Lara

 

Director Jan-Ole Gerster

LARA             B                    

Germany  (98 mi)  2019  d:  Jan-Ole Gerster

A rather morbidly intense character study of an arrogantly domineering, middle-aged woman on her 60th birthday who instead of celebrating with her family or a party of friends becomes an object of derision in the eyes of many, largely due to her own ego, errors in judgment, and her own self-inflicted mistakes that have monumental consequences.  Played to perfection by Corinna Harfouch, we have seen variations of this woman before in Isabelle Huppert’s more extremist role in Michael Haneke’s The Piano Teacher (La pianiste) (2001), and again played by Ingrid Bergman in Ingmar Bergman’s somewhat dour family affair in Bergman, Two from the 70's: Autumn Sonata (Höstsonaten) (1978).  Overbearing women used to getting their own way, often by sheer intimidation, these are not likeable people, yet they rise to positions of authority where they can use their power and ambition to reduce others to sniveling cowards, afraid to take her on, giving way out of self-preservation rather than reason, often leaving their families in shambles.  Arrogance doesn’t begin to describe Lara, who views herself as ruthlessly efficient, expecting the same effort from others, sneering at their weaknesses, holding them in contempt.  What this film reveals is that it’s all bluster, a defense-mechanism, as inside her own soul is an empty shell of a human being, someone who’s fought for so long to get to the top that she’s driven away all her family and friends, leaving her lost and alone, refusing to acknowledge the truth about herself, instead continuing to aim her wrath at others, as if justifying her moral righteousness.  This film is her day of reckoning as she gets her comeuppance, though she’s constantly reminded that it’s her birthday, with people asking if she’s enjoying herself, yet it plays out in elegant fashion, where she persists in holding herself above others even when it produces humiliating results, so set in her ways and so sure of herself that she feels invincible and unbreakable, refusing to give an inch, but this stubborn behavior will be her undoing, as what it masks is the saddest realization of all, that she’d rather be right than supportive or even loving when it comes to her own family, proclaiming herself the expert in all things, authoritative, even when she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, becoming an empty vessel by the end, having burned all her bridges. 

The opening few moments are sketchy, as Lara opens a large bedroom window in the early morning hours, placing a chair underneath, suggesting she’s about to jump out of her high-rise building and end it all, but a ring at her door alters her destiny, allowing the story to take a different turn as two young cops need an official witness of a drug search in a neighboring apartment, and though she’s retired, she hears a chorus of “Once a civil servant, always a civil servant.” Quickly getting dressed, she hears herself referred to as “the old hag” on police communications, then basically suffers the indignity of having to watch a neighbor’s apartment searched under her watch, as if she’s somehow a co-conspirator, leading to some rather crude comments from the affected son who they suspect is dealing drugs.  The director has a habit of slowly releasing bits and pieces of information about Lara as we follow her step-by-step through the next 24-hours of a single day, having a much better understanding of her afterwards.  From the neighbor’s father we learn Lara’s son used to live with her and played the piano, but he’s moved out.  Her first stop is withdrawing all the money out of her bank account, an ominous sign, yet she spends it frivolously, buying a cocktail party dress that’s much too tight and uncomfortable, but she’s fawned over by the sales clerk, convincing her it will do her wonders, but she casually discards it in a public bathroom not long afterwards.  She also visits a concert hall selling tickets for that evening’s concert with Viktor Jenkins, buying the remaining 22 tickets, even though they are near the back of the hall.  Armed with those tickets and her life savings, she proceeds into a coffee house, giving tickets away to strangers she meets, as if by chance, anyone she happens to strike up a conversation with, which is the pattern that follows throughout the film, including a visit from an attractive young girl (Mala Emde) carrying her violin case who claims to be her son’s girlfriend, the same Viktor Jenkins performing that night, but hasn’t heard from him in a while, seeking advice about what to do, but is met with a barrage of crude comments that make her race to the rest room, visibly upset, leaving her violin subject to sabotage in a remarkably cruel act.  She visits a concert hall practice facility, searching for a Professor Reinhoffer, her old music instructor, but discovers a student alone playing video games on his phone as the professor has gone out for some air.  Deciding to wait, she asks the student to play for her, growing demonstrably critical, demanding something from the kid that he just doesn’t have, eventually refusing to play another note, creating a silent paralysis until she gathers her things and leaves.  A heartless cruelty seems to emanate from her wherever she goes, with whomever she meets, like a dark cloud hovering over her. 

Persistently calling her son on the phone, she grows irritated when he doesn’t call back, so she pays a visit to her mother (Gudrun Ritter), perhaps hoping to find him there.  Her mother is quite candid about how Lara drove him from her home, leaving her friendless and alone, while also revealing he’s quite comfortable here, as she makes no demands on him, providing a loving and nurturing atmosphere that he seems to thrive upon, allowing him to excel in his profession, so he doesn’t need her meddling in his business on such an important day when he’s premiering a brand new composition.  Her ex-husband (Rainer Block) made similar remarks to her when she searched for him earlier, both shielding this young prodigy from his domineering mother, whose excessive demands on him are notorious.  Having little else to do, she wanders through the home into Viktor’s room, discovering the sheet music for his composition, which she examines just as Viktor (Tom Schilling) arrives.  He’s a tender-faced young kid, gracious and exceedingly polite, nothing at all like his mother, but the two finally sit down and have a chat, which initially goes well, until he asks what she thinks of the composition, as he saw her studying it in his room when he arrived.  Hesitant initially, she gives a polite answer, which he seems to accept, but then has to add what she really feels, worried that he’s getting away from the piano, his true gift, as there’s so much piano literature to explore, believing he’ll get sidetracked through compositions, as many artists end up composing because they’re not good enough performing, suggesting the opening passage, for instance, sounds “affected,” which sends him reeling into an indecisive swoon, wondering why she would tell him this just hours before the premiere.  Seen later giving away tickets just outside the box office to appreciative fans, with talk of having drinks afterwards, she then sits among them as well, but there’s an announcement of a program change, as the composer’s premiere composition has been replaced by a piano concerto.  During the intermission, Viktor’s father can be heard offering encouraging words, while Viktor remains in doubt, wondering if his mother is right, but he finally does perform it in the second half, though Lara gets up in the middle and wanders alone through the corridors, consuming several drinks, eavesdropping on the comments afterwards before heading backstage where her son is receiving nothing but effusive praise, especially for that opening passage which a noted music critic found remarkable.  While Viktor’s mood elevates, Lara’s sours, drinking heavily at the bar across the street, getting wobbly on her feet, but the most embarrassing moment is running into her son just outside the rest room, neither uttering a word to the other.  Her descent complete, she retreats to her abode, and like the opening, we see her open that window to the open air below, but that would be too easy, as more tragedy awaits, thoroughly consumed by her obsessive drive to realize her dreams through her son, which never happens, but in the process she allows her own dreams to die, which doesn’t fully sink in until the final shot.        

Never Look Away (Werk ohne Autor)

Director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

NEVER LOOK AWAY (Werk ohne Autor)             B                    

Germany  Italy  (188 mi)  2018  d: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

From the director of The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen) (2006), the director’s first feature film which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film and became the most successful German-language film in history, yet it was denied a competition spot at the Berlin Film Festival and was loved everywhere else except in Germany, which took offense to the autocratic portrayal of the East German Stasi secret police that spied on its own citizens with ruthless efficiency, yet suddenly displayed a change of heart.  This is another film that curiously explores the sweeping historical ramifications of the Nazi era in German history, creating an epic, three-hour film where art intersects with life, etched with the melodramatic sweep of a Spielberg film, though displaying a bit more cleverness, actually utilizing the biographical story of German artist Gerhard Richter without attributing his name, though he is thanked in the end credits.  Even the paintings are done by Andreas Schön, Richter’s former assistant, offering a touch of authenticity.  It’s a strange way to tell someone’s story, without acknowledging that person as the inspirational source of the story, and though the film is fictional, it has real-life historical roots.  The director met with the artist prior to writing the film and conducted a series of interviews with him, so it may have initially had his blessing, but Richter, who is an extraordinarily private individual, has all but disowned the film, refusing to allow his name or any of his paintings to be used and would not even allow himself to view the film, so whatever initial interest he might have expressed quickly soured, unhappily describing it “an abuse.”  Still, despite his reservations, Donnersmarck has filmed what amounts to a shockingly accurate recreation of Richter’s family life and personal experiences, where his life comes to personify what most Germans experienced in the three decades from the transition from the Nazi era of the late 1930’s to the construction of the Berlin Wall in 1961.  The film attempts to turn the profound trauma of a nation into a renewed source of energy and inspiration, with art serving as a guiding light, an emblem of resilience, and a sign of better things to come, discovering a new “anonymous” art fusing historical reality with a blurred memory, creating artworks with no author, which explains the German title of the film.  The American title makes less sense, but extends an early developing theme, repeating a line spoken by one of the characters, feeling more like a sound bite. 

The captivating musical score by Max Richter effectively contributes to a larger-than-life creation of stellar emotional moments, while the luminous cinematography by Caleb Deschanel is especially noteworthy, nominated for an Academy Award for the fifth time, but the first in fourteen years.  There’s an opening 45-minute prelude that is easily the best thing in the film, both in terms of originality and intensity, as nothing that comes afterwards is remotely comparable, turning into a romanticized melodrama along the lines of DR. ZHIVAGO (1965), but with characters that are not as fully developed, so one needs to pay particular attention to the opening segments, where like Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), a lead character is killed off relatively early in the film, with reverberations echoing throughout the rest of the film that continue to have a profound effect on literally everything that happens.  That’s a stunning way to open a film, which starts out innocently enough with a young girl spending the day with her nephew, as a teenaged Elisabeth (Saskia Rosendahl) is bringing her young 6-year old nephew Kurt (already a budding artist) on a museum tour in Dresden in the late 30’s, but already the Nazi’s are staging an exhibition only to condemn and ridicule the works on display, with a mocking tour guide describing the modern, abstract art of Paul Klee, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky and others as “degenerate art,” depicted as worthless junk that belongs in a junk pile, that could be created by children while being sold for astonishing sums, suggesting these were the driving forces of moral corruption and an evil plot against the noble German heritage, where one room entirely featuring abstract paintings was labelled “the insanity room.”  These artists were driven out of the country, seeking refuge elsewhere, yet the exhibitions were extremely popular, drawing larger than usual crowds, some out of sheer curiosity, viewing it as a scandal, but also taking advantage of seeing this kind of art before it was destroyed by the Third Reich.  What’s most intriguing, the film seems to suggest, is that art will outlive all political regimes.  Yet it’s clear Elisabeth is not easily fooled by this damning rhetoric, wanting to expose Kurt to as wide a range of art as possible, reminding him that “everything that is true is beautiful,” condemning censorship of all forms, urging him to “never look away.”  There’s a chilling scene with Elisabeth among the other all-female Hitler youth, given the opportunity to hand flowers directly into the hands of the Führer as he pays them a visit, where she is viewed like a rock star afterwards as the other girls look on in awe.     

But there’s also a meeting in October 1939 of Gestapo medical physicians discussing the implementation of a new plan of Nazi eugenics, weeding out the sick and afflicted from the strong, urging doctors to send anyone showing signs of mental or physical disabilities to special asylums where they would be put to death (described as “mercy killings”) in order to enhance the genetic purity of the Aryan race, filling out questionnaires that were sent out to mental institutions, hospitals and other institutions caring for the chronically ill, where more than 400,000 people were sterilized against their will, while up to 300,000 were killed under a nationwide euthanasia program, taking up “needless” space for more well-deserving soldiers wounded in action.  These killing centers served as the training grounds for the SS officers eventually assigned to extermination camps.  Among the more unflinching depictions is Elisabeth being removed from the family home against her will by German authorities following a diagnosis of schizophrenia, as Elisabeth was prone to swooning episodes of elevated intensity, not dangerous or particularly harmful, but different, like removing all her clothing and playing a Bach refrain on the piano, Bach "Schafe können sicher weiden" from BWV 208 - YouTube (4:58), a piece of amazing beauty and eloquence that literally defines her character, where the Gestapo head of the Dresden women’s clinic, Sebastian Koch as Professor Carl Seeband, initially has her sterilized before assigning her to the euthanasia program, set to the weirdly unworldly music of Klaus Nomi - The Cold Song 1982 - YouTube (4:07) as we eerily witness the guards march a group of naked girls into the showers, lock the doors, and turn on the gas.  Despite our familiarity with history, this is still the most dramatically shocking scene of the film, even as it feels overly exploitive, with little finesse shown by the director to the ultimate savagery of the event, as the ugly historical truths have already been imprinted.  It is the senselessness of her loss that haunts viewers the most, as we simply don’t forget the barbarous nature of this State-imposed mass slaughter, never really losing a connection to Elizabeth’s memory, as she was the most cherished member of the family to young Kurt (Tom Schilling), who grows up to become the lead figure in the film.  Displaying more artistic talent than any of his fellow students, Kurt becomes the prized pupil of the artistic director of the Dresden art academy (Hans-Uwe Bauer), where the East Germans remained under the political domination of the Russian communist movement, where the only valuable art was social realism, meant to inspire the working class.  Under the banner of communism, all other art was deemed self-centered and bourgeois, compatible with other consumer products on display, of no real social value.  Curious how political viewpoints tarnish the value of art, where the political ideal must supersede any artistic model, devaluing not only art but the worth of the individual, who is viewed as weak and worthless all alone, as working in a collective defines the greater good.  While that may be the ideal, little of artistic value was produced under this suffocating system, instead showing signs of defections to the West, which was the East German justification for building the Berlin Wall. 

What follows is the obligatory romance, with Kurt meeting a fellow student also named Elisabeth, but known as Ellie, Paula Beer from Frantz (2016) and Transit  (2018), who is studying fashion design, immediately falling in love, though he has no idea that her father, former SS officer Professor Seeband, ordered the murder of his aunt.  While this creates some intrigue, what’s immediately apparent is how underwritten Ellie’s part is, as she’s simply window dressing, never really a full-fledged character, always viewed as a ghostly mirror image of the initial Elisabeth role.  In fact it’s her father with a more prominent role, rebounding from his initial fall from grace, stripped of his authority after the war, yet still managing to land on his feet, where he remains a shining example of postwar success, winning prestigious accolades from the medical community, pledging his fidelity to communism, and despite his former history with the SS, he maintains his elite social status in the community, eventually returning to his former position.  As Kurt is a mere painter, he looks down upon him as an inferior suitor for his daughter, attempting to undermine their relationship, even devising a well-constructed lie about Ellie’s fragile health in order to abort their expectant child, intentionally damaging the future prospects of his daughter to ever conceive a child, still playing the eugenics card.  Ellie soon learns of his despicable acts, literally despising her father’s smug arrogance and domineering control, while Kurt reaches a dead-end in his artistic aspirations in the East as well, both defecting to the West when it was as easy as simply taking a transit to the other side, literally weeks before the construction of the wall, traveling light so no one would suspect,  bringing with them only a few possessions, which includes a photo album of Kurt’s family, which would prove significant, eventually using it as source material for his budding career.  Curiously, the first movie they see in the West is Psycho (1960).  While he was a wunderkind in the East, Kurt has no status whatsoever in the West, expressing little interest in traditional methods, choosing the Düsseldorf Academy of Fine Arts due to its heightened reputation for a free-spirited approach to avant garde art.  The film is literally an introductory course to painting and the various methods of radical artistic expression in the 60’s, including wildly pretentious looking examples of performance art that were all the rage, with one of the leading proponents being Joseph Beuys, a member of the Nazi youth who became a Luftwaffe pilot, offering a brilliant monologue where he describes being shot down in the Crimea, nursed back to health by Tartar tribesmen that he was sent to bomb, reinventing himself as an artist, played in the film by an eccentric professor who never takes off his hat (Oliver Masucci), and while he’s not identified as Beuys, that’s who the character is modeled after.  The professor takes a particular interest in Kurt, suggesting “you have seen more than any of us,” himself moved by tragedy and personal loss, granting him admittance on a hunch, offering him a studio and privileged status, yet the open-ended chance to create whatever he wants leaves him a bit awed at the prospects, just staring at a blank canvas for days on end until suddenly he feels inspired to begin a series of photo paintings, which include a picture of himself as a young boy with Elisabeth, or staunch passport photos of an overly rigid Professor Seeband, then blurring them in white paint, where they resemble fading memories, or optical illusions.  Amazingly, the paintings suggest a unique connection when he integrates Seeband’s portrait into the picture of Elisabeth, a dazzlingly effective dissolve technique, which is the start of a new career of instant success.  Interviewed by the press after a gallery exhibition, he makes claims about anonymous art pursuing “the truth,” yet the irony is that he’s no closer to it, but viewers given the backdrop to the story may be devastated by the redemptive implications where art truly does intersect with reality in strange and mysterious ways.