMING POOL (2003), TIME TO LEAVE (2005), ANGEL (2007), Potiche (2010), In the House (Dans La Maison) (2012), Young & Beautiful (Jeune & Jolie) (2013), The New Girlfriend (Une nouvelle amie) (2014), Frantz (2016), By the Grace of God (Grâce à Dieu) (2019), Peter von Kant (2022), The Crime Is Mine (Mon Crime) (2023), and When Fall Is Coming (Quand vient l'automne) (2024), among others.  Ozon has proven to be one of modern French cinema’s most prolific auteurs, making 25 films in nearly 30 years, so who better to tackle the novel by Camus, one of the fundamental pillars in the legacy of French literary existentialism.  Drawn to dark, mordantly psychological films that are intimate and personal, Ozon makes films that are comically odd and puzzling, yet also liberating, filled with a poignant awareness of loss and unfulfilled desire.  More often than not he writes his own screenplays, where an absurd existentialism beats at the heart of his films, but this is something else altogether since it comes from such a recognizable literary work, the first adaptation made in French, where the protagonist is condemned by society as callous, cold, and dangerous because he does not act according to their norms, becoming the titular stranger for whom there is no place in the world.  Synthesizing the meaning of his novel, Camus wrote: “In our society, any man who doesn’t cry at his mother’s funeral is liable to be condemned to death.”  Luchino Visconti filmed an earlier adaptation of the novel with a slightly older Marcello Mastroianni (the director wanted Alain Delon) and Anna Karina, which went missing for years, apparently due to rights issues, and still remains under the radar, only available through specialized imports or film retrospectives, though it is notable for its overdetermined literariness, using a stream-of-conscious voiceover and dialogue taken directly from the pages of the novel.  Turkish director Zeki Demirkubuz also filmed his own adaptation in 2001 entitled FATE (Yazgi), while Ingmar Bergman apparently wanted to do an adaptation as well, but no projects ever developed.  A copy of the book also turns up in Jacques Audiard’s 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #10 A Prophet ... (2009), a prison drama that reflects the grim alienation and existential choices present in the Camus work, while the British rock band Joy Division, particularly lead singer Ian Curtis, was profoundly influenced by existentialist literature, with Albert Camus serving as a key intellectual touchstone, with their music drenched in a similar philosophical, moody, and existentialist atmosphere.

Winner of Best Film, Best Actor, and Best Cinematography at the recently held Lumière Awards in Paris just a month ago honoring the best French-speaking movies, the ceremony took place appropriately enough at the Institut du Monde Arabe (Arab World Institute).  Co-written by Ozon and Philippe Piazzo, who have collaborated on his last six films, with a spare musical score by Senegal-born Kuwaiti musician Fatima Al Qadiri, who provided the music for Mati Diop’s film Atlantics (Atlantique) (2019), this is essentially a Dostoyevskian Crime and Punishment movie, set in French-colonial Algeria in 1938 (actually shot in Morocco), told in two parts, before and after the killing of an (unnamed in the book) Arab man in the stifling heat of Algiers, which comes just weeks after the funeral of the protagonist’s mother.  Meursault, Benjamin Voisin from Summer of '85 (Été 85) (2020), is a quiet, unassuming shipping clerk in his early thirties, indifferent to everything, withdrawn, barely speaking, showing little interest in anything, yet he’s an enigma who’s a tough nut to crack, opaque, indifferent, and without a moral conscience, working so well in literature, with a fresh originality, as we’re literally immersed inside his head in a first-person narrative, privy to every minute psychological detail and thought, yet in the world of cinema, he’s a dour onscreen presence, apparently unable to process emotions, remaining disconnected from viewers, who will find it difficult to relate.  The book starts with his discovery of the death of his mother, “Mother died today.  Or maybe yesterday; I can’t be sure,” while in the film it’s the unforeseen arrival of a telegram that sets the wheels in motion, “Mother deceased.  Burial tomorrow.”  Attractively shot in black and white by Belgian cinematographer Manuel Dacosse in his fifth collaboration with Ozon, it feels both stark and elegantly restrained, made with austere precision, using very few camera movements, consisting mainly of static shots, with a brief opening prison sequence acknowledging “I killed an Arab” that alludes to what follows.  The tone is set by oppressive heat, yet Meursault wears a formal jacket and tie as he takes a bus to attend his mother’s funeral out in the countryside, where he’s immediately viewed as an outsider, not known to any of the medical staff who were caring for his mother at a nearby nursing home, showing no real signs of grief or mourning.  When asked if he wishes to see her body, he declines, claiming “There’s no point,” but instead smokes and drinks coffee at the vigil held by the coffin the night before the burial, but people look at him abnormally, with his impassive gaze, yet what stands out is that he never sheds a single tear.  When it comes time to bury the body, he goes outside in the scorching sun, where the only thing that seems to affect him is the heat, which seems to be a malevolent presence, as other than that, nothing seems to matter, emphasizing again and again “Nothing is important.”  As if to clear his mind afterwards, he runs into a colleague at the local baths, Marie (Rebecca Marder), a former typist where he works, and the two go swimming together as he quickly slips back into his former routine, resulting in a casual affair, displaying a carefree interest, The Stranger new clip official from Venice Film Festival 2025 YouTube (2:03), where cooling down seems to help him relax, as later that evening they see a Marcel Pagnol comedy LE SCHPOUNTZ (1938) starring beloved French comedian Fernandel, whose wild, over-the-top antics, which generate no reaction whatsoever from Meursault, are a bit of a surprise in this otherwise downbeat film.  Of curious interest is a sign at the box office that states, in French, “Établissement interdit aux indegenes (Establishment forbidden to natives).”

Meursault lives in a drab, non-descript hotel, where one of his eccentric old neighbors down the hall is Salamano (Denis Lavant), who continually beats and torments his mangy dog before it runs away, while the sadistic Raymond Sintès (Pierre Lottin) is a big, burly man who claims he works at a warehouse, but is generally acknowledged to be a pimp, who draws Meursault into his shady dealings, yet he’s unfazed by the racist misogyny, even after Raymond beats the living hell out of his Arab mistress, Djemila (Hajar Bouzaouit), yet the police release him with just a warning, as Meursault speaks up for him, identifying him as a friend.  This speaks to the double standard that exists for whites in a dehumanizing colonial occupation that views Arabs in their own country as second class citizens without the same rights, and it angers the family of the beaten girl, whose brothers suddenly become a looming presence in their lives, like a constant threat they can’t ignore, with Raymond mentioning that they’ve been following him around recently.  Accordingly, the white characters all have names in the Camus novel, while the Arab characters do not, as they are viewed as subhuman and invisible by the French colonizers, with the two cultures living side-by-side without actually seeing the other, where even in contemporary times that pain remains raw between France and Algeria, as a heavy silence still weighs upon their shared histories.  Ozon expands the role of Djemila, giving her a more prominent voice to the often-silenced victim in the original story, and in doing so accentuates the routine colonial injustices.  The expanded role of both Marie and Djemila are a stark female counterpoint to the more toxic male characters.  One weekend, Raymond invites Meursault and Marie to the beach, where they encounter the Arab brother of Djemila, who deliberately remains nameless in the novel, as if to emphasize Meursault’s detachment, but in a change from the original text Ozon gives him the name of Moussa (Abderrahmane Dehkani), empowering the character by giving him an identity.  His presence prompts Raymond to hand a revolver to Meursault for emergency purposes, leading to Moussa’s revenge-driven confrontation with Meursault, who finds himself disoriented and on the edge of heatstroke on the beach, which leads to the pivotal, yet shocking, shooting, firing a fatal shot, but after a pause, fires four more shots.  Ozon films the scene in a sensory manner, almost completely silent, with the sun’s reflection off the blade of a knife blinding his eyes, where the violent act contrasts significantly from the serenity of the beach location.  Meursault is incarcerated afterwards, where the confinement in prison mirrors his overall sense of detachment, exploring themes of meaninglessness and human indifference, as Meursault’s apathy serves as a critique of French society.  Never denying the murder he committed, blaming it on the sun and the intensity of the heat, which becomes a physical force, blurring discomfort and fate, though what stands out at the trial is that he’s condemned less for the crime he commits than on his lack of emotion, as he is absurdly portrayed as heartless due to his inability to cry at his mother’s funeral, where his passivity is viewed as a lack of remorse, denouncing him as a soulless monster that deserves to be put to death.  Even after refusing to see the prison chaplain (Swann Arlaud), he receives a visit anyway, with the chaplain believing Meursault will be released on appeal, but it will not relieve the pervading sense of guilt he feels, which he attributes to his faithlessness, in his belief that God doesn’t exist.  Insulted by what he perceives as a patronizing attitude, Meursault refuses to play along and accosts the chaplain in a fit of rage, confident in his belief that we are resigned to our own fate, “Actually, I was sure of myself, sure about everything, far surer than he; sure of my present life and of the death that was coming,” where nothing can change the fact that we are all condemned to die one day, so in the end, nothing ultimately matters.  “I had only a little time left and I didn’t want to waste it on God.”  Ozon resorts to a voiceover only twice, once at the end of the first part, and again at the very end, as in those key moments the detached voice of Meursault preserves the literary style of Camus, while in the end the Cure’s 1979 post-punk anthem The Cure - Killing An Arab (Live in Barcelona 1985) YouTube (2:40) blares angrily, where the apathy of the main character is the focus of the song, which was singer/songwriter Robert Smith’s Camus-inspired, poetic impressions of the shooting at the beach.

Note

In a contemporary analysis of the character of Meursault, it has been suggested that he’s autistic, though Asperger’s Syndrome wasn’t diagnosed until 1944, two years after the novel was published, and didn’t officially become recognized as a formal mental health diagnosis until 1994, so with such limited knowledge of autism at the time, it was probably not what Camus had in mind.  However, Camus reportedly based the character of Meursault on his close friend Pierre Galindo, who was revealed to be an intelligent but odd person, who exhibited the characteristic impairment of social and personal behavior of Asperger’s Syndrome, yet Camus recognized and understood his friend’s strange behavior before Asperger’s Syndrome had been defined.  Nonetheless, in view of the many interpretations of the novel and film, it is worth mentioning, and has been written about extensively, including this 21-page essay by Isabelle Wentworth from Journal of Camus Studies in 2015, (DOC) Autism & Absurdism: Philosophical Ramifications of ..., suggesting the creation of Meursault may be the first published account of a man with this disorder.  While certainly not a definitive reading, the interpretations and ideas developed from Meursault’s words, thoughts, and actions may now be seen by some as the words and behavior of a man with Asperger’s Syndrome.  It should also be mentioned that Algerian journalist Kamel Daoud (now living in France under police protection after the authoritarian Algerian regime sought his arrest) wrote his first novel, The Meursault Investigation, as a 2013 counterpoint to the Camus story from the perspective of the unnamed Arab victim killed by the Camus protagonist.

CAMUS, Albert - The Stranger.pdf  77-page novella (pdf)

Peter von Kant

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy Warhol poster

 

 

Director François Ozon

Ozon with Denis Ménochet

Fassbinder with Hanna Schygulla

PETER VON KANT              B+                                                                                            France  Belgium  (85 mi)  2022  d: François Ozon

Fassbinder’s work, philosophy and vision of the world have always haunted me.  His incredibly creative energy fascinates me and remains an example for my own way of working.

There is a legend about Fassbinder saying he died because he made so many movies.  We talked a lot with Hanna Schygulla about that, and she said, no, he didn’t die because of the films.  He died because he didn’t believe in love.  He had films to survive.  They helped him to survive until 37 years old.  It’s not the films that killed him.  It was his despair with regard to love.  That’s what killed him.  Not the films.  Films don’t kill.                                                     —François Ozon

Ozon’s stylish remake of Fassbinder’s The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (Die Bitteren Tränen der Petra von Kant) (1972) remains faithful to the original, but Ozon alters the central dynamic by changing the gender of three women to three men, while also transplanting the female fashion industry into Fassbinder’s demented, mind-altering world of cinema, featuring an unflattering yet conspicuously transparent portrait of the director himself, which adds an element of ironic humor.  Ozon’s cameraman Manuel Dacosse finds countless angles that symbolize all the glass and smooth images that not only help drive the narrative, but also mirrors the lives of the characters, transferring a movie set in Germany about Germans into something that is entirely French, with a prominent use of blue and red filters, colors from the French flag, which some Germans may hold against this film. The superlative casting decisions and remarkable set décors by production designer Katia Wyszkop makes this a lasting tribute to the German enfant terrible, as Ozon previously paid homage to Fassbinder with WATER DROPS ON BURNING ROCKS (2000), an adaptation of one of his earliest unproduced plays, written when he was just a teenager, making him the only director in the last 50 years expressing any interest in remaking a Fassbinder movie.  Perhaps most surprising is that this is not an all-male film, countering the all-female original, while the biggest change may be in just accentuating the Sirkian aspects, especially the wintry window framing of All That Heaven Allows (1955), while losing the Brechtian distancing artifice that made the original version so peculiarly effective.  Listed as the #1 film of the year by John Waters from Artforum, JOHN WATERS'S BEST FILMS OF 2022 - Artforum International, this is clearly an outlandish recreation of a monumental work made 50 years ago, well worth updating, though the original retains its unique distinction, a devastating expression of gay sexual obsession, mixing experimental theater with a Hollywood “Woman’s Picture,” Woman's Pictures | Encyclopedia.com.  While this has surprising moments that can be dizzyingly overwrought, it is never taken to the hilariously trashy extremes of Ozon’s ANGEL (2007), a deliciously exaggerated, campy tribute to Douglas Sirk, though both are immersed in flamboyant color schemes that attempt to express the inexpressible through overblown melodrama, using artificial means to get at the truth hidden underneath the repressed surface of human love and anguish.  While there are word for word similarities, perhaps the biggest change is transposing the language from German to French, lacking the biting aggressiveness of spoken German, which can be cringeworthy in its sadistic aggression, as this is a more playfully amusing French farce with dark overtones, lacking the dramatic intensity of the original, yet the full-fledged gay eroticism is pure Ozon.  Changing the setting from Bremen to Cologne, still set in 1972, it expands the one-roomed apartment to a more spacious apartment with opulent interior décors, allowing movement from room to room, which removes some of the claustrophobic oppression, as does the addition of a wall of windows revealing another world outdoors, adding a noticeable spatial contrast, though the protagonist never once sets foot outside.  While there are large photographs hanging on the walls that seemingly speak to the characters, with fictional movie posters overflowing with queer film and art historical references, including multiple St. Sebastian references, it’s nothing like the full-blown effects of that Renaissance Poussin painting (1,065 × 772 pixels) which overlooks all, like an omniscient force of male patriarchy continually intruding into their female universe.  Corded landline phones, vinyl records, and a distinctive dress code dominate the scenery, yet the encapsulated life of the characters feels immensely contemporary.  This is a streamed down version of the two-hour play, with a much more cinematically concise Ozon making substantial cuts, even streamlining the title, yet never really obtaining that same oppressive tone from which there is no escape, where viewers are forced to endure the prolonged agony of the experience.  One of the countless male filmmakers whose abuse and sado-masochistic manipulation was accepted at the time, this revisits the dysfunctional, self-destructive dynamics of his failed personal relations, with countless Fassbinder references for those in the know, though this is a decidedly different film that stands on its own and remains immanently watchable, yet comparisons are inevitable.  The strongest element is the portrayal of Fassbinder himself, with Denis Ménochet, from Ozon’s In the House (Dans La Maison) (2012) and By the Grace of God (Grâce à Dieu) (2019), playing Peter von Kant, the portly director, with an enthusiastic relish, especially the alcohol and cocaine-fueled moments of delirium that effectively mirror the spiraling ups and down moments in his life, in all its glorified indulgence and excess, where the adoring tribute to the man is unmistakable.

While Ozon’s earlier adaptation was a relatively unknown and obscure play, this is a reincarnation of one of the director’s most famously recognizable works, coming early in his career when he was just 25, still a relative unknown, not yet feeling the dizzying effects of success, yet his zest for living and unbelievable creative output in such a short time continues to fascinate us, where this is a full-on portrayal of the man in his element, depicting a film director who has already tasted success, growing weary from a hard life of debilitating indulgences, finding new inspiration difficult.  A long-suffering, drama queen protagonist who screams, cries, and rages as he rolls over beds and sofas, drinks his way through day and night, and rants through his chambers in a spirited character study of genius and madness, this is a free-spirited interpretation that is wickedly campy and thoroughly cinematic, intensively focusing on the complex interactions between art and life, though intentionally fictionalized, as the once important director’s most creative output is seemingly behind him.  Peter starts the day late, already in a bad mood, having turned his apartment into a place of refuge, as we hear the quietly expressive music of Isabelle Adjani singing the Jeanne Moreau tune from Fassbinder’s final and most openly gay film QUERELLE (1982), which sets the tone, “Each man kills the thing he loves, La La La, La La La La,” Jeder tötet was er liebt (Extrait de la bande originale du film ... YouTube (3:56), a heavily romanticized German language version of the downbeat yet prophetic lyric appropriating Oscar Wilde’s The Ballad of Reading Gaol, paralleling the poet’s self-destructive love for a younger man, written while imprisoned for homosexuality, which at that time was a criminal offense.  Staring in the mirror as he looks at himself and sings along, he is wearing a silk dressing gown that reveals his exposed belly, grabbing his mute, long-suffering secretary Karl (Stéfan Crépon) in a slow dance before ordering him to get to work on the draft of a screenplay.  Notorious for his controlling and domineering behavior, he takes his moods out on the emaciated Karl, who is completely immersed in Peter’s career, seen furiously typing out screenplays, opening his mail, taking dictation, editing film, and even taking the camera for a screen test. His gaping eyes observe the precious secrets of the infamous director unfold in front of him, played with an impressive presence using no words, only facial expressions and gestures, yet the motif we’re most familiar with is the percussive sound of Peter repeatedly barking out orders for “Karl!” with his endless set of instructions and dog-like obedience, where the casual acceptance of this lordly master/servant cruelty is disturbingly uncomfortable.  The androgynous Isabelle Adjani, from Possession (1981), holding the record for most French César Awards for Best Actress (5), makes her appearance as Sidonie, an elegant and sophisticated diva well past her prime, like an aging film star, recalling the exaggerated manner of Gloria Swanson, with her enlarged black and white portrait on the wall suggesting her place of importance in Peter’s life, having made hugely successful films together earlier in their careers making each of them stars, now famous celebrities living on their laurels, amusingly seen snorting cocaine together.  As if in a reverie, their lives are examined from afar, as an outdoor camera peers through the autumnal tree leaves and finds the two of them standing near the window, a Sirkian device of framing compositions, captured in a natural light.  Sidonie may be a reference to Ingrid Caven, a cabaret singer married to Fassbinder for a brief period in the early 70’s, maintaining a lifelong friendship while making 19 films together.  After an extensive conversation with Peter bemoaning a particularly painful breakup, he pretends to want love as an open expression of freedom, yet remains emotionally dependent, obsessively clinging to the people around him, and seems to be having a midlife crisis, bored with his career, spending an excessive amount of time drinking and snorting cocaine.  Sidonie introduces him to a young Amir ben Salem (Khalil Ben Gharbia), a provocatively adorable young man who drifts into his apartment, Peter Von Kant new clip official from Berlin Film Festival 2022 YouTube (49 seconds), an unmistakable allusion to El Hedi ben Salem, the Moroccan immigrant in ALI: FEAR EATS THE SOUL (1974), and the man Fassbinder was seeing when he conceived his film.     

Peter is particularly fascinated by and immediately drawn to Amir, growing obsessively involved as he begins to chart their future together, with his mind racing ahead at the thought of casting him in his next film, despite having no visible skills or experience, hoping to win his love, while Amir delights in all the unexpected attention.  There are hilarious moments, like witnessing his voracious appetite, watching him eat and talk at the same time, simultaneously sucking on shrimp, scarfing down oysters, and sipping champagne, while ordering Karl to peel Amir’s shrimp, perhaps hoping to impress the young man as they share a sumptuous feast together, yet there are also swooning emotional moments when Karl dramatically responds with awaiting cocaine, literally serving it up on a platter, becoming an established routine when it comes to handling stress, or Karl popping open a bottle of champagne while the two are in bed having sex, spilling over in an amusing sexual metaphor.  Yet the scene that stands out is a screen test, with Karl handling the camera as Peter asks Amir about himself, describing in intimate detail the horrible circumstances of his parent’s tragic death, with Peter quickly seizing the camera and moving closer in on his face, capturing every quiver of emotion.  After spending the night together, the Walker Brothers set the tone with flamboyant music from Fassbinder’s earlier film, In My Room  The Walker Brothers / Peter Von Kant YouTube (2:41), as Peter is seen dancing with a completely naked Amir, representing the height of their romance.  When we rejoin them months later, things have changed considerably, with Peter remaining as obsessive as before, still infatuated with his youthful beauty, but Amir’s affections have turned sour, behaving like an insufferable brat, yet Peter compulsively caters to him.  After having made a successful film together, Amir is flattered by a Stern magazine spread with a full-page photo, later seen on a promotional movie poster proclaiming Death is Hotter Than Love, a pun on Fassbinder’s early film LOVE IS COLDER THAN DEATH (1969), yet can barely tolerate Peter any more, and instead enjoys describing his sexual exploits with a random stranger he picked up in a dance club, something that infuriates Peter, needing cocaine to resuscitate his deflated emotions, eventually leaving him after receiving a call from his wife, where the exit is not pretty.  Plunging deeper into drugs and despair, fueled by alcohol, we are witness to a meltdown that rivals anything that happens in A Star Is Born (1954), which this film resembles in structure, with a jaded superstar drinking himself to death while the young ingénue he discovered is successful in launching their own career, beautifully expressed in this blue filter sequence, uncannily resembling Fassbinder, Peter Von Kant - Comme au théâtre, Cora Vaucaire YouTube (3:12), as Peter prances through his room barefoot in his bathrobe, cigarette and glass in hand, continually doing lines of cocaine, singing along to the bitingly sarcastic lyric about the joys and sorrows of love.  This is just a prelude to a birthday party that quickly spins off the rails in a volcanic display of supreme arrogance and drunken self-pity, as he vigorously denounces everyone that shows up, disgusted that none of them are Amir, driving everyone close to him out the door in a violent display of uncontrolled rage, with Sidonie having the last word, reminding him “You’re a great director, but a pig as a person,” exiting as she sings the refrain, “Each man kills the thing he loves.”  Yet the biggest surprise is the arrival of Hanna Schygulla as Peter’s mother, regal as ever at nearly 80-years old, speaking a mix of French and German, having played the part of Amir/Karin in Fassbinder’s earlier rendition, coming full circle, yet her presence is remarkable, the only one sticking around afterwards to comfort him, helping to calm his frazzled nerves as he finds himself alone and abandoned, and even sings a German lullaby for her emotionally distraught son.  The use of Hanna Schygulla is inspired, easily one of the best things in the film, exuding such a commanding screen presence, and a reminder that Fassbinder was extremely close to his mother, a woman Schygulla knew quite well, appearing in 24 of her son’s films.  In the end, Peter is lost in his memories, rewatching that screen test of Amir over and over again, emotionally paralyzed by its hold on him, transfixed by his giant photo on the wall.  Fassbinder didn’t live to see the premiere of his final film, dying alone in his bed at the age of 37 after a night of alcohol, cocaine, and barbiturates, found with the television still on, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and the notes of his next film project lying next to him.  While he was consuming considerably more drugs and alcohol towards the end, Veronika Voss (Die Sehnsucht der Veronika Voss) (1982), the final chapter of The BRD Trilogy made just prior to his death, remains one of his best, garnering his greatest commercial success both at home and abroad.  This film is bookended by the opening face of Fassbinder, shot in red filter, and the closing image of Peter’s face, shot in blue filter, somehow fused together in this beautiful and touching melodrama of one of cinema’s fallen heroes, where the voice of the original Petra can be heard over the end credits.  Peter is based on Petra (Margit Carstensen), Amir is based on Karin (Hanna Schygulla), while Karl is based on Marlene (Irm Hermann).