Daniel is a trained architect at a large firm. He is pushing 40, yet has never gotten the big, important assignment. Finally the firm tosses him a bone — he is to head a team composed of young architects to design a complete mini-community, including dwellings and commerce. He builds his team, and they pour forth their youthful creativity; but their proposal is resisted by the Party functionaries that have their eyes on cost and efficiency.

Daniel (Kurt Naumann) has a lovely wife who has supportively borne with his mediocre career. But as his career finally appears to be taking off, she becomes irritated at the boredom and mediocrity of her own life. She wants them to move to a more exciting neighborhood, where there would be things to do. Gradually, her affection becomes alienated.

Thus the tragic tension. Finally able to pour out his creative heart in trying to build a real community, Daniel loses the foundational unit of every true community. The mordant humor is that the bureaucrats are able to stomp on even his flickering outward opportunity.

A latent theme that is only hinted at is the problem of tribal solidarity. Daniel’s vaguely incongruous physical appearance turns out to be rooted in the fact that he is a Vietnamese-German. (Yes, it sounds funny to say it. Only Americans are supposed to be hyphenated. But just as America opened its doors to Mexican laborers, and West Germany to Turks, so Communist Germany had its Vietnamese.) That this aspect is intentional is indicated by the suggestion by someone that the new community should by all means include a Vietnamese restaurant.

The wife (Rita Feldmeier) is clearly Aryan. Yet the ethnic theme is only hinted at. It could have become the main theme, but it is left dangling.

The overt question of whether a living and working community should be the creation of the budget-minded bureaucrat or the artistic-minded architect is itself indicative of how the modernist knows something is wrong, but cannot even ask the question properly. Where did the idea come from that a team of architects, however enthusiastic and well-intended they might be, are the proper generative locus for building communities? The notion of providing a Vietnamese restaurant is precious to the team, and it never occurs to them that the residents might prefer something else and ought to be the ones to make that decision.

It is just at this nexus that something like a von Misean discussion of entrepreneur and consumer has its place, and which provides the needed criticism of both alternatives represented in this movie. But not as a metaphysical end in itself like the libertarians propose. It is, rather, one aspect — and only an aspect — of the solution. It needs to be nested within and subordinate to the life of the community, which must have a purpose that is higher than merely “free market” — as if free market even were a “purpose” — even if the solution must also be completely different than the socialist planner’s pretension.

For sixty years, communist and capitalist has each with his own genius stamped his land with the faceless high-rises and warehouses that mark both sides of the “wall.” In contrast, we can look at picture-books of the beautiful German villages and towns created before Bomber Harris did his work of destruction. How did they do it? Did they even have architects? That is the study we need to see. How a folk, seemingly without forethought or effort, was able to create such a land should be the starting point of our reflection on how to proceed when the glorious day comes that the poisonous regimes we suffer under, both east and west, are finally destroyed.

German Die Architekten, with English subtitles.

The two parties to the conflict are several officers of the Stasi (state security force/secret police) on the one hand, and a circle of artistic types on the other. The Stasi group (led by Ulrich Mühe and Ulrich Tukur) is portrayed, not just with chilling and inhuman competence, but with all the greasy, inner-circle flattery and sycophancy that C. S. Lewis exposed so brilliantly in That Hideous Strength. A playwright (Sebastian Koch) seems “sound” but comes under surveillance, not on the basis of anything observed, but because his girlfriend (Martina Gedeck) is coveted by one of the big shots. But then, the suicide of a close friend (Volkmar Kleinert) who had been blacklisted, coupled with pressure from a more principled friend (Hans-Uwe Bauer) makes him turn in fact.

What makes this film interesting is the thought that an aesthetic experience can reach into the soul and bring about a deep life-change. What does it in this case is a beautiful piano sonata that the playwright had been given by his friend and plays while being eavesdropped. Thus, the Stasi has its tentacles in the lives of the artists; but this time the artists in turn, without even trying, get their tentacles into the Stasi man by means of an aesthetic experience.

In this way, a theme is brought out that transcends the concrete story of the oppression of communist Germany.

Wittgenstein said that ethics is ultimately equivalent to aesthetics. Apparently, Lenin confessed that he had to stop listening to Beethoven, because it made him want to stroke heads rather than smash them in for the revolution. While we would need to modify the insight perspectivally, it is an insight nonetheless; this film makes a real contribution by revealing it in an engaging manner.

There is some nudity, though mostly low-key by American R-rated standards. Thankfully, there is no taking the Lord’s name — although the absence of the Lord altogether must also stand as a criticism. Merely gaining a sensitivity to “the lives of others” is hardly enough to fill the God-sized hole in every man’s heart.

Emil Jannings is a professor at the Gymnasium (advanced high school) whose pupils are becoming more and more unruly; he catches them with some girly pictures from the local cabaret, the Blue Angel. Something tweaks his interest, so he starts visiting the place and falls for the floozy (Marlene Dietrich). This leads him into a long downward spiral toward degradation and humiliation, from which there is seemingly no recovery.

The music has the typical Berlin sound of the Weimar Republic. The film is excellently filmed, and the dramatic work by Jannings is unsurpassable.

However, it is not clear that there is a point. Surely it is not a moralistic “don’t visit the cabaret — look what might become of you.” One gropes for some qualification — the professor’s prudishness? his long deferral of love and marriage? his loneliness?

The camera work, characterization, and music make it something that needs to be seen; but more as a vignette, a study, a skit: like a project in cinema school to illustrate or practice technique, rather than a meaningful drama in its own right.

Fast forward twelve years. Son Alex (Daniel Brühl), now a young man, joins a demonstration for rights which is broken up by the Stasi; his mother (Katrin Saß), seeing him hauled off, collapses into a coma. During the eight months that she is out of it, the Berlin wall comes down. In a short time, everything changes for the easterners — food, clothing, furniture, buildings, occupations; Burger King and Coke arrive. Everything is totally different.

When the mother finally comes to, the doctors think she can only go home if there will be no shocks or surprises. Alex interprets this to mean he must conceal from her the entire national change that has occurred, and create a make-believe environment as if the GDR were still in power. The old-style furniture is brought back. The sister agrees to wear the horrid fashions of the GDR. Alex’ friend Denis (Florian Lukas) produces a series of false newscasts which Alex patches in to the mother’s TV by tape recorder.

All of this would have its charm and amusement, if also a bit overdone; but the metaphor for broader social questions is what makes the film fascinating: especially two themes.

1. Denis’ fake newscasts present the same visual images as the “mainstream media” — people running, the wall crumbling, cops swinging batons — but with exactly the opposite interpretations: the Westerners are trying to get into East Berlin. It reminds of the insight of van Til and others that all facts are interpreted facts, and brings this home vividly.

A parallel theme slowly trickles out: who is the real liar? Almost everyone is at one stage or another. Alex is about to spill the beans when the mother beats him to the punch with a different, but more devastating story.

2. Something as trivial as dill pickles becomes a symbol for the insight that a large change for the better can still cause the loss of some good things. The sight of the mother contentedly munching her pickles is one my favorite images. Now Alex can only find pickles imported from Holland; the locally produced ones are gone.

This is a real loss. It is similar to the disappearance of our agrarian life, with the replacement of fen and fields with Wal-marts. We should not always plaster this over by mindlessly chanting “capitalism good, communism bad,” like some kind of mantra; like the pigs in Animal Farm.

Of course communism was evil, even demonic. Yes, capitalism is better in some ways, in many ways, than that. But that doesn’t mean that criticism cannot also be lodged. We get the Big Mac, but we can’t find our favorite dill pickle any more. Let’s at least pause a moment.

Other nice features: The spaceship becomes a recurrent symbol for sudden transition, in a variety of clever ways. The two episodes of “speechlessness” and two of blind-folding of the mother are nice thematic coupling. Some of the photography is great: the mother in red in contrast to the nearly colorless mob at the freedom riot; and archival restoration that is quite astonishing. There are masterful special effects. The sister, Leipzigerin Maria Simon might not have the look that is fashionable at Cosmo, but she has a natural feminine attraction that does not need makeup, and a prettiness that I like very much. The music by French composer Yann Tiersen is in popular style, yet has a Germanic contrapuntal quality to it that is almost classical. There are some very funny scenes, and some touching ones that still avoid becoming mawkish.

The film could have stood more ruthless editing. There are time-consuming scenes that don’t really add anything, like Lara’s apartment. There is a needless flash of male nudity, for no purpose. The tangent with the stashed money was at least for me unassimilated into any important theme. The mockery of the stilted Burger King greeting: “Guten Appetit, und vielen Dank daß Sie für Burger King entschieden haben” makes a point about the ungenuineness of much of the manufactured friendliness of capitalism, but repeating it four times throughout the movie goes too far. The complete absence of religion either pro or con is inhuman.

I commend this film for those that can tolerate sub-titles or German. Even with its defects, it is so much more intelligent than 99% of what Hollywood dishes up. Director Wolfgang Becker does a commentary track that is worthwhile. The actors’ commentary is not: Saß and Brühl are fine actors, but, just like here, I fear, better at rendering lines than an opinion.

The young woman Junta lives in the village, but also spends a lot of time up in the mountain, where she draws her life. But she is hated by the villagers, who suspect her of being a witch, and being the cause of the young men’s deaths.

Meanwhile a youngish traveler has come to the village to explore. Hiking in the mountain, he encounters Junta, who coquetishly both draws him in further and withdraws. The traveler want to get to know Junta, but she only speaks Italian, while he only speaks German. So when he says he is obligated to go down to the village and tell the folks about the crystal stones that could be mined, she doesn’t understand him. This is symbolic — she wouldn’t understand him even if she did speak the language: why would anyone want to disturb the natural beauty of the mountain?

The villagers set out on a course that can only lead to a new level of conflict between themselves and Junta. In the end, they attain a kind of happiness — but is it worth it? The story could be developed into an agrarian critique of acquisitiveness, with added zing in that it is itself a rural story.

The ending is rather unexpected, especially for a chick flick (which this is, in the most literal sense of the word).

I like the movie. But, it contains uninterpreted henids. At times, you have to just let it happen, and take it as it comes. There are several reasons to see the movie in addition to its intrinsic merit.

1. From a film-historical point of view, this was one of the first movies to do on-location shooting in remote outdoor areas. There is a lot of quite stunning location work. Cameraman Hans Schneeberger probably deserves a lot of the credit.

2. The amazing Leni Riefenstahl wrote the script, and directed and starred in the movie. Not to mention, did a fair amount of hair-raising rock-climbing.

3. Rapellers should enjoy a lot of the footage.

4. There are mesmerizing scenes and sounds of flocks, bells, villages.

Dracula or “Count Orlok” is played with stunning presence by Max Schreck– what a happy coincidence is his name! Orlok desires to buy a house in the German town of Wismar; the local real estate broker sends his bubbly, naïve agent Hutter to Transylvania to convey an offer of a vacant building that is available. That’s when all the creepy things start to happen. Orlok and Hutter head back for Wismar, but separately. Meanwhile Hutter’s wife has strange omens at key points, as does the broker, who appear to have some kind of psychic connection to Orlok, including the fact that he can read Orlok’s letters written in Kabbalistic and hieroglyphic characters.

It is of course a horror story, but there is lots of black comedy. For example, during his stay in Transylvania, Hutter writes to his wife, “the mosquitoes are a real pest. I’ve got two bites on the neck, very close together, each on one side.”

The story plays on doubling of personalities. Hutter and Orlok are strangely like two sides of the same coin: both attracted to Ellen, though in different ways (and neither one very good for her). The broker is a mirror of Orlok– or is he merely insane? Ellen, too, seems to have a strange bond of attraction and repulsion to the Count. The use of the mirror heightens this aspect.

Another theme is the question of reality vs. illusion. The arrival of the Count is coincident with the arrival of Plague– or is the Plague the only reality, and everything else just a play of the mind?

These questions are what make the film intriguing.

Some critics have complained that the movie is anti-semitic; that Orlok is intentionally given Jewish stereotypical features. And indeed, this is made a bit plausible by a detail not in the movie, but supplied by the commentary track, that in the actual story, when Orlok is stabbed at one point, out gushes, not blood, but gold coins.

On the other hand, the wise and good physician Bulwer also has Jewish characteristics to my eye, though this has not been noted by the commentators. For example, he wears a skull cap that smacks of a Kippah; and he is a metaphysician/alchemist. But if I am right, this is not necessarily an inconsistency. Perhaps the hidden theme is the evil Jew as a figment of popular myth and hysteria, balanced by the good Jew that actually comes to the rescue. But then again, the evil one may be real, and the good one doesn’t actually do much good. So there is an ambiguous thematic weaving that needs to be explored further.

The imagery of the film is stunning, effortlessly inventing techniques that would later be imitated again and again by the horror genre; the fact that it is silent is hardly even a deficiency.

The DVD includes some marvelous shots of Wismar and Lübeck both before and after the war: these were typical German storybook-like towns before Bomber Harris worked his genocidal destruction against the German citizenry.

There is a choice of two musical sound tracks, one traditional and one modern: to each his own.

(Rats. I tried to post this yesterday but the terminal timed out. Then, it would have been posted from Berlin: very apropos! Instead, you get it from Leipzig.)

This is the true story of some guys that make an elaborate attempt to help loved ones to escape from East Berlin into the western sector shortly after the wall was built in 1961. The plan is to chip out a tunnel (24 feet deep and a football field and a half long) connecting the cellars of abandoned buildings on each side. Self-sacrifice is a continuous thread through the plot fragmentation elements of trust-betrayed, mistrust misplaced, and cloak and dagger mingled with various physical setbacks. It depicts angst and sehnsucht in a manner that German film-makers have always been the masters. You come to truly love some of the characters.

Besides the merit of its superb quality, the movie should be seen in order to gain an intuition into that period of history. Some documentary footage is interleaved, and other famous scenes are recreated.

It is truly amazing, and to our shame, that the USA joined forces with the USSR against Germany, which had seen through the cosmic evil of the communist regime long before American politicians pretended to. Even at the end, American forces could have joined forces with the Germans to drive the Soviets back to their shadows, as Patton wanted to; preferably all the way back to the Soviets’ favorite sewage disposal region for flushing whole nations down the memory hole: Siberia. Instead, Eisenhower stood by and allowed those monsters to occupy Berlin, leading to unspeakable outrages that went on for fifty years.

Unfortunately, there are a couple weaknesses to the film as well.

1. A subplot involving the girl tunneler Fritzi, her mother, and a five minute stand does not add anything to the main arc, wastes time in a movie already pushing the time-limit for American tastes, and gives the occasion for the obligatory voyeuristic scene which is frankly painful to have to watch even granting everything else.

2. There is a shockingly in-your-face blaspheming use of our Savior’s name. However, we need to look at this a little closer. The two times it is spoken, it is in English, by the Italian-American in the group. The other times, it is rendered in the English sub-title even though it is not present in the German: twice, for the muttered German “man man man,” and once, for “Mensch.” In other words, every single instance of blasphemy is associated with either the American character or viewer. Whether this means that this kind of behavior has, via the images of Hollywood, become associated as typically American, to which European film-makers give a nod in the misguided belief that this will help broaden the appeal of their production to the lucrative American screen; or if it is actually explicitly on the advice of subversive and blasphemous forces in Hollywood in connection with negotiations for release, is something that needs to be investigated by someone knowing how.

These two defects are unfortunate, since without them the movie would actually be a good film even for children, combining entertainment with history– though it may be too tense for some children anyhow.

There are two levels at which this movie can be enjoyed. The first is a crime story structured a bit like Columbo of many decades later: we the audience know quite early who the criminal is; the suspense is wondering how he could possibly be caught.

The second is a psychological and social thesis.

For the viewer, these are appropriated in roughly the first and second viewing.

A third level is more archival: we see Berlin before Bomber Harris and the Reds did their nefarious business of destruction, and also get a bit of glimpse into life in the late Weimar Republic. I unpack each of these a bit more.

The Columbo-like crime story

The crime is the serial abduction and brutal murder of children. Fortunately, the deeds themselves are not shown. Instead, Fritz Lang with Hitchcock-like skill shows the manner by which the crimes come about, from the perspective of both parent and perp.

One major thread is the desperate attempt by the police to solve the crime. The valiant absurdity of their efforts to follow minor leads in a city of four and a half million residents becomes the stuff of black comedy. For example, great effort is made to follow up on a littered candy wrapper found in the bushes somewhere. The police understandably come under great criticism, though we can also sympathize with the virtual impossibility of their task.

Naturally, this leads to turning up the heat on the known criminals, including small-time thieves and the “victimless” crimes of prostitution and gambling. As a result, “business” suffers, and the organized crime syndicate debates how they can solve the city’s problem and get back to business. A wonderful camera sequence alternates back and forth between the board-room debates of the police commissioners and the syndicate bosses. The climactic pair of “courtroom” scenes is sheer genius, with a tour de force performance by Peter Lorre (who ten years later played the wily Ugarte in Casablanca) that by itself makes the cost of the movie worth while.

The psycho-social commentary

The first message is that responsibility for the safety of society cannot simply be fobbed off on the police. There exists danger that simply cannot be removed by the police by themselves.

On the other hand, we see that society, when it does try to solve its problem, can adopt attitudes that are unjust. Everyone becomes suspicious. An innocent old man is accosted merely because he answered a passing-by child’s question. The problem of citizen testimony is explored: the Commissioner complains that fifteen eye-witnesses will present fifteen different stories.

Thus, the brilliance of having a blind beggar score the major lead.

The ordinary crooks’ outrage at this particular crime is balanced by their knowing nods when someone describes the feeling of an evil impulse, not really of himself, that comes over him. Thus, the universal and irrational impulse for evil is explored.

The commentary that we still hear (and make) today, that a criminal justice system is unacceptable that offers leniency for insanity and pardons for various reasons, is offered — by the criminals!

No simple solution to this dilemma is offered by the film; the question is put on the table however with great skill.

Berlin in the 20s

We see the police going around checking people’s papers– and everyone has papers! Note that the Nazi stereotype “ihre Papiere bitte” was a fact of life prior to the Nazis. The police department’s decision, “the citizens must consent to thorough searches of all their properties” is shown as a natural and understandable desire born of desperation.

The street scenes and shop-windows are very interesting indeed. The spinning spiral and bouncing arrow are perhaps symbols for how commercialism run amok may be a contributing factor to insanity. Watch for the rotating star of David too.

Concluding notes

Unfortunately, blasphemy is introduced in the subtitles that is not present (at least, not as strongly) in the original. For example, “Himmel-Herr…” is translated “for Christ’s sake…”; “Mein Gott” as “Christ”. This tendency must be a modern one and justly blamed on Hollywood, whether it should be caused by the stereotype Hollywood has created of the blaspheming American, or by deliberate sedition via the production process.

The issues raised by the film are still with us. Think of the acceptance of the Patriot Act by most Americans, who are quickly willing to sell their birth-right for safety. The movie brings home the dynamic that leads to this kind of mind-set, which yields both sympathy and the basis for a critique. We cannot rely on the experts to solve all our problems.

The mountains, where Pedro prefers to dwell, becomes a symbol for naïveté and purity, while the “lowlands” (hence the title) is the place of deceit and treachery.

On the assumption that Kobbé’s summary is adequate, the movie shifts the center of gravity from the original opera. In both versions, the crisis is set up by the fake marriage and Pedro’s naïveté. In both, the peasants at first laugh at Pedro, since they know what the real situation is. But in the opera, Pedro rouses himself to vengeance and thrusts it back at the peasants, while in the movie a solidarity develops between Pedro and the peasants in resisting the cruel Marquis: the peasants’ earlier mocking is thus two-faced, like the loyalty of the wicked witch’s henchmen in Oz. It is not a revolt based merely on class, for the peasants’ resentment is amply justified by the injustice and hypocricy of the Marquis. It is as if the Volk is re-established in justice by the pure one from above. Nietzsche’s man-above (Übermensch) also descended from the mountain to instruct the folk, but Nietzsche’s was as cynical and arrogant as Riefenstahl’s is naïve and open-hearted.

Leni Riefenstahl did not want to be the main star in her own film, but actresses came up scarce during the war during which the movie was actually shot though it was scheduled way back in 1934. Then, the prints were stolen by the French after the war and had to be returned by lawsuit. The editing was not suitable for release until 1954.

The photography is dark and moody, achieved by the use of color filters. There is much that is richly atmospheric in both the mountain and the Spanish village scenes. The opening sequence of the Shepherd like a young David slaying the beast that threatens the flock (symbolic of the movie’s theme) is alone almost worth the rental fee. The characterization of the Marquis may be a bit simplistic. Woman as pivot for all the action makes the film suspect to be a chick-flick — but an artistic one, that constrains me to recommend a viewing.

Dr. Caligari has a traveling carnival show that people pay to see. He has a golum-like figure that predicts people’s deaths; then in subsequent days, they really do die.

But is it reality or fantasy? The surprise ending plays with your head. This kind of thing seems real– but if you believe it you are probably insane.

Critics are still arguing about the interpretation. Here is another one: If there were an elite that controls society and commits murders at will, perhaps using as agent a humanoid that is at as it were brought to life on demand, then this story could be their story, showing the program while also cutting off opposition in advance by insinuating that believing such a thing is tantamount to being insane. Then, the movie would be “revelation of the method.” We show you what we do to you, but if you try to do something about it we’ll make you a laughingstock.

This interpretation is an inversion of what the movie apparently presents; but this is itself self-consistent.

See it, and join the discussion.

There are a number of additional reasons to see it. 1. It is an early horror film and set the pattern for many subsequent ones by use of shadow, pantomime and plot deflection. 2. The (literal) art. 3. The somnabulist, Conrad Veidt, is like a ballet dancer in his smooth exploits. But here is the double-take: this is the man that played Major Strasser 22 years later! See if you believe it.