 |
| 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).
