1 Straub

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 Cinema One
17 Jean-Marie Straub

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Jean-Marie Straub
Richard Roud

The Viking Press

New York
The Cinema One Series is published by The Viking Press, Inc.,
in association with Sight and Sound and the
Education Department of the British Film Institute.
Copyright 1972 by Richard Roud in all countries of the
International Copyright Union
All rights reserved
Published in 1972 in a hardbound and paperbound edition by
The Viking Press, Inc.
625 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10022
SBN 670-40626-0 (hardbound)
670-01936-4 (paperbound)
Library of Congress catalog card number: 76-178853
Printed and bound in Great Britain
Contents

Jean-Marie Straub and Daniele Huillet

shooting Othon frontispiece
Introduction page 1
1. Background 15
2. Machorka-Muff 29
3. Not Reconciled 40
4. Chronicle ofAnna Magdalena Bach 64
5. The Bridegroom, the Actress, and the Pimp 87
6. Othon 103
7. Afterword: Schonberg's Moses 123
Script: Not Reconciled, translated and
annotated by Misha Donat 124
Acknowledgements 171
Filmography 172
Cover: Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach
Introduction

A book about Jean-Marie Straub may seem premature. After

all, it could be objected, he is only thirty-eight years old.
Moreover, he has made only three features and two shorts; not
a very considerable body of work, it might be said, and not
enough matter for a monograph. And it is true that this book
must, by its nature, be more a progress report than a definitive
statement about a director who has many films still to come.
Nevertheless, Straub's CEUvre, limited though it may be, is of an
importance great enough to outweigh all objections. The fact
that his work is not very well known seems to me a positive
rather than a negative factor. Many people find his films diffi
cult, frustrating, and unrewarding. Because I feel so strongly
that they are among the most significant of the decade, it
seemed that any attempt to widen the circle of their admirers
was well worth making. And Straub's films do present certain
problems: to be sure, there are those who have been drawn to
them instinctively, but there are others who are still unfamiliar
with his world, and it is to them that this book is addressed in
the hope that with familiarity will come understanding, fol
lowed by appreciation and pleasure.
Straub is in many ways a unique figure. Although French by
birth, his early years in German-occupied Lorraine and his
decade spent in Munich have not been without their effect.
Although he shares many of Bresson's preoccupations, and

Chronicle ofAnna Magdalena Bach

although he is a great admirer of Gremillon, Renoir, and
Godard, there is at the same time in his work a pronounced
reaction against much of what is thought of as typically French
and an accompanying bias towards what is thought of as typi
cally German. The fact that neither of these stereotypes is
accurate is unimportant: cliches contain a modicum of truth. If
his philosophy is more Hegelian than Cartesian, then his sense
of ellipsis, of understatement, and of plastic values, belongs
well west of the Rhine.
Straub is also unique in that he is that rarest of animals: a
formalist with left-wing views, the first perhaps since Eisenstein
and Dovzhenko. It has long been a subject of concern to many
people {Partisan Review used to have long, tormented sym
posia about it during the war) that the greatest writers of the
twentieth century - Yeats, Pound, Eliot, Valery, Mann, Proust
- were all in varying degrees socially and politically reaction
ary, whereas those writers with exemplary political views were
less satisfactory as artists.
Now we have in the cinema a great formalist who is also
concerned with social problems; and naturally he has been
rejected by the stupider left-wing critics, especially in France,
because his artistic honesty has kept him from caricature and
from over-simplifications. And in spite of his anti-militarist,
anti-authoritarian viewpoint, he, or at least his films, are not
without certain mystical tendencies: the end of The
Bridegroom, The Actress, and the Pimp is on as exalted a plane
as any scene from Bresson.
The catalogue of contradictions is endless. Straub believes
very strongly in the necessity of the documentary approach -
he uses only non-professional actors and direct sound - and yet
this almost cinema-vmte approach is applied to a seventeenth-
century verse drama, to the life of Johann Sebastian Bach, to a
novel or a short story by Heinrich Boll. For Straub, document
ary statement does not preclude an interest in literature and
other pre-existing works of art: his next project is the
Schonberg opera Moses iind Aaron, which will also be filmed

Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne: Apotheosis

from a 'documentary', materialist angle. When Straub takes a
literary work, he neither alters nor adapts it —it, too, is treated
as documentary raw material. Yet like Bresson, while appar
ently negating the cinema by subordinating it to literature, he
actually renews and enriches it.
Although he will not tamper with sound by post-synching,
he subjects sound to a treatment which reduces it to the level of
an object. Even though the sound is captured live, he has
already altered it by his direction of the actors, obliging them
to speak in a dehberately inexpressive manner - or even, as in
his last film, in a manner which is often unintelligible. For him,
the soundtrack of a film is at least as important as the visuals, if
not more so. But it, too, must be subordinated to the total effect
of the film as a whole - which he once defined as simply the
application of space to time.
The total effect is also one of complementary values: content
is important to Straub, but he has achieved an extraordinary
fusion of form and content, and it is difficult to dissociate the
two. He has achieved this, I propose, through the complex
structuring of his films. Apart from anything else, they are
extremely rich patterns of sound and light, articulated in the
cutting-room by Straub's rhythmic sense. These structures can
in fact be expressed in mathematical terms, yet I would not
suggest that they were so engendered. But music and mathe
matics share a great many elements both with each other and
with the cinema, the most important being proportion, number,
and rhythm.
The foregoing may make Straub sound forbiddingly formid
able, and yet, I suggest, this is not so. For he is the most
unaristocratic of film-makers: he makes the viewer a party to
the process of creation. When he takes his creative leap into the
dark, we are right there behind him. If the spectator is not
merely passive, he can find the experience of a film like Not
Reconciled a highly stimulating form of controlled participa
tion, always provided he is willing to suspend any attempt at
total understanding until the film is over. Surely this is not too

10
much to ask: the reward is the excitement of seeing all the
pieces, whether of plot or design, slowly begin to fit together.
Of course, as with a lot of contemporary art, Straub's films
are as much 'about' themselves as 'about' anything else. Apart
from their subject-matter, they are also 'film-films'; that is to
say, they are concerned with the processes and materials of film
itself. This, in fact, is probably the biggest hurdle to general
appreciation, as it was in the past with writers like Joyce. Many
people have an underlying and ineradicable feeling that art can
only be justified by life. This somewhat puritanical view has
naturally brought an opposing reaction: that it is only art that
can possibly justify life. Without pronouncing on what is so
obviously a futile problem, one can at least say that with Straub
the choice does not have to be made: his films resolve the
contradiction.
As they do all the other contradictions. Straub is not inter
esting because of the conflicts in his work, but because these
conflicts are somehow resolved. He is militant, yet mystical;
materialistic, yet musical; minimal in means, and yet in the end
maximal in effect. A film like Not Reconciled can deal directly
with the problems of Nazism and yet at the same time achieve a
state of exaltation equalled in the cinema only by a Dreyer or a
Bresson. He may construct his films from the most realistic
materials, and yet the result is a musical structure which tran
scends realism —but without rejecting it. His rooms may be bare
and white, but his diagonal views of them make those empty
walls vibrate with life. He may not move the camera very
much, but when he does the effect is stimulating m inversely
geometrical proportions.
And although these films are self-contained works of art,
they do call on our participation: they must be completed by
us. A review of the Bach film by Penelope Gilliatt (which began
unfavourably) concluded that: 'The terrible restraint is prob
ably justified. It deliberately creates a vacuum which you have
to fill yourself, in your own sloppy way. Sometimes I watched
the moments when the pretend Bach changed manuals on the

11

Dreyer's Gertrud •
immMm
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harpsichord, and sometimes I fell into things that never get into
reviews, like thoughts of dinner, and what to do with your
life . . And this is true, not only 'what's for dinner', but 'what
to do with your life'. I suggest that the greatness of Straub lies
in the fact that, although he doesn't tell you what to do with
your life, one does have a better idea of what the possibilities
are, what one could do, after seeing his films. The idea that Art
should somehow ennoble and purify is impossibly old-
fashioned, not to say Platonic; and yet, Straub's films share
with the greatest music and the greatest painting an effect of
elevation which is all the more powerful for the obscurity of its
origin.
It may therefore seem contradictory to want to shed a little
light on this obscurity. But to illuminate is not to dissolve; and
a fuller understanding of Straub will only heighten our sense of
that insoluble mystery at the heart of every true work of art.

14
1: Backgrounc

I was born under the sign of Capricorn, like Johanna, the old lady in Not
Reconciled. As Max Jacob said, all Capricorns are born old. More pre
cisely, I was born on the Sunday after Epiphany in Metz, capital of
Lorraine, the city where Paul Verlaine was born, Verlaine who wrote: 'And
if I had a hundred sons, they should have a hundred horses / all the more
quickly to flee the Sergeant, the Army.'
The name that was given me was that of one of the first conscientious
objectors - Jean-Marie Vianney, the Cure d'Ars. And the year was precisely
the one in which Hitler came to power. Until 1940 I only heard French
spoken; that was the language I learned at home and at school. And then I
was suddenly obliged to speak only German: any French word at school
was absolutely forbidden. We were taught by the 'direct method', and I
remember my older sister who came home from her first day at school
having learned two sentences in German: 'The bad wolf ate the seven
lambs,' and 'God created the whole world.' Unfortunately, when she was
asked what the first sentence meant in French, she replied: 'Le Bon Dieu a
cree le monde entier.'

But Straub's biography begins much earlier than 1933. Ac

tually,'we should start a thousand years ago when, on the death
of Louis Le Debonnaire - son of Charlemagne - the whole
Empire was divided into three parts: Charles was given the
Western Kingdom, Louis the Eastern, and everything in be
tween (Flanders, Alsace, Lorraine, Burgundy, and all the rest
down to Rome) was given to Lothar, the third son. As every
schoolboy knows, poor Lothar was the weakest of the three,
and the history of Western Europe has suffered ever since as a

15
Gremillon: Remorques (Michele Morgan and Jean Gabin) and (opposite) Lumiere
d'Ete (Madeleine Robinson and Pierre Brasseur)

result. During the past century, for example, Straub's birth

place has been part of Germany for more than fifty years. So
when the Germans invaded France in 1940, they treated both
Alsace and Lorraine, not as Occupied Territory, but simply as
parts of Germany. They even went so far as to oblige shop
keepers to repaint their signs in Gothic script.
History is seldom irrelevant, and Straub can be described as
a man of the Middle Kingdom: one who is imbued with both
French and German culture. While this has caused him great
personal hardship, it has also greatly enriched his life. One
cannot call Straub a German director; on the other hand, he
does not belong entirely to the French school either.
After the Liberation, Straub went to St Clement's, a Jesuit
school, where he learned, he says, that insubordination had
virtues other than poetic; he then entered a state lycee. During
his second year he took part in a demonstration against the

16
unenterprising programmes of the Metz cinemas, and on that
occasion had his first brush with the French poHce. The
second, even more brutal contact, came a little later during a
protest against police harassment of the Algerians in Metz.
At that time, Straub wanted to become a writer, and he did
half his License-es-Lettres. But he tells us he was not a good
student: 'I was so lazy I missed out on both maths and music.
My parents brought me up very badly; if children were taught
music at the time they are taught Latin and Greek, they'd be
much better off.'
He first became interested in the cinema just after the war.
One might have thought it would be the films of Bresson that
had brought this about; but, doubtless due to the unimagina
tive programming of the cinemas of Metz, he never saw any
Bresson until the early 50s. So it happened that the first films
to make a really strong impression on him were those of Jean

17
Gremillon, in particular Remorques {Stormy Waters) and
Lumiere d'Ete.
Gremillon is now something of a shadowy figure, largely
forgotten, or else lumped in with Carne and other names of the
30s. Actually, he was very much a special case, important
because of the use of music (he was also a composer) and sound
in his films. Even before the coming of sound, Gremillon had
made some fascinating experiments in the use of piano rolls as
synchronized accompaniment for his film Tour au Large.
In his first sound film. La Petite Lise, Gremillon tried to use
sound as something more than a simple accompaniment to the
image. He wove together songs, words and noises into a
soundtrack which rivalled the visuals in importance. He
believed that 'the director should compose his changes of shot
on music paper; each change of shot changes the rhythm of the
film, and should be accompanied by a modulation of the atmo
sphere.'
In Remorques, he had music composed to go with the sounds
of the ship's engines, and he then mixed together the music with
the actual sounds of the engines, thus creating a kind of syn
thesis of noise and music. The result of this integration of
concrete sound with musical sound has been described as a
'sort of iEolian symphony in the transcendental mode.'
In Lumiere d'Ete, he recorded hundreds of sounds which he
then recomposed, carefully modulating their intensity and
rhythm. In a study of his films, the musician Pierre Schaeffer
(one of the chief advocates of musique concrete) pointed out
that for Gremillon, music was not illustration; rather it was one
of the raw materials of film, and from the conjunction, the
coincidence of visuals and music (which includes words and
sounds), he built up a peculiarly rich audio-visual complex.
Roland Manuel, a composer who often worked with Gremillon,
summed it up: 'Gremillon's true originality came from his
innate sense of rhythm. For him, sound was of primary impor
tance: he was truly a composer of film.'
For anyone who knows the films of Straub, the parallels are

18
obvious. To be sure, Straub's conception of sound and music is
not identical to that of Gremillon, but it seems likely that
Straub learned from Gremillon something of the possibilities of
sound and of its potential importance. Perhaps, too, he learned
from him that anecdote should be reduced to its simplest form
in order to emphasize and exalt the cinema's autonomous
means of expression. Furthermore, like Gremillon, Straub was
never to 'play the game'; that is, to take into account commer
cial considerations. Finally, it is interesting that one of Gremil-
lon's many unrealized projects was a film about Mozart.
But if Gremillon was, so to speak, John the Baptist, Bresson
was the Redeemer himself. In the early 50s Straub spasmodi
cally attended both the Universities of Strasbourg and Nancy;
at the same time, he and a friend ran a cine-club in Metz. And
then one day his friend said that he was leaving town, and asked
Straub if, for once, he could present the film to their audiences.
The film arrived only the day before the show, and as he had
never seen it, Straub ran it several times in order to make a
good job of the presentation. The film was Les Dames du Bois
de Boulogne, and it was to be a turning-point in Straub's life.
Les Dames could be described as a universally seminal film;
directors as different as Antonioni, Jacques Demy, Straub, and
many others have all testified to its importance in their forma
tion. And yet each got something different from the film. In
Demy's case, it was perhaps the construction of the scenario,
and its mystical qualities. For Straub, Bresson's 'moral pro
vocation' was very important, but what struck him most at the
time was the formal abstraction and, of course, the use of
sound.
The similarities between the films of Bresson and those of
Straub are indeed very striking; so, as we shall see later, are the
differences. Like Straub's work, Bresson's first three films were
either adaptations of literary works {Diary of a Country Priest
and Les Dames) or else a commissioned text (Giraudoux' Les
Anges du Peche). In all three cases, one finds the same fidelity
to the text that Straub was to observe in his Boll adaptations

19
 •

Bresson to Straub; the Cure de Campagne and (opposite) the unreconciled Schrella

{Machorka-Muff and Not Reconciled) or in his Corneille film.

Both men seemingly negate the cinema by subordinating it to
literature; both, paradoxically, have renewed it.
Both men believe in the virtues of statement, already in Les
Dames, Bresson, though using professional actors, was treating
them as if they were not. Since then, he has used only amateurs,
as has Straub. In so doing, both have effectively banished from
directorial techniques and acting all forms of expressionism.
Both have striven to make it almost impossible to read on the
actor's face any expression of what he is saying. Instead, both
depend on what Bazin called 'existentiaUst physiognomy': the
permanent mask, the single-toned 'straight' delivery of the
lines. The actor tends to become, as it were, 'transparent' - a
faithful servant of the text. (Brecht was later to confirm for
Straub the necessity of Bresson's rejection of 'psychology'.)
Equally important was Bresson's attempt to counterpoint

20
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one kind of reality with another. Les Dames takes a realistic

eighteenth-century tale, abstracts -it (through Cocteau's dia
logue, the sets, costumes, and the style of acting), and then
replaces it in another realistic context (cars, elevators, and the
paraphernalia of modern life). The result is that one kind of
realism annihilates the other; and, as in Straub's films, a very
special kind of concreteness, of materiality is achieved. This is
most strikingly accomplished through Bresson's use of sound.
Everyone remembers in Les Dames the extraordinary effect of
the sound of the windshield wiper in the climactic scene in
which Helene tells Jean he has married a whore. Bazin, indeed,
maintained that the combination of the Cocteau/Diderot text
with the noise of the wiper created a Racinian dialogue. One
need not go so far, but it is true that Bresson, like Straub,
relies heavily on the use of concrete sound, not to heighten or
contrast the dramatic quality of a scene, but to objectify it.

21
Straub takes this notion much further than Bresson, but the seed
was there: the noise of the cascade in Les Dames, the creaking
wagon and the scratching rake in Diary of a Country Priest.
Bresson did not, however, believe totally in the virtues of
direct sound. In the cascade sequence, the original track was
rejected because the waterfall noise distorted the dialogue. So
the noise of the water was toned down and the dialogue dubbed.
In Othon, Straub's most recent film, on the other hand, the
whole fourth act is remorselessly accompanied by the ceaseless
racket of a fountain. Othon, as a matter of fact, has many
parallels with Les Dames: Othon is a seventeenth-century
French text acted by Italians in the context of the Rome of
today; Les Dames is an eighteenth-century French text, dia
logued by a contemporary writer, and acted in modern loca
tions with heavily stylized costumes.
Sound has another function in the films of Bresson and
Straub. Both insist that the actors de-dramatize their speech,
not only because both directors have an aversion to
'psychological' readings, but even more because this kind of
monotone, rapid delivery allows the director to treat speech
more easily as if it were music, something that can be timed,
composed, rhythmed. It is significant in this connection that
Straub's next project is a film of Schonberg's opera Moses und
Aaron. The role of Moses is a speaking one, and the choruses,
too, partly speak and partly sing. But their speech has a musical
function: Schonberg believed that while any suggestion of sing
ing was to be avoided, pitch must be at least approximate, and
rhythm strictly defined. Neither Bresson nor Straub has gone
that far, but as much of the fascination of their films comes
from this musical treatment of speech as from the editing.
Lastly, one should consider what could be called the 'Bres
son look', for it is not dissimilar to the 'Straub look'. Both
directors have the same aversion to clutter, the same fondness
for empty rooms, bare walls, white plane surfaces. Decor is
reduced to an effective minimum; anything more than a two-
shot is rare. In short, both participate in an aesthetic which has

22
 m

The Diary of a Country Priest: concrete abstraction

been called both Jansenist and Calvinist. And indeed, the roots
of this style may well be philosophical or religious: in a French
context, such austerity is generally deemed to be Protestant.
But it also has aesthetic roots. When one is manipulating ab
stractions, counterpointing different levels of reality, in short,
when one is making films as complex and as intricately struc
tured as those of Bresson and Straub, it is necessary to pare
away the excrescences, to strip down to essentials. Only when
this process of depouillement has taken place, can the more
difficult task of construction begin.
After the overwhelming experience of Les Dames du Bois
de Boulogne, Straub decided that he wanted to write about the
cinema. At the same time, he swore that he would never make a
film himself. He preferred, he said, to explain them. Four years
later, he left Metz for Paris ... with the intention of making a
film about Bach. After his arrival in Paris in 1954, he was
assistant/apprentice to Abel Gance {La Tour de Nesle), Renoir

23
i

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{French CanCan and Elena et les Hommes), Rivette {Le Coup
du Berger), Astruc {Une Vie) and, of course, Bresson (Un
Condamne d Mort s'est echappe). The two most important
events of his Paris years were his meeting with Dani^e Huillet
and the Algerian revolution.
Daniele was already interested in the cinema before meeting
Straub; and she was in fact preparing to enter the French Film
School, L'IDHEC. But, she said: 'I never passed the entrance
exam. They showed us Yves Allegret's Maneges and asked us
to analyse it. I left my exam book blank, except for three lines
in which I said it was scandalous they should show us such a
terrible film. Perhaps if I saw the film now, I'd find it entertain
ing - Simone Signoret was really good in it. But then I was
indignant that they should consider this film worthy of
extended analysis.'
The outbreak of hostilities in Algeria and the increasing
number of men called up to do their military service there
presented Straub and the other young Frenchmen who were
violently opposed to colonial war with something of a moral
dilemma. So, in 1958, Straub left for Germany. During his first
year there, he went all through East and West Germany, hitch
hiking most of the way, to look for locations for the Bach film.
Part of the time he was accompanied by Daniele (she went back
and forth to Paris to raise money). Straub discovered that it
was going to be impossible to make the film on the original
sites; so much had been altered during the nineteenth century
that substitutions would have to be made. Meanwhile, he
microfilmed the documents that were to appear in the film.
By the end of 1958, he had finished the script. He then
looked for someone to help him modernize the eighteenth-
century texts enough to make them understandable without
distorting the language. In Paris he had a friend who knew a
German called Boll who might be able to help. Straub went to
see him, but Boll convinced him that he had hardly to change
more than a word or two, arguing that the eighteenth-century
language was an essential part of the film.

26

Renoir's La Chienne: one of'the most beautiful films in existence'

 The meeting with Boll turned out to be of great importance:
it prompted Straub to read his works. By 1959, when the Bach
project had to be dropped for lack of money, Straub had read
Boll's Billiards at Half Past Nine (the basis for Not Recon
ciled) and Bonn Diary (which he was to film as Machorka-
MufJ). At the end of 1959, Straub and Daniele Huillet married
and settled in Munich, where they were to remain for ten years.
(In fact, Straub has now lived almost as long outside France as
within.)
The next two years were spent in trying to find a producer
for Billiards at Half Past Nine. Round and round Germany
they went, but the project was always turned down. One of the
chief reasons was Straub's insistence on direct sound. Ger
many, like Italy, has a long tradition of dubbed film, and
everyone thought Straub was mad. But his belief in direct
sound was confirmed by a number of films he saw in those
years which made a profound impression on him. They were as
different as Man ofA ran, Toni, L'Amore, and La Chienne, but
all of them relied on sound, original sound. 'The most beautiful
films in existence are Renoir's first sound films. Not only
because the actors speak so beautifully, especially those with
Midi accents, but because it is original sound. The Bach project
only made sense if the sound was recorded while the film was
being shot, directly. And all my other projects grew out of the
Bach film.'
After Billiards at Half Past Nine was turned down by every
one, Straub began to try to put together a third, less ambitious,
project. And this third project, the short Machorka-Muff was
the first to be realized. After Homeric struggles, two-thirds of
the money was put up by Atlas Film, and the other third Straub
got together from friends and acquaintances. But he was also
obliged to write, edit, and direct, without remuneration. The
film was sent to the Oberhausen Short Film Festival, where it
was first rejected, then finally shown, early in 1963. Straub was
then thirty years old.

27
Machorka-Muff: {above) 'Now we can get married'; {below) the wedding of
Machorka-Muff

28
2: Machorka-Muff

Machorka-Muff is the story of a rape, the rape of a country on which an

army has been imposed, a country which would have been happier without
one. What does it mean to make films in Germany, or rather, to make films
against that stupidity, depravity, and that mental laziness which, as Brecht
remarked, are so characteristic of this country? Hyperion would reply that
it signifies that one is willing to bleed oneself white. And to this I would add; it
means that I will be unable to reach that wide public I want my work to have.
But, as a Frenchman, what attracted me was the chance to make in Germany a
film that no German could make - just as no German was able to make
Germany, Year Zero.no American The Southerner or The YoiingOne,a.nAno
Italian could have written The Charterhouse of Parma.

Bonn Diary had originally been published by Heinrich Boll in

an issue of the magazine Welt der Arbeit which came out the
day before the elections that were to ratify the rearmament of
Federal Germany. As the title suggests, the story tells in diary
form of the visit of Colonel Machorka-Muff to the capital. He
has come to Bonn both to see his mistress, Inn, and in the
hopes that his long struggle to clear the name of General
Hurlanger-Hiss will finally succeed. During his stay he is
promoted to General himself, and in his new uniform he lays
the cornerstone of the College of Military Memoires. He takes
advantage of this occasion to clear the name of Hurlanger-Hiss
of the disgrace which had fallen upon it. It had always been
claimed that he had retreated after losing only 12,300 men.
Machorka-Muff establishes that, as he had actually lost 14,700

29
men, the retreat was not unjustified. The next day he marries
his fiancee (she has had seven previous husbands, but as she is
Protestant, the marriages don't count). Their honeymoon is
interrupted briefly by the news that the Opposition has
expressed dissatisfaction with the new Military Academy. But
Machorka-Muff and his old army friends have the majority in
Parliament; furthermore, his aristocratic wife assures him that
no one has ever successfully opposed her family.
Naturally, the story caused something of an uproar. In the
new democratic Germany it was not considered proper to
reveal the ever-present strength of the old Army network, nor
that in spite of de-Nazification the Old Guard was still in a
position of power.
The story appealed to Straub because it struck a personal
chord: no film, he felt, could really be valid unless it were in
some way also based upon the life and experience of its direc
tor. In the days when Straub was at the University of
Strasbourg his first crisis of political awareness occurred when
the European Defence Community was set up, that first step
towards the rearmament of Germany.
Boll's story met with objections from the Right; Straub's
film was very badly received by the Left. Although the film
seems to follow the story word for word, the total effect is quite
different. What the Left objected to when the film was shown at
Oberhausen was that Straub had not made of Machorka-Muff a
'real militarist'. Straub's reply was that 'Militarists' don't exist;
the Military does. To have given them a portrait of a militarist
he would have had to caricature. Had he provided this cliche,
had he given Erich von Machorka-Muff the proper carnival
mask, then perhaps everyone would have liked the film

* Curiously enough the same objection was also, if unconsciously, made to Les
Dames du Bois de Boulogne. In an article devoted to an examination of the reactions
of audiences to the film, Georges Pouillon concluded that 'Realism is only bearable
for audiences when it has at least a hint of caricature. For caricature tends to render
its object exceptional: it consists of a wink at the audience to let them know

30
 But Straub believes in objectivity - or perhaps humanity is a
better word. Like Aragon, he believes that it is more convinc
ing to portray even the people one hates as human beings. The
job of the writer and the film-maker is to make the reader or
viewer understand his characters, even those who are his social
enemies. And to this greater understanding, even of the enemy,
caricature can only be a hindrance.
And here lies the main difference between Bonn Diary and
Machorka-Muff. Documentary has replaced exposition and
description. Although the film follows the story closely, the
divergences are highly significant and reveal much about
Straub's approach to the cinema. This is how the story
begins:

Unfortunately, I arrived too late to go out again or pay any calls: it was
22.30 hours when I got to the hotel, and I was tired. So I had to be satisfied
with looking out of the window at the city lying there scintillating with life -
bubbling, throbbing, boiling over, one might say: there are vital forces
hidden there just waiting to be released. The city is still not all it might be. I
smoked a cigar, abandoning myself wholly to this fascinating electric
energy; I wondered whether I should phone Inna, finally resigned myself
with a sigh, and had one more look through my important files. Toward
midnight I went to bed: I always find it hard to go to bed here. This city is
not conducive to sleep.

The film proceeds differently. The first shot is a close-up of

the telephone and Macho's hand, which hesitates and then
moves away without touching the receiver. As he slowly walks
over to the window, the camera pans to follow. His first words
are: T hesitated: couldn't I phone Inn? But then I abandoned

that they are not being attacked.' But Bresson preferred a faithful portrait to an
amusing caricature, and while an audience can take cruelty or horror as long as they
can be seen to be exceptional (i.e. unlikely to affect them), they could not stand
Bresson's 'quiet cynicism'. For example, when Agnes' mother is shown at the
beginning of the film clearly to be pimping for her, no one was upset. Few mothers
felt in any way attacked. But when, later on, she 'pimps' in the ordinary bourgeois
way - the mother trying to marry off her daughter - then the audience began to
protest.

31

Machorka-Muff receives his visitor •

f
the idea with a sigh.' Thus Straub starts out in medias res:
we don^t know who this man is, where he has come from, or
even that he has just arrived. We don't even know for sure
that we are in a hotel. The next shot is a pan from the balcony
over the night city: 'Unfortunately I had arrived too late,
and I was tired. So I had to be satisfied with looking out of
the window from my hotel room at the city.' We hear the
noises of the city below, and then he adds: 'There are vital
forces there waiting to be released.' And that is the end of the
first two shots.
By reversing the order of the dialogue, Straub has obliged us
to suspend our understanding of what is happening. Thus we
are forced to take what we see and hear atface value, as it were.
No explanation, no psychology, no comment: we have to look
at what is being shown us, and to interpret it, to make up our
own minds. For he has also removed all the 'human', or senti
mental content of the scene: no cigar-smoking, no 'abandon
ment to this fascinating electric energy', no mention of Macho's
difficulties in getting to sleep. Furthermore, Straub also sup
presses all 'telegraphing' of information. The line in the story,
'look through my important files', is there to prepare the reader
for what is about to happen.*
The second section of Bonn Diary is called 'Night Jottings'
and it is quite clear to the reader that these are Macho's
dreams. Straub, on the other hand, simply dissolves at the end
of Shot Three from Macho on the bed to the locale of the
dream, with only the lighting to suggest that this might be a
dream. The next chapter starts:

Before I had finished shaving, the first call from Inn came; that's what I call
my old friend Inna von Schekel-Pehunz.... On the phone Inn in her own

* See Not Reconciled, where the old lady suddenly says when she is about
to shoot M., 'I'll plead Paragraph 51', a remark that puzzles all foreigners and
some Germans. But in the book Boll has telegraphed this earlier by having
another character mention Paragraph 51 and casually remind the reader what it
means.

34
'I wandered through this enchanting city ,..'

way gave me to understand that the project which was the main reason for
my visit to Bonn was coming along very well. 'The corn is ripe,' she said
softly, and then, 'The Baby's being christened today.'

Straub again reverses the scene. He begins with Macho

answering the phone: we hear Inn's two cryptic phrases. And
only then does Macho's narration explain to us who Inn is,
and the possible meaning of the two cryptic phrases - that the
foundation stone is about to be laid for the College of
Military Memoires. And Straub proceeds in a similar manner
throughout: in a later scene with Machorka-Muffs old non
commissioned officer, he leaves out all the camaraderie and the
rather broad satire in which Boll indulges.
But the main difference between the story and the film comes
in their different proportions. The degree to which Straub has
replaced exposition and description with documentary is clear

35
when one compares the construction of the film with that of the
story. The film can be divided into three parts, each of which is
allotted an equal number of shots. But Part One, which lasts a
little more than five minutes, covers the first five of the story's
twelve pages. Part Three, which lasts about seven minutes,
covers the last six. The central section of the film. Part Two, on
the other hand, lasts a little more than four minutes and it
covers less than one page of Boll's story.
In the original, the second section begins thus:
I was too moved to undertake any serious business that morning. I went
restlessly up to my room, from there to the lobby, wandered through this
enchanting city after Murks had driven off to the Ministry ... I looked
through some newspapers on defence policy.

Straub has seized on these lines and expanded them in an

enormous number of shots (27) and shown us, not only head
lines and newspapers {Adapting the Bundeswehr to Atomic
War; Defence is the Duty of the Citizen; An Unconditional
'Yes' to German Rearmament; One must be either hammer
or anvil; Can a Christian kill?), but also ads in shops (To be
come old while remaining young is everybody's dream).
These 'documentary' bits are cleverly inserted within the
thirty shots which make up this four-minute section. They
provide a strikingly organized 'concrete' sequence which
both sets off and explains what has come before and what will
follow.
What Straub has done, in fact, is to explain and expand
a cryptic remark made by Macho on this page. Thinking
of his old divisional chief, Welk von Schomm, Macho muses: 'I
tried to imagine what Schomm would have said had he
read these articles on defence pohcy. "Those Christians," he
would have said, "Who would have thought it of them?"'
But Straub has expanded it objectively: he has shown us,
in documentary fashion; he has not commented subjectively.
He may have slanted the selection of headlines, but he has
not invented them, and they speak more powerfully than Boll

36
of the evolution of the Federal Republic in the years since the
war.

But this section has another significance: as we will see in

Not Reconciled, Straub is very fond of musical alternation
between sequences made up of brief shots and sequences con
sisting of longer takes. Here this central sequence made up of
brief shots contrasts formally with the narrative pattern of the
first and last thirds of the film. The documentary centre is thus
in deliberate contrast to the narrative portions of the film; and
the break in both rhythm and narration gives shape to the film.
This concern with rhythm and with formal construction is one
of the most important elements of Straub's films. At the
Oberhausen screening of Machorka-Muff, it fell on deaf ears
and blind eyes. But a notable exception was the composer
Karl-Heinz Stockhausen, who happened to see the film and
wrote a very encouraging letter to Straub. (How appropriate
that a musician should have been the first to appreciate his
work):

You yourself must know that you have not chosen an easy path. And that is
why I am writing to you to tell you you have done a good job.... Your
subject is borrowed from our times. It is true, accurate, and universally
valid. Those who reproach the film with being over-acute know nothing of
the artistic necessity of sharpening ideas to the point where they will really
hit home....
What interested me above all in your film was the composition of the
film-time; it is closely related to music. It is all the more astonishing that a
film which is relatively taut and brief should have the courage of slow tempi,
of pauses, rests. And how dazzling to have chosen for the extremely rapid
scenes those newspaper cuttings displayed at odd angles on the screen.
What's more, the relative density of the changes of tempo is well done. You
have let each element arrive at its own irreplaceable moment. Nothing in the
film could be altered or replaced; and there is no ornamentation. 'Every
thing is essential,' as Webern said.
I also like the frankness of the film, its rejection of any preamble or
summing-up. The spectator is left to reflect himself on the film. I could go
on; the film is neither 'educational' nor meliorist; neither symbolic nor
illusionistic nor yet falsely analogical. In place of these unnecessary solu
tions, you have chosen facts. Not those of a flat reportage, of course: I like

37
(Above and opposite) Machorka-Muff celebrates

the sharpness of the film, the strangely flashing movement of the camera in
the street scenes; and the empty walls of the hotel room on which the
camera comes to rest for long periods, that bareness from which it cannot
break away.
I also like the 'unreal' condensation of time; and yet one never feels
hurried. Progress is only possible on that ridge between truth, concentra
tion, and that sharpening which penetrates by burning into our perception of
reality. Only on that cutting edge, and nowhere else. Even fragmented
illusion, we now see, is still illusion.
You don't want to 'change' the world, but to engrave upon it the traces of
your presence: you have seen, you have opened to us a part of that world
as it gave itself to you. I like that. I await with impatience your work to
come.

Cologne, 5 May 1963 Karl-Heinz Stockhausen

In spite of its difficult language, the letter seems to me to be

extremely perceptive. One might have expected Stockhausen to
be sensitive to the musical aspects of Straub - the editing, the
proportions — but he has also noted the two most signifi
cant visual aspects of the film as well: Straub's fondness for

38
the diagonal, and his passion for the bare walls from which
the camera can hardly tear itself away. In Machorka-Muff, the
diagonality is largely present, as Stockhausen noted, in the
documentary sequence. In his later films it will be much more
apparent throughout, but always, I think, for the same reason:
to counteract by its dynamics the static elements of the films.
But there is already a hint in Machorka-Muff of that constant
interaction between movement and stasis that reaches its height
in the Bach film. Here the crescendo of headlines placed at ever
more acute angles provides a kind of dramatic contrast to the
relatively sober shooting of the rest of the film.
As to the bare walls, we have already seen that they are an
essential part of Straub's aesthetic. By pointing his camera at
the bare corners of bare rooms, Straub paradoxically succeeds
in re-establishing the plane surface of the screen; and in this
way of projecting the characters and their problems back out at
us, he achieves, whether consciously or not, a kind of
'distancing' which is as relevant to the cinema as Brecht's was
to the theatre.

39
3: Not Reconciled

My first film had been the story of the rape of a country on which an army
had been imposed; Not Reconciled is the story of a frustration, the frustra
tion of violence, that violence which Brecht's St Joan of the Stockyards
invokes when she cries out: 'Only violence serves where violence reigns', the
frustration of a people who had muffed their 1848 revolution, who had not
succeeded in freeing themselves from Fascism. I deliberately discarded
everything in Boll's novel that could be qualified as picturesque or anec
dotal, psychological or even satirical: my aim was to create through the
story of a middle-class German family from 1910 to our times a pure
cinematographic, moral, and political reflection on the last fifty years of
German life, a kind of film-oratorio.
To do this, I went back beyond the novel to its historical sources: the
newsreel sequences of the beginning of the Second World War, the ruins of
Monte Cassino, all the way back to the novel's documentary point of
departure: the execution (by beheading) of six young Communists in
Cologne in 1933. The youngest of them was not yet twenty; before being
executed, they had been tortured with barbed-wire whips.
In a sense, the action is seen from the point of view of a man of the
twenty-first century looking back at the last fifty years of German life.
I have been careful to eliminate as much as possible any historical
aura in both costumes and sets, thus giving the images a kind of atonal
character. And by putting the past (1910, 1914, 1934) on the same level
as the present, I have made a film which is a reflection on the continuity
of Nazism both with what preceded it (first anti-Communism, then anti-
Semitism) and what followed it. And this continuity of the false moral
values of the bourgeoisie (Seriousness, Fidelity, Order, Respectability)
with its political opportunism is present in the consciousness of the
principal characters: in some cases clearly, in others only half-under
stood.

40
 Far from being a puzzle film (like Citizen Kane or Muriel), Not
Reconciled is better described as a 'lacunary film', in the same sense that
Littre defines a lacunary body: a whole composed of agglomerated crystals
with intervals among them, like the interstitial spaces between the cells of an
organism.

Machorka-Muff had not been much of a success at

Oberhausen, and Straub's efforts to get it programmed with a
feature film were unsuccessful until it finally ended up with Ken
Russell's French Dressing, and that didn't run for very long.
Nevertheless there had been the Stockhausen letter (published

rr

Not Reconciled: Hugo the bellboy

41
in Cahiers du Cinema) and there had been Jacques Rivette's
admiring notice in the same magazine. With this sUght boost,
and with Daniele Huillet's success in cutting down the budget,
the two of them finally managed to put together the sum of
50,000 marks (then about £5,000 or S 14,000) to make their
adaptation of Boll's Billiards at Half Past Nine. They began
shooting in Cologne at the end of 1964. The crew consisted of
themselves, one lighting cameraman, one camera operator, two
sound technicians, and two assistants.
Straub's interest in filming Machorka-MuffhaA been sparked
off, as we have seen, by his own experience of the rearma
ment problem, first in Strasbourg when the EDC was founded,
and then when he arrived in Germany. In those days, unlike
Paris where the pavement was dominated by soldiers or police
men, there was not a uniform to be seen in the streets, Straub
recalls with joy. And his desire to film Billiards at Half Past
Nine had other personal roots, too. In France, first, when
Straub used to wonder what had become of those of his friends
who had fought in Algeria. How had it affected them, changed
them? How it had destroyed some of them. Then later in
Germany, he used to wonder - as many of us have done —when
walking down the street: was that man at Stalingrad or
Dunkirk? What had he done in the war, during the Nazi
period? And from these questions, one more basic arose: how
had Nazism come to Germany? Did it suddenly arrive one fine
day, or had it been growing underground for years? Maybe the
French Revolution hadn't amounted to much beyond a shake-
up of the classes, but the Germans had never even managed
that much. And from these considerations came the desire
to film Boll's book, but to go a little beyond: he was excited by
the idea of making a film about Nazism which wouldn't even
mention Hitler or the concentration camps. In that way, one
could show that Nazism had never existed as such in so far
as it was already there long before 1933, and that it continues
still.
So Not Reconciled tells the story of the reunion of two old

42
school friends, Fahmel and Schrella, after years of separation.
They had both been involved in anti-Nazi activity in the 30s;
but Fahmel's family was rich and well connected, and after he
had spent a year of exile in Holland, they bought his way back
into Germany where he remained throughout the war as a
demolition expert in the Army. Schrella went from Holland to
France and to England, giving language lessons to keep alive.
Schrella's return home sets off a train of recollections in
Fahmel's mind in which past and present alternate. But his
return acts on others, too: Fahmel's father is stirred to remem
ber his youth, the First World War, and his wife who even
tually had to be put away in an insane asylum during the
Second World War to save her from being shot for treason.
The film also deals with the third generation: the son Fahmel
had by Schrella's sister. Thus in the space of fifty minutes,
Straub has constructed his 'lacunary body' where time has
been, as it were, flattened out, and distant past, recent past,
present, and even future all co-exist. The only character who
manages to break out of this continuum, who succeeds in
taking action, is Fahmel's mother. Old Johanna is slightly
schizophrenic, locked into the past; but she is nevertheless the
most conscious of them all, perhaps because she is the most
aware that past and present are one. Robert Fahmel and his
father, and even Schrella, are incapable of action, though they
have the right ideas: they have all been so traumatized that they
have become resigned. Not reconciled, perhaps, but resigned.
So it is Johanna who at the end of the film makes an act of
protest.
Once the film was finished, the struggle to get it shown
began. The only solution, the only way to find a distributor,
Straub decided, was to send the film to a festival, the Berlin
Festival. But there it was rejected by the official selection com
mittee; then some of the members of the committee (Straub
mentions particularly Enno Patalas) had 'twinges of con
science'. And it seems that Patalas did like the film. For he
arranged for it to be shown hors festival. A poster was put out

43
with the words 'New Narrative Structures in the Cinema', and
below, in tiny letters, Nicht Versdhnt. Nobody quite knew what
it meant, I remember, but Patalas and his wife Frieda Grafe
spread the word around that this Sunday morning show was
not to be missed.
So on 4 July 1965 the small Atelier am Zoo cinema was
packed, and the world premiere of Not Reconciled took place. I
was there, and can testify to the unbelievably hostile reaction of
the audience. Of the four hundred people there, only a very few
seemed to like the film. The rest screamed and carried on,
making the reception of L'Avventura at Cannes seem Hke a
triumph by comparison. From the discussion afterwards, it
appeared that two things in particular bothered the audience:
the elliptical nature of the film, and the way the dialogue was
spoken. Straub maintains that there was also a third, unspoken
reason: the audience thought itself attacked by the 'message' of
the film.
First of all, the ellipses. The novel had been something of a
success and Straub followed it quite faithfully, with one major
exception. Fie moved forward the arrival of Schrella from its
place in the book, doubtless because of his interest in the
confrontation between the man who returns and those who
have remained. For although Boll mixed up the chronology,
there was a vast difference in the way he did it. The novelist
was careful to prepare the reader for the time-shifts; each
return to the past, each leap back to the present was ex
plained.
For example, the novel begins with Robert Fahmel making a
phone call. Boll immediately makes us aware that there is some
mystery surrounding him, and at the same time gives the novel
an initial push forward by having Robert scold his secretary
for having given out the information that he is to be found each
day from 9.30 till 11 in the billiard room of the Prinz Fleinrich
hotel. From this conversation we learn that he does architec
tural estimates for a living (he never builds anything), that his
mother is in a mental hospital, and finally that Robert is avail-

44
Robert Fahmel—billiards at half-past nine
able only to his mother, father, daughter, and one Mr Schrella.
We also learn of his son and of a host of business details. (A
real 'feather-dusting' phone call.) The first chapter also intro
duces Robert's father, and we are given hints as to the identity
of the man who is trying to find Robert. Here begins the first of
the book's flashbacks, but see how carefully, how cautiously,
the reader is helped over the hurdle;
Suddenly mist came into his eyes. A trapdoor slammed shut. The old man
was drifting back in time, sinking back into the first, the third, the sixth
decade of his life. He was burying one of his children again. Which one
could it be? Johanna? Heinrich? Over whose white coffin was he scattering
a handkerchief, strewing flowers. Were the tears in his eyes the tears of
1942, when he got the news of Otto's death? Was he weeping at the asylum
door behind which his wife had vanished? ...

In Chapter Two, Robert Fahmel is playing billiards with

Hugo, the bellboy. (Meanwhile, through the somewhat clumsy

45
device of the concierge's comments on the report of a private
detective agency, we are told still more about Robert's family:
how his mother was anti-Nazi, and was saved only by being
locked up in an institution; that the mysterious Schrella is
Robert's brother-in-law; that the person trying to contact
Robert is an old school friend, a former Nazi who is now an
important figure in the Department of Defence and Armament.)
Only in Chapter Three do we reach the starting-point of the
film: Robert, asked by Hugo for stories of his youth, obediently
starts to remember his schooldays, Vacano, Nettlinger, and
Schrella, and the battles between the Nazi sympathizers and the
opposition. By this time, we have smoothly arrived at page
36.
How does the film begin? First the credits, then:

Shot Three-, a man (Robert Fahmel, 40) and a bellboy: Robert says, 'Tell
what, boy?'
Shots Four, Five and Six: on the banks of the Rhine two teams are playing
rounders. Robert's voice, off, comments: 'Three times I had seen how they
threw the ball with all their strength in his face, at his legs, hit his loins.
Nettlinger had risked our chances of victory merely so that one of the
opponents would have the opportunity of hitting Schrella with the ball, and
Vacano, our own sports-master, whom those from the Prince Otto School
had accepted as referee, must have been in league with them.'
Shot Seven: a pan from right to left to a bridge, with two boys on it. The
commentary continues; 'Why, why did they do that to Schrella?' And the
dialogue begins. 1st Boy: 'Are you Jewish?' 2nd Boy: 'No.' More conversa
tion, another shot of the two going down the steps from the bridge, and we
are into Shot Nine, back at the hotel twenty-two years later: Robert asks the
bellboy for a cognac.

Now, on first seeing the film it is indeed impossible to know

exactly what is going on. One assumes the two boys are Robert
Fahmel and Schrella, and the question about being Jewish (and
perhaps just a hint in the boys' haircuts and clothes) leads us
provisionally to assume that this must be a flashback to the
30s. As in his adaptation of Machorka-Muff, Straub asks us to
suspend comprehension for a while. He presents us with certain

46
objectively stated bits of reality, and asks us to be patient until
we can fill in for ourselves the gaps between the shots. Further
more, as the whole point of the film is the cyclical nature of
Nazism, he only reinforces his theme by not letting us know
immediately and clearly in which year each shot is set. By
making the theme the very principle of the film's construction,
its form, he has achieved a kind of unity of form and content
that makes the film for me a masterpiece.
Just as one can murder a poem by paraphrasing it, one hesi
tates to unravel the chronology of Not Reconciled. Neverthe
less, for purposes of analysis, it is helpful to have the story told
in strict time order. Ideally, one should set out the order of
events in the novel as well, but the examples given of the first
three chapters will perhaps suffice, and the novel is readily
available in paperback {G.B. Calder and Boyars; U.S.
McGraw-Hill). In fairness to Boll, it should be said that it is
just possible that Straub got the idea for the construction of his
scenario from the great central chapter of the book - the long
monologue by Johanna. Precisely because she is supposed to be
a little mad. Boll spends less time 'justifying' the movements of
her thought back and forth from present to past; and this
chapter is the one which most resembles Straub's treatment in
its somewhat cryptic but extremely effective palimpsest of fifty
years of German life.

1910: HEiNRicH FAHMEL, a young architect, arrives at Cologne, deter

mined to make a name for himself. He establishes himself quickly by
winning a competition for the new Abbey of St Anthony, and soon becomes
a prominent figure. (Careful of his 'image', he ostentatiously takes a rather
peculiar breakfast of paprika-cheese every morning at the Cafe Kroner.) He
then courts j oh anna kilb, the daughter of one of the oldest families in
town, and marries her.

1914—1918; As a reserve officer, Fahmel is called up, but remains at home

building barracks, fortifications, and military hospitals. A daughter dies.
His wife enters upon the first stage of her 'madness': she tears up the
patriotic poem her son is obliged to learn at school. After the boy's death,

47

The bridge on the Rhine; Schrella and Robert Fahmel as schoolboys ^

.... * ^ ^ ^ f •
she causes a scandal at a party by calling the Kaiser a fool. A military
tribunal follows, but Heinrich gets her off by pleading the death of her two
children, and that of her two brothers, killed in action. Two more sons are
born to them: robert and otto.

1934: ROBERT FAHMEL and his schoolfriends schrella and

PROGULSKE are linked by their opposition to the Nazis. First Schrella,
then Robert, are beaten with barbed wire by their classmate nettlinger
and the Nazi sports-master vacano. Progulske, with the help of Robert
and Schrella, tries to kill Vacano, but fails; caught, he is executed, and
Schrella decides to escape to Holland. Robert and Schrella's sister edith
become intimate, but soon Robert also is obliged to flee to Amsterdam.
After a year, Robert's mother manages to persuade the authorities to
let Robert come home; the terms of the amnesty specify no political
activity and immediate entrance into the army once his exams are passed.
On his return Robert marries Edith, who has meanwhile borne his
son JOSEPH. Another child (ruth) is born to them. Schrella remains
abroad.

1939-1945: War comes, and Robert becomes a demolition expert. Mean

while, his brother Otto has become friendly with Nettlinger and Vacano,
and has gone over completely to the Nazis. After Otto's death at Kiev, and
Edith's on the home front, Johanna Fahmel again goes 'mad'. This time, the
only way to save her is by having her interned in a sanatorium as
'harmlessly insane'. Towards the end of the war, Robert blows up St
Anthony's, the building that had brought his father fame - 'a monument of
dust and rubble for those who had not been historical monuments' — as a
protest against the hypocrisy which preserved the Cathedral in Cologne
(and that of Metz,* one should add) from bombs while thousands were
killed.

the present: Robert Fahmel leads a very quiet life; his business is
architectural estimates, and he manages to work for only an hour a day. The
rest of his time is occupied in playing billiards, seeing his daughter Ruth,
walking, etc. Of his old class-mates and teachers, Vacano has now become
Chief of Police; Nettlinger is an important official in the Department of
Defence. Vacano is still 'incorrigibly' and unashamedly what he was in
1935, but Nettlinger has become a 'democrat'. Schrella, abroad since the
30s, has at last come back to Germany, only to be arrested at the frontier.
His name is still on the books as an accomplice in the attempted murder of

* Apparently for the sake of LaFayette, French hero of the American Revolution.

50
Vacano —by mistake, since the Statute of Limitations should have removed
it. Nettlinger gets him out of jail, and even gives him lunch.
The 'day' during which the film takes place is old Heinrich Fahmel's
80th birthday, and a party has been planned for the evening. Johanna will
come in from her sanatorium (she is free to come and go as she wills);
Robert's son Joseph and his fiancee marianne have also been invited, as
has Robert's daughter Ruth.
Robert had got his son Joseph a job on the reconstruction of St
Anthony's, but when Joseph discovers by chance that it was his own father
who had destroyed the building, he decides to give up architecture.
HUGO, the bellboy with whom Robert plays billiards every day, is an
orphan, a 'lost lamb' like Robert's dead wife Edith, who had actually
belonged to one of the strange sheep-sects that had arisen in the 30s, partly
as a reaction against the growing tide of Nazism. (We also see a present-day
meeting of a similar sect, but it has become almost a parody of its former
self.) Robert decides to adopt Hugo, to present his father with another
grandson, 'One with the dead Edith's eyes.' (Hugo is played by the same boy
who had played Progulske, Robert's martyred friend, and this suggests
another reason for the adoption.)
On the evening of the proposed party, a parade of War Veterans is
to be held. Johanna, appalled at what she sees as the same old horror
beginning again, decides that she, at least, will do something about it. She
reserves a room at the Hotel Prinz Heinrich with a balcony overlooking
the route of the parade, steals a revolver, and comes into town. She meets
her husband at the hotel, and on the balcony tells him what she is deter
mined to do. He does not dissuade her, but points out that instead of
killing old Vacano on his white horse — Vacano, the murderer of the
30s - or even Nettlinger, she might do better to shoot Minister M. who
is holding court on the adjacent balcony in an attempt to get the Veterans'
vote. He, explains Heinrich, is the killer-to-be of your grandson: shoot
him. And she does.
The birthday party takes place, but without Johanna. 'Don't be sad,'
Heinrich tells the others. She did the right thing and she can of course
plead insanity (Paragraph 51). In any case. Minister M. was not fatally
wounded, and Johanna will be coming back to us. But, he concludes, I
hope that that look of great wonder on M.'s face will never leave him
again.

If one compares this version of the story with the script of

the film on pages 124 to 171, one can immediately perceive
the difficulties the first BerUn audience (and others since)
had in simply following the plot. Unless one is willing to wait

51
(as one has to in, say, Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury),
unless one is willing to take each sequence, even each shot,
as it comes, and to store it up in one's own private Informa
tion Retrieval System, then the film is bound to puzzle, to
infuriate.
Many people have been enraged at what they thought to be
Straub's aesthetic sadism. While he has cut out all connecting
links, suppressed explanation and exposition, he has neverthe
less held on to shots after the characters have left the frame,
training the camera on the 'empty' screen. To many, this
seemed perverse: if he was trying to condense, to save time
and shots, then why prolong uselessly, they said, shots of
empty rooms?
We have seen earlier Straub's penchant for what may be
called 'empty rooms' - his fondness for bare walls, hotel rooms
which are almost Japanese in their simplicity - and we have
seen that this has personal and philosophical justifications, as
well as purely aesthetic ones. But in Not Reconciled, the
reason for such 'unnecessary' footage springs immediately
from his belief in the virtues of direct sound. In every case, the
scenes on which the camera lingers after the characters have
moved out of frame are ones in which they are still present,
even if invisible. When Heinrich Fahmel and his secretary
leave the office, for example, the camera holds on the empty
room until one hears the outside door slam. At other times, the
shot will begin on an empty room, but one can already hear the
characters preparing to enter - as in the shot when Johanna
leaves the sanatorium. As a result of using direct sound, Straub
was naturally tempted to hold the camera, because he could
'heaf the empty shot, and it was more 'realistic' to let the
audience 'hear' too.
But there was something else which reinforced this tempta
tion to share with the audience the aural presence of the charac
ters. An empty room can suggest - without symbolism - a
feeling of menace, a premonition of death. Occasionally Straub
used this menace of emptiness (which he finds endemic in

52
Germany) quite consciously, as in the deserted railway plat
form. For the rest, it was simply a question of the shooting
technique leading the way; of form, as it often will, determining
content. 'The rhyme gives the thought' (Mallarme).
I find it rather difficult to understand or explain the other
reasons why the film was a failure in Berlin. My German is
strictly of the high-school variety, so when people said that
Straub makes his characters talk 'funny' - i.e. unconvincingly -
it is difficult for me to refute the charge. Straub had let all the
characters speak with their own local (usually Rhineland)
accent - something which had rarely occurred before in that
land of post-synching, and I suppose this came as something of
a shock. Just as it would in America, say, if in a film about
Boston the characters talked as Bostonians really do, and not
like Faye Dunaway or Steve McQueen, much less Cliff Robert
son. But local accents were not the main stumbling-block, I
feel. Straub gets his characters to speak, not 'naturally', but
what might be called 'straight'. They are not told - or indeed
allowed - to put any expression into their dialogue, and its
rhythm and speed is determined more by musical considera
tions than by dramatic ones.
Although he had used only non-professionals in Machorka-
Muff, Straub had been tempted to use an actress for the all-
important role of Johanna in this film. His first idea was Helene
Weigel, Brecht's widow. But he soon discovered that she was
too young, and, more important, that her Viennese-Jewish
accent was ineradicable, and hence unsuitable for this
Rhineland story. After talking to her, he also realized that he
could only use a non-professional, however risky, because an
actress would be able to decide on her interpretation of the role
before shooting commenced, and to Straub that would have
been disastrous. So his choice fell upon an old lady who lived
in the same building as he and Daniele in Munich. She hadn't
read the book, and when Straub gave her lines to her before
shooting began, he gave her just that: she never knew to whom
she was supposed to be saying them, nor what they would

53
reply. It was only on the last day of shooting that she realized
that she was supposed to be a little mad.
This technique of acting - or non-acting - is familiar to
anyone who has ever seen the films of Bresson, but either that
audience had not or else they didn't mind what was done to
French dialogue as long as it wasn't done to German. Even
someone as intelligent as Alexander Kluge was upset by Not
Reconciled, complaining bitterly that Straub had treated lan
guage as if it were an object. And this of course is precisely
what Straub had intended. For him, cinema is an objective art,
and language must also be treated objectively. Dialogue may be
an important function of a film, but it is not a privileged one: it
must be melted into the musicality, the rhythm of the work, just
like any other element, not merely laid over the visuals explain
ing them.
I do not feel totally qualified, either, to pronounce on the
third reason for the film's rejection: the fact that the audience
felt itself under attack. But there must be something in it:
Straub cites a friend who, although sympathetic to the work,
didn't really understand the point of it until the end when he
saw the three politicians doing their electoral arithmetic with
the Veterans. Now, if someone well disposed towards the film
didn't get the point until then, Straub must be right in thinking
that there is a great hole in contemporary German conscious
ness, a hole which stretches from 1933 to 1945. And that is
why Straub called the film Not Reconciled, for those few who
have not 'come to terms with the past', i.e. who do not act as if
1933-45 never existed. 'You must find it strange,' Nettlinger
says to Schrella in the book, 'to be back in Germany again.
You mustn't recognize it.' 'I recognize it,' replies Schrella,
'more or less the way you recognize a woman you loved when
she was a girl, and see again twenty years later. Grown rather
fat. Glands working overtime. Obviously married to not only a
rich, but a hard-working man. Villa on the edge of town, a car,
rings on her fingers. Under such circumstances early love un
avoidably leads to irony.'

54
 *J_V ^ ;< K y X A
'•, • -V '

• ->: •< '.>r

K:yM

Nettlinger and Schrella order lunch

One could clinch Straub's argument with the reported words

of ex-Minister Franz-Josef Strauss, who is said to have de
clared recently that a people who had accomplished an
economic miracle of such magnitude as the Germans had the
right to insist on being left in peace about Belsen and
Auschwitz.
So far I have been chiefly occupied with defending Not
Reconciled against its attackers, but it is time for a more posi
tive approach. My reasons for liking the film go beyond any
fascination with its construction, even though this does play an
important part. Unlike the majority at Berlin, I felt sure that by
the end of the film, all the pieces, whether of plot or design,
would come together, and I found the resulting mosaic all the
more satisfying in that I, as spectator, had been obliged to help
put those pieces together. Viewing such a film is not a passive
activity; rather, it is a highly stimulating form of controlled
participation.

55
 Ultimately, of course, one's response depends on the degree
to which one is affected by the rhythm of the film. I am all the
more convinced that this is so from the difference in audience
reactions to Not Reconciled and to the Bach film. The latter,
where there are no plot or structure problems to distract the
viewer, was much more generally liked. But many of those who
liked it were incapable of saying just why. Although they
thought they 'ought' to have been bored, they weren't; the
reason for this, I suggest, is the rhythm of the film. The same
rhythmic genius was at work in Not Reconciled, but the pre
sence of the plot elements kept many from realizing it: they
were far too busy being confused to allow the film's rhythm to
act on them.
Actually, I prefer Not Reconciled to The Chronicle ofAnna
Magdalena Bach. True, it seldom achieves the visual splen
dours of the Bach film; but in its very simplicity - which
depends on each element, each frame, each actor being
somehow 'right' - it is an extremely beautiful film to look at.
One is tempted to say that either one sees it or one doesn't: a
high-handed approach, and one which usually is an admission
of defeat on the part of the critic. But the film has very little
obvious pictorial appeal. To be sure, the skill with which
Straub h^s shot certain sequences - the lunch of Nettlinger and
Schrella, with its alternation of angles and distance, the
dazzling variety of shots in Johanna's long monologue - can be
analysed. But it is difficult to say just why the shot of Johanna
against the fagade of Cologne Cathedral should be quite as
effective as it is, unless it be that it shows us visually just what
she is up against: the mass of architecture standing for the
weight of the past against which she is rebelling. Why is the
shot which shows us Ferdi Progulske's buxom blonde sister in
her lemonade stall so effective, unless it comes from the con
trast between her ample figure and that of the ascetic Schrella,
and then again with the tiny booth in which she sits, and then
again with our memory of what her martyred brother looked
like. Certainly the pictorial appeal of the film is more intellec-

56
Progulske's sister in her lemonade stall

tual than sensuous, but beauty need not always be skin-

deep.
Despite the baroque glories of The Chronicle of Anna
Magdalena Bach, Not Reconciled is a richer work because of
the greater complexity of the relations between the matter of
the film and its structure. Its rhythm is less immediately percep
tible, but it is at least as powerful as in the Bach film. Rhythm is
a physical force: it is ontologically linked to the very acts of
living, the pulse-beat, the intake of breath. That is why the
power of music is both abstract and physiological at the same
time. And just as one is not normally aware of the tempo of
one's pulse or breath rate, so the music, the rhythm of Not
Reconciled is below the surface - but it beats away none the
less.
Straub has organized the forty-nine minutes (excluding the
credits) of Not Reconciled into seven sections of nearly equal

57

Johanna: 'I want to shoot the fat man on the white horse . . •
 *(

m
I
Johanna at the sanatorium: 'You want to go out, madam?'

length. This monumental plan is enriched, however, by a vary

ing distribution of the number of shots per sequence, ranging
from ten to forty-two for a seven-minute sequence. Thus any
suggestion of rigidity is avoided. The dynamics of the film are
carefully worked out, too, the contrast between speed and slow
ness. Sequence One, for example, which goes up to the intro
duction of Nettlinger and Schrella, keeps moving thanks to its
rapid alternation of past and present. Apart from one or two
lateral pans, there is scarcely any camera movement.
Sequence Two (the Nettlinger/Schrella sequence) has far
fewer shots, but the necessary contrast is achieved by the long
tracking scene of Nettlinger's automobile passing through the
streets of Cologne. Sequence Three returns to the rapid alterna
tion of past and present: this time not with Robert, as in the
first sequence, but with his father and his reminiscences of the
past. This sequence actually contains the largest number of

60
 •* • "3 f

Old Heinrich Fahmel at the suburban railway station

shots because Straub inserts newsreel footage as a documen

tary backstop to Heinrich's memories of the Second World
War.
Sequence Four, the heart of the film, is made up of Johanna's
long monologue in which past and present fuse. This long
speech is filmed with relatively long takes, but the sequence is
cleverly varied by the introduction for the first time in the film
of a great degree of movement within the frame.
Sequence Five includes the scenes at the suburban railway
station, and features the counterpart to the long track in
Sequence Two. This time, instead of tracking forward from
the back seat of a car, the camera goes backwards along the
road, preceding Robert's son and his fiancee on the way to the
station.
Sequence Six contrasts a number of small camera move
ments with the most spectacular one in the film: the 180-degree

61
pan from the tram-stop to take in the suburb where Schrella
used to Hve, and coming to rest on him at the door of his old
house.
The final sequence takes place at the Prinz Heinrich hotel,
where it all began. Here movement is provided for the first
time in the film by dramatic action: Johanna's act brings Not
Reconciled to its climax.
Given Straub's penchant for treating each scene, each shot,
as an autonomous concrete whole, it is only this careful struc
ture that prevents fragmentation and aesthetic anarchy.
Straub's passionate belief in and fidelity to what he calls reality
has to be counterpointed by a rhythmic framework. 'Films,' he
has gone on record as saying, 'must be documentary - or at
least they must have their roots in documentary. Only when
each element of a film is true, correct, can one then rise above
documentary to aim at something higher.' And it is precisely
the structure of the film, the rhythm, which allows Straub to
rise above the level of autonomous documentary, just as it is
the documentary basis that gives substance to the musical con
struction.
But there is nothing systematic or aridly mathematical about
the way Straub works. True, he always has a fantastically
detailed shooting script worked out in advance - but he doesn't
really follow it: 'When I'm shooting, I never look at the script,
not even once. Each time I re-invent the shot, as it were. Later
if I find there is a shot which doesn't correspond to what I had
planned, this only proves that I was wrong. Wrong, because
something was too abstract to be able to work out in reality.
Naturally, the original rhythm of the shooting-script remains:
one knows where to cut.' This was confirmed by Daniele
Huillet: even though she works with Straub on the shooting-
script, she can never know in advance how the film will look.
The actual shooting is his business, and he decides what to do
on the spot.
Nor does Straub work out the editing of the film mathemati
cally, or at least not by any known system of mathematics. It is

62
done intuitively. And such a gloriously resounding musical
architecture could never be achieved by slide-rule or footage
counter. Rather it has to come from something more basic, just
as music, which originated in the systole and diastole, the
beating of the heart, is at once both the most primitive and the
most sophisticated of the arts.

63
4: Chronicle of
Anna Magdalena Bach

The point of departure for our Chronicle ofAnna Magdalena Bach was the
idea of a film in which music would be used - not as accompaniment, nor as
commentary - but as raw material. The only real point of reference was
the parallel to what Bresson did with a literary text in Diary of a Country
Priest... We also wanted to film a love story unlike any other: a woman
talking about her husband whom she loved unto his death. That's the story:
no biography can be made without an external viewpoint, and here it is the
consciousness of Anna Magdalena Bach.

After the relative lack of success of Not Reconciled, Straub was

hard put to find the money for the long-planned Bach film. In
fact, less than three days before the shooting began in 1967, he
and Daniele hadn't actually got the money in their hands.
Straub had insisted on using a Mitchell camera, and its cost,
plus that of the historical costumes, was chiefly what had
delayed the shooting of this German-Italian co-production.
The film was also to have been in colour, but with all their
other difficulties, they were forced to give way on this point at
the last minute. Finally, with a little extra help from Godard,
and some from the German government Kuratorium, they were
able to begin.
The fact that they were able to make the film at all was in
part due to the critical success of Not Reconciled abroad. It had
not won universal acclaim (far from it), but it did get the First
Prize at Bergamo and it had been shown at the New York and

64
London Festivals. In New York it had been taken for distribu
tion, and in London it had been highly praised by John Russell
Taylor in The Times, all of which was not without some effect
in Germany.
The script was written by Daniele Huillet and Straub, not by
Anna Magdalena Bach. The only lines ever to have been writ
ten by that lady which have come down to us are a few words
of dedication in the end-papers of a Bible. Even the two letters
after Bach's death asking the city of Leipzig for money were
not in her hand. In a sense, therefore, the whole Chronicle is
pure fiction, except that most of the text is made up of phrases
from Bach's letters, a letter from his cousin, and the necrology
written by one of his sons, in which one finds tales of Bach's
youth. All in all, there were about twenty sources for the text,
not counting those linking passages which Straub and Daniele
wrote themselves. So the film was constructed around the
music itself, the original manuscripts which we see throughout
the film, and the above-mentioned extant texts.
The most important element was the music. That determined
the length of the shots, the shape of the film, Straub tells us. On
the other hand, we must not interpret this too literally, for as he
chose the musical selections, he could have been influenced by
the other subjects of the film. For indeed, music is not its only
subject. It is, as Straub has said, a love story. It is also a
documentary on the actors and musicians of the film; it is also
a film with social and political aspects; and finally, to use a
phrase of Straub's, it is a film-film,* and it is in this last aspect
that it brings us back to the music of Bach. It is because the
film is all of these things at once that it is such a major
achievement of integration.
To take the romantic aspect first: the film begins with the
marriage of Anna Magdalena to the widower Bach. She does
not offer us many personal details about their life together: she
talks more about Bach's professional problems; their children;

* By which I take it he means a 'pure film'.

65
their various homes; their relationship to his cousin John Elias
Bach, who lived with them for several years and with whom her
relations were perhaps more intimate than familial; Bach's trip
to Berlin; his problems with his profligate son; and finally, his
blindness, the failure of the operation to cure him, and a few
days later, his death.
But although we are hardly told anything of her feelings
about her husband, by the end of the film one has gained an
impression of a deep and enduring love. Partly this is achieved
by the tenderness of her voice; but mostly, I believe, by the
juxtaposition of the music. Rather than have Anna Magdalena
display her feelings by expressionistic techniques of acting,
Straub has preferred here, as elsewhere, to let the music speak
for her. And by using the unfinished Contrapunctus from the
Art of the Fugue to accompany her words about his blindness
and approaching death, he has at once given an enriched mean
ing both to her words and to the music. This is an almost (for
Straub) melodramatic example of the juxtaposition of text and
music; generally the effects are more subtle. None the less, they
make their presence felt. Almost perversely, Straub hardly ever
shows us the two of them together; and only once does he allow
them a caress: but then it comes with all the greater force.
Similarly, Straub does not move his camera very much in the
Bach film, but when he does, he achieves with the shortest of
tracks the exhilaration which other directors can only get from
having a whole army cross the Super-Panavision Alps. Less
can really be more, when that less is exactly right, when it has
been achieved by a process of paring away to reach the glowing
heart of the subject.
On another level, the film is a documentary - almost cinema-
verite - about the musician Gustav Leonhardt (and the others,
of course). Like all the musicians, he actually recorded the
music in front of the camera - no post-synching - and almost
invariably each selection was filmed in a single take — no
splicing together of bits of many performances as in most
gramophone recordings. Actually, Leonhardt does not look at

66
all like most of the portraits of Bach, being quite thin whereas
Bach was stocky. Nevertheless, Straub did find a certain resem
blance between Leonhardt and a portrait of Bach at the age of
thirty - though later it turned out that the portrait was not
genuine.
Although all the actors wear wigs and historical costumes,
none of them was ever made-up, and although the film covers
many years in Bach's life, no attempt was made directly to
indicate any ageing. And yet Bach does seem to grow older
during the course of the film, as does Anna Magdalena. No
portraits of her have come down to us at all; however, Straub
was so convinced that a German singer he saw in Paris (who
has since married a chapel master from Darmstadt!) was
exactly right for the part that the film is also in a way built
around her; she even dubbed herself for the French version of
the commentary. Straub, like Renoir before him, believes that
since every film is in a sense a documentary, script and shoot
ing must be adapted to the actors, and not the other way round.
La Regie du Jeu would not be what it is had Renoir not
discovered, during the course of shooting, certain (shall we
say?) deficiencies in acting power on the part of Nora Gregor,
the heroine of the film. Straub also feels that every film is as
much a documentary on the actors in it as it is about the
characters the actors are standing for. This may be an extreme
statement of this view, but a director like Godard would not
deny its relevance; one has only to compare the Karina films
with the Wiazemsky films to see this.
The film is a documentary in still another sense. Unlike most
films which include classical music, Straub has not sought any
generalized acoustic balance: he has placed the microphone
where the camera is, thus creating a concrete sensation of the
music as it is being performed. Straub feels that this kind of
directional recording, as well as being more honest, also serves
"the purpose of bringing the audience into a closer participation in
the act of music-making, which is one of the subjects of the film.
Unlike Straub's earlier films, this one contains little overt

67

Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach: 'A love story' ^

 •

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Gustav Leonhardt as Bach: 'every film is a documentary on its actors . .

political comment; none the less it is clear that it has a certain

social relevance. There is an autobiographical element in the
view of Bach as a victim of his society (as there is in the
portrait of Bach's marriage). Much of Anna Magdalena's com
mentary refers to the terrible material problems with which
Bach was beset. After having been a chapel master, he was
obliged to take the lesser position of cantor, which meant that
he had to supervise the organists, the town-pipers, the violin
ists. He had to work with the choir-boys, to provide concerted
music for the services almost every Sunday of the year, as well as
special holidays. He had trouble with the Aulic Councils, who
complained that he was not doing all he was being paid for. He
always had money problems, given his very large family, and
was constantly obliged to, seek royal patronage in order to
make ends meet. Other men were preferred over him, and he
had to suffer many professional insults.

70
 And yet his is the story of a 'free man', one of the last
figures in the history of German culture, Straub feels, in whom
there was no divorce between the artist and the intellectual, not
the slightest separation between art and life, no conflict between
'sacred' and 'profane' music. He was, of course, forced to
struggle against the violence done him by the society in which
he lived. Like most people, Straub thinks, he was lazy, and only
when the situation threatened to become too much for him was
he obliged to react against society; thus the film can be seen as
a dialectic between resigned patience and violence, a dialectic
of which one finds traces both in the words of a cantata like
Number 4 ('Christ lag in Todesbanden') and in the music itself.
When Godard complained that the Bach film did not have
enough relevance to contemporary problems, Straub went so
far as to declare that the film was his contribution to the fight
of the North Vietnamese against the Americans. By which he
probably meant only that Bach was a man who reacted against
his own inertia, a man who understood that, like the Revolu
tion, God's grace has to be refashioned each day. He was not
a Marxist ('at least not as far as I know') Straub said; but
went on to maintain that the Bach film was a Marxist film,
'in so far as I have respected the mentality of my characters, the
mentality of the period in which they lived. Even a film about
the past which is lucid can help people of the present to achieve
that necessary lucidity.'
When questioned further, Straub admitted that he thinks it is
not possible for him to make films about the immediate present;
he could not, for example, make a film about the events of May
1968, not for a while. 'Godard can do it,' he added disarm-
ingly, 'but I can't think fast enough!' But the Bach film, he said,
might help the Germans to get rid of their schizophrenic atti
tude towards the past. They are cut off, not only from the Nazi
period, but also from their more distant past, and until they are
able lucidly to accept both the good and the bad in their
history, they will never achieve any sense of wholeness, of
health.

71
 So The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach is at once a
love story, a documentary, a socio-political statement, and a
film of the music of Bach. But besides being all these, it is also a
film which has its roots, Straub tells us, in an unexpected
source: D.W. Griffith. By chance, he happened to see four
films by Griffith just before the shooting of the film began, and
he suddenly remembered a phrase of Griffith's: 'What the
modern movie lacks is beauty, the beauty of the wind moving
in the trees.' The subtitle of Bresson's Un Condamne a Mort
was The Wind Bloweth where it Listeth, and for Straub the
Bach film is successful only in so far as one can feel the breath
of life blowing through the wigs, the costumes, the historical
atmosphere. To emphasize this, he has punctuated the film with
several shots of trees, of clouds moving through the skies. But,
most important of all, the wind blows through the music of
Bach, and, with it, Straub has been able to breathe life into the
film. Therefore we must try to see how he has transmuted the
music of Bach, how he has filmed it, for it is only in this way
that we can see, paradoxically perhaps, how the film has suc
ceeded in moving spectators who are not interested in Bach's
music. To do this, we must investigate the way in which he has
constructed the film, for as we have seen, it is the dialectic
between his documentary ra^ material and the complex way in
which he organizes and structures this material that makes his
films so extraordinarily moving, almost independently of their
primary subject-matter.

In many ways. The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach is in

complete contrast to Not Reconciled. There, Straub had ab
stracted Boll's novel into an unchronological series of brief
Brechtian/Bressonian tableaux, a carefully constructed chain of
bafflingly elliptical moments. The Bach film works the other
way round: Straub has started with the tableaux in the first
place. In a sense the construction of the film, whether con
sciously or not, is very much like that of Bach's own St
Matthew Passion. The story-line, so to speak, of that work is

72
almost entirely restricted to the recitative of the Evangelist. But
for the most part, it is the arias and the choruses, the set-pieces,
which really provide the drama. Simply and straightforwardly.
Bach gives us the information in the recitatives in order to clear
the decks for the expression of the emotional significance, both
of what we have been told and of what we have not.
In Straub's film, the role of the narrator is taken by Anna
Magdalena, and the film covers the years of Bach's life from
their marriage in 1721 to his death in 1748. Throughout, the
performances of the music are linked by Anna Magdalena's
calm, non-dramatic narration. Occasionally we also hear the
words of Bach himself, but only - and this is significant
of Straub's emotional restraint —discussing material matters.
The film begins in the music-room of the Prince of Anhalt-
Cothen. Bach is seated at the harpsichord playing what a title
tells us is bars 147 to 154 of the Allegro of the 5th
Brandenburg Concerto. As he turns the page, the camera pulls
back to show the orchestra, and the piece begins to draw to a
close. The second shot is very brief indeed (one second), and it
shows Anna Magdalena seated in profile by a window; over it
we hear the last chord of the Allegro, and we hear her saying:
'He was ...' Shot Three is a close-up of young Wilhelm
Friedemann Bach sitting before a clavichord playing a fugue
from the Clavier Book his father had written for him. During
this shot, Anna Magdalena takes up her first speech: '[He was]
a chapel master, director of the chamber music at the court of
Anhalt-Cothen. My father was a trumpeter at the court. . . His
wife had died a year before; and from their marriage three sons
and a daughter survived ... For Friedemann his father had
started a little Clavier Book.' As she speaks, the camera, tilted
up slightly, moves in diagonally over the boy's shoulder to
show more clearly the sheet music which he is following.
These three shots, even summarily described, show Straub's
method. In this opening section, music and text hang together
closely, in an almost illustrative manner. At first glance, it
seems as if Straub has been content simply to let the music

73

Griffith's True Heart Susie; the wind bloweth where it listeth •

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The first three shots of Chronicle ofAnna Magdalena Bach

76
speak for itself. He makes no overt attempt to express the
music; rather he lets it express itself. But just as his cantata-like
form achieves drama without plot, so he has managed to find a
way of filming music without 'copying' it, and of achieving
action with a minimum of movement. The film seems to have
been shot in an extremely simple manner - and indeed, any
attempt to compete with Bach's architectonics would be
doomed to failure. Instead, Straub has intensified the dynamics
of the music by positively limiting the visual effects, and this
contrast throws into brilliant perspective the complexity of the
music.
However, the apparent simplicity of the style must not mis
lead us. Each of his 32 scenes, each of his 113 shots, is cun
ningly composed, making the most of small changes of angle
and slight movements of the camera. Many of the sequences
find an imaginative equivalent to the baroque quality of the
music by employing certain of the principles of baroque paint
ing, notably what one might call the oppressive diagonal. We
have already seen in Not Reconciled that Straub favours the
diagonally viewed shot. But here many of the sequences make a
much more systematic use of the baroque principle of 'dis
solving the logic of the plane and giving to space a troubled
directional energy, a compulsive and oblique drive,' through
the employment of diagonals.*
Take the sequence I have just partially described. The first
shot runs for nearly three and a half minutes. The camera and
the actors are so placed that the shot is dominated by its
diagonal direction, intensified by the diagonal position of the
harpsichord at which Bach is sitting. His back is to us, which
again only increases the diagonal pull of the shot because it
inevitably leads our eye past his back into the frame. When the
camera pulls away from him, we see the whole group arranged
like an arrow-head round the central stem formed - from near
left to far right - by Bach and his instrument. (Note also that

* Wylie Sjfpher: Four Stages ofRenaissance Style.

77
Straub justifies pulling back the camera by beginning when the
soloist's cadenza is drawing to a close.) One should also draw
attention to the ghostly effect created quite casually by the
octave couplers. While Bach is playing on the lower manual
of the harpsichord, the keys on the upper manual are moving
concordantly as if moved by some supernatural force. Of
course this only means that he is using the pedal which does
indeed couple the two rows of keys. But the effect is still very
strange.
The second shot lasts only for one second. In it we see Anna
Magdalena herself for the first time. Again the view is diagonal,
but whereas in the first shot all the lines of force were going
from near left to far right, here they recede from near right to
far left. Instead of the camera being placed slightly below the
actors, as in Shot One, it is placed slightly above them. But the
eye is still drawn into the corner of the room, just as it v/as in
the first shot, although from a different angle. There is of
course no camera movement in this shot; instead movement is
provided, in a sense, by the ending of the music and the begin
ning of the commentary.
The third shot is a diagonal, and again, as in the first shot,
the camera is placed low. Once again, it moves about halfway
through this one-and-a-half-minute shot; but now, instead of
moving out, it goes in over the boy's shoulder on to the piece of
music he is playing.
This process of contrast and counterpoint dominates the
film. And for once the word counterpoint is not metaphorical.
Given the contrapuntal nature of Bach's music, what more
natural than for Straub to have found, not an illustration, but
an equivalent to it? Throughout the film he plays with binary
symmetry, left-right polarity, and the changing direction of his
diagonals both in the camera set-ups and in the camera move
ments. In fact, one could comfortably claim that there is never
an eye-level, straight-on shot in the film: the camera is always
a little above or below the actors, either to the left or right.
There is even an extraordinary pair of shots, one in the first

78
third of the film and another symmetrically in the last third,
which are almost mirror-images one to the other; as in a
mirror-fugue, a popular musical device of Bach's day where
every note is reversed, the angle and placing of the actors is
completely reversed.
All these diagonal dramatics are of course there to compen
sate in a sense for the very bareness of the film. We are never
allowed to see anyone except the actors and the musicians -
there is never an audience, never any applause or reactions to
the music, no bystanders. As in Straub's earlier films, each shot
is relatively bare. To be sure, there is the baroque architecture
and decoration of the churches, but this is shot in such a way as
to take from it almost all its spectacular qualities; doubtless so
as not to interfere with the music. Then, too, we hardly ever see
the whole of any room or church; always a corner, with the
musicians pushed almost oppressively into the extremities of
the rooms, or else flattened out in a line against the organ. But
from this very oppressiveness comes an intensity which both
mirrors and is mirrored by the music; its driving power is
never deflected by letting us, the camera, or the actors roam
around in space. Except, that is, for the three breathing-
spaces of the film: the two seascapes and the shot of the sky,
and those rare moments when, Vermeer-like, Anna Magdalena
is allowed to approach a window, and the final shot of Bach just
before his death, against an open window which looks out on to
a tree.
The organization of the shots in the film is also extremely
complex: Straub has carefully respected the units of the nine
to ten minute reels, and the film is divided almost equally into
ten parts. But as well as the division into reels, there is another
structure, which is marked by the sea and sky shots. These
divide the film into four parts: reels one to four; five and six;
seven and eight; nine and ten. This division is not symmetrical,
since Part One lasts much longer than the others; rather than
being a simple kind of timing device, it corresponds to the
dramatic structure of the film.

79

Diagonals; dissolving the logic of the plane •

1
 Still more complicated is the distribution of the shots and
their lengths. The briefest, as we have seen, lasts for one
second; the longest runs to seven and a half minutes. Of the
113 shots in the film, 47 run for less than 10 seconds; 26 from
10 to 15 seconds; and 50 last longer than 15 seconds. Thus 80
per cent of the playing time is accounted for by 20 per cent of
the number of shots, and vice versa. Before making the film,
Straub had planned to have the shots become briefer and
briefer as Bach approached death, so as to give an impression
of that acceleration of time when a man knows his days are
numbered. And all through the film he has carefully alternated,
measured. We have seen that he does not sit down with a slide-
rule to work out these proportions in a quest for some kind of
Golden Mean. Nevertheless, the intuitively mathematical basis
of his films provides the kind of rhythmic foundation without
which they could hardly hold together. His mathematics
always allow a margin for error, space for the untidy breath of
life.
The structure of the film is indeed dauntingly rich: consider,
for example, the distribution of the pieces of music. We know
that Straub chose one from each of the various genres that
Bach worked in - an organ piece, a minuet, a harpsichord
work, etc. - and that he also chose music from each of the
periods of Bach's life. But then again the music was also chosen
to correspond in some way to the narration, the visuals. The
words of the sung works, the cantatas, the Passion, all have
their own special place in the scheme of the film. Most of the
cantatas he selected, for example, serve as intimations of
mortality: 'The Funeral Ode', the opening chorus of the St
Matthew Passion, the 42nd Cantata, the Ascension Oratorio,
Cantata 140, etc.; these choral works weave their own
premonitory thread throughout the film.
Naturally this structure, this complex architecture of time
and space, only has validity in so far as it acts emotionally on
the viewer. Mathematics are generally considered to be un
emotional, sterile, and yet numbers are at the very root of all

82

One of those rare moments . ..

poetry, and of all music. So in fact there is only a seeming
contradiction between the emotional appeal of the film and its
mathematical structure, as Robert Browning so well under
stood:

. . . What? that burst of pillared cloud by day

And pillared fire by night, was product, must we say,
Of modulating just, by enharmonic change, -
The augmented sixth resolved, —from out the straighter range
Of D sharp minor, - leap of disimprisoned thrall, -
Into thy light and life, D major natural
{Fifine at the Fair, 639-44)

Music, like mathematics, transcends the level of articulated

language. And so Straub has, by returning to the very source of
Bach's music - number - succeeded in his attempt to make a
film not about the music of Bach, but of that music.
Paradoxically, he has been helped by the other elements of
the film - the love story, the social aspects, the documentary,
all of which allow him to go full circle round Bach and his
music. The creator of The Musical Offering was not a com
puter, but a man, and as such, subject to the problems and joys
of men. In this sense one could agree with Straub that he has
made a Marxist film; for his Bach, however supreme as an
artist, is no Olympian figure out of space and out of time. A
film of Bach's music could only be made by re-creating that set
of conditions in which it originated. And yet, just as Straub is
no dry mathematician, so his is not a crudely deterministic
analysis. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and that sense of
Grace is present throughout the film, raising it beyond all
mathematics to that mystical point where discord is resolved in
a vision of sublime harmony.

86

'. . . whom she loved unto his death'

5: The Bridegroom, the Actress,
and the Pimp

Machorka-Muff had been a Vampire film; Not Reconciled or Only Violence

Serves where Violence Reigns a mystic film; The Chronicle of Anna
Magdalena Bach was a Marxist film; The Bridegroom, the Actress, and the
Pimp is a film-film, which is not something to be sneezed at. It is also the
most aleatory of my films and the most political since (1) it is a little like the
Final Judgement of Mao or of the Third World on our world; (2) it was
born out of the impossible May revolution in Paris - all the final scenes and
the music at beginning and end refer to it; and (3) it is based on a news-item
(there is nothing more political than a news-item) about the romance be
tween an ex-prostitute and a Negro seen in relation to a text extracted from
a play by Ferdinand Bruckner.

The Bach film was something of a triumph. Premiered at the

Utrecht festival, it went on to the Critics Week at Cannes, and
then to Berlin, where this time it was shown in competition in
the main hall. It won no prizes, but it was generally quite well
received. From there it went to Venice, and the New York and
London Festivals. It was bought in America almost immedi
ately; some months later it was shown commercially in Paris
with a reasonable degree of success. Finally, in 1970 it was
shown commercially in London. Until the Bach film, Straub's
reputation had largely been underground. Although he did not
succeed in getting the Bach film shown in normal distribution
and had to fall back on the art-house circuit, nevertheless, he
had, as it were, arrived. So instead of the usual two-year gap

87
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The Bridegroom, the Actress, and the Pimp: the exile's cri de coeur

between films, he was able to bring out his next work, a short,
less than a year after the premiere of the Bach film.
But the story of the making of The Bridegroom, the Actress,
and the Pimp goes back to the anxious days just before the
shooting of the Bach film. Unlike any of his previous films, it
had an almost fortuitous genesis. The others had long been in
the project stage, whereas this film, the most aleatory of his
works, in appearance at least, came into being by what can only
be described as an aleatory route.
 A group of Munich theatre people approached Straub just
before the Bach film was about to be made; they were opening a
new theatre and wanted him to produce a play for them. He had
no previous experience in the theatre, but had long wanted to
direct a play. In France, he had had the idea of doing a play by
Corneille; now he proposed Brecht's Die Massnahme. But the
rights were refused by Brecht's widow; the troupe counter-
proposed a play by the Austrian dramatist Ferdinand
Bruckner, to which they already possessed the rights. The play,
Krankheit der Jugend {Sickness of Youth) had been something
of a cause celebre in Vienna in the years between the wars, for
it dealt frankly (for the period) with the problem of wayward
youth.
Straub read the play, didn't like it much, and suggested that
they get someone else to direct it. Subsequently, he began to get
more interested in it, and went through cutting out what he
thought to be dead wood. By the end of the process, the play
had been reduced from a couple of hours to ten minutes!
(Compare Beckett, whose most recent 'plays' have apparently
been cut down by himself so that many of them last even less
than ten minutes, so drastically has he pared to reach the
essential dramatic nucleus.) Eventually this ten-minute version
was staged by Straub. It ran for three weeks, along with
another play, and then the theatre was closed down for debt.
Before this happened, however, Straub had managed to film the
production, and The Bridegroom, the Actress, and the Pimp
was built around this centre.
The resulting assemblage, however, contained many ele
ments that had been in Straub's mind for several years. One
night, he and Dani^e, walking home from the cinema, had
discovered Munich's notorious Landsbergerstrasse, a street on
the outskirts frequented by prostitutes and their customers. At
that moment, he had thought of making a film about a man who
sends his wife out on to the street every night, but then he heard
that Godard was about to make a film along somewhat similar
lines (presumably Deux ou Trois Choses que je sais d'elle) and

89
he abandoned the idea. Then came the Bach film, and the
theatre venture. During the time he was working on the play,
Straub had no thought of a possible film version, but suddenly
things began to fall into place. He sensed a possible connection
between the Landsbergerstrasse idea, and the Bruckner 'digest';
at the same time he and Daniele discovered in the overseas
department of the Munich Post Office the graffiti with which
the film was to begin. Some girl (presumably the daughter, but
maybe the wife of an American soldier stationed in Bavaria)
had written; 'Stupid / old Germany / I hate it over here / I
hope I can go soon / Patricia.' And the film slowly began to
take shape in Straub's mind. To the Bruckner, he added another
'text' - three poems of St John of the Cross, translated by
himself in a literal, almost ungrammatical, version, but one
which respected the mode of thought of a sixteenth-century
author. Because the text of the play had become, in his digest,
very anti-theatrical, he felt the need to compensate with these
very literary texts by the author of the Dark Night of the Soul.
Described in this way, the film sounds terribly artificial,
voulw, in fact it is Straub's most lyrical, most moving work.
On the one hand, the film is not 'about' anything; like much
contemporary art, it is really about itself, its materials and
processes. But on the other, there is an emotional unity to the
film, and, when all is said and done, a plot: not in the conven
tional sense perhaps, but there is a line going from each of the
elements of the film to all the others, so that this thread of
Ariadne finally succeeds in tying up the work, holding it to
gether, and by its constriction, its compression, gives the film a
mysteriousness more profound than in any of Straub's other
works.
The film runs for a little more than twenty-three minutes,
and consists of only twelve shots. It begins with the graffiti
about 'stupid old Germany', and then goes into the second shot,
a long track (over four minutes) along the street with the
prostitutes. Shot Three runs for ten minutes: it is, punctuated
by two passages of black, the three acts of Straub's ten-minute

90
version of the play, filmed without any movement from a fixed
position diagonal to the stage, and with a strangely hollow
acoustic. The one set vaguely and sparsely represents a
Viennese boarding-house, and the plot, or what's left of it, deals
with the emotional dramas of a lost generation. Desiree is a
dilettante countess whose chief concern seems to be passing her
exams (why can't we remain children for ever? she wails).
Marie seems to be emotionally involved with her, but is also
attached to an ineffectual young writer for whom she buys a
rococo desk in the hope that it will inspire him to write more
beautiful works. Freder is a rather louche young man attracted
by Desiree; he supplies her with the veronal with which she
eventually commits suicide. He has also proposed himself as
pimp to the servant girl, Lucy. But after Desiree's suicide,
Marie turns to Freder for comfort. He suggests that they
marry. He doesn't much care for work; he will drop Lucy
altogether, if only Marie will agree to go to work for him -
presumably on the streets.
Straub has so condensed the play that little is left save
behavioural patterns, little nodes of action, dramatic constella
tions. The story-line, as given above, is almost impossible to
work out from a single viewing of the film. Nor can one work
out the quotation from Mao which is painted on the back wall
of the set, half covered by the door ('if the super-reactionaries
of the world . . . / Even today, tomorrow, and the day after
. .. / Still inflexible .. . / But not strong ... / Dog shit. . .')
From the play sequence we move into Shot Four, a brief
scene in the hall of an apartment house. Lilith, a beautiful
blonde, tells her American Negro boy friend to be careful.
'OK, Baby,' he answers, and disappears into the elevator. He
leaves the building, gets into his car, but we see that another
man is following him. The chase speeds up, and James leaves
the car and runs. By the banks of the Isar, he takes to the high
ground, still pursued. Shot Eight ends with him seemingly
unable to get over the hill; his pursuer grabs hold of him, but
James manages to kick free.

91
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92
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93
James to Lilith: 'OK, Baby'
Now, all this time the viewer has no idea who these three
people are; but a clue has been given, and doubtless received,
from the stage play. James does not appear in it, but his accent
and colour make him easily identifiable. The blonde Lilith does
- she is played by the same girl as Marie —and so does James'
pursuer Willi, who is played by the same actor as Freder. So
the inference is that the blonde Lilith is a prostitute, and is
trying to escape this life by marrying James, presumably an
American soldier. And that her pimp is not too happy about
the situation.
Shot Nine is the wedding ceremony, which runs for almost
three minutes. After their marriage, James takes Lilith to a
bungalow in the suburbs, only to find Willi waiting for them:
'It's not that easy to escape from our family. Now I'm taking
you back to Munich; the police are already on the lookout for
your chivalrous friend, and he won't find it as easy to get away
from them as he did from me.' Thereupon Lilith moves towards

94
 w

James and Willi; the chase begins

Willi, takes the gun from his hand and shoots him. The scene
ends as it began with a wedding canticle of St John of the
Cross: Lilith moves over to the window, and the camera moves
in towards her, past her, and finally comes to rest on the
branches of a tree. At this point the Bach chorale ('Oh when
will that Day come?') which we had already heard in the
Landsbergerstrasse scene starts up again, and the film ends on
the leaves stirring gently in a fine rain against the sky.
Thus the Bruckner play-sequence indirectly helped us to
understand the relationships and identities of the 'real-life'
characters (even though it preceded the development of the
film). It is also in violent contrast to the here-and-now scenes,
not only visually, but in the intensity and nature of the senti
ments expressed. Straub has said the relationship between the
play and the film is purely aleatory, that it served merely as a
catalyst. I cannot agree. Were the Bruckner text merely a kind

95
of now inert catalyst, or simply an attempt to contrast the
'decadent' behaviour of this Viennese pension and its degener
ate inmates with the 'real-life story', the total effect of the film
could not be so moving, or ultimately, so exalting. The function
of the play is more important.
An examination of the structure of the film will perhaps lead
us to a truer understanding of the significance of the Bruckner.
In many ways, this film is the most elaborate, the most complex
of all Straub's mises en scene. Consider, for example, the long
tracking shot on the Landsbergerstrasse which comes almost at
the beginning of the film. The street is seen from a moving car,
and both it and the pavement are at an angle of about 40
degrees diagonally from near right to far left. The shot is
continuous throughout its four and a half minutes, but it is
excitingly irregular: after a moment, the car moves in closer
to the pavement to catch the prostitutes scattered at intervals
on the dark street. Then we pass one car, then another; we slow
down, and then pass two more cars. Just when we have
assumed this is to be the pattern, Straub breaks the rhythm
with an astonishing effect of surprise by having another car
creep up from behind and overtake our car. A few seconds later
the Bach chorale begins, and we pass an illuminated shop
window. Moving along, we see the reflections of the headlights
of the cars coming and going on the palings of a fence, we leave
behind a Wrigley's gum sign, and then just as the music is
about to end, we arrive at a triumphantly lit gas station, a
strangely exalting outpost of light amid the encircling gloom.
The whole sequence-shot, an illustration of the Dark Night
of the Soul, is succeeded by the filmed play. Here there is no
camera movement throughout its ten and a half minutes, but of
course there is a great deal of movement in the frame, with the
actors opening and shutting doors like so many characters in a
Feydeau farce.
The next five shots are all quite brief, none longer than
twenty seconds, and they are - for Straub, at least - action-
packed, as we have seen: car chases, scramblings in the under-

96
brush, etc. The next sequence-shot is the wedding ceremony
which is done in one two-and-a-half-minute take: Straub has
placed his actors (the bridal couple, the priest, and his server)
in a diagonal line so that the whole scene can be taken in at a
glance.
The last three scenes introduce movement again. The one
immediately following the wedding begins with the camera
trained across a vast field on an approaching automobile. It
slowly pans round to the left, ending up nearly 180 degrees
from its starting-point when the car arrives at the house. Shot
Eleven also pans as James opens the car door for Lilith. Before
entering the house each recites in turn fragments from St John
of the Cross (Tf from my lowly state, the flames of love were
strong enough to absorb death .. .'). The last scene is inside the
house: a pan to reveal the pimp, then we track in as Lilith
kills him, continue to her at the window and then go out on
to the rain falling softly on the stirring leaves.
The contrast of differing lengths of shot, of shooting
methods (track, still, pan), the contrast between the official text
of the wedding ceremony, the real-life dialogue, the meta
physical poetry of St John, and finally the Bruckner text, make
for a fairly elaborate structure; and the Bruckner is the linch
pin of the whole edifice. For the very rigidity of the play, as cut
by Straub, and the sense of unreality compounded by the rather
stiff style of the actors, serves, I think, the vitally important
function of throwing into relief Straub's own very different
views, not only of life, but of art. The play is really a comment
on the kind of film that Straub does not want to make, the kind
of seemingly profound, overtly dramatic film that he has re
jected in favour of his own kind of drama - the kind that comes
first of all from his documentary approach to the cinema, and
then from his methods both of abstraction and concrete con
struction. In this film, which as we have seen is an edifice of con
trasts of styles, techniques, and textures, the Bruckner text
plays the supreme role of anti-body, the unexpressed other pole
of Straub's dialectic.

97
The vengeance of Lilith

98
 So once more we see how Straub makes the viewer a party to
the process of creation. He has preserved the Bruckner text so
that we can, as it were, follow the same path he did; a not
dissimilar procedure from the one in Not Reconciled where he
obliged us to suspend final understanding. There we follow him
on the creative leap in the dark. Here the starting-point of the
artistic trajectory remains, tucked away inside the film, so that
we may share as totally as possible not only in the work of art,
but also in the excitement of its creation. This is a very non-
aristocratic, non-authoritarian view of the roles of artist and
spectator, and one which is, I should say, relevant to Straub's
social and political views. So perhaps, after all, this is his most
political film, although in a different sense from the one enun
ciated by Straub.
Earlier I remarked that this film is Straub's most mysterious
work, in that the emotional charge it gives off would seem to be

99
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f :> /'
*1
in excess, as it were, of the facts, of the 'plot'. In this, of course,
it is very similar to one of Straub's favourite films, Les Dames
du Bois de Boulogne. The characters and plot of both films are,
taken at face value, trivial. And yet both films are ultimately
mystical in effect, if not in content. Both are an expression of
the triumph of love. Both are films about redemption, achieving
their climax after the wedding ceremony, as if to show that true
union can only be achieved through sacrifice (Agnes gives up
Jean; Lilith kills Willi).
Both films found their origin in pre-existing texts, and both
directors, rather than scrap the originals, have preserved them.
And still more curious, just as Straub rewrote (by cutting) the
original, so Bresson did something analogous: he got Cocteau
to write the dialogue. One could conclude that for artists as
sophisticated as Bresson and Straub, the only way to, tackle
themes as 'simple' as the triumph of love is through a complex
system of filters, of screens. And yet, in spite of the elaborate
artifice of both films (or perhaps because of it?), the final effect
is one of staggering simplicity. The final scene of Les Dames
('Reste' —'Je reste') with its glow of light is not all that dissi
milar to the last scene of The Bridegroom, The Actress, and the
Pimp, with Lilith's face transfigured by the strange light from
her window. Straub once said that the only truly mystical film
was Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne. If by mystical he meant a
film that achieves that exalted plane on which form becomes
content, where the ethical and the aesthetic merge, and where
the light from an open window brings to the human face an
illumination that goes beyond all understanding, then there is
now another such film: The Bridegroom, the Actress, and the
Pimp.*

* Subsequently titled The Bridegroom, the Comedienne, and the Pimp in Britain
and the U.S.

102

Apotheosis
6: Othon

Straub's interest in Corneille goes back to his Paris days. It was

sparked off by seeing a student production at the Sorbonne of
one of Corneille's funniest plays, Don Sanche d'Aragon. So
impressed was he by its sparkling wit - and by its egalitarian
sympathies - that he has ever since been extremely attached to
the works of Corneille. He maintains not only that Corneille is
stylistically more powerful than Brecht, but that, given his
time, he was also more subversive: e.g. in Othon, 'Although we
owe everything to the supreme power, Madame, we owe
something to ourselves, especially when we see dangerous
orders being given by our rulers.'
A year or so before he left Paris, Straub wanted to direct a
stage production of Corneille's last play, Surena. Then came
the departure for Germany, the plans for the Bach film, the
shooting of Machorka-Mujf and Not Reconciled. One day, he
opened a French newspaper to discover that Antoine
Bourseiller had announced a production of Surena, so the idea
was abandoned. Then, in 1962, Straub and Daniele came to
Rome on holiday, and by chance made their way up on to the
Palatine Hill. There, on its southernmost extremity, they dis
covered the terrace overlooking the site of the Circus
Maximus, a kind of aerial platform with the remains of a
colossal ensemble of buildings, and a view across the valley

103
towards the Aventine. At that moment, he suddenly had the
desire to make a film there - but what film it would be, he
didn't yet know.
Six years later, about to leave Munich for Rome, the idea of
Othon suddenly came to Straub. After the Bach, he felt the need
of a text, a language which would be of as tight a texture as the
music of Bach; and on the level of the spoken word, Corneille did
the same thing that Bach did in music. The play he chose is one
of Corneille's least known, but the author himself thought very
highly of it: 'Unless my friends deceive me, this play is equal to
or better than all of my plays,' he wrote in the preface to the pub
lished text. For more than two centuries, however, this opinion
was not widely shared; though recently there has been a revival
of interest in Othon, as in many of the later plays of Corneille.
What put most people off the play was its incredibly com
plex plot. Almost entirely drawn from Tacitus (the character of
Camille is the one significant interpolation), it concerns the
struggle for the throne at the end of the reign of the Emperor
Galba. As the play begins, the ageing Emperor Galba is
hesitating between Othon and Pison for his chosen successor.
Of his three chief councillors, Lacus is resolutely for Pison, but
both Vinius and Martian prefer Othon, each for his own
reasons. Othon * is in love with Vinius' daughter Plautine, but
his chances of becoming Emperor would be greater if he
married Camille, Galba's only blood relation. Furthermore,
she herself is very much in love with Othon.
This, then, is the situation at the beginning of the play: from
then on, an extraordinary series of manoeuvres, marriage pro
posals, jiltings, and changes of side take place. Vinius, in spite
of the fact that Othon and his daughter Plautine are very much
in love, pushes Othon to propose to Camille because he feels
that only by so doing will Othon become Emperor; and if Pison
should win instead, Vinius would not have long to live.

* Othon had previously been married to Poppaea - who then left him for Nero
and her fate.

105

Othon: Gianna Mingrone as Albiane

Adriano Apra as Othon

Martian also pushes Othon to propose to Camille because he

himself is in love with Plautine. After Plautine refuses the hand
of Martian, he tries to have Othon killed, but fails. Meanwhile,
Galba has provisionally decided in favour of Pison; therefore,
if Camille continues to insist on marrying Othon, she will have
to renounce her chance of becoming Empress. Now that the
power of the throne is no longer in Camille's hand, Othon
drops her and returns to Plautine —who in the meanwhile has
been promised by Galba first to Pison and then to Martian.
Lacus, fearing that Othon's chances are on the upswing, has
Vinius killed, stabs Galba himself, but fails in his attempt to
assassinate Othon. With Martian rejected and Pison now assas
sinated, Othon is free at last to marry Plautine and still be
Emperor. But Plautine, while she does not blame Othon for her
father's death, none the less associates him with it so closely
that, for a time at least, all thoughts of marriage are over for her.

106
Olimpia Carlisi as Camille

The fearful complications of the plot are its very essence:

they arise because the hero (or rather, anti-hero) wants both
power and love, and is incapable of opting definitively for one
or the other. All the characters are victims of the power game,
because all have actively participated in it. Even Plautine, who
says to Othon: 'Give your hand [to Camille] but keep your
heart for me.' It is a tragedy of 'Not Quite All for Love, with
the World Very Much There'. Even Camille, Corneille's own
invention, and the most admirable character in the play, is
guilty of dishonesty. After declaring to Othon at one moment
'You love only the Empire, and I loved only you,' she is
capable, a few hundred lines later, of reproaching him with 'I
preferred that ingrate to the Empire,' which would seem to
indicate that she, too, if only intermittently, has her eye fixed on
the seat of power. Like the others, she, too, is caught up in the
very tangled web she has woven, a web of hypocrisy, self-

107
deception, and double-dealing. All of which may explain why,
although the play was never very successful in Paris - it played
only thirty times in twenty-six years, and has not been seen
at all since 1708 - its premiere at the court of Fontainebleau
was an enormous success. The courtiers were well equipped
to appreciate the intrigues and struggles; Monsieur de Lou-
vois even declared that 'one would need an audience com
posed entirely of Ministers of State to judge the play
properly.'
To Straub, Othon is the story of a political opportunist: for
him, the only durable government is one built on honesty and
truth. Straub sees the whole decadence of the Roman Empire as
resulting from the opportunism of the court; and this applies
equally in the centres of power today. For him, Othon is far
from being the hero of the play, and therefore he calls his film
Les Yeux ne veulent pas en tout temps se fermer, ou Peut etre
qu'un jour Rome se permettra de choisir d son tour {Eyes
cannot forever remain closed, or, Perhaps Rome will one day
allow itself to choose in its turn).* In some ways, Camille is
different from the other characters. Straub calls her the only
'non-bourgeois' character in the play, and her tragedy is that
she chooses badly; she makes the fatal mistake of choosing a
man who hasn't the courage to take power. She, who represents
both the past of Rome (the Republic) and a possible future,
fails, as Rome did ultimately. To this extent, then, Straub sees
her as an epic character in the Brechtian sense, like the old lady
of Not Reconciled and the girl in The Bridegroom, the Actress,
and the Pimp.
Leaving aside, however, ancient Rome or seventeenth-
century France, what Corneille had to say about the power
struggle and the relationship between government and the
governed has, Straub feels, many forceful twentieth-century
parallels, particularly when one thinks of the somewhat sordid

* My translation. Straub prefers: Eyes do not want to close at all times, or.
Perhaps one day Rome will permit herself to choose in her turn.

108
history of the Fourth and Fifth Republics in France. And the
way in which Straub has approached the film makes these
connections all the clearer. Although he has not cut from or
added to the text, the way in which we are 'distanced' from that
text constantly invites us to reflect on its significance. Just as
Corneille's plays themselves are not a reflection o/history, but
a reflection on it, so Straub's film.
Most important of all in this transmutation of the play is that
Straub has chosen to shoot it out of doors. This was dictated in
part by his desire to let a little air into the work. Even
Corneille's greatest admirers, like Jean Schlumberger, have
complained of 'the desolate claustrophobia of these conversa
tions, all held in a noble ante-chamber in the space of an
agitated twenty-four hours. Not a door or a window open on to
the world, no one outside, not a tree or a corner of the sky on
which to rest one's eyes. Only these people completely
absorbed in their own conflicts, these characters completely
enclosed in the present.'
So the first three acts and the last are situated on that
exposed platform on the Palatine Hill, acts i, ii, and iii on the
terrace, and act v just behind it in the ruins of Domitian's
Stadium. Act iv takes place in the gardens of the Villa Doria
Pamphili. (Three locations in all, a contrast from the twenty-
five of the Bach film, and the forty-five of Not Reconciled.) But
more important is the fact that although the actors in their
ancient Roman costumes may be atop the Palatine, we can
almost always see behind them, down in the valley, the sights
and sounds of contemporary Rome, the ant-like scurryings of
the consumer society. Fiats, Lambrettas, aeroplanes, buses: the
film is punctuated by their sounds, and these stridencies not
only serve to set off the restful rhythms of the Alexandrines,
with their steady twelve-syllable beat and their incessant
rhymes, but also fulfil another purpose: one is constantly
obliged to think about the film, about the play, about what it is
saying. One is never permitted to lose oneself either in the
glory of the verses or the vague grandeur of history.

109
Filming Othon: Straub and Daniele in the foreground

Naturally, the counterpointing ofverse and Vespa has another,

more formal function. As we saw in The Bridegroom . . .
Straub loves to set off one element of a film against another,
and the contrast here is also visual - the ancient Roman
costumes with modern Roman artefacts - and very effective.
Although the dialectic between theatre, cinema, and life is
something which interests Straub independently of any attempt
at distancing, the contrasts are, more than in his other works,
functional. The result is not unlike certain pieces by contem
porary composers; for example Stockhausen, who mixes to
gether electronic sounds, 'real sounds, as well as what is con
ventionally known as 'music' to make up a complex tapestry of
sound.
And Straub's tapestry is more complex than a simple com
bination - or conflict - between French classical verse and
twentieth-century Roman noises. The actors in the film are.

110
with two exceptions, not French, and they all speak with more
or less of an accent. Plautine is from French Switzerland, and
has a slight Romande accent; Camille is Florentine; Othon,
Roman; Albin, Italo-Canadian; Vinius, English; Flavie,
Cremonese, etc. The two exceptions are Jean-Marie Straub
himself (Lacus), and Jean-Claude Biette (Martian). But even
these two Frenchmen do not speak with quite the same accent.
Straub has always been interested in the effect that a foreign
accent can have on a language, and here he is at one with
Resnais and Godard, both of whom have almost always had at
least one character with a foreign accent in each of their films,
because the strange accent can bring freshness to a language,
can make it sound unfamiliar and exciting. Straub insists that it
is precisely the difficulties that an actor has with a foreign
language, the obstacles that he must surmount, which oblige
him - and the audience - to rediscover the nature of the
language: so, in a certain sense, Othon could be considered a
documentary on aphasia. The Italian accents break up the text,
break it up in order for it to come out renewed and revived;
'but if it die . .
Why, then, does he also use two Frenchmen? Partly, he
says, from his dread of being systematic, partly because the two
Frenchmen play the nastiest characters: Lacus is a ruthless
c5Tiic, and Martian, in spite of his moving speech about being
an ex-slave, is a vulgar opportunist, qualities which, says
Straub, perhaps tongue-in-cheek, could only be rendered
by Frenchmen. But the most important reason, I think, is that
this departure from the 'system' provides yet another kind of
aural contrast and makes the Italian accents sound even
stranger.
Not content with these variations in accent, Straub has fur
ther complicated - or enriched - his soundtrack by a tremen
dous variation in the way the verses are spoken, both between
the different actors and also between the way verse is spoken
generally and the treatment of it here. Not to put too fine a
point on it, many of the actors gabble. That is, they were

111
 m

The two Frenchmen: Martian and Lacus on their walk

112
trained by Straub to speak at a speed which is not only unusual,
but which also, combined with their foreign accents, makes it
difficult, even for a Frenchman, simply to understand what they
are saying.
This serves two functions: one of distancing us from the
otherwise gentle rocking-horse rhythm of the Alexandrines,
and the other of enriching the complexity of the sound tapestry.
The actors do not all speak at the same speed: Adriano Apra,
as Othon, is the fastest, and in some ways this is unfortunate.
He provides most of the exposition at the beginning, and if one
cannot understand what he is saying, then one is left a little in
the dark. To this objection, Straub retorts that he likes films
that start off quickly, plunging the spectator into the heart of
the matter, films without an overture. Othon speaks the fastest,
says Straub, because he is both the most lucid of all the charac
ters and, at the same time, the most indecisive, the most contra
dictory. He is also, Straub feels, the most moving because of
the paradox between his lucidity and his inability to make
decisions. Perhaps, Straub adds, he is the most moving, too,
because we cannot understand too clearly what he is saying.
And indeed, his gabbling is pathetic, his assurance touching,
because of the gap between his intelligence and his will: it
might be interesting to play a Hamlet this way, never at a loss
for words, spitting them out as quickly as possible to cover up
the fact that he finds it difficult to make a decision.
Looking at it another way, Straub is once more treating
language as an 'object' - something to be manipulated and
handled as freely in the composition of the soundtrack as the
visuals are in the cutting-room. We are not used to such a
procedure: however audacious a director may be in the editing
of a film, the dialogue is generally the one thing he doesn't play
around with. But Straub treats language cavalierly: often, as in
Othon's speeches, words become simply so many notes in a
rhythmic pattern, and one understands, not from the words, but
from the cadences and the rhythm.
As each character has his own accent, so each has his own

113
rhythm, his own tempo. Othon is the fastest, Plautine comes
next, and so on down to the Emperor Galba who, as perhaps
befits his station in hfe, speaks very slowly and magisterially
indeed. As to the verse itself, naturally the speed with which
most of it is spoken makes much 'expression' impossible. On
the other hand, the speed makes the rhymes (heroic couplets, as
we say) follow faster upon each other; so paradoxically,
although Straub did not want to emphasize that the actors were
speaking verse, the effect is actually to reinforce the regularity
of the metre. And in spite of the speed, some rather interesting
caesural effects have been obtained: generally Straub and his
actors have ignored the traditional pause halfway through each
line,* but on occasion he makes great dramatic use of the
caesura, although not in its traditional place. In Albiane's lines
to Camille, when she is describing how a feeling of respect can
inhibit a person of such exalted rank as Camille:
II arre/te les voeux, capti/ve les desirs;
Abai/sse les regards, etou/ffe les soupirs

she pauses three times in each line: at the traditional halfway

mark with the comma, but also, and most effectively, in the
middle of the parallel verbs - stops, captures, lowers, stifles.
This tactic was in fact prompted by the difficulties that the
actress had in saying the lines, and it was precisely this obstacle
that Straub transformed into an artifice in the positive sense:
the actress's stumbling helped Straub to stumble on a new
interpretation of the lines in question.
Naturally the film was shot with direct sound - but this does
not mean that they simply recorded any and all sound: often
when the noise of a jet was too strong, they waited. However
much he believes in the virtues of direct sound, it is not for
Straub, as for some, an article of faith, a shibboleth: he does not
believe that, by itself, and in itself, it possesses any mystical
virtues. Therefore, he uses it, controls it - but the difference is

* Though not the mute 'e's.

114
Counterpoint of verse and Vespa; Vinius and Dani^e

that by starting from the principle of direct sound, he is using

something live, something that can only be partly controlled,
not totally determined as with studio sound or dubbing, and
therefore the result is a tension between 'reality' and artifice.
Straub may be in control, but life, actuality, and chance play
their part.
And, more than in any of his earlier films, he calls attention
to his use of direct sound. When a shot changes, there is no
attempt to smooth over the join: as the shot changes, the aural
perspective changes joltingly too. Straub has occasionally done
this before, as in the Bach film, where in a three shot sequence
(first Anna Magdalena, then Bach, then the two together) the
sound perspective changed each time. But one noticed it less
thei-e, perhaps because it was an interior. Here, with all the
outside noises, the change is obvious, and startling. This was
also due to the fact that the wall against which much of the

115
action takes place acted as a muffler, but when the position of
the camera (and sound boom) changed, so did its relation to the
wall, and accordingly the traffic noises either increased or
diminished. These changes in aural perspective are most notice
able when they come, as they occasionally do, in the middle
of a single speech. Suddenly, although the Alexandrine, with
its expectation of rhyme, goes on, the sound comes from
another direction; and the effect is stunning, in both senses of
the word.
The same is true of the visuals: the film was shot in 16 mm
colour, and Straub has made no attempt to match the shots.
This again he defends as being more 'realistic':
I discovered in making this film that one doesn't really see colour in real life.
At the same hour of the day, if you look to the right, the sky is white, but on
the left, it's dark blue, and one sees that in the film: there is a reverse angle
shot where the sky is dark blue, whereas in the original shot it wasn't. Most
lighting cameramen, obsessed with continuity, do their damnedest to
camouflage this, but finally my cameraman accepted what I was after and
did it, just as my sound man, at first made very unhappy by the roughness of
the joins, finally agreed to go along with me, and even to let the noisy clatter
of the fountain in act iv splash loudly on throughout the whole act.

Of course, making a film with a Coutand camera in 16 mm

was, Straub admits, something of a provocation in Italy where
it is almost unknown for a professional film. But this was not
the only reason: it was also a change from the earlier films, and
there are shots, like the long walk up and down the terrace and
through the ruins of the palace, which could only be done with
a hand-held 16 mm camera. It also was cheaper, and for a film
with so little promise of commercial success, it was perhaps
prudent. On the other hand, Othon is photographically Straub's
least distinguished film: 16 mm colour, I persist in thinking,
shows. There is too often a fuzziness which I find unpleasant.
Then, too, there is a lack of intensity which does not matter so
much in documentary films of the Leacock-Pennebaker sort,
but which does with Straub, where, one realizes, everything
depends on each element of the film being right. It may or

116
Act IV: Plautine at the fountain

117
may not be significant that Straub has announced that he does
not, at the moment, intend to shoot in 16 mm again.*
But ahhough the film may be less striking photographically
than the earlier works, it is visually highly inventive. For the
first time we have classical tragedy with the wind blowing
through it, a wind that really exists, that we see and hear.
Straub has also cleverly found - or stumbled across - a
counterpart for the traditional stage lighting which is meant to
show that the tragedy all takes place during one day, and which
takes advantage of the expressive passage from dawn to dusk.
The film was planned to use the fact of the advancing year; it
was shot chronologically, and the light changes as the film goes
on. As it moves from summer towards autumn, the Hght and
the colours change, become colder, giving a definite feeling of
the passage of time. Furthermore, the fountain scene in act iv is
so leaf-shaded that it really feels like afternoon, and the last act,
as it is partly covered by the three walls and the ruins of the
overhead vault, darkens the scene and suggests the approach of
night.
The shooting script was composed in such a way as to vary
the visual effects. During the first four acts, the actors are
filmed as the music was in Bach: that is to say, they are placed
in a realistic, anti-theatrical manner, but filmed, on the con
trary, in a somewhat theatrical manner, with 'two-dimensional'
images and backwards and forwards movements of the camera.
But the last act is shot as dialogue scenes are generally shot in
the cinema - as if the characters were all in one room.
Throughout, the technique is more varied than in the Bach film.
The opening is something of a bravura affair for Straub: we
start with a long shot of the Capitoline Hill, the camera pans
round to the left to the Palatine Hill, moves up along a tree,
and then again down the side of the hill to reach the entrance
of a cave, and slowly zooms into the darkness. (This cave was
used by the Partisans during the war to hide arms.) Apart from

* July 1971: there are now indications that he has changed his mind about this.

118
the fact that the Capitohne Hill was the seat of power, and in
fact symbolizes what the play is all about,* it makes for a very
effective opening shot as we swing round the ruins of Imperial
Rome to bury ourselves in this dark cave on the Palatine. It
also makes the shock of the later shots of modern Rome all the
more effective - since we are led to believe that the film will
pretend to be set in ancient Rome.
There are only seventy shots in the film, divided equally
among the five acts; some very long, like the end of act ii with
"its long hand-held 'track'; others are shortish, and Straub
breaks up some of the long speeches into several shots. There
are more close-ups than usual, and sometimes the camera, by
coming in close on the actors, makes the background view take
on a totally different aspect, even though the angle may be the
same one we have seen previously. Then, too, Straub occasion
ally plays on visual ambiguities by having unmatched reverse
angle shots, with a character first appearing on the left, and
then on the right.
The fifth act is the most varied of all. It contains a very
lengthy shot in which the camera starts on Galba, then slowly
pans to Vinius, then further right still to Lacus, and then back
to Vinius; then right again to Lacus, left again to Vinius, and
ends by going all the way back to Galba. And when Othon
appears towards the end of the act after having been announced
as dead, Straub uses a very wide-angle lens (18-5 mm) to give
the sensation that the ground has been pulled out from under
his feet: he is now a little lost, and this is rendered by showing
him lost in the wide perspective.
It is difficult to comment on the acting as such, since the
actors were so entirely in the hands of the director, who has
kept them from doing too much. (Curiously enough, the one
actor he allows a certain latitude, a freedom of inflexion and
expression is . . . himself! When teased about this, he replied
only that he hadn't meant to, although perhaps he had insisted

* See the last lines: 'Allons au Capitole . .

119
Act V: denouement

too much on the Ubu-esque side of the character. But it is

certainly true that he gives the most un-Straubian performance
in the film.) The great thing is that the young people are really
young. Generally classical tragedy is the province of the over-
fifty; but here Othon, Plautine and Camille are strongly con
trasted with Galba and his councillors, and they really give the
impression that they are young people in trouble up to their
necks. This serves to intensify the effect of the tragedy and
one's identification with the characters.
Paradoxical, of course: on the one hand, their speech
(accent, speed and rhythm) distances us from them; on the
other, their physical appearance brings us closer. But this, as
we have seen, is precisely what Straub's films are about. And
finally, it is not paradoxical at all. More than the films of
Eisenstein, Straub's films are truly dialectical. The struggle of
opposing techniques, opposing means of expression, controlled

120

Jean-Marie Straub as Lacus

Bi-Wk

i
by the formal structures he has elaborated, can be likened to
the mixture of several elements in a test-tube - the result is an
explosion, but a controlled one. And that explosion is impres
sive for itself, in the energy it releases. But it also results in the
creation of something new. And this, after all, is what the
cinema, or any art, is all about.

122
7: Afterword: Schonberg's Moses
und Aaron

Unlike Othon, which was a film about the absence of the people, their non-
participation in politics, Moses und Aaron will be a film about the people.
Naturally the people will be the chorus, they will remain the chorus in the
theatrical sense, but what interests me is that Schonberg wrote, I think, an
anti-Marxist work, and I want to respect it as such. And as he was very
honest, it is certain that in writing an anti-Marxist work he was in no way
writing a non-Marxist one. Respecting the opera as it is, I am curious to see
what the results will be.
It will, I think, be my last film in German, and I am going to shoot it in
35 mm colour with a Mitchell. I am going to try to make it in the simplest
possible way, naively, if you like. It will be almost naturalistic, but I will try to
change that naturalism into realism. I want to do away with the spectacular
side of the work, reducing this aspect to a few lightning flashes of spectacle.
It seems clear to me that the opera is about the dialectical relationships
between Moses and Aaron, but only on the first level. In the end, it will be a
film on Moses and Aaron in relationship to the chorus, the people.
The film will be shot in southern Italy in three or four locations. I need a
bush in the desert, a landscape of dunes, and a landscape with hills and a
mountain as high as Mount Sinai, and that's where I'll build the one set I
need, the altar of the golden calf.
It seems to me that the opera only makes sense as a film if one first of all
records the orchestra in the studio, and then when the film is being shot,
records the singers actually singing, on location. The orchestra can be
recorded in the studio, because we won't be seeing them, we will only hear
them. In the Bach film, the orchestras worked in front of the camera; here
they won't, just as one doesn't really see the orchestra in the opera house -
they're not on the stage. But I want the singers to sing as they act, to sing in
the desert; in other words to do the opera in the most materialist way
possible.

123
Script: Not Reconciled
or, Only violence helps where violence rules
Translated and annotated by Misha Donat

'Instead of wanting to create the impression that he is

improvising, the actor should rather show what the truth is: he
is quoting.'
- Berthold Brecht

CREDITS

1. Cologne - Monument in memory of

five victims of the Gestapo. In the
background, the walls of the
'Klingelpiitz' town prison.
SHORT DISSOLVE

2. Cologne - The Mourning Woman by Music: Bartok, Sonatafor 2 Pianos

Marcks: monument in memory of the and Percussion, 1st movement bars
2nd World War dead of Cologne 1-11
FADE-OUT-FADE-IN

PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL,

BILLIARD-ROOM-DAY

3. Mcs/cs (3")
At first, Mcs of 40-year-old Robert ROBERT: Tell what, boy?
Fahmel (standing at the billiard-table in
the foreground) and of 14-year-old
Hugo who - in a hotel boy's uniform -
is standing behind him, watching. As
Robert bends over to strike a ball, the
camera pans to c s of the billiard-table.

124
DISSOLVE

SPORTSGROUND ON THE BANKS

OF THE RHINE: A GAME OF

ROUNDERS BETWEEN THE

LUDWIG SCHOOL AND THE
PRINCE OTTO SCHOOL - SPRING

1 9 34 - DAY
4. LS (9")
High-angle view of the playing-field,
where one of the boys from the Prince
Otto School hits Schrella, from the
Ludwig School. Then Nettlinger - also Vacano blows his whistle
from the Ludwig School - runs to the
opponent, simply throwing him the ball;
the opponent hits Schrella again. (This Vacano blows his whistle
happens very quickly, and Vacano - 35 COMMENTARY (roBErt): Three
years old - stands near them as referee, times I had seen how they threw the ball
with his whistle in his mouth, blowing it with all their strength in his face, at his
every time.) legs, hit his loins.

5. mcs/mls (20")
of the striking wicket. Robert (16-18
years old), captain of the Ludwig School
team, is standing at the wicket with the
ball in his left hand and the bat in his
right; he throws the ball high, hits it, and
follows it with his eyes. Then he turns
round and bends down, driving his bat
into the ground; he breaks the bat by
standing on it at its weakest point. He
leaves the pieces of wood lying on the
ground, and walks out of frame.
Shot 6
6. MLS (20")
of the two teams, waiting in rows.
Nettlinger and Schrella are in the same
row, next to one another. Robert leads
the 'Hip-hip-hurrah!', then they all
disperse in the direction of the changing- commentary: Nettlinger had risked
cabins. our chances of victory merely so that
one of the opponents would have the
opportunity of hitting Schrella with the
ball, and Vacano, our own sports-
master, whom those from the Prince
Otto School had accepted as referee,
must have been in league with them.

125
7. RAILWAY BRIDGE OVER THE
RHINE (south bridge),
FOOTPATH AND STEPS - DAY
LS/CS (56")
At first, high-angle of the Rhine (ls),
the camera pans up the Rhine to Robert
and Schrella (c s) who are standing on
the bridge leaning over the railings,
facing the river. Robert finishes smoking
a cigarette, throws the cigarette-end
down, and turns to Schrella.
He goes behind Robert and out of frame
towards the left; Robert follows him.
8. mcs/mls (40")
In the half-dark steps leading on to the
bridge.
m c s of Robert and Schrella. Schrella is
tucking in his shirt, having shown
Robert his back. While he talks, he puts
his jacket on again. Robert takes a pack
of cigarettes from his pocket and puts
one in his mouth. As they both leave the
landing to go down, the camera pans
with them to mls of the steps.
9. PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL,
BILLIARD-ROOM-DAY
mcs/mls (16")
of Robert at the far end of the billiard-
table, striking a ball, and of the hotel
boy, who is still leaning against a chair;
he leaves it and comes into the
foreground and out of frame, while
Robert walks round the billiard-table to
strike a ball again.
126
commentary: Why, why did they do
that to Schrella, put out a leg as he came
down the steps during breatc, fall on him
on the way home, drag him into
doorways, beat him up between dustbins
and abandoned prams, push him down
dark cellar steps. Only a few didn't join
in: Enders, Drischka, Schweugel, Grewe
and Holten.
ROBERT: Are you Jewish?
schrella; No.
ROBERT: What are you then?
schrella: We are lambs, and have
sworn never to eat of the Buffalo
Sacrament.
ROBERT: Lambs? I must know exactly.
schrella: I'll show you, come on.
schrella; They do it down in the old
barracks near the Wilhelmskuhle.
Vacano and Nettlinger. They call it
auxiliary police. They seized me during
a razzia on beggars in the harbour
district. Thirty-eight beggars arrested in
one day. I was one of them. We were
interrogated with the barbed whip. They
said: 'Admit you're a beggar then', and I
said: 'Yes, I am one'.
ROBERT: Fetch me a cognac, please.
We hear Hugo go to the door, open it, go
out, and close it behind him.
10. THE BAR AT THE FAR END OF
THE HOTEL HALL - DAY

cs/mcs (6")
of the bar, behind which a young waiter
is busy; Hugo comes into frame (back H u G o: A cognac for the gentleman
view) upstairs.

11. A LOUNGE CORNER IN THE

HOTEL HALL - DAY

mcs/mls (16")
of the Mistress (in a corner of the hall);
she is seated on a couch, knitting.
Around her we see the disciples
crouched on the carpet. Press reporters
are taking flash photographs and writing
in notebooks.
THE mistress: How shall we redeem
the world?
THE disciples: Through sheep's
wool, sheep's leather, sheep's milk - and
through knitting.
THE MISTRESS: Wherein lies the
world's salvation hidden?
THE disciples: In sheep.

DISSOLVE

12. A SINGLE-ROOM IN THE SAME

HOTEL - DAY

CS/mCS to MCS (14")

At first c s /m c s of the Mistress only:
she is standing in front of the sink, into
which she empties a full glass of milk.
As she leaves the sink with the empty
glass, the camera pans with her to Hugo
(m c s): he is standing at the half-open THE mistress: Why won't you be the
door with a tray in his hand, on which Holy Lamb in my new religion, you
he has just brought the glass of milk - silly boy? I would make you great, rich,
she puts the glass back on the tray, and and they would kneel before you in even
finally sends him away. smarter hotel halls. Go away, you're too
silly.

13. THE BAR IN THE HALL

cs/mcs (10")
Two-shot of the young waiter behind the
bar and Hugo, who is again facing him THE waiter: At least seventeen
(back to the camera). The waiter fills a women, old and young, are searching
small glass with brandy; Hugo turns for you. Clear off quick, here comes
round and comes into the foreground another.
and out of frame.

DISSOLVE

127
 %

128
14. THE LOUNGE CORNER IN THE
HALL - DAY

CS(20")
of'the old woman' sitting at a little table THE OLD woman: Love, my boy-
playing patience, and of Hugo. never known what it is. They'd have
poisoned me if they'd only summoned
up the courage. They called me 'such a
BILLIARD-ROOM - DAY
thing shouldn't be born'.
15. cs/mcs (3")
of Hugo, standing at the window and
looking out; he turns round suddenly to
Robert (ofQ. Hu Go: Is there any more to the story?

16. Mcs (12")

of Robert, who places the glass out of Ro BE Rt: Do you want to hear it?
which he has been drinking brandy back
on to the tray on the corner of the
billiard-table (without letting go of the
cue), and walks round the table to strike
a ball.
DISSOLVE

BILL-POST BY THE RHINE - 1934

17. cs (20") Street noises
of a notice with a black border which
has just been put up high on the column:
execution!
Ferdinand Progulske, apprentice, born
on 1st May 1917 in Cologne, was
beheaded today at 7.30 a.m. in the
' Klingelpiitz' prison of Cologne. He was
sentenced to death by executory
judgement of a special court of justice commentary (ROBERT): He had
held on 8th May 1934 in Cologne, on slipped into Vacano's apartment, had
account of attempted murder of the thrown the bomb at his feet;
sportsmaster Vacano by the throwing of
a bomb. The Minister-President has
rejected the appeal for a reprieve, since
this was an organised ambuscade by the
communist underworld.
Cologne, 30th May 1934,
- The Attorney-General.

18. cs (6") commentary (continued): Vacano

of the young Robert, leaning against the only had burns on his feet.
bill-post. (A ship goes slowly down the

129

Shot 14 •
.; • '
fi ', 4 •••,*•

-ft-,^. :
cV 1

• V j- ' "i
•,.,.Ztm

* •?,

1i; *»* .* 7 i- :* *•'

.. ... .
-

** t ' t , ,' .
«. *. ♦ **
Rhine, through the frame.)
DISSOLVE

19. TELEPHONE IN A SUBURBAN

B A R - D AY Noise of the bar
CS (10")
of Ferdi on the phone. FE RDi (on the telephone): You're still
coming to the Cafe Zons, as arranged?
(A pause) Are you coming or aren't
you?
COMMENTARY (robert): I had done
it...

20. BACK-ROOM IN THE CAFE

ZONS, BY A WINDOW - DAY
MCS/CS (11")
at first, Mc s of Edith (16 years old) and
Robert, by a window giving on to the
back yard. She looks over towards
Robert and gives him her hand; he puts
his hand on hers - the camera
immediately tracks in to c s of Edith's
face.
FADE-OUT
Noise in the Cafe
COMMENTARY (continued): had gone
with Schrella to the little Cafe Zons in
Boisseree Street, where the lambs met,
and I had sworn to a young girl called
Edith, sworn to her face, never to taste
of the Buffalo Sacrament,

21. Black screen (10") Cafe noise continues

COMMENTARY (continued): and then
held a speech in the dark back room,
with dark words which didn't sound like
lamb, but like blood, like rebellion and
revenge. Nettlinger was waiting for me
outside, and they took me to the
Wilhelmskuhle.
FADE-IN

22. BARRED WINDOW, EXT. - DAY

CS to CUtO CS (5")
At first, c s of Robert (back to camera), COMMENTARY: Nettlinger lashed out.
who is tied to the window-bars by both
wrists; the camera immediately pans
across to the barbed whip. As Nettlinger
lifts the whip, the camera pans with it.

OLD HARBOUR ON THE RHINE -

DAWN

23. MLS to MCS to CS (13") COMMENTARY: And he came into my

The camera, on the escarpment, pans at cell at daybreak, and said: 'Clear out.

132
 first only across the empty surface of the run away —but I can only give you an
harbour water (mls), then picks up the hour's start; in one hour I shall have to
boat in which Old Trischler is rowing, report it to the police'.
and continues to pan, reaching the I ran right round the city to the harbour.
escarpment and Robert (c s) who is
standing at the top of the escarpment
looking down at Old Trischler (off).

24. cs/mcs(30")
At first, of Old Trischler alone, who, OLD trischler: Hey, sonny, that
scarcely looking up, puts the oars aside, road up there leads nowhere at all.
leaves the boat, and steps on to the
escarpment.
ROBERT (ofQ: It leads to your house.
Robert comes down the escarpment and OLD trischler: Come down here.
into frame; Oh, you're -1 know who you are, but
I've forgotten your name.
ROBERT: Fahmel.
OLDTRiscHLER:Of course, they're
after you, it came this morning with the
early news. So you have to go flinging
bombs about! You have to plot together,
and ... Yesterday I already packed one
of you up and sent him across the
border.
ROBERT: Yesterday, whom?
OLD TRISCHLER: Schrella,he hid
himself here, and I had to force him to
leave on the 'Anna Katharina'.
- he sways, and the old man clutches What on earth is it, what's wrong with
him under the arm. you?
25. BEDROOM AT THE
TRISCHLERS' (b Y THE HARBOUR)
- DAY

MCS to CS (28")
of Robert, who is lying on the bed on his
stomach, with his back bandaged. On a
chair next to the bed (mc s), a half-
empty glass of milk, bread and an apple,
and a bowl with blood and water and a
sponge in it. Mrs Trischler is standing MRS trischler: More milk, boy?
next to the bed, leaning over Robert (she ROBERT: No, thanks.
has just finished washing and binding his MRS trischler: Don't worry. Alois
back); as she covers him up, the camera will come the day after tomorrow.
moves over her to Robert's profile on Monday or Tuesday you'll be in
the pillow (c s). Smiling, he follows Mrs Rotterdam.
Trischler with his eyes; when she has We hear her take the bowl away, leave

133
left the room, he closes his eyes. the room, and close the door behind her
DISSOLVE

26. IN A FIELD - DAY

cs (3")
of Edith's face and Robert's profile. She
is lying in the grass, her head propped EDITH: They'll kill you.
on her elbow, looking at Robert. He
bends down to kiss her.
FADE-OUT - FADE-IN

27. HARBOUR SHED - DAY

Mcs (22")
of Robert, lying on some sacking on the
floor, and Alois Trischler (16-18 years
old), who covers his body with a corner
of the sacking. Old Trischler is standing
by Robert's head; Robert smiles up at him. OLD trischler; Don't forget us,
sonny.
28. BOAT BY THE QUAY - DAY
cs/mcs (30")
Robert, wrapped in the sacking, is
carried up the plank to the boat by Alois
and Old Trischler. Old Trischler walks
back down the plank when the captain
of the boat has relieved him of his end of
the burden.
FADE-OUT- FADE-IN

PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL,

RECEPTION DESK - DAY
29. CS to MCS (6")
First, on the porter alone (c s); at first he
is still busy, but he soon turns to
Nettlinger (off), and the camera THE porter: What can I do for you,
immediately tracks back so that Mr...?
Nettlinger (35-40 years old) comes into nettlinger; Nettlinger. I must speak
frame (back to camera). The porter to Dr Fahmel. Urgently.
reaches for a visiting-card which is
under the desk.

30. cu(5")
of the visiting-card in the porter's hand; NETTLINGER (off): At once. Officially.
printed in the middle -
Dr. Robert fahmel
- and underneath, hand-written;
'Available only for my mother, my
father, my daughter, my son - and for
Mr Schrella. For nobody else.'

134
 31. cs(7")
of the porter alone (front view), but also
of the desk in front of him. He signifies
'no' with his head, and puts Robert's
visiting-card back where he took it
from
- and at once Nettlinger's hand pushes a
20-Mark note into frame on the desk.
The porter again shakes his head.
32. cu(7")
Reverse-angle of Nettlinger (so that we
only see the floor behind him), but also
of the desk in front of him. He takes his
money impatiently back again.
33. cs to mcs/mls (22")
First, c s of the phone behind the desk:
the porter's hand comes into frame and
lifts the receiver. The camera pans up to
the porter, and pulls slowly back to
mcs/mls of Nettlinger (back view);
he steps impatiently out of frame. The
porter replaces the receiver and goes to
the board where the keys are hanging;
he removes a key, and takes it out of
frame to an old lady.
BILLIARD ROOM - DAY
34. cs/mcs (4")
of Hugo, leaning with his back to the
window, and looking over towards
Robert (off, at the billiard-table).
35. cs/mcs (24")
of Robert: he lays the billiard cue aside
on the table, takes a cigarette from his
pocket, lights it, and comes into the
foreground, sitting down on the edge of
the billiard-table opposite Hugo (off).
nettlinger: I know he's here.
nettlinger: I want to see the
manager.
THE PORTER (off): Left round here,
then second door on the right -
Management.
NETTLINGER: I wish to be announced.
THE PORTER (on thephone): The
manager, please, porter speaking. Sir, a
Mr - what was the name?
nettlinger: Nettlinger.
THE PORTER (on the phone):
Nettlinger, sorry, Dr Nettlinger, wishes
to speak to you urgently. Yes, thank
you. (To Nettlinger): The manager is
expecting you.
THE PORTER (to the old lady, off):
Here you are. Madam.
We hear Robert continuing to play
billiards
HUGO: Did you take part in the war?
ROBERT (off): Yes.
HUGO: What did you do?
ROBERT: I was a Demolition Expert.
Does that mean anything to you?
Hu Go: I have seen them blowing up
rocks in the quarry behind Denklingen.
ROBERT: That's exactly what I did,
only I didn't blow up rocks. I blew up
bridges and apartment blocks, churches
and railway viaducts, villas and
135
 m

ii
(above) Shot 32; (below) Shot 33

136

36. cs to vcs (= also ls)(13")
First, c s of Hugo's profile and
shoulders; he turns towards the window
at a sign from Robert,
and the camera immediately pans to the
window pane (v c s) and upwards, so
that we see the spire of St Severin over
the rooftops (l s).
37, Mcs (21")
Reverse-angle of Robert, going back to
the billiard-table; as he turns towards
the camera and Hugo (off), he lights a
cigarette and sits down again on the
edge of the billiard table.
38. MLS (20")
of the other end of the room (door):
Hugo runs into frame towards the door;
he goes out and closes the door behind
him, then comes in again and stands
smiling by the door. He follows Robert
with his eyes as he goes to the other
door (off).
39. MCS (7")
of Robert, who already has his hand on
the knob of the other door. He turns
round quickly as he speaks, and opens
the door to go out.
ROBERT FAHMEL'S OFFICE - DAY
40. c s (4")
of old Heinrich Fahmel, standing by the
window, at first mumbling to himself
(back to camera); he turns round
suddenly towards Leonore (off).
crossroads. And at the end of the war I
was attached to a general who had only
one word in his head: field-of-fire. Do
you know what field-of-fire is?
ROBERT: Look, if I wanted to fire now
at the bridge which is behind St Severin,
the church would be in the field-of-fire
too, so St Severin would also have to be
blown up so that I could fire at the
bridge, and I would have blown St
Severin sky high.
ROBERT:! had a good team with me -
physicists and architects - and we blew
up whatever stood in our way; the last
one was St Anthony's Abbey,
which had been built by my
father; it lay right between two armies,
one German and one American, and I
provided the German army with its
field-of-fire, which it didn't need at all.
There is a knock at the door.
HUGO: The manager asks if you will
receive a Dr Nettlinger.
ROBERT: Would you receive someone
called Nettlinger?
HUGO (ofQ: No.
HEINRICH fahmel: Schoolfellowof
Robert's? Ministerial Councillor,
Director and Manager? And you sent
him to the Prince Heinrich Hotel!
137
41. MLS (9")
of Robert's secretary, Leonore, who is HEiNRiCH FAHMEL (off): He doesn't
standing by her desk, looking over at the like it, my son Robert, when people
old man (off); she lowers her eyes. disturb him. But, my child, he won't do
anything to you on that account!
42. cs/mcs (5")
of the coat-hanger. The old man comes HEINRICH fahmel: Come,
into frame, takes Leonore's jacket, and
walks out of picture again.

43. MLS (20")

At first, Leonore alone, covering up her
typewriter. The old man comes into
frame with the jacket, and helps her to
put it on. As they both go out of picture,
the camera holds on the desk.
HEINRICH fahmel (continued): let's
go and eat, and celebrate my birthday a
little.

IN THE STREET IN FRONT OF THE

STATE PRISON - DAY

44. mcs/mls (11")

of the outer gate of the town prison;
Nettlinger and Schrella (35-40 years
old) come out of the prison.

nettlinger: Where would you like

to be taken to?
schrella: The station.

45. McstoLS (22") NETTLINGER: Are you thinking of

leaving this hospitable city already?
First, MCs of the car: Nettlinger and SCHRELLA: No, I'm not thinking of
Schrella come into frame. They get in, leaving this hospitable city yet.

and as the car leaves, the camera pans

with it until it disappears (l s).

46. IN NETTLINGER'S car, GOING

ALONG THE RING ROAD IN THE

DIRECTION OF THE STATION-DAY

cs/mcs (r 3")
of Nettlinger and Schrella (neck and
profile); they are both sitting in the
front: Schrella on the right, Nettlinger at
the wheel on the left (the camera is
directly behind him). Through the
windscreen we see the car going through
the town along the Ring road.
NETTLINGER: It was a damned
accident your name was still on the
Wanted list. Attempted murder becomes
superannuated after twenty years.
schrella: Attempted murder?
NETTLINGER: Yes, what you tried
against Vacano then comes under that
heading.

138

Shot 43
I

1

IN t h e r e s t a u r a n t - day
47. Mcs to cs/cu (47")
Mc s of a free table in a comer:
Nettlinger and Schrella come into
frame. They sit down, and whilst both of
them are silently looking at the menu, a
waiter comes to the table (off), and waits
for their order;
when he has taken the order and goes
out of frame, Nettlinger and Schrella
look at each other. Nettlinger starts
talking, and the camera tracks in to cu
of him.
140
schrella: You probably don't know
I had absolutely no part in it; I never
once gave the affair my approval.
NETTLINGER: Well, SO much the
better. All I could do was vouch for you
and arrange for your provisional
release. Now the rest will be merely a
formality. Are you actually still a
German citizen?
schrella; No, I'm stateless.
NETTLINGER: Pity; if you could
manage to prove you had to flee not for
criminal but political reasons, you could
get a tidy amount of compensation.
(Pause) Tell me if you need money. You
won't get far with what you've got.
schrella: Thanks, I don't need
anything. (Pause)
NETTLINGER: May I at least invite
you to eat?
schrella: Fine, let's go and eat.
SCHRELLA (to the Waiter): Chicken.
nettlinger (to the waiter): I'll take
the entrecote.
(to Schrella):
And smoked salmon?
schrella: No, thanks.
nettlinger (to the waiter): I'll have
it.
(to Schrella): You're missing some
thing really delicious.
the waiter: To drink?
nettlinger: I'll have Beaujolais.
schrella: Beer.
Pause
nettlinger: Ruthless political
hatred between schoolfellows; persecu
tion, interrogation, hatred drawing
blood - but twenty years later it is of all

48. cs to Mcs to cs/cu (r 33")
First, on Schrella only (c s); the waiter
puts a glass and a bottle of beer in front
of him. He pours himself some beer, and
the camera pulls back until Nettlinger is
also in frame (mcs): he has buttered a
piece of toast, and he eats only half of
his salmon -
(he leaves his knife and fork on his plate,
and finishes his wine)
- as Schrella sees this, he takes his fork,
spears the salmon, and puts it in his
mouth:
the camera immediately tracks in to
him, so that he alone stays in frame
(c s / c u).
49. cs (18")
of Nettlinger: he pours himself some
wine,
and the waiter removes his plate of
salmon and brings him a clean knife and
fork.
people the atrocious persecutor who
rescues the returning refugee from jail.
We hear the waiter already coming back
with the drinl<s and with Nettlinger's
salmon.
At the same time, we hear the waiter
serve Nettlinger's wine and salmon, and
go off again.
schrella: I'd be sorry if you thought
I doubted the sincerity of your motives
and feelings, I don't even doubt your
remorse. But the roles you played then
and play today are the same.
nettlinger: Perhaps you don't
know what I did for your sister.
schrella: You protected Edith?
nettlinger: Yes. Vacano wanted to
have her arrested. He put her on the list
again and again, and again and again I
struck her name off.
schrella: Your good deeds are
almost more frightful than your
misdeeds.
nettlinger: And you are more
merciless than God.
schrella: We are not God, and can
lay no more claim to his mercy than to
his omniscience.
Are you by any chance going to let that
marvellous salmon go back?
nettlinger: Of course-but you
can't...
schrella: Listen to what the son of a
waiter has to tell you: a really fine man
never submits to the tyranny of waiters.
We hear the waiter come with the dishes
schrella (off): By the way, is
Vacano still alive?
NETTLiNGER:Of course, he's only
fifty-eight, and - he's one of the
incorrigible ones.
SCHRELLA (ofQ: And you?
nettling er: If you could only
141

50. cs (4")
of Schrella: the waiter serves him with a
plate of chicken and fried potatoes, and
a side-plate of salad.
51. cs (31")
of Nettlinger: the waiter places a plate
with entrecote, and another side-plate
of salad in front of him. He starts to
eat immediately.
Suddenly Nettlinger looks up at Schrella
(off), startled.
52. Mcs/cs (19")
First, of Schrella, who has stood up and
beckoned to the waiter (mc s): the waiter
comes into frame at once — Schrella
points to his plate.
and the waiter goes out of frame with it.
Schrella then turns to Nettlinger (until
then off screen), and the camera pans
very quickly to him (c s) - he goes
on eating, even after Schrella has
left.
53. Mcs (12")
Schrella is standing in front of the
cloakroom, putting on his coat. The
waiter comes into frame and hands him
a small picnic packet, which he takes
from him.
54. A t a b l e by the window in
THE ' c e n t r a l station
142
understand me, I'm a democrat, a
democrat by conviction.
schrella: What became of
Trischler?
nettlinger: Trischler?
SCHRELLA (ofQ: OldTrischler who
lived in the lower harbour. Don't you
remember Alois either, who was in our
class?
NETTLiNGER:Oh, now I remember.
We searched for Alois for weeks
without finding him, and Vacano himself
interrogated Old Trischler, but he got
nothing out of him, nothing at all, nor
out of the woman.
— The district down there was often
bombed.
IVe hear Schrella get up.
Good God, what's the matter, what are
you going to do?
schrella: Would you please have
this wrapped for me so that the fat
doesn't leak out?
thewaiter: Certainly - the potatoes
too, sir?
schrella: No, thank you.
SCHRELLA (to Nettlinger): Would you
rather I killed you? I can't stand it any
longer.
THE waiter: The fat won't leak out,
it's all wrapped in cellophane.
schrella: Thank you.
 mm

Av
'A
yy'
(above) Shot 48; (below) Shot 51

143
t e r r a c e ' cafe - DAY
MCstoves (= also ls/mls)(9")
At first, MCs of Leonore and tiie old
man (profile): he is seated opposite her
at the table. Both have already had their
coffee. She looks at him, smiling; he
looks over to the wuidovf, and the
camera tracks past both of them up to
the window pane (v c s). through which
we see the traffic below.
55. A table in a corner of the
CAFE KRONER — DAY
CStOMCStOCS (39")
At first, on the table where young
Heinrich Fahmel (30 years old) is
seated, looking around. The camera at
once pulls back, so that we see the
waiter coming into frame; he stops in
front of Fahmel.
The camera moves forward again, to c s
of Fahmel.
The waiter goes out; Fahmel follows
him with his eyes.
YOUNG HEINRICH FAHMEL'S
studio-flat - DAY
56. cu/cs (16")
Rolls of drawings, and a parcel wrapped
in foolscap paper. Hand-written on the
parcel are the words:
144
HEINRICH fahmel: How many
breakfasts in the Cafe Kroner? Ten
thousand, twenty thousand? I never
added them up.
THE waiter: Good morning, sir.
Breakfast?
HEINRICH fahmel: Yes,please. A
small pot of coffee, but with three cups
of coffee, please; toast, two slices of
black bread, butter, marmalade, a boiled
egg, and paprika-cheese.
THE waiter: Paprika-cheese?
HEINRICH fahmel: Yes, cream-
cheese mixed with paprika.
THE waiter: Very good.
HEINRICH fahmel: And listen,
waiter, I shall have breakfast here
tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, the
day after that, in three weeks, three
months and three years - do you hear?
And always at the same time, around
nine.
THE waiter: Very good.
COMMENTARY (HEINRICH
fahmel): I had rented a room and
studio for half a year, paid in advance.
commentary (heinrich
fahmel): There were three ahead of
me - every child knew their names:
Brehmockel, Grumpeter, Wollersein.
 'St Anthony Competition 'Final deadline for St Anthony project
Plan by Heinrich Fahmel' today. Have our young architects no
spirit?', said the newspaper.

57. mcs/mls (7")

of young Heinrich Fahmel (front view) Bells
standing —with his hat on - at the attic
window (the camera is outside): after
looking at his watch, he puts it back in
his pocket, closes the window, and
leaves it.

58. THE notary's front door -

DAY

cs (18")
of the door and name-plate:
'Dr Kilb
Notary'
The door is opened from within; a
young clerk appears, listens to Fahmel,
and lets him in. Fahmel enters with his
roll of drawings and the parcel under his
Bells
HEINRICH fahmel: I should like to
hand over a design to the notary. St
Anthony Open Competition.
commentary (heinrich
fahmel): The reputation of having
been beaten only by Brehmockel,
Grumpeter and Wollersein would have
been enough for me.

YOUNG HEINRICH FAHMEL'S

STUDIO-FLAT - DAY

59. MCS (5") commentary (continued): But the

of the Abbot (he is standing in front of abbot liked my plan.
the drawing of the abbey on the wall, at
first still looking at it). THE abbot: Will you hold out?

60. cs (7")
Low-angle of Heinrich Fahmel at the
window, looking out. He turns round to heinrich fahmel: Yes, I'll hold
the abbot and answers. out, Reverend Father.

61. INNER COURTYARD WITH

porter's lodge - day
MCS (27")
of the porter and two journalists who
are taking down what he is telling them.
The camera pulls very slowly back
during the shot.
the porter: Him, gentlemen?
Nothing but work. Eight o'clock in the
morning to Low Mass in St Severin,
breakfast in the Cafe Kroner till ten-
thirty; from ten-thirty till five, stays up
there in his studio - won't see anyone,
won't speak to anyone. Lives up there

145

62. IN THE CAFE KRONER - DAY
C S to C S (6")
First, the journalist, taking notes; the
camera quickly pans left, to the waiter
standing opposite him.
63. SKYLIGHT OF YOUNG
HEINRICH FAHMEL'S STUDIO-
FLAT - DAY
on pea soup which he cooks himself; has
the peas and the pork, even the onions,
sent by his old mother. From five till six,
a stroll through the town; from six-
thirty to seven-thirty. Reserve Officers'
Club.
THE journalist: Paprika-cheese?
Very interesting!
THE waiter: And he draws, even at
breakfast, like a man possessed.

cs/mcs (2") commentary (heinrich

of the window (the camera is outside): fahmel):! didn't know my wife yet.
young Heinrich Fahmel opens the
window.

64. FAgADE OF THE NOTARY'S

HOUSE - DAY

MLS (10")
High-angle from Fahmel's po v of the
fapade of the house opposite: the
notary's daughter, Johanna Kilb (20
years old), looks up at him, then
immediately closes the window and
disappears from sight.

65. DRAWING-ROOM IN THE

KILBS' HOUSE - DAY
mcs/mls to CS (24")
At first, Heinrich Fahmel (back to
camera) and the door in front of him;
the door opens, and the notary enters. HEINRICH fahmel: Task you for
He listens to Fahmel, smiles, and goes your daughter's hand.
out, half-closing the door behind him;
the camera stays on the door, which is
soon opened again as Johanna appears
on the threshold - the camera tracks in
to c s of her.

studio-flat: back-projection
(archive material: rubble of
thebombed abbey)
66-75. Montage of 10 shots from
Monte Cassino - 1944 newsreel (17")

146
 COMMENTARY (hEINRICH
fahmel): The unforeseen struck me
hard.

76. mcs/mls (3")

of the monk, and of Heinrich Fahmel THE monk: We'll find the culprit.
(back to camera, in the foreground). The old man answers only with a shrug
Also, the rubble (a crucifix) in back- of his shoulders.
projection.

MOBILISATION PROCLAMATION

77. MLS (4") Music: Bartok, Sonatafor 2 Pianos and

of the proclamation. Percussion, bars 6-10 (ends during shot
80)

78. THE kaiser's speech (13")

'I thank you from the depths of my heart
for the expression of your love, your
loyalty. In the fight which is now
imminent, I no longer see Parties among
my people. There are only Germans
among us, and whichever Party may
have turned against me in the course of
a conflict of opinions, I forgive them all
with my whole heart. It is now only a
question of our all standing together as
brothers, for God to lead the German
sword on to victory!'

79-88. NEWSREEL SHOTS, 1914

(28")
(Shots 79-83 are of uniforms and rWes
being issued; shots 84-85 of marching
troops; and 86-88 of troops boarding
trains.)

DRAWING-ROOM IN THE KILBS'

HOUSE - DAY

89. CS (8")
of young Heinrich Fahmel peering
through the window, smoking. He turns
round.

90. Mcs (9")

of little Heinrich (4-7 years old),
wearing a lancer's helmet and hitting a
statue with his sword.

147
(above) Shot 76; (below) Shot 92

148
91. MCS (11")
of the wide-open door:
the father crosses the threshold and
leaves the room; his son runs after him,
coming into frame and then going out
into the hall. The camera holds on the
door for a short while.
COMMENTARY (HEINRICH
fahmel): I let my son Heinrich play
with the lancer's helmet his uncles had
given him. And I put up with what the
garrison commandant told me:

92. STAIRWAY TO THE GARRISON

commandant's office - DAY
mcs/mls (25")
of the stairway:
the garrison commandant comes from THE GARRISON COMMANDANT: I'm
behind the camera, speaking to young so sorry, Fahmel, that we can't do
Heinrich Fahmel (who is wearing the without you yet, that you can't play
uniform of a lieutenant); they walk your part in it, but we also need people
down the stairs. at home, we need people exactly like
you.

93. DRAWING-ROOM IN THE

KILBS' HOUSE - NIGHT
MCS to CS (34")
of young Johanna, seated by a lamp on
the couch (mc s/c s). She is reading
from a book which is on her lap, listens,
looks up, closes the book, and lays it
aside. With her eyes, she follows young i-,r-
Heinrich Fahmel (ofO as he comes into
frame and approaches her (he is wearing
his uniform); as he lies down on the
couch and lays his head on his wife's
%
lap, the camera tracks in to c s: he looks
up at her; she is staring straight ahead. JOHANNA: The fool of a Kaiser.
FADE-OUT- FADE-IN

94. A SMALL ROUND TABLE BY

THE WALL, IN THE BANQUETING
HALL OF THE GARRISON

HEADQUARTERS-NIGHT
MCS to cs/cu (25")
At first Mc s of Johanna (evening dress) Music. Bach, Suite No 2, in B minor,
and young Heinrich Fahmel (in BWV 1067. Polonaise.
uniform), and two other officers. All
four are seated round the table, but are
all looking in the same direction. As
Johanna suddenly begins to mutter JOHANNA: The fool of a Kaiser, the
aloud, and the other two turn towards fool of a Kaiser, the fool of a Kaiser .
her, the camera quickly tracks in to

149
c s /cu of Johanna; Heinrich Fahmel
takes hold of her arm, and pulls her out
of frame.
INSIDE A MOVING HACKNEY-
CARRIAGE-NIGHT
95. MCS (10")
of both Johanna and Heinrich, seated
next to each other, staring straight
ahead; bright light comes in almost
regularly through the window.
96. cs/cu (12")
of Johanna only.
DRAWING-ROOM IN THE KILBS'
HOUSE - NIGHT
97. mcs/mls (22")
of the carpeted floor, where little
Heinrich is lying on his stomach,
learning the poem. Through the open
door in the background, we see a light in
the hall.
98. cs (10")
of the father (in uniform) on the couch,
reading a paper. He throws the paper
aside, gets up and goes out of frame. The
camera holds on the couch for a
moment.
99. cs (8")
of the window, Heinrich Fahmel comes
into frame and stops, his hands behind
his back, facing the curtain.
150
COMMENTARY (HEINRICH
fahmel): Court of honour. And I did
not say what I ought to have said, that I
agreed with my wife.
COMMENTARY (continued): 'Pregnant,
gentlemen, due in two months; a little
daughter lost, two brothers fallen on the
same day: Captain Kilb of the Horse
Guards, Officer Kilb.'
And I couldn't summon up the courage
to tear up the poem that Heinrich had to
learn by heart for school.
LITTLE heinrich: Spoke Peter,
Heaven's doorman:
I'll take the matter up in higher places;
And lo, not long thereafter he came
back:
Excellence Bliicher, you are in luck!
On leave for an indefinite time.
(Said he, and opened Heaven's door
wide)
Go, old warhorse, and strike there,
Good old God will be with you.
LITTLE heinrich (continued): It was
Bliicher who came down
To lead us from victory to victory.
Onwards with hurrahs and Hindenburg,
LITTLE heinrich (continued):
Eastern Prussia's saviour and mighty
fortress.
As long as the woods of Germany stand,

100. cs (6")
of the floor where little Heinrich was
learning his poem: Johanna comes into
frame, snatches the piece of paper from
the boy, crumples it up, and leaves the
frame. The boy follows her, and the
camera holds on the carpet.
101. A TABLE BY THE WINDOW IN
THE 'central station
terrace' cafe - day
cs(29")
of the old man only (|- front view), still
seated at the window, opposite Leonore
(off).
SANATORIUM, JOHANNA'S LIVING-
ROOM AND HALL - DAY
102. MCS (26")
of Robert, seated on the couch at a small
table on which is a full cup of tea. He
stirs it and drinks, slowly, without
looking up.
103. CS (4")
of the small mirror of the dressing-table:
in the mirror, we see old Johanna (70
years old) walking away (back view).
As long as the flags of Germany fly,
As long as
HEINRICH fahmel: I ought to have
done what Johanna did then, I ought to
have spoken to the boy. In his fever, he
pieced his lines together: 'Good old God
will be with you.' Johanna tried to drag
him out of his delirium, to shake him
awake, but he never came back again.
'Onwards with hurrahs and
Hindenburg' - only this single and
solitary line was alive in him. Robert
was not yet two, and Otto not yet
born.
JOHANNA (off): You must forgive me,
Robert; I couldn't bear it any longer; I
had to go to Droscher to obtain an
amnesty for you. It was too much for us
—father, myself, Edith; your son was
already born. We found your tiny
messages in the letter-box: 'Don't
worry, I'm studying hard in
Amsterdam.' 'I need money, give it
wrapped in newspaper to a man called
Groll, a waiter in "The Anchor" at the
upper harbour.'
And all at once Otto was no longer
Otto:
JOHANNA (continued): he brought
Nettlinger and the sportsmaster home
with him.
151
104. Mcs (37")
of Robert (still on the couch), and old
Johanna, kneeling down, propped
against the arm-rest of the couch: he
strokes her hand,
and when he gets up and goes out of
frame to the door, she remains there and
follows him with her eyes.
105. cs/mcs (17")
(The camera is outside, in the corridor)
of the door: it is opened from inside,
Robert comes out, closes it behind him,
puts a cigarette into his mouth, lights it,
and goes out of frame.
106. mcs/mls (40")
of the staircase railings (mcs) and the
stairway (mls): Robert comes on to the
landing, into frame, leans on the railings
and remains looking down and smoking;
he throws his cigarette-end down, leaves
the landing, and goes out of frame.
107. cs/Mcstocs (13")
- again in Johanna's living-room - of
the door: Johanna comes into frame and
opens the door to let Robert in. He
walks over to the couch and sits down -
the camera pans with him.
108. MCS (4")
of Johanna, who has stopped by the
152
johanna:You know the conditions
Droscher obtained for you: no political
activity, and straight into the army after
your exams. Klahm, the statist, will
examine you, and save you as many
terms as he can. Must you
absolutely study statics? Very well, as
you wish. Isn't he sweet, your little boy?
You must adopt him immediately after
the wedding; I'll furnish an apartment
for you. You should try to be reconciled
with Otto, please, do try, please, go.
We hear Robert go to the door
COMMENTARY (robert): Even
the news of his death did not bring a
reconciliation:
We hear Robert coming intoframe
COMMENTARY (continued): fallen at
Kiev! Sons of the same mother and
father, born and grown up in the same
house, gone the same way to school —
and suddenly: not even strangers any
longer. Behind Otto's pale, wide
forehead was power in its simplest form,
power over frightened schoolfellows,
over passers-by who did not salute the
flag. He would have delivered his
mother to the hangman.
JOHANNA: Well? Did you speak to
Otto? No good! I knew it, but one must
always keep trying, again and again.
door: she raises her hand, as if firing
with a pistol.
109. cs (18")
of Robert: he looks at Johanna (ofO,
then looks down again. Johanna's hands
come into frame, and pour him tea.
110. cs/cu to cs/mcs (49")
At first (c s/c u), slightly high-angle
shot of Johanna's empty cup on the
other side of the little table. Johanna,
standing beside it, pours herself tea, puts
the pot down, and takes sugar;
and as she then lifts up her cup and
saucer, the camera pans up to her face
(c s / Mc s) - she stirs her tea, and
drinks.
and puts it back on the table.
111. Mcs (26")
of the window: Johaima comes from the
table into frame, goes to the window,
and looks out (profile).
112. MLS to MLS (ri2")
At first (mls), of Robert alone (he
remains seated, looking down), but also of
Johanna's empty chair in the foreground
- she soon comes into frame and sits
down opposite Robert.
JOHANNA: Perhaps there's only one
way to set him free.
JOHANNA (at first off): I shall do it,
Robert, I shall be the Lord's instrument;
I have patience, time doesn't press me.
One shouldn't use powder and wadding,
but powder and lead; crackers do not
kill, my boy. You should have asked
me; now he has become Chief of
Police.
JOHANNA: Don't think I'm mad, I
know exactly where we are: it's war,
time can be read off in promotions. You
were a Lieutenant when you left; after
two years, First Lieutenant. Aren't you
a Captain yet? This time they won't do
it in less than four years, perhaps it'll
last six, and you'll be a Major. Don't go
too far with those formulas in your
head, and don't lose your patience, and
don't accept any privileges; we won't eat
a crumb more than we get on ration
cards; Edith is agreed. I didn't want to
allow your children to enjoy any
privileges either - they should taste the
truth on their lips - but they took me
away from the children.
JOHANNA:! watched how time went
marching by: it seethed, struck, paid a
billion for a sweet, and then lacked three
pfennigs for a roll. I did not want to hear
the name of the saviour, but they stuck
his image on their letters and recited
their litany: respectable, respectable,
earnest, honour-loyalty, defeated and
yet undefeated, order. Dumb as earth,
deaf as a tree.
JOHANNA (at first off): And he, my
little David, slept; only woke up when
he saw how it could cost a life to pass a
package of money wrapped in
newspaper from one hand to another.
Loyalty, honour, respectable - then he
153

Shot 112
She drinks tea, and as Robert suddenly
gets up to go, she also stands up and the
camera pans with hsr to the door (mls):
Robert puts his hand on the handle, but
turns round to his mother, who gives
him a kiss.
113. cs (26")
of the inside door, which is opened by
Robert: he walks to the door leading on
to the corridor; old Heinrich Fahmel
(who was standing behind this door,
about to knock) appears in frame.
Robert lays his hand on his shoulder,
and then goes out of frame, closing the
door behind him -
the camera stays on the door for a
moment.
114. Cs/Cutocs/Mcs (23")
First, cs/cu of Johanna —
- the camera pulls slowly back, so that
the old man comes into frame, lying
with his head on Johanna's lap.
A TABLE IN THE OPEN AIR IN
FRONT OF THE 'DENKLINGEN'
RAILWAY CAFE, AND THE
154
saw it; I warned him about Gretz, but he
said: 'He's harmless.' 'Of course,' I said,
'you'll see yet what harmless people are
capable of. Gretz would betray his own
mother.' He did it, Robert; just because
the old woman kept saying, 'It's a sin
and a disgrace.' She didn't say anything
else, only always this phrase, until one
day her son declared: 'I can't stand this
any longer, it's against my honour.'
They dragged the old woman away,
stuck her in an old people's home,
certified her insane, just to save her life,
and that was exactly what killed her;
they gave her an injection. They came to
fetch Edith too, but I didn't give her up;
I kept Edith until the fluttering bird
killed her. Forgive me, I couldn't save
the lamb.
The doorbell rings.
JOHANNA: Step inside, bring some
happiness in, old David! Come, we'll
say our do-you-still-know prayers, and
remind ourselves of the years when we
lived out in Blessenfeld.
We hear the old man walk over to the
couch
JOHANNA: You had released me from
that dreadful house; they were already
growing up, those to whom I was to be
thrown: beer-drinkers, cap-wearers,
guardians of the law. I saw their hands,
their eyes, and I prayed for him who
would set me free, I prayed and saw you
over there at the studio-window; if you
knew how I loved you, if you had any
idea.
 Ik.

Shot 113
 -i! T
••Kg;»iisl|gi!e®®
iSilllliil^tiiiii
mtMrnm
i SS#I

<*
•1®
K

ii „ '' -f
t.

s«a
r'-

W::;'S;
 •UW/V.-

PLATFORM - DAY

115. mcs/mls (32")

At first, Robert alone, seated in front of
a ^lass of beer, playing abstractedly with
the beer-mat.
The old man comes into frame from HEiNRiCH fahmel: Have you got
behind the camera, and stands in front tickets?
of Robert,
who stands up and offers the old man a ROBERT: Yes. But we've still got time.
chair. Sit down.
The waitress comes into frame, waits,
takes the old man's order, and goes off HEINRICH fahmel: A beer, please.
without saying a word. Robert and the
old man sit down, and look at each
other.

116. cs/cu(20")
of Robert. ROBERT: I'd very much like to give
you something for your birthday.
Father, to show you - well, perhaps you
know what I'd like to show you?
HEINRICH fahmel (off): I know,
you don't need to say it. Have you told
Ruth we wanted to go to St Anthony?
ROBERT: Yes, she's coming. Is the
abbot still there?
HEINRICH fahmel (ofQ: Which
one?
ROBERT: Gregor.
HEINRICH FAHMEL (off): No,he
couldn't get over the Abbey's being
destroyed.
ROBERT: And you, could you get over
it?
117. cs(l'6")
Reverse-angle, the old man. HEINRICH fahmel: After all, one
can rebuild buildings; and for your boy
it was a great opportunity to get some
practical training, to learn co
ordination. You know he has a girl,
don't you?
ROBERT (off): No.
HEINRICH fahmel: I don't want to
know what mission Edith gave you;
only, did you carry it out?
The waitress places a glass of beer in ROBERT (off): Yes.
front of him,
and the old man drinks. HEINRICH fahmel: Good.

157

Shot 114

118. cs/cu(43")
- reverse-angle - of Robert: he looks
down;
then looks up again, takes coins out of
his pocket and puts them on the table.
119. mcs(43")
of Mull, the proprietor, who has come
up to the table behind Robert, and
reaches his hand out to the old man.
158
I laughed at your childish conspiracies,
but the laughter stuck in my throat when
I read that they had killed the boy. And
later I knew that it had still been almost
human. I had thought I loved and
understood your mother, but only then
did I understand her and love her, and
understand you all too, and love you.
Only later did I grasp it all, when one
day the British Commanding Officer
came to apologise to me, so to speak, for
their having bombed the Honorarius
Church and destroyed the twelfth-
century Crucifixion,
HEINRICH FAHMEL (off, Continued):
when I would have given all the
Crucifixions down the centuries to see
Edith's smile once more, and feel her
hand on my arm. What did pictures of
the Lord mean to me, compared to his
real emissary's smile? And for the boy
who brought your little messages -1
never saw his face or learnt his name -
I would have given St Severin and
known it would have been a ridiculous
price.
ROBERT:We can go on to the platform
now, Father.
mull: Your Honour, it must be years
since you were last here!
HEINRICH fahmel: Ah, Mull! How
are you? This is my son, haven't you
met him yet?
ROBERT: Fahmel - pleased to meet
you.
mull: Mull - pleased to meet you.
Every child knows you here. Your
Honour, everyone knows you built our
Abbey, and many grandmothers can
still tell tales about you: how you
ordered whole truckloads of beer for the
bricklayers, and danced a solo at the
builders' party . ..
HEINRICH fahmel: Is your mother
still alive?

120. MLS (12")
—slightly high-angle -
of the track and the platform in front of
it: the old man and Robert come from
the barrier (off, behind the camera) into
frame. As Robert stops, facing the track,
the old man, answering him, turns his
profile to the camera.
121. cs/mcs(20")
of the old man (front view); the camera
pulls back to Mc s of Robert (profile).
122. MLS (15")
of a carriage of the train standing at the
platform. Ruth (16-18 years old) waves
through the window in Robert's
direction, opens the door, and Robert
and the old man soon come into frame,
Ruth helps them to get in. Robert closes
the door behind them.
kisslingen railway station,
AND THE PATH LEADING TO IT
ALONGSIDE THE RAILS - DAY
123. CS(1'55")
- slightly high-angle -
of Joseph (20 years old); Marianne (also
20) is walking beside him, and he has his
arm round her shoulders. They are
walking down the path by the railway
lines, and the camera tracks back in
front of them, along the path.
mull: No, Your Honour, we had to lay
her to rest. It was a huge funeral. She
had a full life: seven children, thirty-six
grand-children, eleven great-grand
children. A full life.
We hear the train approaching
HEINRICH FAHMEL:
Those are splendid people.
ROBERT: And are you not scared of
them?
HEINRICH FAHMEL:
Scared of Mull? Now? While you were
away, and we were waiting for news of
you, I was scared of everyone - are;;oii
scared of Mull?
We hear the train coming, pulling up
and stopping.
RO Be rt: I ask myself with everyone
whether I would want to be delivered up
to him, and there are not many with
whom I would say yes.
ruth: Over here, father, over here.
j o s E p h: He soon came out of
prison and took us to the city,
although grandfather protested and said
it would be better for us not to grow up
among the ruins. We were all living at
that time in grandfather's studio,
because our house was uninhabitable.
159
 and there was a huge town-plan hanging
on the wall in the studio: everything that
had been destroyed was marked in
heavy black crayon, and we often
listened when we were doing homework
at grandfather's drawing-table, and he
and grandfather and other men were
standing in front of the map. They often
quarrelled, for he always said, 'Away
with it —blow it up,' and drew an X next
to a black spot, and the others would
say: 'For God's sake, we can't do that,
there are the remains of a lintel from the
Shot 123
sixteenth century, and there's part of a
chapel from the twelfth'; and he threw
the black crayon down and said, 'All
right, do as you wish, but without me
then.' And the others said: 'But dear Mr
Fahmel, you're our best demolition
expert, you can't leave us in the lurch';
and he said: 'But I'll leave you in the
lurch if I have to worry about every
chicken-run from the Roman Age. Blow
things up and make space.' Grandfather
laughed when they had gone, and said:
'My God, you really must understand
their feelings', and father laughed: 'I do
understand their feelings, but I don't
respect them'; and then he said, 'Come,
children, we're going to buy some
chocolate', and he went with us to the
black market. He always bought, but
never sold. Whenever we got bread or
butter from Stehlingen or Gorlingen, we
had to take his share to school with us,
and he left it to us as to who we wanted
to give it to. And once on the black
market we bought back butter which we
had given away, Mrs Kloschgrabe's note
was still on it, she had written: 'Sorry,
only one kilo this week.' But he only
laughed, and said: 'Oh well, people need
money for cigarettes too.' You'll like
him, little lamb.
MARIANNE: Fine - but what did he do
that made you suddenly lose interest in
building? Why won't you tell me?
JOSEPH: Because I don't understand it

160
 myself yet. Perhaps I'll be able to
explain it to you later... Here they are!

124. ls(8")
of the little station (right foreground);
the train bringing Ruth, Robert and the
old man comes out of the distance.

IN FRONT OF THE DRINKS STALL

AT THE TRAM TERMINUS IN

BLESSENFELD, AND IN FRONT OF

A HOUSE IN GRUFFEL STREET

(suburb) - DAY
125. cs/mcs (21")
of Schrella (back to camera) at the
counter of the stall, and of Erik a
Progulske (front view), the owner (35-
40 years old) behind the counter.
Schrella finishes his drink and puts his
glass down; she hands him a packet of
cigarettes —he pays her one Mark, and
turns his back on her. She goes on
looking at him as he leaves the stall.
ERIKA PROGULSKE: Another lemon
ade?
schrella: No, thank you, but five
cigarettes, please.
erika progulske: That'll be ninety
altogether, please. Do we really not
know each other?
sCHRELLA:No,rm sure not.

126. LS (14")
Schrella walks away across the empty
plot of land, towards some workers'
houses.

127. LS to Mcs (40")

The camera pans c. 300° over the street
to the front door of a house, in front of
which Schrella is standing (mcs),
looking at a little girl who has come up
to him.
The little girl runs away with the
Groschen, out of frame. Schrella follows
her with his eyes.
Shot 128
THE LITTLE GiRL: Are you looking
for somebody?
SCHRELLA: Yes, the Schrellas, don't
they live here any more?
THE LITTLE GIRL: No, they never
lived here.
SCHRELLA: Thank you, would you like
a Groschen?

IN FRONT OF THE ST ANTHONY

ABBEY - DAY

128. MCS to CS (31")

161
At first, the door (mc s): it is opened
from within, and the Abbot, Robert and
the old man come out. They walk
towards the camera, which pans with
them; the Abbot accompanies Robert
and the old man as far as the steps,
where all three stop (c s).
THE abbot: My official speech will
not stand as a mark of indictment, but of
reconciliation, reconciliation also with
those powers who in their blind zeal
destroyed our home. May I
therefore extend the invitation to you
with the sincere hope that you will do us
the honour of coming to the
inauguration?
HEiNRiCH fahmel: Many thanks.
Reverend Father.
THEABBOT:Very pleased to have met
your son.

129. MCS to MLS (51")

At first, MCs of Joseph's waiting car:
Ruth and Marianne get in, while Joseph
waits outside for Robert and the old
man - they soon come into frame, and
all three get into the car, which moves
off. The camera pans with the car,
across to the Abbey Church and then
upwards, so that the spire is in frame.

130. 'new' bridge on the rhine

OVER t h e h a r b o u r - DAY
LS to CS to LS (21")
- the camera is on the pavement of the
bridge -
At first, LS of the Rhine and harbour:
the camera pans to Schrella by the
railings of the bridge (c s), and continues
to pan as he turns away and walks COMMENTARY (schrella): I have
towards the town (l s). sinned, have greatly sinned: I did not
want to see any recognition light up in
Erika Progulske's eyes, or hear Ferdi's
name from her mouth.

SANATORIUM, JOHANNA'S
LIVING-ROOM AND EXIT TO THE
GARDEN AND GREENHOUSE -
DAY

131. cs/cu(10")
of Johanna, seated on the couch,
drinking tea: she looks over to the door, There is a knock at the door.
puts her cup down (off screen), gets up,
and walks out of picture.

162

132. Mcs (5")
of the door. Huperts, the manservant,
appears with a tray to clear away; he
comes in, closes the door, and comes
into the foreground and out of frame.
133. cs (3")
of the window: Johanna is looking out.
134. MCS (15")
of Huperts, who stops clearing away
and looks up to answer Johanna;
he goes on clearing up, in order to put
his question.
135. cs (5")
of the window: Johanna goes out of
frame (towards the dressing-table).
136. cs/mcs (4")
of Huperts, who lifts up his full tray
from the table, but remains standing
there in order to ask his question.
137. cs (45")
of the dressing-table, where Johanna's
hat, gloves and handbag are lying: she
sits in front of it (her face in the mirror),
arranges her hair, puts the comb down,
reaches for her hat and puts it on. Then
she reaches for her gloves, stands up,
and goes over to the door.
138. MLS (33")
of the front door of the house: it is
JOHANNA: Yes. Yes, Huperts, clear the
tea away, and the bread and the cold
meat as well.
JVe hear Huperts beginning to clear the
tea things away.
JOHANNA:! wonder whether the head-
gardener could bring me a few flowers?
huperts: He's out, he's off duty till
tomorrow evening.
JOHANNA (ofQ: And no one except him
is allowed into the greenhouse?
huperts: No, Madam, he's terribly
particular about it.
JOHANNA (off): Then I suppose I must
wait till tomorrow evening, or I'll get
myself some outside.
huperts: You want to go out,
Madam?
JOHANNA: Yes, probably, it's such a
fine evening; I'm allowed to, aren't I?
huperts: Of course, of course you are
allowed —or should I telephone His
Honour or Dr Fahmel?
JOHANNA: I'll do that myself, Huperts.
huperts (ofO: Good evening. Madam.
JOHANNA: Good evening, Huperts.
We hear Huperts go to the door, open it,
go out, and close it again.
163
opened from within, and Johanna comes
out. She walks round the side of the
house, disappearing into the garden.

139. Mcs (39")

The greenhouse door (the camera is
outside): Johanna comes into frame,
feels for the key which is hidden on top
of the door-frame, opens the door and
goes into the greenhouse, leaving the
door wide open behind her.

140. cs to cs (35")
The head-gardener's worktable in the
greenhouse: Johanna takes a pistol out
of the drawer, puts it in her handbag,
and as she turns round to go, the camera
pans with her to the door. She goes out
and closes the door behind her.

JOHANNA'S LIVING-ROOM
141. cs (10")
of the telephone on the bedside table, on
which there is also a weekly programme
of the city's events lying open. As
Johanna sits down on the bed, only her
handbag comes into frame; then we see
her hand lift the receiver. JOHANNA: The exchange, please.

142. cu(8")
of the following lines which Johanna has
ringed in the weekly programme on the
bedside table:

f i g h t e r s ' PARADE
Assembly in front of the Prince We hear Johanna beginning to dial a
Heinrich Hotel. - Departure, 19.00 number.
hours.

143. cs/cu (9")

of Johanna's face: she finishes dialling,
and waits, listening.

144. PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL,

RE CEPTION - DAY

cs/cu (17") The telephone rings

of the porter's face: he lifts the telephone THE PORTER (on the phone): Prince
receiver to his ear, Heinrich Hotel.

164

and looks in the hotel register.
The porter walks out of frame.
PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL, ROOM
21 1 (with balcony) - DAY
145. cs (5")
of the window: a dark net-curtain is
suddenly pushed back across the
window.
146. mcs/mls (20")
A small table in the middle of the room,
on which is an ice-bucket and three
glasses; two young men are standing by
the table, one of them pouring
champagne.
M. comes into frame (from the window)
and stops by the table (back view).
147. cs (17")
of the telephone (on the bedside table) -
M's hand comes into frame and lifts the
receiver up and out of frame.
M's hand comes back into frame,
putting the receiver down.
148. mcs/mls (13")
of the two young men, somewhat in the
background (still by the table), but
nevertheless looking over at M. He
comes into frame in the foreground,
stops and speaks to them.
Pause
Oh yes, Madam!
Pause
Certainly, Madam: room 212, with
balcony.
We hear a bottle of champagne being
uncorked.
M. (off): Do you really think that they
might be useful to us?
THE first; I'm sure of it.
THE other: Without doubt.
M.: But won't we antagonize more voters
than we win through such a show of
sympathy?
the first: The Fighters'League is
known as non-radical.
THE other: You can't lose anything,
only win.
m.: How many votes are there? Under
optimal and least favourable circum
stances?
THE first: Optimal, around eighty
thousand, under least favourable
circumstances around fifty thousand.
M.: What will foreign circles think?
The telephone rings
M. (on the phone); Yes.
Pause
Speaking.
Pause
Good.
M.: Show sympathy.
165

They clink glasses.
PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL,
BILLIARD-ROOM - DAY
149. Mcs to cs/cu(10")
of Robert (profile) seated on the edge of
the billiard-table.
But at first, also of Schrella and Hugo
(mcs): Schrella is seated in an easy-
chair opposite Robert, and takes a glass
of brandy from a tray which Hugo
hands to him. Hugo then goes over to
Robert, who takes the other glass of
brandy from the tray; Hugo comes into
the foreground, and out of frame. The
camera at once tracks in to Robert
(c s / c u): he looks at Hugo, then at
Schrella.
150. cs/mcs (37")
of Schrella in his easy-chair: like
Robert, he is playing with his brandy
glass.
He looks up at Robert (off)
166
THE first: I'll go down and draw the
leader of the parade's attention to your
balcony.
ROBERT: Go to your room, boy, and
pack your things.
We hear Hugo go to the door, open it,
and close it behind him.
ROBERT: What will the old man say
when I present him with a grandson for
his birthday who has Edith's smile on
his face?
SCHRELLA: You're right; the voice of
blood is false, only the other is true.
ROBERT (ofO: Don't you want to live
with us?
schrella: No. The hotel room is just
right: once I shut the door behind me,
this town becomes as strange to me as
all others. There I can imagine I must
soon set off and give my language
lessons somewhere.
Pause
The people I meet - am I deceiving
myself in finding them no less bad than
those I left behind then?
ROBERT (ofO: The list of stereotypes
has dwindled; it wouldn't have occurred
to anyone to label your father a
Communist - not even Nettlinger was
that stupid. Today they wouldn't be able
to classify him as anything else. Do you
remember Enders, the ginger-haired
boy?
schrella: Yes.
151. cs/cu (8")
of Robert (front view)
152. cs/mcs to MLS (23")
At first, c s of Schrella, still in his chair:
he leans forward to put his drink down,
then stands up to go to the billiard-table
- the camera pans with him up to
Robert (mcs); Schrella sits down next
to him on the edge of the table.
and as Robert leaves the billiard-table
and goes out of frame towards the door,
Schrella follows him only with his eyes.
153. mcs (21")
of Robert (profile), leaning with his back
against the door.
154. cs/cu (4")
of Schrella (profile): he leaves the
ROBERT: He has become a priest, and
they've stuck him in a village which isn't
even reachable by train: he's suspect
because he's made the Sermon on the
Mount the subject of his own sermons
too often.
schrella: I was thinking over about
whom I'd like to see again, but I'm
scared of meetings since I saw Ferdi's
sister.
ROBERT: You saw Ferdi's sister?
schrella: Yes, she runs the drinks
stall at the terminus of the number
eleven. Haven't you ever been there?
ROBERT: No,
Pause
schrella: What are people like
Schweugel doing now?
ROBERT: Are you really interested?
schrella: Yes, why do you ask
whether I'm really interested?
ROBErt: Did you think about Enders
and Schweugel in your hotel-rooms and
pensions?
schrella (off): Yes, and about
Grewe and Holten - about Drischka
too. What are they doing? Are they still
alive?
ROBERT: Holten is dead, killed in the
war, but Schweugel's still alive. He's a
writer, always talks about bourgeois
and nonrbourgeois, and probably
regards himself as the latter. What's the
use? It just doesn't interest me; he has
also sometimes asked me about you.
schrella: Ah, and what's become of
Grewe?
167
billiard-table to go back to his chair,
going out of frame at once.
155. cs/mcs to MLS (23")
At first, c s / Mc s of Robert only,
leaving the door to go back to the
billiard-table;
the camera pans with him to the billiard-
table (mls) where he sits down opposite
Schrella, who is now in frame, in his
chair.
156. cs (11")
of Robert, still seated on the edge of the
billiard-table, looking over at Schrella
he looks down, then up again, before
putting his question -
157. cs (9")
of Schrella, leaning forward in his chair
and picking up his glass of brandy from
the floor.
158. mcs(18")
of Robert, still on the edge of the billiard-
table.
168
ROBERT; He's a party-member, but
don't ask me which party; it's not
important to know, anyway. And
Drischka is making 'Drischka's Auto-
Lions', a patented article which brings
him in a lot of money.
schrella: While I was sitting
downstairs waiting for you, some people
were just assembling to go to a banquet,
and I heard something about
Opposition. They kept awesomely
whispering to each other the name of the
star they were expecting: Kretz.
ROBERT: Kretz is a sort of star of the
Left Opposition.
SCHRELLA (off): I sawhim, he arrived
last; if he's hope, I'd like to know what
despair could be...
Pause
ROBERT: We must go to my father
soon —or would you rather not go to the
celebration?
scHRELLA:Yes, I'll come with you.
ROBERT (off): We just have to wait
for the boy.
Pause
schrella; Are the Trischlers really
dead?
ROBERT: Yes, Alois too. He was going

159. PRINCE HEINRICH HOTEL, ON
THE BALCONY OF ROOM 212 -
DUSK
MCS to CS to MCS (56")
of Johanna (back view): at first she is
alone on the balcony, looking down, but
the old man immediately comes into
frame in the foreground, next to her, and
the camera tracks in to c s - he points to
the handbag which she is holding tightly
in front of her with both hands.
She looks over at the neighbouring
balcony where M. is standing, then back
at the old man, and reaches with one
hand for the pistol in her handbag.
As the old man turns towards the
camera, leaving the balcony to go back
into the room, the camera pulls back to
MCS, and we see Johanna take aim and
shoot at the next balcony (off).
ROMAN EXCAVATIONS (iN THE
CELLAR OF THE TOWN HALL) -
DARK
160. MLS (21")
First Marianne only; then Joseph comes
into frame.
to take them to friends in Holland on the
'Anna Katharina'. The boat was
bombed. Alois tried to get his parents
out of the berths, but it was too late -
the water was already rushing in from
above, and they never got out.
SCHRELLA (off): Where did you hear
about it?
ROBERT; In the'Anchor': I went there
every day, and questioned all the
boatmen until I found one who knew it.
JOHANNA: I'm scared, old man - not
even in '35 or '42 did I feel such a
stranger among people.
HEINRICH fahmel: Just what do you
want to do with that thing?
JOHANNA:! want to shoot the fat man
on the white horse down there. Do you
still remember him?
HEINRICH fahmel: Do you think I
would ever forget him? All the same, I
wouldn't shoot him. Look there, our old
friend Nettlinger; if anyone, I'd rather
shoot him - but perhaps you'll consider:
your grandson's murderer is standing
on the next balcony. Do you see him?
jOHANNAiI'll rely on paragraph fifty-
one, dearest.
j o s E p H (to Marianne): You probably
don't know that all this is thanks t(p
169

They both walk out of frame.
161. MCS to MLS (29")
of Ruth, Marianne and Joseph; the
camera pans with them as they walk
past and out of frame (mls) (Ruth and
Marianne walking behind Joseph).
162. EXCAVATIONS, EXIT DOOR
TO THE STREET-DAY
mcs/mls (13")
of the exit door. The three of them walk
out of the cellar into the street.
163. CAFE KRONER, ENTRANCE -
DUSK
MCS (16")
of the door to the street: Ruth, Marianne
and Joseph come in, and Mrs Kroner
runs from behind the camera into
picture, towards them.
164. dining room a t the
fAHMELS' -DAY
MCS to mcs/mls (24")
First, on the old man, sitting in front of
his birthday cake, cutting it. On his left
and right: Ruth and Hugo. The camera
pans at once: Ruth is standing next to
the old man, helping him to distribute
plates of cake; Hugo is pouring out
wine, Leonore, Schrella, Robert, Joseph
and Marianne are seated round the
table. The camera pans further, so that
in the end we only see the window, and
the river and trees outside it.
FADE TO WHITE SCREEN
170
father's zeal for blowing up: when they
were blowing up the old guard-house,
one of the vaults below collapsed. Long
live dynamite!
j o s E p H (to Ruth): Do you remember
how happy father was when he could
still blow things up?
RUTH (to Marianne): How do you find
him, Marianne? Do you like him?
MARIANNE: Yes, I like him very much.
ruth: Am I hungry! I'm sure
grandfather's ordered something good
for us.
MRS kroner: Don't you know yet,
then? Something dreadful must have
happened; your grandfather has
cancelled the party. They rang up a few
minutes ago from the Prince Heinrich
Hotel.
Music: Bach, Suite No. 2 in B minor.
BWV 1061, Overture bars 1-20.
HEINRICH fahmel; I Can't help it,
children, I can't be sad; she'll be coming
back now to stay with us. He wasn't
dangerously wounded, and I hope the
great look of astonishment will not
disappear from his face...
Shot 163

Acknowledgements
The author would like to thank Frieda Grafe and Enno Patalas
who introduced him to Straub and his work; Tom Milne for his
encouragement and support in getting this book written and
published; Jean Yves Mock for reading and correcting the
manuscript; Jan Dawson for preparing the filmography; Andi
and Pamela Engel of Polit Kino for their assistance with prints
and stills; Sue Craig for transcribing and typing. Most of the
photographs in the book are frame enlargements; the Othon
location stills are by Bruna Amico and Sebastian Schadhauser.
I should also like to thank Sallie Wilensky and Dan Talbot for
their aid and comfort. Finally, I acknowledge my gratitude to
Daniele Huillet-Straub both for the help she has given me as
well as that which she has lavished on the subject of this book.

171
Filmography

Machorka-Muff(1963)
Production Company Straub-Huillet(Munich)/Atlas Film
(Duisburg)/Cineropa-Film (Monaco)
Production Manager Hans von der Heydt
Director Jean-Marie Straub
Assistant Director Daniele Huillet
Script Jean-Marie Straub, Daniele Huillet. Based on the story
Hauptstddtisches Journal by Heinrich Boll
Director of Photography Wendelin Sachtler
Editors Jean-Marie Straub, Daniele Huillet
Music Johann Sebastian Bach (Musical Offering, BWV 1079:
Ricercar a 6); Franfois Louis ('Transmutations')
Sound Janosz Rozner, Jean-Marie Straub

Erich Kuby {Erich von Machorka-Muff), Renate Langsdorff (Inn), Rolf Thiede
{Murcks-Maloche), Giinther Strupp {He/fling), Johannes Eckardt {Priest), Heiner
Braun {Minister), Gino Cardella {Waiter), Julius Wikidal' {Bricklayer).

Filmed in ten days on location in Bonn and Munich, October 1962.

First shown (out of competition) at the Oberhausen Film Festival, February 1963;
G.B., London Film Festival, 18 November 1969; U.S.A., 23 February 1969.
Running time, 17 mins. 33 sees.
Distributors: Polit Kino (G.B.), New Yorker Films (U.S.A.).

Nicht Versdhnt oder Es hilft nur Gewalt, wo Gewalt herrscht

(1965)
Production Company Straub-Huillet (Munich)
Producers Daniele Huillet, Jean-Marie Straub
Director Jean-Marie Straub
Script Jean-Marie Straub. Based on the novel Billard um
Halbzehn by Heinrich Boll
Director of Photography Wendelin Sachtler
Camera Operators Gerhard Rles, Christian Schwarzwald, Jean-Marie
Straub
Editors Jean-Marie Straub, Daniele Huillet
Music Bela Bartok (Sonata for two pianos and percussion:

172
 First Movement, bars 1-10); Johann Sebastian Bach
(Suite No. 2 in B minor, BWV 1067: Overture)
Sound Lutz Grubnau, Willi Hanspach

Heinrich Hargesheimer {Heinrich Fdhmel, aged 80), Carlheinz Hargesheimer

(Heinrich Fdhmel, aged 30-35), Martha Standner {Johanna Fdhmel, aged 70),
Daniele Straub {Johanna Fdhmel as a young woman), Henning Hermssen {Robert
Fdhmel, aged 40), Ulrich Hopmann {Robert Fdhmel, aged 18), Jochim Weiler
{Joseph Fdhmel), Eva-Maria Bold {Ruth Fdhmel), Hiltraud Wegener {Marianne),
Ulrich von Thiina {Schrella, aged about 35), Ernst Kutzinsi {Schrella, aged 15),
Heiner Braun {Nettlinger, aged 35-40), Georg Zander {Hugo!Ferdinand {Ferdi)
Progulske), Erika Briihl {Edith), Werner Briihl {Trischler), Helga Briihl {Frau
Trischler), Lutz Grubnau {1st Abbot), Martin Trieb {2nd Abbot), Karl Bodenschatz
{Hotel Porter), Wendelin Sachtler {Mult), Anita Bell {Old Woman playing cards),
Margret Borstel {Blonde knitting stockings), Eduard von Wickenburg {M), Huguette
Sellen {Robert's Secretary).

Filmed on location in Cologne and Munich, in 6 weeks, August—September 1964,

and 2 weeks at Easter 1965.
First shown {hors festival) 4 July 1965 during the Berlin Film Festival; G.B.,
London Film Festival, 15 November 1965; U.S.A., 23 February 1969 (previously
at New York Film Festival, 18 September 1965). Running time, 53 mins.
Distributors: Polit Kino (G.B.), New Yorker Films (U.S.A.).
G.B./U.S. title: not reconciled.
(Screened under the title tJNRE conciled at the London and New York Festivals.)

Chronik der Anna Magdalena Bach (1968)

Production Company IDI Cinematografica/RAI (Rome)/Franz Seitz-
Filmproduktion/Kuratorium Junger Deutscher
Film/Straub-Huillet/Filmfonds/Telepool
(Munich)/Hessisches Rundfunk (Frankfurt)
Producer Gianvittorio Baldi
Production Manager Daniele Huillet
Director Jean-Marie Straub
Production Assistants Georg Foecking, Aldo Passalacqua, Joachim Wolf
Script Jean-Marie Straub, DaniMe Huillet
Director of Photography Ugo Piccone
Camera Operators Saverio Diamanti, Giovanni Canfarelli
Special Retakes Photographer Thomas Hartwig
Editors Daniele Huillet, Jean-Marie Straub
Music Johann Sebastian Bach;
(Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, BWV 1050, First
Movement, bars 147-227 (harpsichord cadenza
and closing tutti));
Prelude 6 from the Little Clavier Book for
Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, BWV 128;

173
 Minuet 2 of the Suite in D minor from the Little
Clavier Book for Anna Magdalena Bach, BWV
812;
Sonata No. 2 in D major for viola da gamba and
obbligato harpsichord, BWV 1028: Adagio;
Trio-sonata No. 2 in C minor, BWV 526: Largo;
Magnificat in D major, BWV 243: 'sicut locutus
est' and Gloria;
Partita in E minor from the Little Clavier Book
for Anna Magdalena Bach, BWV 830: Tempo di
gavotta;
Cantata BWV 205 ('Der zufriedengestellte
Aeolus'): bass recitative and aria;
Cantata BWV 198 ('Trauer-Ode'): final chorus;
Cantata BWV 244a ('Trauermusik'): soprano
aria;
St Matthew Passion, BWV 244: opening chorus;
Cantata BWV 42 ('Am Abend aber desselbigen
Sabbats'): introductory sinfonia and recitative
for tenor;
Prelude in B minor for organ, BWV 544;
Mass in B minor, BWV 232: 1st Kyrie Eleison;
Cantata BWV 215: opening chorus, bars 1-181;
Ascension Oratorio, BWV 11: final chorale, 2nd
part;
Clavier-Ubung, BWV 671: 3rd part ('Kyrie,
Gott heiliger Geist');
Italian Concerto, BWV 971: Andante;
Cantata BWV 140 ('Wachet auf): 1st duet, bars
1-36;
'Goldberg Variations', BWV 988: Variation 25;
Cantata BWV 82 ('Ich habe genug'): last recita
tive and aria;
Musical Offering, BWV 1079: Ricercar a 6, bars
1-139;
Art of the Fugue, BWV 1080: Contrapunctus
XIX, bars 193-239;
Chorale for Organ, BWV 668 fVor deinen
Thron tret ich'): bars 1-11;
and Leo Leonius
(Convention Latin Sunday motet [11th after
Trinity] from the Florilegium Portense)
Orchestras Musica Antica Ensemble of the Concentus
Musicus, Vienna, conducted by Nikolaus
Harnoncourt; concert group of the Schola
Cantorum Basiliensis, conducted by August
Wenzinger
Choir Hanover Boys' Choir, directed by Heinz Hennig

174
Costumes Casa d'Arte Firenze; Vera Poggioni, Renata
Morroni
Wigs 'Rochetti', Todero Guerrino
Sound Louis Hochet, Lucien Moreau
Sound Recordist Paul Scholer

Gustav Leonhardt {Johann Sebastian Bach), Christiana Lang {Anna Magdalena

Bach), Paolo Carlini (Dr Holzel), Ernst Castelli (Steger), Hans-Peter Boye {Born),
Joachim Wolf {Rector), Rainer Kirchner {Superintendent), Eckart Briintjen {Prefect
Kittler), Walter Peters {Prefect Kratise), Kathrien Leonhardt {Catharina Dorothea
Bach), Anja Fahrmann {Regine Susanna Bach), Katja Drewanz {Christine Sophie
Henrietta Bach), Bob van Aspern {Johann Elias Bach), Andreas Pangritz {Wilhelm
Friedemann Bach), Bernd Weikl {Singer in Cantata BWV 205), Wolfgang Schone
{Singer in Cantata BWV 82), Karl-Heinz Lampe {Singer in Cantata BWV 42),
Nikolaus Harnoncourt {Prince ofAnhalt-Cdthen)-, Karl-Heinz Klein {Bass voice for
duet in Cantata BWV 140), Bernhard Wehle {Soprano voice in Cantata BWV 140),
Christa Degler {Voice ofAnna Magdalena Bach in Cantata BWV 244a).

Filmed in 8 weeks on location in Preetz, Stade, Hamburg, Eutin, Liineburg, Liibeck,

Niirnberg, Freiberg/Sachsen, Leipzig, Grosshartmannsdorf/Sachsen, East Berlin,
Regensburg, and Haseldorf, August-September 1967.
First shown at the Utrecht 'Cinemanifestatie' Festival, 3 February 1968; G.B.,
London Film Festival, 24 November 1968; U.S.A., 4 April 1969 (previously at
New York Film Festival, 19 September 1968). Running time, 93 mins.
Distributors: Polit Kino (G.B,), New Yorker Films (U.S.A.).
G.B./U.S. title: chronicle of anna magdalena bach.

Der Brdutigam, die Komodiantin und der Zuhdlter (1968)

Production Company Janus Film und Fernsehen
Producer Klaus Hellwig
Director Jean-Marie Straub
Script Jean-Marie Straub. Incorporating the play
Krankheit der Jugend by Ferdinand Bruckner,
abridged and produced by Jean-Marie Straub;
and extracts from the poetry of San Juan de la
Cruz [St John of the Cross]: Romance 7, first
stanza; Cantico espiritiial, stanza 20; Romance
22
Directors of Photography Klaus Schilling, Hubs Hagen
Editors Daniele Huillet, Jean-Marie Straub
Music Johann Sebastian Bach (from the Ascension
Oratorio, BWV 11)
Sound Peter Lutz
Sound for theatre sequence Klaus Eckelt

175
James Powell (James), Lilith Ungerer {Marie [in the play]/Lilith [in the film]),
Rainer Werner Fassbinder {Freder [in the play]/the Pimp [in thefilm]). Peer Raben
{Alt [in the play]/Willi [in the film]), Irm Hermann (Desiree), Kristin Peterson
{Irene), Hanna Schygulla {Lucy), Rudolf Waldemar Brem {Petrell).

Filmed in 5 days on location in Munich, April-May 1968.

First shown at the Mannheim Film Festival, October 1968; G.B., London Film
Festival, 28 November 1969; U.S.A., 23 February 1969. Running time, 23 mins.
Distributors: Polit Kino (G.B.), New Yorker Films (U.S.A.).
G.B./U.S. title: the bridegroom, the comedienne and the pimp.

Les Yeux ne veulent pas en tout temps se fermer

ou Peut-etre qu'un jour Rome se permettra de choisir d son
tour (1969)
Production Company Janus Film (Frankfurt)/Straub-Huillet (Rome)
Executive Producer Klaus Hellwig
Production Manager Daniele Huillet
Director Jean-Marie Straub
Script The play Othon by Pierre Corneille
Director of Photography Ugo Piccone
Colour Process Eastman Colour
Editors Daniele Huillet, Jean-Marie Straub
Sound Louis Hochet

Adriano Apra {Othon), Anne Brumagne {Plautine), Ennio Lauricella {Galba),

Olimpia Carlisi {Camilla), Anthony Pensabene {Vinius), Jean-Claude Biette
{Martian), Jubarithe Semaran [i.e. Jean-Marie Straub] {Lacus), Leo Mingrone
{Albin), Gianna Mingrone {Albiane), Marilu Parolini {Flavie), Sergio Rossi (Rutile),
Edoardo de Gregorio {Atticus).

Filmed (in 16 mm) in 4 weeks on location at the Palatine Hill and in the gardens of
the Villa Doria Pamphili in Rome, August-September 1969. First shown in Rome,
17 January 1970 (previously at Rapallo Festival, 4 January 1970); U.S.A., New
York Film Festival, September 1970; G.B., 31 October 1971. Running time, 83
mins.
Distributors: Polit Kino (G.B.), New Yorker Films (U.S.A.).
G.B./U.S. title; eyes do not want to close at all times or perhaps
one day ROME w i l l PERMIT HERSELF TO CHOOSE IN HER TURN; Or
othon.

176
$2.75
Cinema One!
Titles in print

Jedn-MarieStraub(b.1933) isa Richard Roud isthe Program 15 Samuel Fuller

French film-makerwhochose Director of the New York Film
for political reasons to work in
by Nicholas Garnliam
Festival, and until recently was
exile, first in Germany and then also program directorofthe
in Italy. His five filmsto date have British National Film Theatre 16 Melville on IVIelvilie
earned himaworldwidethough and the London Film Festival. A by Rui Nogueira
semi-underground reputation as regularcontributorto Sightand
a genuinely revolutionary film- Sound and The New York Times,
makerand a brillianttechnical he has also written for Cahiersdu
17 Straub
innovator. For many people, his Cinema, Encore, The London by Richard Roud
"minimal cinema" techniques- Magazine, etc. He is the author of
aI most a reductio ad absurduni of Jean-Luc Godard. He is roving 18 Sirk on Siric
Bresson's pared-down style, arts critic of The Guardian and is
using a virtually stationary currently editing for Seckerand by Jon Halliday
camera and non-narrative Warburg and The Viking Press
structures - are a stumbling- A Critical Dictionary ofthe 19 Orson Welles
block to appreciation of his work Cinema. by Joseph McBride
and its meaning. Richard Roud's
book isa brilliant attempt to
explain, partly through critical
analyses of thefilms
themselves, and partly through
interviews with Straub which
trace theirgenesis in his mind,
the aesthetic approach of afilm-
makerwho is working toward a
unique synthesis of political
content and stylized form. The
volume also contains a fully
annotated script in English of
Not Reconciled (Nicht Versohnt,
-1965), Straub'sfirstfeature-and
probably his most difTlcultfilm.

The Viking Press 625 iVlaclison Avenue New York, N.Y. 10022

Fiiated in Great Britain SBN 670-01936-4