Week 23/2024

Pickpocket shows Robert Bresson’s stylistic genius at its purest. Less predicated on the religious symbolism that permeates some of his other films, the simple narrative about a modern outcast who is stealing his way through life gives free rein to the filmmaker’s pure style. In Pickpocket, it is the form that makes the content. Meaning does not lie in that which is filmed, but emerges from how the profilmic is framed, cut up, and put back together into a rhythmic whole.

In Murnau’s Nosferatu, it is neither the camerawork nor the editing, but the mise-en-scène that makes the film. Based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula, this 1922 masterpiece of German Expressionism makes creative use of cardboard, contrasted lighting, abundant makeup and exaggerated acting to generate images that look scary even to the contemporary viewer. All these elements are blended together and brought to life in eerie compositions. Considering Murnau’s skilful mastery of cinematic tools, it is hard to imagine that, at the time, the medium was still in its infancy. The screening at Le Cercle du Laveau is accompanied on a theremin.

Called the original romcom by some, Ernst Lubitsch’s The Shop Around the Corner is both outrageously funny and deeply moving. Although it is perhaps amongst Lubitsch’s less socially critical films, it nevertheless bears the famous “Lubitsch touch”, with its witty humour, rapid pace, indirect dialogue, and sophisticated yet simple plot about two colleagues who, while unable to stand each other in real life, fall in love through anonymous correspondence. The film’s comedic dimension stems from the ambiguity between the perspective of the characters, who ignore the complete scope of their situation, and that of the omniscient spectator who, in cahoots with the filmmaker, witnesses the unfolding of a series of misunderstandings. However, despite misleading them for comedic purposes, Lubitsch treats his fragile and endearing characters with empathy and kindness.

Pickpocket

Michel passes the time by picking pockets, careful to never be caught despite being watched by the police. His friend Jacques may suspect, while both men may have their eyes on Jeanne, the pretty neighbor of Michel’s ailing mother.

EN

Jeanne: You’re not in the real world. You share no interests with others.

 

Pickpocket is Robert Bresson’s first film. The ones he made before were only sketches. Which is as much as saying, if one is familiar with the director’s worth, that the release of Pickpocket is one of the four or five great dates in the history of cinema.

It is remarkable that, in contrast to Bresson’s preceding films, this new one was conceived, written, shot, edited and released all within ten months, as if the periode of trial and error were past. Pickpocket is a profoundly inspired film, a free film, instinctive, burning, imperfect, and overwhelming. It resolves every misunderstanding; if you deny this film, it is cinema itself as an autonomous art that you call into question.”

Louis Malle1

  • 1Louis Malle, “With Pickpocket Bresson Has Found,” in Robert Bresson (Revised), James Quandt (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012)
screening
CINEMATEK, Brussels
The Shop Around the Corner

Two employees at a gift shop can barely stand one another, without realizing that they’re falling in love through the post as each other’s anonymous pen pal.

 

Alfred: There might be a lot we don’t know about each other. You know, people seldom go to the trouble of scratching the surface of things to find the inner truth.

Klara: Well I really wouldn’t care to scratch your surface, Mr. Kralik, because I know exactly what I’d find. Instead of a heart, a hand-bag. Instead of a soul, a suitcase. And instead of an intellect, a cigarette lighter... which doesn’t work.

 

The Shop Around the Corner is different from other Lubitsch comedies like Trouble in Paradise (1932) and Ninotchka (1939) because it is purposefully non-glamorous. I mean, sure, James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan are glamorous without even doing anything. But the story goes that Lubitsch wanted this film to be different – no elegant costumes, or eccentric wealthy main characters or elaborate sets. Lubitsch reportedly had Sullavan buy a dress off the rack and then set it out in the sun to give it a worn look. The Shop Around the Corner feels very working-class and thus more believable. The ‘Lubitsch touch’ doesn’t need any external signifiers of wealth to be glamorous and sophisticated. The ‘Lubitsch touch’ comes from characters and his clockwork direction.”

Manish Mathur1

 

“I’ve written all of this without talking about the main attraction: Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan. They are a match made in Hollywood heaven. And it is precisely because these two awkward, incredibly fragile misfits transcend the surface impressions they give off. Despite his easy-going rapport and 22 years of experience at Matuschek and Co., Stewart plays a man with grave self-doubts, his excessively lanky body a burden and a bale. Likewise, Sullavan’s wet eyes and the nervous way she bites into her lower lip don’t speak to her subtle strength and determination. Her thin, reedy, smashed-china voice sounds like it’s about to burst into tears at any second, but it rarely does. In their exceptionality and star power, Sullavan and Stewart ooze genuineness. Think back to the café scene, where Margaret Sullavan is waiting to meet her pen pal; instead, her louse of a coworker (her pen pal!) shows up. Listen to the quick, instinctive haste and desperation Sullavan expresses to Stewart (and to us) when she begs him to leave her table, in that pained, strained voice of hers: ‘R. Kralik! Please! I was expecting somebody … ’ Each sentence has its own distinct flavor, from anger to flustered nervousness to the lonely realization that you’ve been stood up. Sullavan conveys all of this in only three seconds. It’s the magic of performance.”

Carlos Valladares2

 

Klara (Margaret Sullavan) and Alfred (James Stewart)

 

“What’s especially striking about the film’s humor is the vein of real, deep sadness that runs through the center of it. There’s a sense of loneliness in both Kralik and Karla, who separately believe they’ve found love in the form of someone they’ve never even met face-to-face, someone they’ve only corresponded with through letters. There’s more than a hint of desperation in both characters: they invest so much into their romance-by-pen, as though it represents the last chance they each have for happiness or romance. In the process, they don’t realize that the object of their love is right in front of them every day, that their relationship consists of sparring angrily by day and writing loving, romantic letters to one another by night. As such, the film is about the ideal of love as contrasted against the more prosaic but also more tangible reality: it’s telling that before Kralik can reveal himself to Karla, he must adjust her expectations downward by shattering the fantasy of the letters, preparing her not only for the revelation that he’s her great love, but that her great love is only a flesh-and-blood man after all.”

Ed Howard3

screening
CINEMATEK, Brussels
Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens

The mysterious Count Orlok summons Thomas Hutter to his remote Transylvanian castle in the mountains. The eerie Orlok seeks to buy a house near Hutter and his wife, Ellen. But Orlok is also the vampire Nosferatu, and when Hutter struggles to escape the castle, he knows that Ellen is in grave danger.

EN

“The shadows of German expressionism attain their most haunting manifestation in Murnau's images. For the film image as itself a shadow Murnau has a special feeling. Physically a shadow, a shadow cast on the screen by film passing through the projector, the image in Murnau becomes charged with the emotional coloring of a shadow, with a poignant and disquieting sense that what we watch moving on the screen is the world's ghost. It is as a shadow, a shadow ascending the stairs and extending its long clawed arm toward the door, that the vampire comes to the wife in her bedroom; and as a shadow he grasps the palpitant heart within her breast. As body yields to ghost in the film image, so her flesh yields here to the specter of death. After this night of spectral rather than carnal knowledge, the rising light of daybreak comes in through the window, the window she opened to let in death's shadow, and kills the vampire. Fittingly, it is light that destroys the vampire, that dispels his shadow; but this, we cannot forget, is the light of the medium of shadows.”

Gilberto Perez1

 

“The sunlight thrusts into Nosferatu’s heart like the stake which, with no help whatsoever, well-aimed, can terminate the vampire’s nocturnal life. The cock, of course, sings at the new-born day; but, at the same time, it has become a metaphor of betrayal. One couldn’t explain otherwise why the vampire, so revolting at first, seems suddenly so human when dying. Ellen’s body was the lure which – so one reads in the vampire’s book – works only if the victim is willing. It is quite a dilemma! Ellen, so much the better her body with no willpower left, waited for Death to come – one could clearly understand that when the woman stretches her arms eagerly towards him. Through her immense love Ellen breaks a taboo; she gives herself up to the monster and pays the price with her own life. Thus she re-established the menaced norm. Only through her sacrifice the damned offspring will end. When the artificial night of cinema comes to an end – with it, also the fatal attraction of moving images finish, which can give life to terrible arbitrary acts – the ghost of this half-real, half-fantastic mute creature fades away.”

Frieda Grafe2

 

Nosferatu, though it has now become a classic, was for a long time unappreciated. As late as 1946 Theodore Huff wrote that it was rather crude and too ‘Teutonic’, that the acting was laboured, and that since the film had been produced on a shoestring - and not by American economic standards - the trick photography was ludicrous rather than impressive. One cannot disagree with Huffs strictures on the actors. Ruth Landshoff, for example, who plays the ship-owner's sister, was not even a professional actress, but a girl Murnau had noticed in Grunewald, on her way to school. Beautiful and refined, she reminded him of a picture by Kaulbach, and he went to great lengths to meet her mother and ask permission for her to take part in the film during the holidays. Wangenheim, who played Hutter, and Greta Schroeder, one of Wegener's wives, who played Ellen, were never great actors. And whatever the visitor to the studio during Schloss Vogelod may have said, Murnau had not yet acquired the masterly technique with actors that was to be evident in his more mature works. There remain Max Schreck as the vampire and Granach as Knock. No American horror film has anything like the sobriety of Nosferatu, in which the ludicrous is always avoided by means of that rigorous abstraction which is inherited from the finest development of Expressionism. If Granach sometimes overdoes the facial contortions, it is because he was always naturally exuberant. But Murnau managed to make out of Max Schreck, a normally undistinguished actor, a tragically ambiguous character, whom Andre Gide called ‘dashing, venturesome, and even very pleasingly bold’, and whom the audience sees vanish at cockcrow as much with regret as with relief. But Gide complains of the film's Germanic heaviness and sums it up as a failure. It was impossible that he should like what remained fundamentally a romantic abstraction, very far removed from his own French Protestant severity. Nevertheless Nosferatu was a long way from the facile horrors of Frankenstein or Dracula.”

Lotte H. Eisner3

  • 1Gilberto Perez, The Material Ghost: Films and Their Medium (London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), 148.
  • 2Frieda Grafe, “A view of the mysterious essence of nature,” Il Cinema Ritrovato Catalogue, 1995.
  • 3Lotte H. Eisner, Murnau (London: Martin Seeker & Warburg Limited, 1973), 118-119.

NL

“Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens van Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau, uit 1922. Bram Stoker verplaatst naar Bremen in het pestjaar 1838. De vampier heeft een rattenkop en wordt gevolgd door een rattenleger; hij wordt niet omgebracht met een staak door het hart, maar door de eerste lichtstraal na een langgerekte liefdesnacht. Deze film markeerde het begin van Dracula’s triomftocht door de westerse filmwereld.”

Frieda Grafe1

 

  • 1 Frieda Grafe, “Filmtips,” vertaald door Sis Matthé, Sabzian, 29 januari 2020. Origineel gepubliceerd in: Frieda Grafe. Ausgewählte Schriften in 12 Bänden, vol. 11, 153.
screening
With live musical accompaniment by Pavel Tchikov
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